#they’re all within my comprehension

[tentacleteapot]

in a doctor's office being shown a chart with different types of man-made horrors on them while the doctor asks whether each of them is beyond or within my comprehension

[soapyblubbles]

⋆｡˙ runaway pets ˙｡⋆

pairings: dark regulus + dark poly marauders

warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, implied kidnapping, threesome, implied fivesome, voyeurism, overstimulation, (light) slapping, choking, stockholm syndrome, smoking, shotgunning, pet names, etc.

a/n: please enjoy the much more comprehensive version of one of my very first works. there were a lot of inconsistencies and issues with the first version. I added a lot more detail to this and it honestly feels more like a one-shot than a drabble now. i'll add the unedited version at the bottom just incase anyone wants to take a peak. anyways, happy reading <3

“I told you it’d be worse if you went to get help.” Regulus sits on one end of the bed, a small indulgent smile flitting across his lips. As if nothing was wrong. 

As if you weren’t being fucked within an inch of your life.

You turn your head to him, breathless pants leaving your mouth as Remus continues to rock into you. His hips slap into your own at a steady pace. How long had he been sitting there?

The air is stifling, sweat beading along your forehead and the small of your back. The arm around your waist only adds to the oppressive feeling, Remus’ strong grip keeping you upright and in place.

Your arms shake from exertion, and you have to force your hands to unclench from where they’re fisting the damp sheets.

With a whimper, you reach for Regulus, trying to find the comfort you once found in him before it all. Before he had selfishly stole you away. Before you knew of the darkness lingering just beneath the surface.

You weakly try to pry off the arm wrapped around you, but it doesn’t budge. It only tightens, pulling you up until your back hits Remus’ firm chest.

“Want sir now. Please- Remmy-” The lanky brunette ignores you, muttering something unintelligible into your neck as his thrusts speed up. Your attention was stolen from him. He doesn’t like that- not one bit.

Your face crumples at the silent dismissal, the tears you’d been holding in falling just as you reach another trembling high.

“Please, m’sorry sir- c-can we please go home now?” You gasp out. Your limbs burn, they have been for a while you suppose, but still you try to ignore it, concentrating on just Regulus for now.

But he only hums noncommittally, standing as he makes his way to the makeshift bar in the corner of the room. Regulus rubs his jaw in mock thought, scrutinizing the scene before him while he pours himself a glass of firewhiskey. The smell of cinnamon saturates the air, adding to the heavy atmosphere.

“Thought you wanted to come here-“ He gestures around the room, lazily draping himself on the nearby armchair. “For help.” The last word is said with a sneer and laced with so much venom that you balk.

Even though you can tell he’s done arguing about it, you still sob out: “I’ll be good- promise.”

You hear Sirius let out a scoff. He’s leaning against the headboard, his shirt unbuttoned and a lit cigarette in hand, doing nothing but watching as his friends ruin you.

He’d been the one to call Regulus when you came running to their house, barefoot and in nothing but a frail, white nightgown. “You’re already being good here, pup- s’no use in leaving.” He makes his way towards you, squishing your cheeks together, your lips forming an o-shape.

He blows smoke into your mouth, smirking when you cough at the burn. “Y’already gonna be punished anyway, might as well do that here- ain’t that right Reggie?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, breaking his normally composed demeanor. “Don’t call me-”

“Hush, I can’t focus when you lot keep talkin.” James' speech is slurred as he speaks up, moving his head slightly from between your legs. He pays no mind to the way Remus pumps in and out of you. His mouth is so close to where the two of you meet that you can feel his cool breath against your clit as he talks.

“S’annoying.”  

You clench around Remus at the feeling, and the man in question groans, giving you a particularly rough thrust.

James goes back to work at that, humming softly as he drinks in yours and Remus’ juices. You let out a another strangled moan, instinctively trying to tilt your hips away.

Instantly Sirius’ face darkens with anger, “Uh-uh, I don’t think so puppy.” A hand shoots out to grab the base of your neck as James’ hands grip the front of your thighs tightly.

“Don’t fuckin’ run away from him- you understand?” 

You nod shakily, chest rising and falling quickly as you watch him with unseeing eyes.

“Just take it like a good girl, princess.” James cooes, lightly nibbling on the inside of your thigh. You let out a startled yelp.

“What d’you say bunny?” Remus asks from behind you, hips slowing as he tries to find that spot. Trying to coax the words out of you. You whine, unable to answer until Sirius gingerly slaps your cheek, raising a sharp brow at you.

“M’sorry- m’so sorry Jamie.” Your head is spinning, an ache growing until it becomes practically mind numbing.

At this point it’s all you can focus on.

“Thought I taught you better than that pet.” Regulus chides, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He looks only slightly more disheveled than before. His hair is not neatly combed back like it was earlier, and his tie considerably loosened. His fingers dig into the cushioned arms of the chair, the veins in his forearms flexing in a way that makes your mouth water.

You lick your lips. “Sir-”

Remus shushes you. “S’ okay bunny- y’just have to make it up to him.” You cry out as he brushes against your g-spot, finally finding what he’s been looking for this whole time.

Each hit of his hips is aimed perfectly, giving you no room to breathe until you’re a gasping mess.

James’ mouth certainly doesn’t help. His warm tongue suckles at your clit, unrelenting as he brings you to that exhilarating peak over and over again.

Eventually he breaks away, wiping the wetness around his mouth with the back of his hand. A feral grin forms as he pushes the hair away from your face, cupping your teary cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad now was it? You can take a little more, right?”

Sirius answers before you can even think to open your mouth, a mocking frown on his face. “I don’t know about that Prongs- she seems a right mess already, huh? Don’t think she can go on.” He slaps between your legs, and a panicked moan startles its way out of you. 

You quickly come undone, so worked up from before, but the torment doesn’t end there.

“I think you're right, Pads.” James murmurs, as he slips his fingers through the mess of your cunt, the tips of his fingers grazing the base of Remus’ cock.

It’s enough to startle a groan out of him.

Sirius grabs onto your hips, reaching around James to take control of the even pace Remus set. “C’mon pup, make a mess on Moony’s cock- be a good little cockslut for us.”

He bounces you viscously atop Remus, everyone watching intently as you become a drooling mess.

Your set your lidded gaze on Regulus, whose self-control looks like it’s seconds away from snapping. 

Yet he makes no move to stop the situation.

“Come on princess- fuckin’ come for us. Make a fucking mess.” James growls into your ear, pinching your clit roughly. Tears well in your eyes, body tensing as you are, yet again, pushed off the edge.

“Fuck- such a good bunny.” Remus curses. 

Sirius and James mock your high pitched cries, taking a sadistic pleasure in watching you sob at the overstimulation.

Your limbs go slack, Remus panting heavily as he fucks you through it all, his breath fanning against your neck. He kisses your temple softly and you whine, barely able to move, even as the aftershocks flow through you. 

The three continue to overstimulate you, and Remus lets out a breathy chuckle when Sirius lets go of your hips, letting you fall face first into James’ chest.

“S’your turn princess. We’re not doing all the work for you- besides you still have three more cocks to go.”

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

UNEDITED VERSION

[txttletale]

[pouring myself a drink from a fancy pitcher] so like it’s simplifying to the point of uselessness to say ‘reading comprehension’ is why people say shit like ‘lolita is problematic!’ because clearly the salient points to consider what aren’t they comprehending and why? and i think it probably lies in an unwillingness to approach critically the cultural understanding of ‘the child predator’ as someone that exists wholly outside society, someone who is an obviously deviant Other that enters from the fringes in order to commit terrible crimes--and so when nabokov puts those crimes into the person of a well-spoken, well-read, ‘respectable’ family man, they respond by saying ’well, this must be a favorable portrayal of child abuse, putting its justifications in the mouth of someone so authoritative and respectable is obviously apologetics’--because they’re unable or unwilling to critically confront the actual idea presented here, that ‘the child predator’ exists within society and is in fact often enabled and abetted by society.

humbert anchoring his attraction to children in the mythology and literature of the Western Canon says, ‘this is embedded in our culture, these are not the acts of an Otherized interloper’--but if you cannot put yourself at a critical distance and dispel the myth of that interloper of course you will read that and say ‘well since all these things are self-evidently good and cannot be the sites of violence, tying humbert to them is nabokov inviting this deviant external evil into the fold of what’s good and accepted’. when of course the call has been coming from inside the house! the entire time!

[i take a sip of my drink--fruity, airy, with hints of earth] so yeah ig to talk seriously about the dynamics of abuse we need to divorce ourselves entirely from the discursive fiction of the ‘child abuser’ as a marginal figure so that we can honestly assess how abuse can be reproduced in the key pillars of our culture and society. but that’s hard so let’s all keep arguing about a vague notion of ‘reading comprehension’ until the earth explodes amen brother [i pour you a drikn from my pitcher and it’s just room temperature coca cola]

[froggyfics]

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 6

Conflict arises within the Al Ghul household.

18+ only! I do not consent for this content to be viewed by minors. Please take heed of the warnings listed, though they are not entirely comprehensive. Do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with the content. This story and its contents are 100% fictional, and are not affiliated with DC Comics.

Sincerely appreciate you guys for leaving comments and messages about my writing! Your interactions definitely push me to complete my work. Thank you for your patience.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: LOA!medieval!Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,780

Warnings: misogyny?, smut, p in v penetration, oral sex

The Wayne Manor, in all its glory, is quite ordinary. 

Yes, it is perhaps the most magnificent building in all of Gotham – but if you look closely enough, there are little quirks that can only be seen in homes that have been lived in. 

Little chips on the doorframe showed its perpetual use. The floorboards creaked due to constant footsteps. The stained windows were discolored to divulge their age.

The manor gave off a completely different aura when compared to the Al Ghul Castle. The castle was built primarily for defense purposes and was not meant to be lived in. Its bloody history was obvious with its moat, drawbridges, and arrow slits.

Maybe that’s why you instantly felt more at ease at the manor. This was a home. It had no nefarious purpose. Even if the castle was purged of its malignant occupants (namely Talia), it could not erase its bloody history. 

With that being said, you could not say that you were completely comfortable at the manor. 

“How can I make you feel more at home?” Alfred inquires.

You’re not entirely sure how to answer his question. Maybe he could send word for your family to come to the manor instead of staying at the castle. 

You push the idea to the back of your mind almost immediately after thinking it. Your family hasn’t really been acting like your kin since you’ve arrived in the capital. They’re simply too busy schmoozing to notice your plight. After all, you are their ticket to the upper echelon. Damian had you leave the castle so hurriedly that you did not even have the chance to seek them out to say farewell. You doubt they’d care about your absence anyways.

“Where’s Damian?” 

“He’s still speaking with his father. I can have him come to your room as soon as he finishes his discussion.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful.”

Alfred bows before exiting the room. “Your highness.”

You let out a melancholic sigh while plopping on your bed. The absolute silence that surrounds you deafens your ears. The peacefulness reminds you that this is the first time in a long time that you had to yourself. 

Your ladies-in-waiting are out familiarizing themselves with the manor. Rachel returned to her own home, promising to follow you to manor after she packed her own belongings. Alice, your personal servant, is acquainting herself with the servants’ quarters. 

Talia is not breathing down your neck. Your mother is no longer nit-picking at your appearance. Your father is not here to remind you of your dimwittedness. Your older brother is not hounding you to convince your in-laws to give him a council seat. 

It's just you. After so much time surrounded by others, wishing for some alone time, you’re suddenly dumbfounded. How were you able to entertain yourself before him – before Damian?

The embroidery hoop sits longingly in your open chest. Your needlework was in sore need of improvement you realized after moving to Gotham. After all, the noblewoman here had no household chores to take up their time, thereby leaving them experts at embroidery. 

You sit down on a sturdy wooden chair. It’s easy for you to distract yourself in the work that you’re doing. All that there is to distract you are the crackling of the candles and the occasional prick of the needle. 

You nearly fall out of the chair in terror when the door opens suddenly. Your ladies-in-waiting come barging in, talking amongst themselves merrily until they notice you. Their faces sour. 

“C’mere, your highness,” Matilda sneers. “Time for bed.”

A sigh escapes your lips before you can control it. Surely, you cannot be treated this way! After all, you’re a princess now!

Alas, you scurry to Matilda and turn your back towards her. Of course, you can wish for a spine all you’d like, but you’d never stand up to her. Or to Honora. Or Joan. Or Talia. You’re…you. A princess, but you were born among the lowest of aristocrats. Just a generation prior, your family were peasants! Matilda, Joan, and Honora all came from distinguished dynasties that far surpassed your own. 

“Ouch!” You tried with all your might to keep quiet while Matilda yanks you about, but when her nails scratch against your back, you can’t help but let out a screech.

“Oh, hush now!”

“You’re – hurting me.”

Matilda remains quiet and you step out of your dress after it pools at your feet. The fireplace keeps the room warm, but the hostility in the air increases the temperature. She tugs the nightgown over your head rudely. 

“I suppose I’ll stay the night with the princess.” Honora points to the feather mattress near the bed. 

Matilda and Joan nod their heads and curtsy towards you.

“Now, is there anything else you’d like for us to do before we retire for the night, your highness?” Joan’s voice is sickly sweet, but at this point, you know her words are laced with venom.

“No, thank you. You are dismissed. Have a nice night.”

They snicker in each other’s ears and walk towards the door, while Honora looks longingly at them. Joan opens the bedroom door and gasps at the sight. 

“Your highness!”

Damian leisurely strides into the room with his hands behind his back like a soldier. The occupants of the room immediately bow in respect, including you. 

So much time had passed from when you told Alfred to call for Damian, that you didn’t think he’d actually come to see you. But here he was! In your room. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him. You didn’t remember why you asked Alfred to send Damian to you in the first place.

He clears his throat and looks around the room. His gaze lands on your discarded embroidery hoop atop your dresser. He picks it up to examine the half-finished red carnation on the fabric. Your entire body heats up in embarrassment. In your lonely haze, you barely recalled poking the red and green thread through the linen fabric. It meant nothing. Damian catches your gaze, and you hope to communicate silently that it meant nothing to you. Boredom took over and flowers were a common item to embroider. It meant nothing. You weren’t thinking about him then, and you certainly didn’t care that he was standing in front of you now. 

“You lot are dismissed for now.”

The ladies scamper out of the room immediately as Damian’s command leaves his lips. No back talk. No snide comment. If only they respected you half as much as they respected him, your day-to-day life would become so much smoother.

“Alfred mentioned that you called upon me.”

Your eye twitches. “Only to say goodnight.” You stare at him until it becomes uncomfortable. “So, goodnight.”

You turn around to get under the warmth of your covers. You pull the coverlet and bedsheet out as calmly as you can, even though a combination of anger and embarrassment courses through you. 

You want to lie back down fully, but Damian remains standing in place. 

“Can you please call my lady-in-waiting in here?”

“No.”

“No?” you scoff. “Why not?”

“We’re having a conversation, that’s why.”

“No, we’re not,” you huff. “I have had quite a tumultuous day. If you’ll excuse me, I will retire for the night.”

“You are angry with me.”

You scowl, but say nothing in return. You are angry. In fact, you are irate. Your marriage has just begun, and you already want to escape. 

“I’ve spoken with my father,” Damian interrupts the silence. “We will be staying here, at Wayne Manor. The castle is not the place for us.”

He exhales loudly when you do not respond. You are looking down at your coverlet, but can sense his movements closing in on you. He tediously sits on the farthest possible corner of the bed.

You shake your head in disbelief and face him with a glare on your face. “I do not bite, your highness, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

His smile momentarily catches you off-guard, but his chuckles reignite your anger. “You look like you will,” he responds once he notices your fury. His attempt at easing the tension does not work.

“I truly apologize for what my mother said to you. It was not…appropriate to say the least. Here at the manor, I can assure you that no one will question our marital bed like she did.”

“Tell that to my ladies-in-waiting. You do know that they are your mother’s spies, right? They’ll report everything to her.”

He shrugs. “I have been known to keep a loyal household.” He winks at you. “I have my ways.”

You simply can’t stand it. He’s being so…friendly. It irks you.

“Thank you, your highness. T’is late. I will not keep you up.” 

Your attempt to dismiss Damian is ignored. He tuts and closes the distance between you two. His new position is right at your side. His thigh touches your own, with just sheets of fabric separating the two of you.

“You’re angry with me,” he repeats.

“What’s it to you?” You do your best to keep your voice steady. “It’s not like you care.”

“Of course, I do. Of course, I care.”

A humorless laugh escapes your throat. “I’m not stupid. I have not grown up with your fancy tutors or privileged background, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were stu –”

“You don’t have to say it for me to know that you and everyone else think it!” you nearly shout. “Your highness –”

“We’ve been over this.” He rubs his forehead. “You are my wife. Refer to me as husband or Damian –”

“I am not your wife!” It’s unintentional, but some of your spit lands on his face. You fight to get the covers off of you, jumping out of bed. You can only stomp a few steps away from Damian before his arm grabs your bicep.

You’re pulled back towards him and he swivels you around to face him once again.

“I am not your wife!” you repeat.

“What are you going on about, woman?” His own anger is evident due to the bulging vein on his neck. “Have you hit your head and lost your memory already?”

You speak through gritted teeth. “Your highness, I am not sure why you have roped me into your lies, but clearly there is another motive behind our so-called marriage.” You rip yourself from his hands, and point at him menacingly. “I don’t think I care to know why you have lied to me, but just know I’m onto you. You cannot deceive me. I know that we are in a sham marriage.”

Damian’s eyes nearly transform to coal black, the green is no longer visible. You slowly drop your accusatory finger, mentally kicking yourself for your tantrum. His disposition is quite fearsome, you realize. You were admittedly terrified of Prince Damian, who comes from a long line of terrifying and tyrannical ancestors. 

“Careful there, woman,” he taunts. “You are speaking to your prince.”

“I thought you were just my husband,” you sneer before you realize what you said. You clamp your mouth shut.

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Same difference. Do you need reminding?”

Well, now you’ve done it. You were going to be beheaded come sunrise, weren’t you? Why couldn’t you have just shut up? Why did you have to believe the lies he said in the garden? Who cares, he’s a man – they all lie. What difference does it make that your man joins in the age-old tradition of lying?

Damian waits expectantly for some sort of response from you, while your mind races. 

“No…husband.”

Damian smiles, but you can tell it’s the coldblooded kind. He takes one step, then another, and then one more until he’s toe-to-toe with you. 

You look up meekly at your prince. He towers over you and it dawns on you just how precarious your situation is. It has been just a day since you’ve married. The marriage could easily be annulled, especially at Damian’s behest. You are replaceable. There are countless others you would kill to be the heir’s wife.

And who could replace Damian? Quite literally, no one. Your family would forever be disgraced. No one would want to interact with the family of the heir’s former wife. It would be an embarrassment. Not to mention, you would forever be the laughingstock of the kingdom. The day-old princess. 

He cups your face, and his thumbs brush your hot cheeks. His other fingers grip the back of your neck, nearly painfully so. “Well, I think you do.”

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when he plants his lips on your forehead. They travel to your nose before one hand shifts the collar of your nightgown.

“Admittedly, t’is my fault.” He suckles the tender skin at the base of your neck. “I have not truly turned you into a wife yet.” The implications of his words make you shiver, along with the wet kisses he leaves up and down your neck. His actions leave you in shock. This was not the way you expected to be…punished? Reprimanded? You’re not sure what exactly Damian is planning.

He kisses the pulsing point in your neck and the sensitivity nearly makes your moan. You bite your lip in retaliation, but of course, he notices it. 

You want to retort, but his thumb rubs against your nipple. You breathe out heavily as he continues his ministrations, your fiery attitude withers away as your nipple hardens under his touch. 

His hands slowly make their way to your hips and he grabs them firmly to guide you in the direction of the bed. 

You yelp when he pushes you onto the bed roughly, nearly landing completely on your back, but you catch yourself by your arms. You watch in utter curiosity as Damian rolls your nightgown over your knees, exposing you the warm chill of the room. He bites his lip lewdly and sinks to his knees.

You yelp again when he pulls you closer to the edge by the ankles. 

“You can watch if you want.” He gives you wet kisses from your ankle till your inner thigh. When he reaches your thigh, you attempt to close your legs around his head. It’s simply too sensitive. 

He pushes your knees apart and begins the cycle again on the other leg. This time, when he reaches your inner thigh, he takes hold of your legs and spreads them as far apart as he can. 

You squirm and squirm as he continues kissing your inner thighs.

“Damian,” you whimper.

“The lioness suddenly cannot seem to roar, only mewl,” he teases.

You can feel his hot breath on your innermost parts. The intimacy of the situation makes you grip the bed, but once he latches onto you, your hands cramp in the air.

“Oh! Ooh! Oh.” You moan loudly while he deliciously eats you out. His tongue sloppily latches onto your sensitive nub, but he occasionally leaves you long, languid licks on the entire region.

His hand snakes up your body, shirking your nightgown up until it’s over your shirt. He tweaks your nipples, and you can feel your abdomen tightening in response. 

You can feel the cooling wetness when Damian finally releases his hold on your clitoris. You want to mourn the absence of his tongue, but the mourning period ends as quickly as it began when he starts to rub his thumb in firm, circular motions.

There are so many sensations happening simultaneously. His thumb on your clit. His rough shirt agitating your nipples. Wet kisses on your neck. His fingers occasionally swiping the wetness leaking from your hole and spreading it around. You couldn’t stop the tide even if you wanted to.

The only thing to hold onto is his biceps. It starts in small waves. A strange feeling arises in you, but you don’t want it to stop. It roils in faster and faster peaks. You bite your lip in anticipation. When it finally arrives, a sound escapes your throat that has never come out before. Your muscles contract as you reach your peak. 

Damian’s lips leave your neck to latch onto your mouth. You moan into his mouth as the feeling rides itself out. It’s so overwhelming that all modesty flies out the window. You don’t care how loud you are. You don’t care how you must look. All that surrounds you is the pleasure that Damian extracted from you. 

The kiss you share is unlike the one from the day before at your wedding. Your wedding kiss was short and sour. This one is long and sensual. 

You don’t want the kiss to end, but Damian takes the initiative to pull back. He maintains eye contact with you while he removes his tunic and pants. You obscenely take in the sight of his defined abs and strong muscles, but you stop once your eyes meet his hardened member.

You jump slightly when he suddenly spits on it. His hand moves up and down to spread his saliva around. The sight is so lewd that you turn your head to avoid it.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, beloved.”

His words force you to look once more at him. His pushes your shoulders down to where you lay flat on the bed. You crane your neck to at least look at what he’s doing. He holds your neck up with his hand to give you a better view once he realizes what you’re trying to do. 

He pokes at your entrance. “Beloved, breathe for me.”

You have no choice but to follow the instructions of the man that just had his face in between your thighs moments ago. You inhale, then exhale, and repeat the process.

The pain halts your breath. You hiss as the head of his penis is thrust into you. He shallowly inserts the tip in and out, and leans down to pepper your face with light kisses. Slowly but surely, your hiss turns into a whimper. In response, he thrusts deeper and deeper. He whispers tenderly into your ear.

“You feel amazing, my love.”

“This is what I should have done last night.”

“I am all yours.”

You don’t even realize you’ve shed a tear until he swipes it away. The gentleness of the moment wipes away the last month from your memory. All that exists is here and now.

It hurts, but there’s an equal amount of pleasure licking behind the pain. Damian’s ever-increasing groans only add to your own desire. He impales you with every thrust, but he does so as slowly as possible. You can tell he could be rougher if he wanted, as evident by his muscular figure. 

He leans his forehead onto your own, and closes his eyes. You keep yours open to watch him pant. There’s a glow on his skin that highlights every handsome feature about him. 

His breathing becomes erratic and so do his thrusts. His grunts are nearly animalistic until finally he groans loudly in delight. You can feel a gush of wetness around your entrance as he lazily thrusts himself in and out of you. He stills himself inside of you at last before practically crushing you under his weight.

You can hardly breathe under the pressure and feebly push upwards against his chest with your hands that are trapped under him. He pulls out of you completely and rolls over to your side, still panting heavily. 

He shifts you onto your side to face him and pecks your entire face with light kisses. You giggle at his show of affection, wishing that he would never stop. 

But he does. Everything good must come to an end. With one final peck on your lips, he rubs his hands up and down your back before getting up from the bed. The warmth of his body escapes you and you find yourself quite cold suddenly. The fireplace still burns brightly, but Damian’s touch provided a fiery heat that could not be replicated through any other means. 

Once he’s finally dressed, he leans down to give you a passionate kiss. You return the affection to the best of your naïve ability. 

“Our marriage is now officially sealed. Do you feel like our union is a sham still?”

You squirm in embarrassment. You recall the argument that preceded your intimate counter, but shame overcomes you at the way you behaved. 

You nod your head in response. “I apologize, Damian. This past month has just been a whirlwind for me.”

He gazes at you while tying his pants tight. “I understand.” He reaches down and kisses your knuckles, like he did when you first arrived in Gotham. “Goodnight, beloved.”

He strides towards the exit. “Damian, will we spend any time together tomorrow? I’d love a tour of the manor with you as my guide.”

“I don’t think that is possible. I’ll be very busy.” He attempts to walk away, but is stopped by your questioning again.  

“Can we at least have dinner together?” He doesn’t turn to face you entirely, but he does tilt his head in your direction. 

“Would that make you happy?” he finally says.

“Yes,” you immediately answer. You wanted what just happened to continue to happen. Not necessarily the sex, although that was a definitive plus, but the closeness. 

You felt so much closer to Damian within just a night of emotional intimacy that your negative memories of him from the past month shift towards the back of your head. Every kiss he gave you tonight replaced every snide comment made in your direction, the loneliness you felt, and the confusion regarding your relationship status.

“Then, we shall have dinner.” With that, he leaves the room, leaving you bare on the bed. 

His absence makes the pain and soreness in your abdomen and genitals evident. You clutch your belly in an attempt to soothe the cramps away.

Your door bursts open. You scramble to cover yourself with something, with anything, but it’s too late.

Honora glares at you as she makes her way towards the bed. The best you can do in your fumbled state is cover yourself with your arms and make yourself as small as possible. 

She looks you over, and then at the red and transparent stains on the coverlet. 

“Get off the bed,” she snaps. She exits the room and returns a few moments later with two servant girls.

“Hurry up,” she barks at the servants as they scurry to change to the sheets. “I’d like to get some sleep before the sun rises.”

[blindbeta]

Why Writers Should Consider Giving Blind Characters Canes, Guide Animals, or Other Mobility Aids + How To Choose One

(Note: This post is admittedly long and full of information. Make use of the headings to read the parts you are interested in. I have provided many links, which you can read as you go or save for later. I suggest saving this post and taking your time with it. I am also willing to answer any questions for people who have difficulty reading long posts. While I considered breaking this post into parts, I decided to keep all the information in one place for ease of sharing and reference, especially because multiple sections of the post refer to other sections contained within it.)

When I read for blind characters, my most common suggestion for writers is to give their character a cane, guide animal, or utilize another mobility aid. Most stories I beta read feature totally blind characters or people with very little vision, such as only seeing colors. Despite this, it is extremely common for me to suggest giving them a cane or guide animal because they are rarely portrayed using mobility devices. Because this is such a common suggestion, I wanted to create a post about it.

Most of this will be about mobility aids for people who aren’t familiar with them or are still deciding what tools are best for their character. It will also be mostly for modern, realistic, or semi-realistic stories. I will create a separate post for fantasy and science fiction mobility aids, use of magic or magical items, and writing stories set in or inspired by times before formal mobility tools existed. However, I believe this post can benefit anyone who is writing a blind character or anyone who wants to learn more about blindness. Mobility tools are a big part of blind culture, blind communities, diversity of blind experiences, and accessibility.

Learn About Mobility Aids

Here is a comprehensive post by visually impaired fiction writer and blogger @mimzy-writing-online which contains information about canes, O&M, guide animals, etc. If you are not familiar with canes, start there. It contains helpful information for body language, use of canes, and resources for descriptions that any writer will find valuable. The post also has a section on guide animals and sighted guide.

Here is a post I made about crafting fictional guide animals, although I have no experience as a guide animal handler myself. I made sure to research and include links, so it should still be a good starting point. It also has information about differences between service animals and emotional support animals.

Sighted Guide / Human Guide

First, terminology discussion. Sighted guide is a more common term and more examples come up when I search this term. Sighted guide refers to when a person with vision helps guide a blind person. The guide can be abled or also blind themselves. I have guided my friends before and they have guided me. I have often said that, in a way, sighted guide is a misnomer because someone who has less vision or no vision can also guide someone with more vision just as well.

The term human guide makes up for this misnomer by being more accurate. A TikTok by AskABlindPerson or @askablindperson on tumblr, explains this well. Here is a link to the video. The video states the following:

“I’m blind and I definitely prefer to say human guide rather than sighted guide because you don’t inherently need vision to guide and a blind person can do it too. And it doesn’t have to be that the blind person who’s guiding has more vision than the other person either. It can just be that they know the area better than the person they’re guiding, or it could be that they just have better cane skills or independent travel skills than the other person. Because not everybody has equal access to the same exact opportunities for training. So a blind person can also guide, which is why I like to say human guide because it’s more inclusive.”

Not everyone minds which term is used, however. Some people also only use one term because it was taught to them first, rather than because of any particular meaning.

Below are some examples of sighted / human guide and when it is often used.

Here is an article titled How to be a Sighted Guide

Here is another helpful page with information on certain situations such as narrow spaces.

Here is a video by London Vision.

While human guide can be someone’s main mobility aid, it is often used according to the situation.

Situations in which your character might want to use sighted guide include:

-crowds, where a cane might be difficult to use or someone has a companion they would like to avoid being separated from

-while in lines, mostly to provide descriptions of what happens around them or to let them know when to move forward in the line

-ground that is uneven or steep may cause someone to want to use sighted guide rather than a cane, although this will depend on the person. Using a guide and a cane is also possible. A guide animal may go around the obstacle

-when going inside an unfamiliar house or indoor location, usually for locating a specific room

-navigating unfamiliar areas

-public transport

-guide animal handlers may choose to either do traditional sighted / human guide while using the guide animal or give the command for their animal to follow the person without holding onto them

Guides allow the blind person to gain additional information about their surroundings through conversation with the guide. Human guides can also aid in navigation by providing helpful directions or landmarks. Human guides can be used with a white cane or guide animal. They can also be used without any other mobility aid.

People from cultures who place high value on interdependence, especially on family, may wish to use more human guides. People who have anxiety or disorientation may prefer to use human guides or simply travel with someone else for security. Other people who might tend to use more human guides include: people who have moved to an unfamiliar area, people who are losing vision, people who have recently become blind, people with other disabilities or health concerns, or people who prefer the company of others.

In stories, human guides can portray character relationships, establishing trust and respect. Perhaps a character already knows how to guide, showing familiarity with blindness. This mobility tool can display the helpfulness of a stranger or be the start of a meet-cute. Additionally, showing how good or bad a character is at guiding can show compatibility between characters. I also believe that writing guides into a story can allow for detailed visual descriptions or conversation between your characters.

Imagine character A slowly learning to trust character B, culminating in letting that character be a human guide.

Sonar Devices

I wanted to include a section for these because they aren’t often discussed.

Sonar devices are intended as a supplement for use of a cane or guide animal. Unless the sonar and cane are paired together, such as with the WeWalk cane. While they could be used by themselves, this should probably only be with the addition of a guide and in non-crowded, familiar area.

Here is a video review of the Sunu Band by TheBlindLife.

Here is another review comparing two devices: the Sunu Band and the Buzz Clip.

Note how the devices are used, especially with a cane. The cane is used to detect objects from the waist below, whereas the sonar device is used to detect objects above the waist. This includes objects like tree branches.

Sonar devices work by detecting objects in front of the user and giving a tactile alert, such as a vibration. Vibrations increase the closer one gets to the object, giving a continuous vibration when right in front of it. Moving away from the object, such as stepping to the side, will stop the vibration.

This device could allow blind characters to be more active an create interesting opportunities for descriptions.

Why Does My Character Need a Cane, Guide Animal, or Human Guide?

A few reasons include:

1. It will be more relatable for blind audiences if characters move through the world like they do

2. It is more realistic for stories set in our world or worlds meant to be realistic save for a few elements

3. It allows audiences who aren’t blind to understand how blind people move through the world. In the case of sighted guide, it also offers depictions of politely and efficiently offering help to a blind person, which may include not offering help at all.

4. Canes and guide animals give your blind character some visibility, as the cane, and to some extent the guide animal and harness, signify to others that a character is blind or otherwise disabled in some way. As for sighted / human guide, it offers an extra voice for advocacy purposes or the added visibility that someone is being helped.

5. Mobility tools allow blind people to participate more in a world that is rarely accessible for them at a basic level. I almost always find this is true in books as well unless the writer makes a point to include universal design.

6. Mobility aids improve navigation, increase safety, and increase interaction with the world.

Why Would Anyone Need To Know My Character is Blind?

Safety is a big factor.

In this video titled Using A White Cane While Legally Blind by Cayla With a C, Cayla discusses some of the benefits of using a white cane. One of these is that the cane works as an identifier, letting people know the person using it can’t see so other people need to watch out for them. She mentions it is also important for cars and bikers to know cane users can’t see them well or at all, meaning they don’t expect a cane user to move out of the way.

Both Cayla and Molly Burke share in their videos that people are more likely to offer help when they use a cane.

How Do Mobility Aids Help Blind People Navigate?

It depends on what mobility aid is used.

Canes offer more tactile information and direct contact with the environment. Canes allow someone to feel changes in the ground, such as going from carpet to tile. They make it easier to feel steps or broken sidewalk. They allow blind people to be aware of obstacles, such as a chair, rather than simply going around them they way they might with a guide dog. They help blind people locate landmarks they need in order to be oriented in their environment and navigate their way to different places. For example, they may search for a bench, knowing a drinking fountain is across from it.

As for guide animals, because I am not a guide animal handler myself, I wanted to include quotes from a few sources.

The Guide Dog Foundation says the following in a very useful Q&A:

“In short, guide dogs are taught how to find and follow a clear path, maneuver around obstacles, and stop at curbs. They follow their teammate's directions, and they know that they can disobey only in the face of danger.”

And according to International Guide Dog Federation:

“A guide dog is trained to guide its owner in a straight line unless ordered otherwise. The dog will avoid any obstacles en route, above or around you. It will stop at stairs, doors and kerbs. The dog will not decide where to go; it is up to the vision impaired person to instruct the dog on the direction for the dog to go and the dog will safely guide the person as instructed. The vision impaired person will already be familiar with regularly travelled routes and the dog will quickly become familiar with these too.”

And International Association of Assistance Dog Partnership has a page that explains the categories of tasks performed by guide dogs, as well as other types of assistance dogs.

Sighted / human guide can be used with a family member, friend, or helpful stranger. It can be a primary mode of O&M or used when needed, meaning it be used even if someone already has a cane or a guide animal.

Usually, human guide involves contact with the guide. It can also include the guide orienting the person they are leading by describing surroundings such as “there is a bench to the right” or “we’re near the door” or it can involve telling someone where steps are.

How Do I Know What My Character Should Use?

What your character chooses will depend on their lifestyle, level of vision, age, where they live, culture, religion, and their needs as a blind person.

In the post on guide animals, I went over a few reasons someone might choose a guide dog or a guide horse.

Here are some articles about canes vs guide animals. Although the ones I found focus on dogs, I believe many points made about guide animals can be applied to miniature horses as well.

Guide Dogs vs White Canes: The Comprehensive Comparison

The link above includes the following:

“One of the biggest and most obvious differences between a guide dog and white cane is that a guide dog is trained to avoid obstacles along their pathway. A white cane helps locate impediments so that the blind person can decide how best to maneuver around them.”

Another article that may help:

White Cane vs Guide Dog: Why or Why Not?

White Canes and Guide Dogs - What’s Actually the Difference?

Here are some videos:

Guide Dog vs Canes - Pros and Cons by Molly Burke

White Canes vs Guide Dogs by Challenge Solutions

White Canes vs Guide Dogs - Which is Better? 21 Pros and Cons by Unsightly Opinions

Guide Dog vs Cane, Which is better? by Ashley’s Advice

I also wanted to discuss a few more points.

1. Multiple disabilities

People with multiple disabilities may prefer different methods. For example, those who use a stabilizing cane may have different reasons for choosing their mobility aid. I went into that more in this post here.

It would be difficult to cover all other disabilities here, but I will attempt to include some things to consider.

Consider any pain, weakness, or other difficulties your character may have around their hands, wrists, arms. Canes require repetitive use of these areas.

Consider any sensory issues your character has. Sensory issues may come into play with cane vibration and the tactile information given by canes, especially as it differs between surfaces. The video by Challenge Solutions listed above discusses pain caused by vibration and repetitive movement, for someone who already deals with this. It goes into more detail, mentioning that a dog may lessen this difficulty compared to cane use.

Consider phobias or traumas that may make service animals, especially dogs, a bad choice for the character, their loved ones, or community. In contrast, consider how a service animal may help provide comfort to characters with traumas unrelated to animals

I hope that provides a starting point for thinking about how other disabilities may impact someone’s choice when deciding what mobility aid is right for them. I hope this is helpful is choosing a mobility aid for your character.

2. Financial Considerations

Consider financial difficulties. While guide dog schools often provide highly trained dogs, weeks of training, a harness, and some essentials for free, it depends on the school. Some schools may cover the dog’s veterinary care, while others may not. Some may provide one bag of food. Some may cover costs of transportation to the training school, but may not cover the cost of missed work. Challenge Solutions lists several costly areas that go with having a dog, such as grooming or toys.

The amount the training schools cover is so varied that one cannot assume anything about how the blind person keeps up with care of their dog. They may have trained with a school that covers the most costly things, leaving them to buy the occasional treats and toys, while other schools may not cover much after the dogs and handler leave the school, causing financial difficulties that may or may not have been fully anticipated. Financial situations of blind people with guide animals cannot be reliably assumed.

Canes, on the other hand, are a one-time payment per cane, if they aren’t already free. While canes do require replacement tips and while people do go through canes quickly, the cost is not comparable to that of caring for a guide animal.

For writers, it may make sense to have your fictional world contain schools that continue to cover costs over the guide animal’s life. Or perhaps veterinary care is free in that world. Either way, this may be something to consider. The character’s financial situation can show a lot about them and the world in which they live.

3. Additional thoughts about safety and discrimination

Safety has many different connotations in blind communities. Some people consider safety to mean social safety, as alerting others to blindness may explain any behavior that would be considered strange or rude.

Some consider safety to mean physical safety from tripping, falling, running into objects or people, or having them run into you. This is especially important with vehicles.

Still others consider safety to mean being able to navigate and orient oneself, such as when traveling alone.

Some people consider safety to mean interpersonal safety and the fear of being harmed due to being perceived as vulnerable.

Molly Burke mentions this particular subject at around 19:22 to 20:47 in her video here. To paraphrase, she says that having a big dog with her makes her feel safer as a blind person. Molly states that the white cane may increase her vulnerability as it identifies her as a potential target due to her blindness.

I mentioned that it is helpful for people to be identified as blind, such as with a cane and, to a lesser extent, a guide dog. That is still true. This may provide protection by alerting others that they may need to look out for a blind person instead of expecting that person to avoid them or their vehicle.

On the other side, a cane may alert others to vulnerability in a way that is harmful to the blind person. Due to this factor, blind people may feel safer with a guide dog because the presence of a dog may make others hesitate before doing them harm. I am not sure if the same can be said for those with horses, but it is possible horses may still act as a deterrent. In the video by Challenge Solutions, Caitlyn says that while guide dogs are not trained to be guard dogs and should not be aggressive by nature, it can feel safer to travel with a guide dog. Caitlyn says the following: “They are dogs and I would like to think that they would have a protective instinct if a situation arose where that was needed.” She adds, “I think there is more of a protective aspect to guide dog usage than white cane usage. At least I always felt a lot safer with my dog than I do with my cane.”

I also wanted to include thoughts about discrimination.

Some blind people may worry they will experience more discrimination using one mobility aid over another. This may influence their decision. To give brief examples, people with service animals may be turned away from places they are allowed to go. They may need to advocate for themselves more because of this. Another example might be feeling like people judge them or stare at them more when they use a white cane. They may be grabbed or shouted at more often when using a white cane, as described by Challenge Solutions, or they may be ignored or go unnoticed in other cases. In fact, some blind people are only spoken to in public because of guide dogs acting as a conversation starter.

However, feeling invisible in society seems to be a common issue for many disabled people. Some people also talk about being invisible in some areas and uncomfortably visible in other areas. While a blind person’s choice of mobility aid may influence this, the common disabled experience of both invisibility and hyper-visibility might still follow them.

Additionally, myths about blindness, which I wrote about in this post here, may also cause people to accuse cane users of faking if they have residual vision, which can lead to them feeling unsafe or like they cannot use their residual vision without receiving negative attention. This may cause some people to want a service animal, as in the case of a guide dog, some people may assume they are simply walking their dog or training a guide dog. This may be a way some blind people try to avoid being accused of faking blindness. However, blind people with guide animals may also be accused of having a fake service animal or be accused of not really needing their service animal. Additional barriers may include general public ignorance about laws around service animals or differing laws around access per country.

All of the above can put a lot of strain on people who are just trying to get from point A to point B.

Sighted guide may come with some issues as well. Finding someone who is willing to guide and a helpful guide may be challenging unless a blind person is already using a trusted friend or family member. In social situations, other people may misunderstand use of human guide, believing that they should address the guide rather than the blind person. Use of this mobility aid may also come with judgment from others about the blind person being incapable, lazy, or a burden on others. None of these are true, but they can be judgments people make.

Sighted / human guide may be a preferred form of O&M for people who have recently gone blind or are in unfamiliar areas. Additionally, blind people who come from cultures where interdependence is valued may prefer to use a human guide with or without another mobility aid. It is also important to note that the nature of the blind community also celebrates both interdependence and dependence, and these may not always mean the same thing as they do to people who aren’t blind. This is also true when it comes to using mobility tools and techniques.

What Should My Low Vision Character Use?

The majority of blind people have some residual vision, including low vision. Which is part of why most of the blind community doesn’t use canes, along with lack of training. Unfortunately, many people with residual vision are, however subtly, turned away from using canes or other mobility aids. Based on stories from friends, suggestions in this post by @mimzy-writing-online, my own experience, and information online, I will suggest a few reasons this might be the case.

A big reason has to do with believing they have too much vision to require a mobility aid. The idea of not being disabled enough is both an internal an external issue for people with residual vision. This is because people often claim that if a person can see some, they must not require mobility aid. Mobility aids are seen as a last resort, rather than a way to make life easier. This can lead to self-doubt, confusion, or guilt for a blind person. They might feel as if they are ungrateful because they believe other people have it worse. Conversely, some people may have been taught that relying on a mobility tool is shameful, giving up, or reveals a lack of independence. And sadly, some blind people with residual vision may be afraid of rejection or standing out from others.

This leads me into another reason, which is: believing they will experience more discrimination or social exclusion when using a cane. Unfortunately, this can be true. However, it is also true to that not using a cane can cause others to judge someone for things they do or don’t do as a blind person.

Disclosure is an option that works for many. However, blind people cannot always disclose to everyone they interact with, such as to strangers spotting them outside. Disclosure of blindness can also be fraught with accusations of not really being blind, not looking blind, or not being blind enough to count as blind. These accusations sometimes happen when using canes as well. Denial of help, denial of accommodations, and accusations of faking are common.

In some circumstances, the opposite can happen. Instead of being accused of faking, the choice to use a mobility aid might bring about helpfulness from strangers or concern from loved ones. There may be concern that the vision loss has progressed or that something is wrong. After all, suddenly using a mobility tool can inspire alarm in people who aren’t used to them, because the prevailing thought is that mobility tools are only for totally blind people. And the incorrect message behind this is that being totally blind is negative.

Characters choosing to start using a mobility tool could ease themselves and loved ones into it by being open about their plans. They could experiment with cane use, marginally increasing use over time. Or they could simply use a cane as often as they need to, addressing concerns as they are brought up. Portrayal of communication about mobility aids between a blind character and their family could be a lovely addition to a story.

Lastly, blind people are expected to rely on residual vision for as long as possible, in as many situations as possible. Even if it causes pain, disorientation, or anxiety. Even if seeing is exhausting or frustrating. Even if it isn’t safe. However, the other side of this is that many blind people with residual vision enjoy seeing colors or shapes. They may enjoy being able to describe things to friends with less vision.

But their sight may not always be enough to forgo using a mobility tool safely.

It is my opinion that anyone on the blind spectrum or with declining vision can benefit from use of accessibility tools, whether it be learning Braille or training with a cane.

People with low vision can use canes when they feel it is necessary. Examples may include times where they may need extra visibility or extra contact with the ground as they walk. They may choose to use a cane when crossing the street for added safety. Same applies to using stairs. They may bring their cane only to unfamiliar environments or out with them at night. They might feel like using it one day or in one place and not the next. They may have a condition that is not stable from day to day. Overcast weather or dim lighting could make it necessary to pull out a cane. They could simply want to use their cane or decide to leave it at home because they felt like it.

A blind person does not need to a full-time cane-user to be allowed to use one. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. If they need it, they need it. It is that simple. It will be the same with your low vision character.

Characters may also switch up mobility tools depending on what is best for where they’re going and what is accessible to them. For example, someone may use a human guide for extra safety while in a new city.

Why I Want More Mobility Aids in Media

This is just my opinion, but I would like to see more characters using mobility aids blind people use in real life. This helps to normalize use of these tools for people who are not familiar with blindness. This allows blind people representation that is more true to life. It also adds more detail to stories that wouldn’t otherwise be there.

There is also something off about blind characters who don’t use anything, specifically because most portrayals of blindness involve characters who are totally blind. Why are these characters walking around absolutely everywhere with no familiar way to navigate? Why are tools used by the blind community rejected when it comes to stories about blind characters?

I suspect it is because of a few factors:

1. Not knowing how mobility aids work. Another deterrent could be the difficulties of research and, in live-action media, wanting to avoid training usually sighted actors in use of these mobility tools.

2. Not wanting the blind character to seem too hindered

3. Wanting the mobility aid to be cooler or more interesting if it does exist. This varies by genre and the period in which the piece of media is set.

I find it strange that most stories about blind people do not feature blind characters using tools or techniques blind people use in real life. It sometimes feels as if blindness is a decoration writers add to their story without thinking about how it would impact their character.

My suggestion is to consider the amount of vision your character has, along with their lifestyle, and choose a mobility tool that works for them. I know that some of you are writing characters who can technically move through life without using a mobility aid full time. In these cases, it would be fun to see characters who are transient mobility aid users.

Closing - Not Everything About Blindness is Difficult

I hope this post was informative. I know that some of it may feel contradictory in nature, but that seems to be part of diversity of experience people have with mobility aids. Not everything has to be true for your character or will be true to their experience. Additionally, don’t feel pressure to portray the difficult aspects of mobility aids or being blind in public spaces; it is good to have stories where blind characters are treated well by everyone. There are days when blind people have nothing but lovely interactions with others and when safety is not a concern.

While I mentioned some negative aspects of being blind in this post, there are many positives as well. This can include opportunities to meet new people and have conversations. This can mean getting the chance to use cool gadgets other people don’t get to use. It can also mean being able to experience the world in unique and fun ways, such as noticing little details about the world. It can mean appreciating colors, lights, smells, sounds, or sensations. It can also mean cool navigation tools and techniques.

I will post a part 2 soon. It will include information for writers of science fiction, fantasy, and stories set in historical times. As always, if anyone has anything feel free to share. I will add any responses here as edits to this post.

If you found this post helpful, my pinned post has many more links. I accept asks or messages with questions. I also offer beta reading for blind characters.

-BlindBeta

[flovvrish]

WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK

PAIRINGS: alhaitham x reader, scaramouche x reader, cyno x reader

WARNINGS: drinking, slightly suggestive (cyno)

A/N : This’ll be my first time writing Cyno at all, but I hope I do him justice! Please enjoy!

ALHAITHAM :

Oh he’s definitely laughing at your miserable state.

Face hidden behind his hand and muffled laughter.

He’s been trying to find ways to make you slip up that perfect image you’ve made for yourself, and there you were, out and about in your drunken stupor, swaying from side to side with every step you took.

Such a pitiful sight.

Who knew it would have taken something so simple to make you so air-headed and giddy.

It was all fun and games for the first thirty minutes, watching you from afar as you made a complete fool of yourself.

He’d almost say you were charming.

Almost.

Until some no-good miscreant decided to start hitting on you.

How shameless they were, approaching you in such a manner despite obviously being drunk, hence incapable of making any comprehensible statements, let alone any valid decisions for yourself.

You spoke to them for some time, entertaining their foolish thoughts.

During this time, Alhaitham made his way through the crowd before physically making his way between you two, his eyes giving off a dangerous warning.

“They’re with me.”

He took your hand into his before dragging you someplace safe, effectively separating you from any other dangers that may pose a threat.

He wouldn’t leave your side until he was sure you were either sound asleep, or fully sober.

He’d leave before you realized any of this was real however. He’ll just let you believe that his aid in all this was a figment of your drunken imagination.

SCARAMOUCHE :

Your drinking buddy for sure.

In fact, he’s probably the one who invited you out drinking in the first place.

Despite his youthful appearance, you knew of his past, along with the burdens he’s carried since the beginning of his existence.

He’d spill all of his troubles onto you, while you helped yourself to a generous amount of alcohol. Nodding and slipping in a couple of loose comments from time to time.

By the time he was done talking you’d be half way to the point of no return.

You’d be a giggling mess, pointing out the smallest things that got you laughing even more.

Such as that loose strand of hair.

That one that ruined his otherwise well-kept appearance.

You’d lean forward, tucking it behind his ear where it belonged, an unusually soft expression making way onto your otherwise flushed features.

He’d feel lost in your eyes, the mere action stopping the entire world in its tracks.

If only it could stay like this for eternity.

Just the two of you.

EXTRA

Oh you’d definitely end up passed out over him afterward.

He’ll awkwardly adjust you against his side, an arm wrapped around your shoulder as he planned your route home.

Of course, he would be the one taking you back.

“You’re always so much trouble … “

CYNO :

People often mistaken him for your nanny, with the way he’d silently eye you from a considerable distance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. Oh no, he trusted you with the world …

It was everyone else he was weary of.

Being the General Mahamatra, Cyno has seen his fair share of parties gone terribly wrong.

Whether it be of an accidental case of alcohol poisoning, friends who’d gotten a tad too comfortable with each other, or a deliberate attempt at murder, he wasn’t willing to take his chances.

Not with you.

You were one of the few within Sumeru that he felt he had to protect. Your genuine kindness and willingness to help others was hard to come by in this day and age.

You truly were a diamond in the rough.

Once he decided you were no longer conscious of your actions, the male slowly made his way towards you, slipping that extra cup safely out of your grasp.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

You’d pout, a childish whine escaping your lips as you’d attempt to fight your way out of the strong arms wrapping themselves around you.

Soon, you would be hoisted over his shoulder like a potato sack.

As you would shamefully be dragged away by your acquaintance, you’d overhear the suggestive comments made by your drinking buddies.

Some of them would woot, giving you words of encouragement.

Though at the moment you were too dazed to understand exactly what they were hinting at, Cyno would focus his gaze forward, forever denying of the red hue creeping over his face.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 27 Million years

Chapter 27 of Moonlight

A/N- Are they finally gonna get together?

Warning- Swearing, angst, talks of death, fluff!! and SPOILERS for future events of HOTD!!!!

Pairing- Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader, Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- After 1x09, events based off of Fire and Blood

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW WEEKS LATER*

“The scouts have not sent any new reports on Alys, but they’ve heard rumors spreading about a babe with scales and a tale being born to a witch.”

You hum in comprehension and look out the balcony to think about what was just said to you.

They probably won’t find her, she’s smart, and she’s lived for a long time for that reason. Is it worth it to keep looking for someone who can see visions? There’s so much on your plate already too; annoying Lords, being Queen, the wedding, the rest of the Martell family, and Dorne’s most respected lords coming for the wedding. And it’s not like you can undo what she did, you should have known better than to trust her. Plus you’re beginning to lack enough anger to try and chase after her around the Riverlands.

She may rot—

Suddenly you lose all train of thought as you catch Cregan down below walking, talking, and smiling with the black-haired beauty that is Lady Alysanne Blackwood. She’s so close to him, basically rubbing arms, she’s batting her eyelashes at him, and he’s flashing his charming rare smiles. He’s—

You had to let him go, it was better to let him go, but you still can’t help but feel…jealous. You feel it deep in your stomach. You feel slight anger growing within you at the sight of the pair, at the thought that they make a good couple. They make a more plausible couple too.

But you still want that to be you at his side, you still want to see him smile and look at you with a soft and loving look, and you want to laugh with him without having to hide. You still want to be at his side, you want to be her…

But you can’t. You can’t be together and you have to accept that—you accept it, besides you’re getting married soon and so far Prince Namor isn’t terrible…

Life was so much easier when you were with Aemond. Your only desire then was to see your mother and brothers again, you didn’t have any significant concerns. It was easy with Aemond and you only realize that now.

“Your Grace?”

“Hm?” You hum and pull your eyes away from Cregan to look at one of your new ladies-in-waiting helping you with the wedding.

“Which design for the wedding dress’s cape do you prefer?” She asks.

You spare one last glance at Cregan and Lady Alyssane, and frown with displeasure before you look at the designs the designer has drawn up. They’re all beautiful, one is red adorned with gold, and the other one is long and shaped like dragon wings. You’ll probably go with the latter.

“Have this one brought,” you point to the dragon wing cape and slowly look out the balcony again and still see Cregan and Alyssane.

It’s like he’s torturing you. You hate it, you hate seeing him with her. But you have to—

“Ser Crane,” you cut off your lady-in-waiting to address the Lord Commander of your Queensguard, a tall muscular man, with a stern face, a shaved head, a dark goatee, and a kind heart. “I request the presence of Lord Stark right away.”

The man bows his head and quickly heads on out, letting you focus back on your lady-in-waiting. “The dragon wing one is fine, have the second dress brought, I really don’t mind, it’s my third wedding I just want to get it over with.”

The lady looks at you a bit puzzled at your lack of excitement, but does as you ask, letting you wait for Cregan in the parlor room.

Considering he wants to stay here until the kingdom is somewhat stable you see a lot of him. A lot. He’s at every council meeting, he’s at every hearing, if you’re out in the city he is too, he’s like your Hand or a Queensguard. Without actually having the titles.

You like that he is but you also don’t like it because he’s a temptation. Plus Prince Namor and him don’t get along so well.

And well, you understand why Cregan wouldn’t like him, but you don’t understand why Prince Namor doesn’t like Cregan, it’s not like you talk to Cregan a lot in public. In private? Yes, he likes to come visit Daenerys, and he can’t exactly spend time with her alone because people would talk, so you’re always there acting like you need his help. But other than that you don’t know why Prince Namor is so hostile—does he see something?

Nevertheless, a knock raps on the door, and when you welcome the visitor you see exactly who you need, Cregan.

“Your Grace,” he greets and bows.

You cross your leg over the other and offer him a faint smile. “Lord Stark,” you greet formally as your Queensguard walks out. “Sorry, my request is so sudden. I hope you weren’t busy.” You offer him a wider smile and watch him come sit down across from you.

“Well,” he says. “Whenever you call, I come. So no, I was not busy.”

The room's doors close and Cregan looks around. “Where’s Daenerys?” He asks.

You grab your goblet of wine and shake your head. “Not here. This is about another matter.” You take a sip and meet his grey eyes as he looks at you with curiosity. “This is actually about the Night's Watch.”

Cregan leans in and props on hand on his leg to probe. “What about it?”

You made a promise, so you will see through to that promise, or at least prepare the next ruler if it doesn’t come true in your lifetime.

“How many people are posted in the Night’s watch, at all castles? Just a rough estimate,” you continue to ask without actually being clear about anything.

Cregan sits back and shrugs. “Not much, perhaps just under one thousand men, or even less…why the sudden interest?” He presses. “Royalty doesn’t really bother to care for the Night’s watch.”

You swallow thickly and avert your gaze.

You know you can trust him, you know that the smart thing would be telling a Stark as well, after all the threat comes from the distant North, they deserve to know. But it’s difficult speaking about something told to you by your mother.

“Do you remember the stories you’d tell me?” You begin slowly. “About what may live beyond the wall?”

Cregan nods. “Yes, just children's stories.”

You exhale deeply and meet his gaze. “What if they aren’t just stories? What if…something like the Long Night happens again?”

Cregan blinks repeatedly in disbelief and his lips twitch to a teasing smile. “It won’t, it can’t be possible. The first member of the Night's watch drove them away. But again, it’s just a story.”

You put the goblet down and lean forward so he can see you’re being serious. “Cregan, listen to me. I'm being serious. And you can’t tell anyone, I wasn’t allowed to tell you, it’s a secret passed from Targaryen ruler to heir, so please guard this secret with your life.”

Said man narrows his eyes and his teasing smile falls. He doesn’t hesitate to assure you, mostly because he thinks you’re somehow joking. “I swear.”

You exhale deeply. “Long ago,” you begin. “My ancestor, King Aegon, had a dream. A prophecy of the end of the world of men that begins with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant North.”

Cregan swallows back nervously and you see his shoulders tense.

“Aegon saw darkness riding on those winds,” you continue. “And whatever hides within will destroy the land of the living. And when this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive it a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. Someone strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the darkness. So that's why I ask, the Night's Watch is our first line of defense, it may not happen in my lifetime, or in any of my children’s lifetimes, but I still made a promise. I can’t fail her, nor can I fail them.”

Cregan drops his head and brushes his fingers through his hair.

“I know,” you add softly. “It’s hard to believe. But you have to believe me. I wouldn’t toy with this.”

Cregan stays quiet for a moment before he snaps his head up and meets your gaze with a narrowed look. “You believe the prophecy?” He asks. “With your heart?”

You don’t hesitate, you nod. “I do.”

Cregan raises his chin and nods. “Then I believe you too.”

You smile and sigh with relief. “Thank you.” You whisper.

“What do you want me to do then?” He asks.

You sigh. “We can’t force people to man the castles, one it might not happen anytime soon, two, people don’t volunteer like before. But I will try from my end to send prisoners to the Night's watch. What I need from you are reports from every exploration the men have. As boring as they may be, I can’t risk missing something.”

Cregan nods in comprehension. “I will do it. But you must visit them too, you know? Just as Queen Alysanne did.”

You grin softly. “I will. I mean I do have a dragon to travel far so I will,” you assure him. “We often tend to forget the Night’s watch. I will try not to.”

“And…” Cregan adds with a growing smile. “You stop by and visit me too. Winterfell will always be your home. It can be.”

“Cregan,” you warn him.

“You’re still not married, why can’t—”

“I just said one reason,” you cut him off. “Besides even if there wasn’t a reason, would you have left your home behind, your land, and people to become King?” You ask seriously.

Cregan’s smile falls and his face grows hard and serious. “No,” he answers bluntly.

You scoff softly and nod slowly. “Exactly. So please just don’t bring it up again. I still want to be your friend.”

Cregan holds your gaze for a moment before he scoffs and looks away and shakes his head. You’re about to question him, but a knock raps on your door so you’re left in tension.

“Come in,” you address the visitor.

The door opens and you look over and see…Rhaena.

The annoyance and tension you just felt falls completely and your eyes fill with happy tears.

You haven’t seen her since the war started. You’ve heard of her from letters or other people’s mouths, but it’s been so long. You thought you would never see her again, you feared something would happen to her even if she was in a safe place.

“Rhaena,” you muse and jump off your seat to run over to her. She matches your pace and meets you halfway with an embrace.

“Y/N,” she whispers.

She’s one of the few family members you have left. One of the two people you grew up with. Your home was when you were with your mother, with your brothers too, so you’ll never feel at home anymore, but with Baela and Rhaena still alive there’s a sense of safety you do feel.

“Why…” you trail off and pull back to face her. “Why wasn’t I told you were here already?” You ask.

Rhaena smiles. “We wanted it to be a surprise. Baela says you’d appreciate it.”

You flash her a grin and nod. “I do—and your hatchling. You have a dragon now!”

Rhaena nods and pulls away to glance back at the crate that’s brought in by a servant. You were so distracted with her that you failed to notice her servants.

“Wait,” you cut her off and glance back at Cregan standing by the table you were just at. “I should introduce you to someone first.” You wave Cregan over, and he quickly makes his way to your side.

“Rhaena this is Cregan Stark,” you introduce him. “An old friend and Lord of Winterfell, of course. Cregan, this is my cousin, Lady Rhaena Targaryen.”

Cregan bows his head out of respect and Rhaena smiles at him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Lady Rhaena,” he says. “The Queen here would speak fondly of you when she lived in Winterfell.”

You grin wider, and Rhaena looks between Cregan and you before she focuses on Cregan. “It’s nice to meet you too, Lord Stark.”

“I hope to make your acquaintance whilst my stay here,” Cregan adds. “Your sister is quite the spitfire, I’m interested in getting to know you too.”

Rhaena laughs softly. “Likewise.”

Cregan sighs and faces you. “I’ll see you later, My Queen.” He bows and then bows his head at Rhaena before he leaves. Once he’s out the door you follow Rhaena to the table and watch her open the crate to then pull out a small pink and black hatchling.

“Oh gods,” you muse excitedly. “Look at it!”

“Her name is Morning,” she reveals and turns to show her off to you.

You reach over and caress her scaled head and beam at her. “You may be our savior,” you tell the little dragon. “I’m happy for you Rhaena,” you direct at your cousin. “I know how much you’ve dreamed of having one, I’m glad you finally bonded with one. It’s a great pleasure.”

“Thank you. And I’m happy too, I can’t wait to ride her,” she muses.

You hum and step back. “It’s really the best thing in the world. How is she? Does she eat? Sleep well?” You ask since there are so few dragons left now. Greyghost flew away after Ser Jason’s death, and Silverwing and Astraea are the only ones that are left in King’s Landing. Two out of so many that were alive.

“Yes, she’s doing well, she’s healthy,” Rhaena assures you as you walk over to sit on the couch to take advantage of the fact that you’re not being swamped. “Is Astraea doing well?”

You nod. “Very. She’s healed well.”

“And Lord Stark?” She asks and catches you off guard. “First name bases?”

You avert your gaze and shrug. “Yes, we lived together for five years. Of course, we go by each other's first names.”

Rhaena walks over with a smile and her dragon draped on her shoulder. “Hm…okay, your eyes and smiles say otherwise.”

You glare at her. “You’ve been here for just a few minutes what—Baela.”

Rhaena smirks. “You burned half the city this is just some free punishment.” She rebuttals.

You scoff and go serious. “What do you think about that? Baela is upset, she’s calmed down a bit since then, but she’s still upset. What are your thoughts?” You ask on the matter.

Rhaena draws out a deep breath and frowns with sadness. “I think you could’ve done things differently. But I also know that sometimes the most ugly things have to be done. I know…my father would’ve approved.”

You scoff with amusement.

“I know that Rhaenyra could’ve used more fire…perhaps then she would still be alive,” she mumbles with a hint of sadness in her tone. “So I think you did what you had to do. Besides you did it already we can’t take it back, we have to move on. Right?” She asks and meets your gaze.

You hold her gaze for a moment before you nod softly and feel your breath tremble as you breathe out. “About that…I was waiting for you to come…” you trail off and feel your eyes water, your throat begin to burn, and you feel your chest get heavy. “…so we could hold a funeral for my mother. I know you were close to her, so I thought you’d want to be there. Prince Namor said it’d be healthy, so I want to have one.”

A short silence follows before Rhaena interjects quietly. “That would be nice…I would be honored to be there. Thank you for waiting for me.”

You keep your head down to avoid seeing the nightmare flashes and memories that threaten to show. “No problem…it’ll be before the wedding,” you mention shakily.

“Y/N—”

“It’ll be okay,” you cut her off to avoid falling into that hole. “I’m okay.”

——

*LATER*

“Your Grace, The Lannisters are approaching and should arrive by nightfall. And the Baratheons will be here this evening.”

You look at Ser Crane through the long mirror and nod in comprehension. “Thank you, Ser, and if I’m not here by the time the Baratheons have my grandfather set up their welcome according to their status.”

The Lord Commander nods and turns stiffly to walk out. And while he was walking out one of your ladies in waiting walks in with a bouquet of Blue Winter Roses.

“My Queen,” she says with excitement in her voice as she approaches you. “These are for you from an old friend they said.”

You turn away from the mirror and take the bouquet from her hands. You read the notecard and even if it doesn't say a name you know it can only be from one person. One person knows that out of every flower in the world, these are your favorite, Cregan. Only he knows that these flowers are a symbol of your love.

So what do the flowers mean this time? He gave you some for your wedding tournament to show his love, to show you aren't forgotten. And this time what else can they be but another symbol?

It’s a symbol of hope now too. They’re a temptation you finally start to give into as your grief is crashing into you a lot stronger than before as you dress in all black to say one last goodbye to the woman you loved. They serve only to bring out this deep desire of wanting him to shield you from that pain, of wanting him to hold you until you feel an ounce of comfort back in your limp heart.

You want to be with him, and these winter roses are like a sign to give in and sacrifice everything just to be in his arms and go back to a place where you had felt happy once before. They’re a declaration of love and an offer.

And you’re in so much agony, you feel it now eating away at you as each second brings you closer to lighting her pyre. You just want some relief…

So you look up from the flowers in your hand and break into a stride to go to him. You feel eager and selfish. Like a fragment of who you used to be could return at the sight of him in this very moment.

However, the door opens for a third time and Prince Namor walks in, so you stop in your tracks and drop your smile.

“Those are beautiful.”

You made her a promise. You remember now at the sight of your betrothed.

“Who are they from?” He asks.

You blink and offer him a faint smile. “An old friend,” you mutter and turn to put the winter roses down on the table.

“Oh, well, they’re beautiful,” he says as he follows you back to the mirror. “Anyway, your cousins are ready. Are you?”

You pick up your mother's valyrian steel necklace from the cushion and sigh deeply as you remember her wearing it.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “I am ready.”

——

*25 YEARS LATER. 156 AC*

What good is peace if all you wear is mourning attire?

“Today with these ashes we spread, may he return to the sand, may he return to the earth…”

Ashes fall from the septon's hands and trinkle onto the sand below. You follow the particles of what had remained of your husband until it mixes with the grains of sand.

“���may he give life to what sprouts so that his legacy lives on forever in the hearts and minds of the four children he leaves behind, Prince Maekor, Princess Valaena, Prince Laenor, and Prince Rhaegar. And so his wife, her grace, Y/N Targaryen carries him on forever in her heart.”

You sigh and keep your eyes on the ashes that mix with the sand below, and then feel a hand carefully wrap around yours. When you glance over you meet the dark eyes of your youngest son with Prince Namor, Rhaegar. The boy named after your mother, you offer him a faint smile and give him a reassuring squeeze.

“May he meet his ancestors and continue to watch over his kin. May Prince Namor of House Martell find peace!” The septon shouts. You look up at him and then hear snickering, so your attention drifts to your right side and you see your second youngest son, Prince Laenor, snickering at his brother since he sees him holding your hand. You think nothing wrong with it though, Namor was their father, he was a good one at that, and Rhaegar is like Lucerys, sensible and more open to showing and receiving affection.

Thus you shoot Laenor a glare and he quickly drops his smirk and goes quiet, and once he does you point to his older sister, Princess Valaena as she stood crying for the father she lost. Laenor understands what you want and even if he sighs he steps forward to wrap his arm around his sister, making her husband Lord Ellis Blackwood pull his arm off her shoulder to hold her hand instead.

You smile at the interaction of your daughter and her husband. They’ve been married for three years now, but seeing how kind and smitten he is with her still surprises you and brings you joy as if it were the first time seeing it. And you know you react like that because of your fear of marrying your children outside of Targaryen, and or Velaryon families. You only accepted this match because Lord Ellis is the eldest son of Bloody Ben, the man-boy you fought alongside at Tumbleton, the man-boy who had retrieved Addam’s body.

Other than that, all your other kid marriages are kept between the Targaryen’s and Velaryon’s, you don’t want to make the same mistake your grandfather Viserys made when he married Alicent.

It’s why your Hand was Baela for a few years until none other than your little brother, Viserys returned a few years back. With a wife, you wouldn't approve of, but she’s gone now and her family was basically his captor when he came back, without her they wouldn’t let him stay. It was smart but regardless, he’s your Hand now. He’s smart, tactical, and kind.

His kids though…more specifically his eldest, is something else, but that’s besides the fact.

What matters now is that you are a widow for a third time. It’s unfortunate that you had to be Aegon's widow, but at least now that title is gone and you’re Namor’s widow now. It’s bad to point out, but this new loss has your mind raveled. Not like when your mother or the rest of your family died, but after you spend 25 years with someone it has to affect you in some way. Especially when you had 4 more children with him.

But it’s those 4 children, plus the other three, that don’t make you fall into that pit you were stuck in before. They keep you upright now, and they’re all the ones that make you feel your heart again. Instead, you are there for them as they grieve their father. You comfort them as best as you can as you get taken back to the Red Keep.

Once you’re inside and attending the banquet in Namor’s name you approach Valaena.

“Forgive me, mother,” she interjects in a shaky voice.

You furrow your eyebrows and cup her cheek to dry away her tears. “Whatever for?” You query.

“Crying, for not being strong, especially in front of everyone,” she reveals, making you scoff softly.

“Oh my sweet girl, it’s okay to cry, he was your father,” you assure her. “You can cry as much as you want to.”

“But you’re strong,” she says and holds your other hand.

You smile and shake your head. “When I lost my own father I was inconsolable, I wanted to jump off the ship that was taking me to Winterfell to see your grandfather's resting place. I was anything but strong. So it’s okay.”

Valaena lets out a shaky sigh and offers you a soft smile.

“Now,” you add and slide your hands down to grab her hands. “How are my grandchildren?” You ask and look at her swollen belly. “Five more months to go.”

Valaena grins. “They’re great, moving, and with strong heartbeats. The both of them.”

“Great, I’m glad.”

“Prince Aerion of House Velaryon! Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides!” The guard announces.

You and your daughter share a short glance before you turn and watch your only son with Aemond and the proof of your love comes waltzing in late.

Your guests greet him as they make a path towards you and your family, and he redirects that greeting with a formal smile. But when his blue eyes land on you and the rest of his siblings his grin widens, and one person quickly pushes himself out of his seat and runs around the table to greet him.

“Aerion!” Your eldest son with Namor, Maekor, shouts excitedly.

Said man chuckles and changes his pace to a jog as Maekor runs down the steps and runs to his brother. When they meet halfway, Maekor jumps on his brother, and Aerion doesn’t hesitate to squeeze him back.

“Maekor! Brother!” Aerion greets and lets his brother go.

Ever since your first child with Namor was born you made it your job that they got along, that they all got along and didn’t treat each other like Aemond and Aegon treated your mother. Your kids fought, of course they did, but they never hated themselves like your mother and her siblings.

“Aerion!” Laenor shouts and runs over followed by Rhaegar, while Valaena and Daenerys stay with you to wait for Aerion to finish greeting his brothers

“He’s late,” Daenerys mutters. “And where’s Daenys?”

“Probably getting here even more late,” Valaena counters.

You hum in agreement and watch as the three boys huddle around their older brother

“Which reminds me,” Valaena interjects. “The Stark’s didn’t come.”

You glance at your daughter at the mention of that infamous name and then look down to think about Cregan.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, ten years perhaps? Maybe even more? You really wanted to see him, he’s a widow too, longer than you have been.

“Mother!”

You snap your eyes up and see Aerion approaching with his arms open, but you place a hand on your hip and shoot him a pointed look.

“You’re late,” you point out as he wraps his arm around you. “Three days late.”

Aerion presses kisses on the side of your head to try and make you forget, and it works because you hug him back and when you pull away you grab his jaw. “I missed you,” you tell him, making him grin. “Where’s Daenys?”

Aerion sighs and pulls away, his smile falls and he looks at his sisters. “Well,” he adds. “Uh, Daenys stayed in Driftmark because she gave birth.”

You gasp and grab his arm. “Birth? It’s a month too soon,” you stammer out.

“Is she okay?” Daenerys asks right away.

Aerion nods. “Yes, she’s just recovering. She’s okay. Both her and our son.”

You sigh with relief but you still pinch him. “Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve sent a Raven.”

Valaena steps forward to smack his arm. “Why didn’t you start off by saying she’s okay? Jerk.”

Aerion chuckles. “Well, it wouldn't have mattered, you all still would’ve worried. Anyway, she’ll come in a week or two. I came early to be with you,” he directs at his sister's, mainly at Valaena. “I don’t remember my father, but I do know longing. And it does get better, Valaena.”

Valaena offers him a gentle smile and they hug before he hugs Daenerys. She’s actually about to say something, but then Aerion gently pushes her away as he spots Ser Crane.

“Old man,” he greets. “You get older every time I see you.”

Ser Crane huffs. “Yet it’s possible I might outlive you, my Prince.”

Aerion grins and pats his shoulder when he sees him and then moves past him when he spots Valaena’s husband.

“Ellis!” He shouts before he runs over to embrace him and pats his back.

“Aerion, buddy, we've been waiting for you!”

You watch your other sons huddle around the pair and turn to walk to Lord Cane.

“He says Daenys gave birth,” you mention and watch your nieces approach their respected partner. “That’s why he’s late.”

“The boat has been here since this morning,” he rats Aerion out without hesitation. “He was probably sleeping or joined in some tournament.”

You scoff. “I don’t know where he gets these tendencies from, his father was never like this.”

“His uncle was—”

“I’ll burn you,” you cut him off before he could say Aegon’s name, making him chuckle.

“I’ll talk to him,” Lord Crane assures you and passes you your goblet of wine.

You shake your head. “Don’t waste your breath, he’s almost 30, he won’t learn anymore. He’s got a thick head.”

Lord Crane chuckles.

You smile and take a drink of your wine before you change the subject. “I’m going to make rounds.” You turn, and he mirrors your actions to follow you to the first Lord and Lady you see, but then the guard at the entrance interrupts you.

“Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of the Winterfell, and Warden of the North.”

You gasp softly and snap your eyes to the door, catching him, Cregan, your old friend, and love your life, walking down the steps with his men and a young lady you assume is one of his daughters Lord Alyssane gave him during their marriage.

Everyone watches the mighty Lord with his fur cloak over his broad shoulders and body that's grown more toned over the years. But through the sea of people, he finds you.

Cregan’s grey eyes find you as he makes his way to you first. And when he reaches you, your heart skips a beat as if it were the first time you’ve seen him. He proceeds to bow and the young lady beside him does too.

“My Queen,” he greets.

You hand the goblet of wine back to your Lord Commander and when Cregan straightens out, you offer him a kind smile. “Lord Stark,” you greet sweetly.

“My condolences on the loss of your husband,” he says first. “I knew the prince consort briefly, but all I heard were great things.”

You sigh. “Thank you, Lord Stark. I’m glad we could see you. Even if it is at the banquet,” you say bluntly.

Cregan’s serious expression breaks as he smiles. “Yes well, there was a storm that damaged our ship, and when we changed to a carriage our carriage broke a wheel. It’s been quite a hectic ride.”

You blink and look at him with worry. “Oh! Is everyone fine?” You ask and step forward.

Cregan nods. “Yes, yes, we’re all fine. Thank the gods.”

You hum and glance at the lady with dark brown hair. Cregan follows your line of gaze and grabs her arm. “This is my youngest daughter Mariah Stark.”

The girl curtsy and when she stands up you offer her a sweet smile. “Ah, you have your father's grey eyes. Very beautiful.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” she mumbles.

You nod and meet Cregan’s gaze again. “It’s nice to see you, old friend. It’s been…years.”

Cregan nods and his eyes soften, catching those around you off guard that this cold and serious man was looking so gentle. “Ten,” he clarifies. “Ten years. But I’m here now and I hope we get to reacquaint ourselves during my stay.”

You grin and nod eagerly. “Yes, that would be great. Now,” you trail off and grin wider. “Meet my children!” You walk over to the group of kids watching from a distance. “I’ll start with who I see first, there’s a lot.” You laugh.

And of course, Laenor pushes himself to the front, so you start with him. “Cregan, this is Laenor,”

Said man feigns a cough so you correct yourself. “Sorry, Ser Laenor. He’s a knight.”

Laenor flashes Cregan a grin and then glances at his daughter to offer her a flirty smile. And right away you notice that the girl blushes at the charming tactics of your son. But she’s not the only one, since he’s the only prince who’s a bachelor, many young ladies have been swooning over him and giving him their sympathies in hope he’d return their affections. But they’ll find that their brothers or their household guards will gain his affection a lot quicker than them. He just likes to tease women.

“…and this,” you move on to point to the man next to Laenor. “This is Rhaegar, my youngest.” You grab his shoulder and give it a tight squeeze.

Rhaegar glances at you and then offers Cregan a more nervous smile, letting you move on to the next person and feeling him feel grateful for it with the way his shoulders untense.

“Next to him is my niece and his betrothed, Lady Valeria Hightower, daughter of my cousin, the Lady Rhaena.”

Cregan bows his head and then glances back at one of his men. When they approach you see him holding a bouquet of blue winter roses.

“Thank the gods these survived our trip,” he says and plucks one from the bouquet to hand it to Valeria.

“Oh! This is beautiful,” Valeria gushes. “Thank you, my Lord.” She curtsies and then turns to Rhaegar to show him the pretty rose.

“This is Lady Laena Velaryon, daughter of my cousin Lady Baela, wife of my Maekor, and future Queen.” You grin.

Cregan bows his head and once again he plucks a rose from the bouquet. She’s more timid than Valeria though, so her response is softer. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

“It's an honor to make your acquaintance, my Lady,” he interjects. “And future Queen.”

Laena smiles and gently bows her head. “It’s an honor to meet you, the Queen speaks fondly of you.” She reveals.

Oh.

Cregan smirks. “Does she now? I should hope so.”

You avert your gaze and move on to the next person so he won't get any more smug. “And you know my Maekor, my heir.”

Cregan once again bows. “My Prince.” Cregan greets.

Maekor offers him a small bow and a gentle smile. “Lord Stark. It’s a pleasure seeing you again, the last time I saw you—”

“You were a little lad,” Cregan cuts him off. “With your front teeth missing.” He chuckles. “You’ve grown, my Prince. And I hear you have sons of your own too.”

You beam proudly, and Maekor nods.

“Yes, I do, Jacaerys and Jaehaerys,” your son reveals.

“It’s quite a change,” Cregan says. “You make me feel old.”

“That’s because you are,” you quip

“Likewise.” He counters, making you feign a laugh before you move and point to the tall skinny man next to Maekor. “You probably know him. Lord Ellis Blackwood, son of Lord Benjicot Blackwood.”

Cregan nods. “Yes, we’ve met. I hear a congratulations are in order, my lord, I hear you're expecting your first child.”

Ellis grins brightly and nods before glancing at Valaena. “Yes, twins the maester says.”

Cregan glances at your daughter and offers her a smile. “Congratulations Princess, I’m sure the gods will grant you healthy babes.” He then turns and plucks three roses from the bouquet. “For you and your children.”

Valaena gently takes the roses and brings them up to her nose to smell them, causing a sweet smile to grow on her lips. “Thank you, my Lord, you are very kind.”

Cregan bows his head and now you move on to your last two. “Now, you know…” you trail off as Aerion is gone from the line. “Oh, well here’s Daenerys.”

Cregan stops in front of Daenerys and his smile softens. “Princess,” he greets softly and studies her face.

Daenerys doesn’t know the man before her is her actual father, you couldn’t risk it, so it will always be a secret between Cregan and you.

“Lord Stark,” she greets without as much emotion.

Cregan lingers there before he grabs one winter rose and hands it to her. “It goes with your hair well,” he says, making her giggle.

“It does, thank you.” She then looks at you and smiles.

“Father,” Cregan’s daughter cuts in. “Look they have my favorite, come with me.”

Cregan blinks and then glances at you. “And the rest are for you,” he says and grabs the rest of the winter roses to give you the bouquet. “I’m sorry for your loss, again. We’ll talk later. Yes?”

You smile softly and nod. “Yes. And Lord Stark.” You proceed to approach him and talk quieter. “Join us tomorrow for breakfast. The whole of my family will be there, and I want you to be there as well.”

Cregan holds your gaze with a smile and doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’ll be there.”

You grin wider and nod in comprehension. “Good,” you whisper and feel your heart skip a beat once again.

.

.

.

.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic

[wordsinhaled]

for the love of... i don’t even know what to invoke??? don’t send neil gaiman asks about ships and don’t drag him into fandom purity culture bullshit oh my god

HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE INVOLVED IN FANDOM why is that so hard for people to understand???

listen neil gaiman is a queer ally but that doesn’t mean he signed up to be the fucking arbiter of whether or not you are allowed to ship dream and the corinthian, or any other characters, for that matter

the actual truth is if you want to you can and absolutely no one should stop you, least of all the author himself, who already gives us not only loads of canon queer representation but also full carte blanche to interpret his work any way we see fit and leave him out of it (as is his right)

if you lack the contextual comprehension to understand that dream’s creations are only his metaphorical children, the endless are siblings but are probably only loosely related (because they’re all personifications of concepts after all), and also people are allowed to have kinks without personally harming you, then like... perhaps figure all of that out before you harass shippers to the point where they feel the need to go to authors for validation

and on top of that the same people who are purportedly so concerned with stuff like boundaries and barriers and comfort and whatever are making some fans feel so needlessly harassed that they in turn cross an author’s very reasonable boundary of wanting to be minimally involved in the interpretation of his own work

on top of all of that it is wild to me that the queer community has become so overtaken with this moralizing rhetoric that neil, of all people, is now being called on to enforce purity culture by members of our own family??? i am not calling him flawless by any means but this is the same neil gaiman who has been under fire since the literal 1980s from right-wing groups that felt that the sandman was too queer or too radical or too generally threatening to the conservative status quo, yet he still stood fast to his creative vision and to including representation of our community in the comics

like. the same neil who wrote “death talks about life” and was working to normalize and destigmatize queerness before some of the folks imposing purity culture on his works were even born???

it’s just like... abundantly clear from some of this Discourse that some of the folks putting forth this vitriol toward shippers and now unnecessarily extending the discussion to him do not have an understanding of our history. these are the same people who try to tell people the labels they’ve been using for themselves for 20, 30, 40 years are wrong or offensive, who try to isolate groups within the community and create barriers between queer elders and queer youth because of perceived predatoriness that simply isn’t there. and i wish these folks would gain a little understanding of the context, touch some grass, meet some queer folks out in the world and stop acting like this

[inaconstantstateofchange]

don't come crying - a young!Raphael fic

An incredible rendition of young!Raphael by @shahs1221, here: please go check her out and give her some well-deserved adoration for it!

A/N: I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea how to tag this in a comprehensible way, relationship-wise. Suffice to say, the Mephisto-lovers are... probably going to appreciate this more than I wish you would, and if you too are fifty leagues down the Niche Forgotten Realms Characters™ rabbit hole, you may also be enticed by the Baalphegor inclusion. 18+, please and thank you.

Summary:

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here. Or: Centuries prior to the events of the game, Raphael's return from a routine fetch quest on Mephistopheles's orders is interrupted by a summons to the throne room. His father has a lesson to impart to him, and he's going to ensure it sticks.

This is part of an ongoing story I've had in the back of my mind for several weeks now. Rather than another WIP longfic, I'll be posting additional segments from this 'verse in a series if/when I add more. If @sky-kiss has any say in it, I'm sure I will.

The only background info you really need is:

All characters are drawn from actual Forgotten Realms lore.

Raphael has recently been plucked from the Material Plane to join his father's court on Cania, in the Nine Hells.

Due to Raphael's stunted development, and an unwillingness to be shamed by his spawn's weakness, Mephistopheles has placed Raphael under the purview of his consort, Baalphegor.

Baalphegor's body is able to produce an empowering draught, too weak to hold much significance to true fiends, but sufficient to bolster Raphael's growth.

Finally, it is a pet headcanon I've incorporated into this 'verse that Baalphegor is the same individual later know as Haarlep, but you are welcome to use your own interpretation.

Raphael stumbles through the extravagant entrance doors to Mephistar, the flesh-shearing winds of Cania grabbing after him as he ducks behind the solid, enchanted stone. He’s done his best to cover all exposed skin, but there is always some that escapes his notice, leaving him bleeding out strength he can ill afford to lose. He loathes these “errands” his father sends him on, tasks purported to test his skill, devotion, and cunning. In reality, it feels more like busywork designed to keep him weak and subservient, reminding him of his contentious existence in the hierarchy and reinforcing his dependence on his father’s dubious goodwill.

The desiccated parchment that proved the focus of this most recent quest crinkles slightly, as he shifts his gaze up, the slight sound echoing across the cavernous hall as he looks with certainty for the being he knows to be waiting for his return, just as always. But — they’re not there.

He furrows his brow, an agitated and disquieting anger growing within his gut. He strides across the marble floor on frostbitten feet he can barely feel, shoving the parchment at the lone figure of Mephistopheles’s chamberlain Barbas, standing at attention at his post, and wearing his habitual sneer as he looks down at Raphael. Raphael ignores it for now, as ever, but files the snub away with all the other insults he will one day be strong enough to return tenfold.

“Where is m—the Lady Baalphegor?” He demands imperiously. They are almost always waiting for him upon his return to bestow his reward. That is the deal, the entire reason he engages in these banal fetch quests even though they are entirely beneath his rank and status. He pushes sharply at the errant thought of the pretty fiction it makes, knowing all the while that his true choice is to bow to his father’s whims or perish. True or not, it does no good to dwell on such matters, not when he will be changing them just as soon as he can manage.

Barbas’s sneer gouges even deeper into his face, growing a biting and nearly gleeful edge as he answers Raphael, “Well, young lord, as your august presence must surely have ascertained, the Lady is certainly not here.”

Raphael can feel his face going blotchy and red, and curses his mortal heritage once again for its constant betrayals. The ice-blue crystals in the eye sockets of the chamberlain harden and glint with glee at the sight. Raphael spins on his heel, marching furiously away, the parchment crumpling further within his fist. Barbas’s mocking voice rings out behind him, “Don’t forget to report to His Grace, little lord! He insisted it be done immediately upon your return.”

Raphael almost turns again to berate him, but manages to stop himself at the last moment, lest he lose even more face from the encounter. He’ll make his report as quickly as possible, then hunt down his wayward… Baalphegor, and claim his rightful recompense. The brilliant halls of Mephistar blur around him as he storms through them, focusing only on making his way to his father’s great hall with haste.

He doesn’t wait to be announced, merely pushes firmly on the doors, both with his physical form and, in a manner only recently attained, with the lashings of his own metaphysical aspect. They creak open, the sound like distant screams even on the well-kept mechanisms, and he steps through without hesitation, words of complaint already springing to his lips, when he stops dead in his tracks.

He’s found Baalphegor.

The succubus – and they are in full succubus form in this moment – is perched indolently on his father’s lap, where he sits on his ostentatious throne. But not just perched, no — impaled, as he finds when, with stricken eyes, he watches them move their body in a smooth, undulating motion up, degree by degree, before dropping back down, brilliant hair falling around them and catching the flickering hellfire-light as it glints off their red-brown skin. Soft, melodious moans are driven from their throat with each movement, as if pushed out by the — by the member within them. Their round breasts shift with the motion, the revitalizing milk within them welling up and dripping down their chest, squandered and disregarded.

He swallows, throat dry, his eyes and chest burning in stark opposition with one another.

His father casts an apathetic glance across the hall, and his eyes alight on Raphael, a cruel smirk curling at his lips. “Ah, the returning triumphant! What have you brought me this time?” His voice is nothing but mocking, no attempt made to couch his disregard for his unwanted and unloved spawn.

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. Everything within him is raging at the broken contract, even as it boils with jealousy at the manhandling of something that is his, and it is only the barest dregs of his staunch self-preservation that manage to keep him from attempting something truly foolish. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here.

He holds the parchment, now looking rather worse for wear, out before him on a finely trembling hand. He searches for the words he needs in a mind nearly whited out by rage.

“I… your cult in Waterdeep sends their obeisance, y–your Grace.” He curses his tongue for its fumbling, driving home further how well his father’s ploy is working to discomfit him.

“Oh,” Mephistopheles waves a careless hand. “That collection of rabble. You will leave it with my steward.”

Raphael ducks his head a bare inch, keeping his eyes away from Baalphegor as much as he can, and turns to leave.

His father’s voice rings out after him before he has completed even half his turn, sharpening with the first warning edges of his infamous temper. “Where do you think you are going, whelp? You have not yet been dismissed.”

Raphael turns back to face him, slow and careful, as the true danger of the situation sets in. He has rarely found himself in the presence of his father when these moods strike, and never without at least the tenuous support of Baalphegor behind him. And yet… he meets their gaze now, searching, and the barest fraction desperate, but there is nothing. Their red eyes meet his without flinching, cold as Cania’s glaciers. Trickles of the subtly shimmering draught spilling from their breasts have reached down to their hips now, soaking into the thatch of hair between their legs.

He tears his eyes away and forces his attention back to the far greater threat, scrambling for an answer that will satisfy his father.

“My apologies, your Grace.” The epithet comes easier this time, its passage eased by his awareness of his own precarious position. “I misunderstood your direction, and wished only to carry out your will with utmost alacrity.”

Mephistopheles rests his chin insouciantly on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is sardonic and shows no signs of the ongoing actions of the succubus on his lap. “Oh very nicely salvaged, whelp. My wishes, however, are for you to remain just where you are, and appreciate the lesson I’ve prepared for you.”

Raphael swallows, the boiling heat within him growing fiercer, rage intertwined with other, less-savory feelings.

With little warning, Mephistopheles moves his hand to entangle within Baalphegor’s tresses, pulling the succubus fiercely down onto him as he wrenches their head back against his shoulder. A tremulous cry breaks from their throat, and Raphael only barely keeps himself from starting forward at the sound.

Mephistopheles brings his free hand forward and toys with Baalphegor’s breasts, pushed forward into the air from their current position. He twists pitilessly at them, prompting yet more cries as the liquid inside spills out in greater quantities, splashing, wasted, against the smooth skin of Baalphegor’s stomach. It runs in rivulets onto the throne, and down, to collect into puddles on the floor of the grand hall.

Raphael feels his stomach turn even as his mouth, well-trained by association, waters, unhindered by every other horrible aspect of this waking nightmare.

Mephistopheles wipes his hand dismissively on Baalphegor’s hair, leaving behind silvery streaks, then draws them up by their hair and hip, beginning to move within them in earnest as he continues his reproach. Raphael wants to close his eyes, his ears, every one of his senses, but knows such an admission of weakness would be worse than his undoing.

“You’ve prevailed enough upon my largess, and I am no longer willing to indulge your weakness.” Mephistopheles sneers. “You’ve proven more fortunate than any other cambion within the Hells, but from now on you will make your own way, or fail. Such is the way of Baator.”

The fires around the hall burn fiercer in alignment with their lord as he looks down at his unloved progeny. “Should you find yourself desperate for one last taste to stay your appetites, however, you may lap it from the floor like the whelp you are, and thank me for the concession.”

Raphael feels like he is become hellfire himself, the hatred he knew within him for his progenitor stoked to dizzyingly fierce new heights. Jaw aching with the effort of withholding the flood of vitriol within him, he grits out, “My thanks for your… beneficence. I would not dream of prevailing upon it further.”

Mephistopheles snorts, dismissive, then turns his attentions back to Baalphegor, by all accounts having forgotten Raphael’s entire existence.

Raphael stands, Baalphegor’s unfeeling eyes burning into his, until he is finally – finally – dismissed. All the while, the ambitions within him, already cast in carbon, are pressurized further and further, until they are as fearsome diamond, reflecting the blood and fire around him.

He will not remain his father’s lesser for long. He will see him deposed, and make him suffer for these indignities heaped upon his person.

By Asmodeus, he swears it.

[smiting-finger]

[Director’s Commentary] a harmony between qin and se

As promised (to like two interested people lol), here’s my commentary to accompany a harmony between qin and se, some of which has been retrieved from discussions in the AO3 comments section.

CHAPTER 1

This being Wei Ying’s story, the first chapter is entirely an introduction to her. I’ll let the text mostly speak for itself, but some additional thoughts:

She is, first and foremost, a very unreliable narrator when it comes to  herself.

Despite what she says, as a direct equivalent to “number 4 most eligible bachelor in the Jianghu”, she is actually considered to be a solid choice for a daughter-in-law (mostly because of how well she’s managed to hide all her quirks from the public eye). She also has more than one young male admirer because she is, in fact, an attractive lady The main thing working against her is the circumstances of her birth and the related lack of connections/assets.

Auntie Yu and Uncle Jiang have received a few overtures from interested parties already, but they’re still using the excuse of “Eldest daughter must be married out first” while they figure out the quality of offer they can settle for (which admittedly does include consideration of the potential benefits to the Jiang family).

Her embroidery is fine, if you ignore the fact that she’s constantly embroidering unconventional patterns: Jiang Cheng has most certainly received more than one troll hebao, and there have also been many an embroidered flower or cloud pattern that bears a suspicious resemblance to something outrageous (no penises because Wei Ying is a Proper and Good Girl and has never seen one until the bedroom books, but almost certainly an unflattering caricature of Jin Zixuan’s face, and the occasional rude Chinese character - always with plausible deniability, of course).

Broadmindedness is for women who have become disillusioned with the mortal coil. Which is to say: Nuns. She takes another bite of meat: I’m not sure if I was right in assuming that it was common knowledge that Buddhist nuns are vegetarian, but if I wasn’t - Wei Ying is definitely Making a Statement here. (And also making a secondary reference to the Chinese use of "vegetarian" to mean someone who is easily bullied/taken advantage of, which Wei Ying is most certainly not.)

Girls of the era were sometimes educated at home by private tutors, and were also often educated by their older brothers.

We know that Wei Ying had a private tutor (whom she shared with Nie Huaisang), but I also think Jiang Cheng would have had an influence on her too, despite technically being younger.

Being afforded a much more formal and comprehensive education (despite being perhaps less suited for it), he would have shared all of his books and learnings with Wei Ying, and that is why she so often references martial arts/military writings and ideas (much more so than the Jiang Yanli of this universe would, being older) - a reflection of Jiang Cheng’s interests and their relationship as more-or-less-same-age-peers within a gendered family hierarchy.

On Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue, it bears saying that their upbringing and situation in life here is just as unconventional as Wei Ying’s, if not more so.

Whereas in the earlier Tang Dynasty, women often openly ran their own businesses, Song Dynasty society had become more restrictive in relation to women’s freedoms, so that had become a much rarer occurrence.

My rationale for Nie Mingjue bucking the trend is that her mother was a capable woman with no tolerance for harem politics, and so ruled the Nie household with an iron fist. When her health begins to decline, instead of risking the wellbeing of her household and single di daughter on the goodwill of the next-ranked concubine, she simply starts passing responsibilities directly to Nie Mingjue, who proves capable enough that her father starts giving her business-related tasks as well.

By the time Madam Nie dies, Nie Mingjue is acting mistress of the house and there is no room to argue that any of the responsibilities should be taken from her.

Nie Mingjue being the only child in the entire household, her father also thinks it makes sense to involve her in the family business, and he starts preparing to find a man to ru zhui (入贅) marry into their family, thanks to the (universal?) principle that wealthy people can largely afford to do whatever they want.

Then Nie Huaisang is born and her concubine mother dies in childbirth. Nie Mingjue, having inherited her mother’s distaste for harem politics and distrust for her father’s concubines, simply takes Nie Huaisang into her own courtyard and sees to her upbringing herself.

And then their father dies, Lan Xichen takes the opportunity to propose marriage to Nie Mingjue (ostensibly as an elegant way to lend her a man’s countenance and legal authority to run her business, but the successive pregnancies speak for themselves), Nie Mingjue accepts and then decides that the new Nie family heir will be Nie Huaisang and there is no one around to stop her.

There’s definitely social disapproval (e.g. Madam Jin’s “I know she’s always done things differently” in Ch 3), but not enough to matter. Because wealthy people can afford to do whatever they want..

Enter Lan Zhan (in spirit):

Some of the original professions I considered for him were physician and herbalist, but the thought of doing period-accurate traditional Chinese medicine research ended that dream within 2.5 seconds.

In today’s terms I see him as demisexual, but in Song Dynasty mindset, there is no “sexuality”; there is “stuff that I like” and “stuff that I gotta do”. So he’s fully committed to making it work for the sake of his duty to the family, but also his responsibility to provide his wife with a decent quality of life. (And he is particularly sensitive to the latter, having witnessed his mother’s experience.)

While he'd initially hoped to follow in his Uncle's footsteps and stay single for life, now that marriage is unavoidable, his attitude towards it is very similar to Wei Ying’s, in being “That's life, we gotta make the best of it.”

He doesn’t fully appreciate the extent of the problem, but:

To-date, he has had very minimal interaction with any sort of same-age friend or peer.

His brother does most if not all of his emotional processing for him, mostly by talking him through his thoughts and feelings. This started as the very-Chinese “explain to your child after every situation how courtesy and social mores preserve everyone’s feelings and Face”, and just … never stopped. Probably because Lan Zhan didn’t have peer-interaction to do the rest of the emotional educating.

CHAPTER 2

Again, while Wei Ying speaks for herself, some general notes:

The grip of his hand in hers is strong, if a little damp. Which means that her husband is either nervous or also sweating a river in three layers of robes: He is not nervous, only dutiful. It is 100% due to the layers of robes and the hot, hot sun.

Red wedding banners … which are disappointingly standard, with nary a tea pun in sight: When their sons get married in the distant future, there are SO MANY tea puns.

Her groom, she notes, has wiped his hand at some point. Which means that he’s either a thoughtful man, or a fastidious one. Or a man who has thoughtful and fastidious servants: Lan Zhan is absolutely the thoughtful and fastidious one.

“Why does the groom look so grim?” someone asks from somewhere to her right. “Maybe he’s been forced into the marriage,” comes the answer: That is just Lan Zhan’s face, he bears no particular resentment towards the arrangement of the marriage. He trusts that his uncle has made the best decision possible under the circumstances and certainly he thinks that it’s better than either of the other options.

Lan Zhan has never had wine before, so despite knowing that the Lan family doesn’t drink, he doesn’t actually know why. This is part of the reason why he drinks the toast (the other part being the social pressure that Wei Ying successfully employs).

When they have children, there are some that inherit the Lan constitution, and others who can drink two whole cups before also succumbing to the Lan constitution. Wei Ying is very sad about this, but concedes that they do come by it honestly.

Lan Zhan’s wedding night thoughts:

Not sure if it A) was a real thing, B) is a modern-sensibilities thing (like many Cdrama leads being committed to one wife), or C) is a "Complying with TV Codes Thing", but I've seen/read quite a few stories now where the husband chooses not to push for wedding night consummation because his new wife will be scared, stressed, tired, etc. This means that the couple spends a bit of time co-sleeping and getting used to each other before doing anything. I see Lan Zhan starting out along those lines, and his consideration would have been much appreciated if his wife had been someone like Jiang Yanli. Unfortunately it is 100% wasted on Wei Ying.

So he walks into the room with the noblest of intentions, is confronted with the shock of Wei Ying, and PANICS:

First there are the Lan vs Jiang family cultural differences, i.e.

The "We Are Always Decorous" Lan family vs the "Decorum when in public, at-home manners very different" Jiang family

Lan "I will only very gently try to negotiate your boundaries" Xichen vs ...Jiang Cheng/Yanli/Auntie Yu/Uncle Jiang, who are personal-boundary-chaotics in very different ways

Second, in terms of Lan Zhan’s general social experience:

He has one (1) friend, who is his brother and who is very emotionally considerate.

He has not interacted with a woman in an intimate/domestic setting since the death of his mother (excluding servants, but that’s different). His experience with women is probably limited to the branch family aunties, and maybe daughters of their social circle who he sees for two seconds from across the room, when everyone is on their best behaviour, and they never speak.

He has never interacted with any person alive like Wei Ying in any setting. She called him PRETTY and TO HIS FACE, she chases people, she has contraband goods, she has POCKETS-

Third, there is the additional layer of shock provided by the expectations Lan Zhan had of what “a new wife” would be like, which Wei Ying is … not.

She was going to be a shy, retiring maiden (I think the “unkidnappable” fact just did not compute and he just mentally shelved it).

And unlike Wei Ying, who had the whole breadth of her human experience as “possible range for how much of a fucking weirdo my husband might be”, it never occurs to Lan Zhan to be curious about her because his image of his future wife is pretty much a dress wearing a face and it hasn’t really occurred to him that she might have any personality - or UNREPRESSED personality -  beyond her role and his obligations towards her.

He had this idea of how he was going to be a Dutiful Husband (making sure his wife doesn't go hungry on the wedding night, making sure that her maidenly sensibilities are respected in negotiating bedroom activities, making sure that she maintains a comfortable position in the household, making sure that she gets the dishes she likes to eat even if he doesn't eat them).

Then they were gonna treat each other "with the respect accorded to honoured guests" (another Ye Olde Chinese Thing), and eventually become a peaceful, comfortable couple.

Almost none of it is going in the way that he'd planned and he doesn't have a Plan B because he DIDN'T KNOW PEOPLE COULD BE LIKE THIS.

And now HIS MAIDENLY SENSIBILITIES ARE BEING OFFENDED-

In regards to Lan Zhan’s Filial Procreative Duty:

It's not that he's unaware of it, but there's not as much urgency for him. He doesn't need a son to solidify his position in the household, his own brother has two sons already so the line isn't in danger and he can always adopt the second nephew as his heir, he knows that WY is only 17 whereas the average age of marriage at the time (according to the english-language internet) was 18-20 for women.

He does intend to try for a child with her eventually (for her sake), but HE JUST REALLY WANTS TO START BY BEING FRIENDS FIRST (*/ω＼*)

CHAPTER 3

On Lan Zhan’s side:

It goes without saying that after Lan Zhan flees his bedroom on the morning after the wedding, he heads straight to his brother for his regular dose of emotional processing.

Lan Xichen spends the entire conversation highly amused and trying to keep it hidden under a suitably sympathetic expression.

And then he gently-but-firmly forces Lan Zhan to go home, which Lan Zhan does mutinously

Upon their arrival home, Lan Zhan only stops briefly in his study before heading straight back out on business (or, as Wei Ying half-suspects: “business”): It is most certainly “business”. Lan Zhan is finding any excuse to avoid her because he does not know how to deal with her and he’s a little bit afraid of her (and the danger she poses to his chastity).

Lan Zhan says nothing to Lan Qiren because it is all too mortifying.

Lan Qiren, who still seems to vaguely disapprove of her, despite being the one to agree to this marriage in the first place: While he hears no specifics, Lan Qiren’s propriety-related spidey-senses are tingling nevertheless, and so he starts to observe Wei Ying with extreme suspicion.

Lan Xichen also finds this highly amusing.

Hence Wei Ying noticing that “There’s something about the curve of his eyes that means he always looks mildly amused…Wei Ying is not sure whether this is how Lan Xichen presents generally, or if it is something specific to her.“

(It’s definitely specific to her. He thinks she’s great for his brother and therefore great in general)

Otherwise, Lan Zhan actually does like Wei Ying, despite all of the shocking things about her (He just doesn’t know that this is what he’s feeling, since he’s never felt this way before :’D).

Also maybe he’s used to the people he likes expressing their affection for him via some level of teasing (his mother, to a lesser level his brother).

Lan Zhan is watching Wei Ying as closely as she’s watching him (or even more so) - enough to know that she’s smart, and that there’s more to her than the incompetent wife image she’s projecting (which is why he’s not interfering … beyond a certain extent).

Other notes:

Wei Ying herself is so fully focused on the branch family aunties and how far she needs to escalate to get them to make a move that she probably hasn't given two thoughts to thing else. So there's almost certainly a parallel Mianmian POV to this story that's filled with constant nail-biting about what everyone else thinks of her mistress and the possibility of Wei Ying escalating so hard that they won't be able to fully reverse the damage afterwards.

Secret tunnel + secret storage room: Wei Ying absolutely finds 193847548495 future uses for these after this story is done.

Babymaking is 100% a genuinely high-key concern for Wei Ying, since producing Lan Zhan’s heir is how she secures lifetime economic/social/etc security for herself (that said it is not the MOST urgent issue at this stage, since she first needs to ensure that there is a safe environment to bring the baby into).

(I am high-key channelling "The Promotion Record of a Crown Princess" and "Greetings Ninth Uncle", here. Dowager is very much the life goal for All Women - when it's not Revenge - as far as my own shameful background in consuming Chinese historical romances is concerned.)

In terms of inheritance (keeping in mind that I am far from an expert, and my main source is a lot of historical Cdramas and Cnovels):

There was some amount of flexibility in when to formally split a family and therefore its shared resources:

If there are enough resources to support a split, then a patriarch dying is a good opportunity for brothers to go their own ways without any negative social implications.

If there's a big enough falling out between brothers or between fathers and sons, then it might happen even while Dad's still around.

If you're collectively funding a scholar to get into government and bring a valuable political connection to the family, then maybe you stay together even after Dad is gone.

And the division of property (including property in common) wasn't automatically an "eldest son takes all" situation either.

For the Lan brothers in this story:

The formal economic rational for them not splitting the business yet is that they need the business to fund a government career (Lan Qiren and Lan-papa were intending to maintain a similar arrangement before Lan-papa prematurely died)

But the actual reason is probably Lan brotherly love :'>

The branch families inherited other things, or maybe a different branch of the business when Great-grandpapa Lan died, but then they fucked it! and had to come crawling back to Lan-papa for a lifeline.

Wei Ying knows enough going in (from Nie Huaisang and general gossip) that whenever the brothers finally split (maybe after proxy-dad Lan Qiren dies), Lan Zhan is walking away with a handsome part of the business. Now that she's seen them in close quarters, she knows that Lan Xichen might even cede all of it, at the end of a soppy and embarrassing "no, you!"-"no, you!" fight between the brothers

Rivalled only by the parallel fight between the Nie sisters about whose kids inherit the restaurant empire, and then Nie Huaisang declares her intention to stay a spinster and adopt Nie Mingjue's second son as the Nie heir and then it's chaos.

Or maybe they can grow a tea empire and someone’s children can stay in Lin An and someone else’s children can go establish dominance over a different city.

CHAPTER 4

Lan Zhan’s side of things is coming through more clearly in the text now (I hope), but some notes nevertheless:

Then, she sends some to her husband’s study to serve him as a mid-afternoon snack, and to remind him of her continued existence: By this point, Lan Zhan has realised that he like-likes Wei Ying, so he’s very much aware of her continued existence already.

This gesture on her part seeds a hope that she might at least be receptive to his overtures, if she doesn’t yet feel the same way about him, and the pork-and-ginger-with-extra-ginger dumplings are him trying to take what he thinks is their courtship forward (“In thanks for the pastries … They were delicious.”).

Growing up with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen and no other friends, it never occurs to him that Wei Ying might not be fluent in the Lan communication method of “indirect statements from which the audience correctly infers implied meanings”.

That the pastries turn out to be for a plot is a small bump in the road that is overcome by all of the “just for you” foods Wei Ying overcompensates with when he finds out.

“Do you…Never mind”: Lan Zhan would never say ‘DO U LIKE ME’, but this is him starting an overture that is (slightly) more direct and then not knowing how to continue and fleeing the scene.

Wei Ying modestly yields to her husband’s leadership, and that is why they spend the evening stopping in front of every opera singer, acrobat or other street performer who crosses their path: Young Master Lan Zhan conducting a thorough study on “what my wife likes”.

The direct consequence of this outing (as mentioned in Ch 5) that Wei Ying is Seen to have Lan Zhan’s esteem is also very much intentional on his part, because Lan Zhan is also thoughtful and efficient like that.

Other notes:

Since making lotus seed paste is a tedious, thankless task that normal families pay other people to do: My love-hate letter to lotus seed paste. I mostly know about the process for making it because I briefly considered making it myself during the first COVID lockdown. This desire lasted approximately 20 seconds into the first instructional youtube video I watched. But it is still delicious.

They pass yet another group of burly, scruffy men - all of whom are carrying an array of mismatched, chipped and obviously-scavenged weapons: foreshadowing for Wei Ying’s realisation in Ch 8, lol.

CHAPTER 5

Notes on Lan Xichen’s Moon-Viewing Party:

She can at least cow them into submission with Auntie Yu's beady-eyed stare: This is far from the only thing that Wei Ying has picked up from Auntie Yu. If anyone were ever to mention how like a real mother-and-daughter pair they can be sometimes, they would both be extremely appalled.

Lan Zhan has been watching Wei Ying since their arrival at his brother’s house to make sure that no one wrongs his wife (though with a credible amount of discretion, so no one else has picked up on anything beyond the boundaries of what is socially acceptable for a besotted husband). So while she has been busy noticing things going wrong, he has noticed her noticing things going wrong, and as soon as she starts taking action, he moves in to support her.

“Xiao Ping can go.” is the result of Lan Zhan finally finding an opportunity to step in after an extended period of patient waiting.

“Guanren,” she gasps in surprise: The possessive part of Lan Zhan (which is most of him) very much likes it when Wei Ying calls him that.

Lan Zhan discovers this night that he has a massive “bae helping other people” kink, and an equally massive competence kink.

At some point, Lan Zhan goes to his brother for advice on how to court his wife beyond his current “giving her things she likes” strategy, and receives the suggestion that maybe he should show her the things he’s good at too.

This births the “chrysanthemum wine + qin-playing” plan.

Continuing so late into the night that they fall asleep together is not an original part of this plan, but Wei Ying doesn’t seem upset by it and Lan Zhan is not one to retreat when he can advance, so it’s big wins all around.

Worth noting that while Lan Zhan does like his early bedtime in general, his particular insistence on xu shi (as noted by Wei Ying in re: “Her husband has revealed himself to be surprisingly fastidious about the strangest things as of late”) is not actually for health/moral habit reasons.

It also births the “Wei Ying [stumbling] across him in mid-song at an unusually high frequency” plan (which slightly predates the “chrysanthemum wine + qin-playing” plan).

And it is also why ultimate wingman Lan Xichen makes sure to mention poetry and Lan Zhan’s proficiency at it when he visits. It is very much not the only time he does something like this.

Other notes:

Which makes it even funnier that Lan Qiren so very obviously dislikes her: He does not, in fact, dislike her.

But he is experiencing trauma flashbacks from his interactions with Wei Ying’s mother back in ye day (/touches his beard protectively).

He is also burning with the passionate drive created by finally meeting a worthy challenge.

Every time one of his texts comes back annotated, he probably does the Tom-Hanks-Laptop meme of rubbing his hands and wiggling his fingers in preparation for writing his rebuttal. Except instead of "happy", his expression is "happily seething".

It bodes well for her ability to educate his nephew's children before they begin their formal education - if only he can get her to learn restraint and reform her character first!

So he is determined to succeed in fixing this one, this time! (He won’t).

Lan Xichen notices his uncle putting almost more energy into educating Wei Ying than his actual students and is highly amused.

Over time, Lan Qiren notices that verbally sparring with Wei Ying on various topics has improved the quality of his corresponding Academy lessons, and that he sometimes even discusses her takes on texts. This mildly infuriates him, especially when he receives expressions of admiration from students and parents for the depth of his scholarship and teaching.

Sometimes the result is that Lan Zhan gets a sudden and unexpected lecture on controlling/educating his wife and neither he nor Wei Ying can identify what she’s done to deserve it.

(Sometimes this is further complicated by the fact that she has committed too many potential affronts to pick just one.)

Uncoded notes have already been conclusively proven to be a terrible idea, and Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang do not already have an established code (Wei Ying cannot believe that they do not already have an established code; in reflection, it truly is an unforgivable oversight): They establish a code after everything in this story is finished, but they use it so infrequently that they keep forgetting it.

She would have loved to have used the opportunity to discuss Meng Yao instead, but when Wei Ying had mentioned her name, Nie Huaisang had simply hummed noncommittally and made no move to add anything further: Nie Huaisang’s initial reason for not involving Wei Ying in her own counterscheming against Meng Yao/Jin Guangshan is that Wei Ying has enough to deal with in re: the branch aunties and much fewer resources to draw on. This turns into “Wei Ying had better save her energy to focus on growing some emotional understanding of herself and her husband”, because that situation is dire. And then Meng Yao and Jin Guangshan escalate so far that it turns into “this is my personal grievance and requires my personal vengeance, and I will not risk having my bloodthirst restrained”.

Uncle Jiang had stopped him in the street and expressed his wife and daughter’s desire to see Wei Ying: A brief apology to Jiang Yanli who features very minimally in this story because while Wei Ying visits her a lot, she is also taking pains to stop her beloved sister from unnecessarily worrying about her by not mentioning anything serious at all and painting a very rosy picture of her married life where she “only has your run-of-the-mill teething problems, hardly worth talking about, except could you do me this one favour and send this wad of joss paper over to my residence in your name?”.

Jiang Yanli politely keeps up her end of the social fiction but is, in fact, still worrying. She deals with this by making and sending over a lot of nourishing food.

Wei Ying pulls the bundle out from a drawer and is struck by a sudden and completely uncharacteristic wave of self-doubt. This is odd and completely inexplicable - she’d been so confident in the quality of her gift only a shichen prior; she has no idea why she feels so nervous about it now: This is the point at which any other person might notice that their feelings for their husband run deeper than they’d previously thought (if they hadn’t already realised at many points before this), but Wei Ying is special. Lan Zhan, unfortunately, manages to pick up on the “any other person” part, but not the “Wei Ying is special” part.

There’s a sudden clatter, followed by Xiao Ping swearing and they startle apart: This is deliberate on Xiao Ping’s part. There are branch spies watching!

On Scheming Abilities:

Nie Mingjue, as the eldest di-daughter of a wealthy household who has only ever been second to her parents in terms of authority, has never needed to scheme in her life, and is used to dealing with everything straightforwardly. After she marries, Lan Xichen doesn’t have concubines and Nie Mingjue is too wealthy/powerful for the Lan relatives to otherwise interfere with her, so she never has to change (and is therefore completely unprepared for Meng Yao).

Similarly, Lan Xichen has zero scheming skills (although he will need to acquire some to survive in government, probably)

Lan Zhan has acquired more skills than his brother, by way of greater involvement in the family business and having to deal with the branch families. His involvement with Wei Ying, however, is fast teaching him that he is also very much a novice.

Nie Huaisang, a shu-daughter (although I never managed to explicitly say that anywhere in the text) and Wei Ying, a servant-born foster daughter, have acquired scheming skills due to the precariousness of those positions in life. These include:

Being targeted by and winning power games against people within the household

For Nie Huaisang, perhaps her father’s concubines or the servants loyal to them - either as a way to get to Nie Mingjue, or just directly.

For Wei Ying, maybe some of Madam Yu’s close maids feel aggrieved on their mistress’s behalf, maybe some of the servants resent Wei Ying for having a better position despite being equal to them in terms of birth.

Winning power games against people in their social circles who look down on them (Nie Huaisang for being a shu daughter, Wei Ying for being servant-born).

Needing to scheme their way out of feminine hooligan-related scrapes from their youth, of which there were many.

CHAPTER 6

Can’t find much to say about this chapter. Just that:

Treating Wei Ying to almost half a shichen of her own lecture on the importance of rewarding loyalty to old servants: Wei Ying remembers this with great clarity during the confrontation and associated fall-out (“Loyal people are difficult to come by; I would hate to deprive them of such a precious resource.”).

Miss Cang had been diligently using those accomplishments to slowly and subtly appeal to the similarly-accomplished Lan Zhan not one year ago: On the other hand, Lan Zhan could not pick her out of a lineup if his life depended on it. Wei Ying asks him after the first time she and Miss Cang have a run-in and receives a very genuine response of “???” “????????????” She chooses not to mention that to Miss Cang either.

CHAPTER 7

Lan Zhan received a bit of abuse in the comments of this chapter (:’D), which came as a bit of a surprise to me. I suppose I have the benefit of clearly plotting out my son’s perspective for my own understanding of the story, and Wei Ying’s perspective limits the ways in which his side of the story can be conveyed, so that’s what I’ll address.

Lan Zhan is not angry, his feelings are hurt.

He's invested 110% in this relationship and he'd thought Wei Ying felt the same until she hit him with the joke about divorce, and now it's like "she's built herself an exit strategy, is standing with one foot out the door and none of my feelings or actions-to-date have mattered enough to outweigh that".

For any Legend of Minglan viewers, the parallel with Gu Tingye’s “You’re leaving yourself an escape route!!” is very much intentional.

You can see a bit of this hinted at in Lan Zhan’s “You don’t even know”, which indicates that all of Wei Ying’s theories on what she has done are wrong.

While Lan Zhan is particularly sensitive about divorce for some understandable mother-related reasons (which means that there's an additional "how could she think that of me? does she know me at all?" in there), he has an additional contextual defence: most women would not joke about divorce, at least before the marital relationship is solid enough that everyone knows it’s obviously a joke.

Meanwhile, Wei Ying has thrown the joke out there on the back of some solid evidence that she has some real viable alternatives for supporting herself, so for all Lan Zhan knows, she might actually go.

Given his limited emotional-management tools, Lan Zhan is working it out in the best way he knows how:

Firstly going to see his brother

Secondly by hiding away and nursing his wounds while he awkwardly tries to process his feelings, calms down, takes stock of the situation and decides what he wants to do about it.

He can't actually come out and say "I'M UPSET BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ME!", hence: making his brother promise not to tell her, and his brother agreeing because lol yes that's quite embarrassing.

So we can see in: “But her efforts are only met with her brother-in-law - while smiling in a way that seems as if he’s laughing at her even more than usual - simply telling her not to worry, and that his brother’s anger will doubtlessly burn itself out any day now“ that:

Firstly, the problem is something that Lan Xichen can be amused about. We’ve already mentioned the embarrassment factor, but beyond that, the nature of the problem is not that serious. Lan Zhan in the throes of heartbreak is melodramatically thinking “SHE DOESN’T LOVE ME”, but Lan Xichen is astute enough to suspect that Wei Ying is maybe a bit emotionally dense, and is probably not as unmoved as all that.

Secondly, Lan Xichen recognises that the problem is something that Lan Zhan needs space to work through himself, and that there’s nothing to be done on Wei Ying’s side.

Mianmian’s “refusal to tell Wei Ying” is explained in Ch 8, but it’s worth noting here that loyal maidservant Mianmian would never refuse to tell Wei Ying something important. What actually happens of course is that Mianmian keeps insisting that Lan Zhan is in love with Wei Ying, and Wei Ying keeps refusing to believe it and then she finally says “Fine! Don’t tell me then!” and Mianmian is like /o\

Susu genuinely doesn’t know though, lol. She’s a bit younger, not as emotionally mature.

Nie Mingjue also genuinely doesn’t know (Lan Xichen hasn’t told her because he knows she’d just call Lan Zhan an idiot to his face).

Nie Huaisang does know, but after hearing about Mianmian’s valiant attempts, she decides it would be better to take a more slowly-slowly angle and show Wei Ying how much Lan Zhan likes her instead. With mixed results.

Even given all the above, Lan Zhan is very much invested in protecting Wei Ying’s public standing and reputation:

We can see this in his insistence that she stays at home, so she doesn’t become a convenient target or sacrificial fall-guy  during the family proceedings.

Nie Mingjue further explains his fears in her conversation with Wei Ying about the Lan elders and their treatment of Lan Zhan’s mother vs herself.

We can also see it in “While he does not ignore her, precisely, Lan Zhan also never lingers in her company a moment longer than strict decorum would require”: Lan Zhan is still demonstrating to the servants and the public that, at the very least, her position as his wife should be respected and all related benefits afforded to her.

And of course he’s still sleeping in their bedroom.

Both the Lan brothers underestimate the emotional impact that this will have on Wei Ying, because neither of them has correctly understood how emotionally invested she is or how emotionally invested she realises she is. (In their defence: neither has she.)

This assumption is shored up by the way that she stays pretty upbeat and flippant, especially in the way she goes about trying to make amends. Not yet understanding her, they take this to mean that she’s feeling sorry and a little awkward, but otherwise is unaffected.

Lan Zhan’s points of realisation that he's hurt her are "Forgive me anyway - I can't bear it" and finding her curled up in bed. “I have an engagement” is true, but it is also him needing some space to process this new knowledge. At this point he:

half-caves to the decision that he'll just love her anyway and not give her any excuse to leave, and

half-comes to the realisation that actually, maybe Wei Ying really doesn't know about his feelings or her own, so he's going to need to recalibrate.

There were a few comments along the lines of “this could have been resolved through direct communication”, and while that’s true to some extent, I feel like direct communication in the context of relationships and feelings is a very modern-Western value that doesn’t necessarily have the same application here.

I do fully accept that despite its setting, this is a modern story, for a modern audience. But even so I think the non-modern setting and context (in addition to Lan Zhan’s particular personal situation) make it a little unfair to blame Lan Zhan for not starting a heart-to-heart outpouring of feelings. (Though of course this is my personal opinion.)

Even in my modern-but-still-Asian family, there’s a much stronger culture of being expected to read unspoken meaning from social situations, and in turn being able to expect that other people do the same. The cultural conflict is, as Jay Chou once sang in the song “Cliff of Love” (lololololol): You say that I am like a child, delighting in always leaving you guessing. I say that you’re the one who is like a child, always needing me to spell things out for you.

Semi-relatedly, I think there’s a “child of asian parents” meme about your parents apologising by bringing sliced fruit to you instead of saying anything with words. I have imputed this to Wei Ying and Lan Zhan.

In very general terms, I would also say that we as a Chinese family have a much weaker culture of “you did this thing that violates my boundaries, I will tell you and expect you to change your behaviour” and a much stronger culture of “you did this thing to violate my boundaries, I must manage myself so that unacceptable boundary violations do not happen in future”. I have on some level imputed this to Lan Zhan.

There is also a much stronger culture of avoiding things that are embarrassing (as the person who might be embarrassed, as the person who might cause someone else to be embarrassed, and as a bystander who might worsen the embarrassment by bearing witness). There’s a lot of “not mentioning and just moving past these things by unspoken agreement”. I have on some level imputed this to … everyone in this story. 

The entire story, but this sex scene in particular, have been my manifesto on My Beef with Historical CNovels (which I recognise is sometimes about censorship and not the authors’ artistic vision). In terms of the sex scene this includes, but is not limited to:

Only the dudes or top dudes being horny or up for it (or being the 80 in an 80/20 split in who is horny/up for it)!

The relative passivity of ladies/bottom dudes in bed!

JADE STICKS (didn’t manage to get a reference to CHERRY NIPPLES in, but THOSE TOO)!

Lack of preparation and the resultant pain!

The lady/bottom “not being able to get out of bed for 3 days afterwards”!

The fun relationship tension/dynamics disappearing after a pivotal point where the couple variously gets together/gets married/has sex!

CHAPTER 8

Without guidance from questions in the comments, some general notes:

“It matters not,” he murmurs when they break apart: This is Lan Zhan both recognising that Wei Ying is not mentally/emotionally ready to believe the actual answer, and also genuinely meaning that it doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s also probably quite obvious right now that this Lan Zhan knows he’s not very verbally demonstrative and so he compensates with physical affection instead.

This also means that he’s very cuddly with their children when they’re born, and 100% takes A-Yuan everywhere with him, including on business.

While Lan Zhan directs her from his place behind her, seated with his chest pressed flush against her back: Lan Zhan would have been one of those children who is independent and standoffish in public, but a total cuddlebug with his mum in private. And so in addition to the above, the result of being touch-starved for over a decade following his mother’s death means that he fuses himself to Wei Ying at every (private) opportunity. It’s not that he doesn’t touch her in public, but it’s all very hand-on-elbow proper and decorous - until the moment they cross into a place with any amount of privacy and then FWOOM.

Wei Ying has wondered more than once whether she might one day bully Lan Zhan into sitting in the circle of her arm, while she appreciates fine wine as the ancestors intended: It definitely happens, and takes minimal-to-none bullying.

If her friend is suspicious enough of Meng Yao to interfere in her sister’s household, limit Meng Yao’s access to Nie Mingjue and attack Meng Yao’s father, then why has she done nothing to Meng Yao herself?: Nie Huaisang started out leaving Meng Yao every opportunity to come clean about what Jin Guangshan wanted her to do. If Meng Yao had had a change of heart and done this at any point while her disruptions to the household were still minor, Nie Huaisang would have happily worked with her to get her due from the Jin family (and then relocated her to somewhere suitably removed from Lan Xichen). But then Meng Yao proves that she is willing to completely sell Nie Mingjue out for her own gain, and now Nie Huaisang is giving her enough rope to hang herself.

And so Wei Ying spends the latter part of the evening half-lying on Lan Zhan’s bare chest: This behaviour begins as the result of Wei Ying misunderstanding something she hears (probably from Uncle Jiang’s men) about post-nut clarity. But it is in Lan Zhan’s interests to encourage it, and it doesn’t actually impede the thought process, so it continues.

“I didn’t mean to,” Nie Huaisang says in a small voice, to no one in particular: Going to leave this open as to whether Nie Huaisang is telling the truth or not.

The coroner’s report will attribute the cause to a combination of the incense burning in the room and the herbal tonic that he has been taking to replenish his yang qi for the past year: Meng Yao’s last gift to a father she has known all along was using her too.

[thrashkink-coven]

Ritual Report: Wednesday July 26, 2023

My glorious and profound Father Lucifer, I thank you humbly for this marvellous experience as well as your permission to share this experience with my peers. You are infinite in your loving grace and wisdom. I revere you deeply and truly. Thank you, bless you. 🖤

“My Ritual with Lord Lucifer was fucking Amazing

I didn’t truly understand what everyone meant when they say that the Marvellous Light Bringer is beautiful and gracious beyond comprehension before this ritual. It’s been a day and I am still absolutely shaken and awe inspired. Ave the wonderful prince of darkness, Lord Lucifer. 🖤

Ritual with Lucifer (Holy Shit) (1)

Okay guys I’m not trying to be dramatic, seriously. I’m just super ?!??? aaaa ?? after the ritual I just did? But in a really great way. I just need to get this out and write this down because I’m ??? so happy? ? aa

I didn’t consider myself to be a Luciferian, but I’ve been reaching out to Lucifer for a little bit now, nothing super intense but I have definitely felt his presence and done some small offerings for him. Another spirit I work very often with is very close with Lucifer, and through him I came into contact with The Prince. I’ve worked a lot with other angels but I’ve only really started dabbling with Lucifer within the last year. He’s been good to me. Whatever whatever, just context.

I wanted to do something a little deeper, really get a solid good connection. Honestly, I just wanted to get to know him better. I’ve been thinking about him very often, seeing him in dreams. The energy in my room almost called for it. Idk.

A mutual of mine who also works with Lucifer suggested I try meditating with an enn. I’ve been meeting an unusually high number of people who also work with Lucifer within the past few weeks and they’re always sharing awesome resources I’ve never seen. As soon as I start thinking about him long enough I’ll see something that I could use to work with him. I recently went to a trip to Nelson BC and picked up these Hermetic Tarot Cards. Also came to find out that the town has a SUSPICIOUS amount of occult imagery (and a Freemason temple? very cool.)

Life is one funny motherfucker.

I think it’s worth noting that before I started this ritual, when I was writing up invocations for him, I drew a card out of a box of oracle cards that reads “become willing to see the innocence in that which you condemn” which I found very baffling at the time because I was grappling with nerves around the ritual. I’m like a full time witch so I usually don’t get the jitters in rituals. Angels usually never make me nervous, and Lucifer in no way scares me. I don’t at all see him as an evil scary thing, quite the opposite, but I was raised extremely Christian so it’s ingrained in me. I was just having that split second satanic panic thing. I think that’s important to acknowledge. Lovely shadow work exposing my deep prejudices and insecurities :)

I began the ritual by drawing his sigil on the desk in white chalk. I had already prepared a candle carved with the sigil. I like to use this card from the Goetic Tarot whenever I do rituals with Lucifer because the artwork is so stunning. This was also the first time I was using these Hermetic Tarot cards and they were wonderful, probably one of my favourite decks now.

After some meditative exercises and prayers I layer back on the floor and listened to music for a while. I do all my rituals like this naked. I like to listen to classical music when I’m preparing to go into a trance because it tickles my brain and is easy to ride. Gets all the goo out? I don’t know.

After a while of that I switched it to the enns…

So, the Enns…

I started with Lucifer’s Enn by Demonic Enn. It filled my chest. It was powerful and intimidating and my heart was pounding. It was overwhelming for me. What I felt in it was power, but not the Lucifer I’m familiar with I guess. A different aspect of Lucifer that is mighty and strong but unfamiliar. Not my Lucifer.

((Honestly the instrumentals are top tier and I really could feel it’s power but the dude’s voice just threw me off. I’m sorry I don’t know if we’re allowed to leave reviews on enns but it just wasn’t my favourite.))

It scrambled the fuck out of me and it made me nervous again. I started to doubt myself and wondered if I was making a mistake. I know that sounds stupid but I was caught in the adrenaline. What if the Lucifer I’ve felt all this time isn’t what I thought? I know that everyone experiences him differently, but what if I’m reaching out to someone I don’t really understand? I know Lord Lucifer is an extremely powerful entity and I don’t wanna fuck around and do something stupid, yknow?

I sat for a moment and then asked my deck the first question of the ritual. “What advice can you give me to continue this ritual? Am I making a mistake?”

I got this Nine of Swords, Lord of Despair and Cruelty.

“The Nine of Swords suggests that dark thoughts and disturbing feelings are weighing you down. You are worrying excessively about a situation, and your negative thoughts are getting the better of you, leaving you stressed and anxious. The more you associate with your fears, the more they will rule your life. The fear and worry in the Nine of Swords can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. As you obsess over what may go wrong, you are more likely to manifest your worst-case scenario.”

I was freaking myself out, and I needed to calm down. The jitters were holding me back and I needed to regain focus. Stop being a little bitch, basically. And idk… as soon as I read that card, I was calm again, and the energy felt warm. He needed me to preserve. I was safe with him, and he was guiding me through the darkness. If he is the Lucifer I know him to be, he will guide me well.

I tried one more enn which was Lucifer’s Enn by Carl Spartacus. Beautiful.

This is the most vivid trance I have ever been in. Like holy shit. I don’t know how best to describe this without sounding totally crazy. My body completely relaxed as I fell into the music. My face got warm, I felt embrace around my shoulders and chest. As soon as it began I saw a warm light emerge from the darkness behind my eyes. The familiar energy of the Lucifer I’ve come to know emerged. I felt close to him like I always had, it was like he was standing right before me. Like he could just reach out and touch me.

I emerged in shrubbery, I was surrounded by trees and bushes. As I turned to look into the clearing I saw a magnificent illuminating light. The energy was rich, so heavy I could reach out and grab it. I felt warmth blanket my entire body, and I began to drift from the ground and float towards him. If I didn’t know any better Id fucking swear I was levitating in the real world. It felt that real. His energy elevated and touched every part of my body and filled it with absolute bliss. There were others there, naked men and women surrounding him and singing, floating around him with laughter and glee. We were in a large stretch of field now, prancing around like children, the drum of his energy pounding like thunder and lifting us into the air. I didn’t know these people, if they were spirits or humans, but we were all in love with each other. We held hands and swung each other around. We were all so happy to be together.

Lucifer was a tall masculine energy with long black hair and deep, gentle, wise black eyes. Like all the others he was naked and seemed to glow. He took us all up and we drifted among the clouds. He danced with us, his smile was light itself.

This was all so vivid. I could feel the wind and heat on my skin. I got butterflies as we drifted. I actually felt like I was floating. Honestly I was high on it, maybe I still am.

And then, I felt my body sit forward, and I returned to our world. The candle which I had carved Lucifer’s sigil on stood tall and I could feel him within the flame. He whispered for me to come closer. It was then that I heard his voice. His smooth, gentle, careful voice. It was a whisper that washed over me like mist. Had I not been in such a high state of mind it would have scared the shit out of me.

He said in great vividness “Why have you come before me?” (Deal time!!!)

I replied simply that I wanted to know him. I said that I could not worship him, for I must worship myself. I seek him not for religion but because I have great love and reverence for him. Through magick we can connect and come to know each other. I hope only that he can show me how to be more like him. Powerful and dominant, warm and protective. He is beautiful, illuminating knowledge and purity. I want nothing more than to know him as one would know an old friend. Behold his energy, magnificent and splendid. May we dance together like we just did for as long as it serves us. He seemed very satisfied with that answer.

Lucifer commanded me to draw a card from the tarot deck, the question to which was essentially “will you take me as one of you kin, Lord Lucifer?”

I drew the Sun. Lord of the Fire of the World. Success, radiance and abundance. The Sun gives you strength and tells you that no matter where you go or what you do, your positive and radiant energy will follow you and bring you happiness and joy. This beautiful, warm energy is what will get you through the tough times and help you succeed.

We then spoke for a bit about fire and its ability to purify. It is a powerful force with the power to harm, but it is a mighty cleanser of impurity. He asked me to put my hand above the flame to feel it’s heat. I promised to always respect that flame. Allow it to burn away all that does not serve us, to never abuse it, to never try to control it. He kissed me on the forehead.

I was beyond happy. I offered him my smoky quarts and obsidian tower just to give him something, and when I did I saw him bow to me when he reached out to accept. I bowed back, and he bid me farewell for now. When I was finally completely out of the trance, his protective energy was still there. Actually it’s still everywhere, filling my altar. I can’t describe this feeling.

I can’t explain how rich and beautiful that energy was, how marvellous it felt to float in his orbit like that. The physical sensations were realer than reality. I’m still shaken. I feel ridiculously lucky which is a strange feeling I’ve never really had with a deity before. It’s so strong. aaa

I can’t bring myself to clean up the ritual lol.

Thanks for reading this holy fuck, I guess I’m a bit of a Luciferian now “

Ave the wondrous Lord Lucifer! ❤️🖤

[ladythornofrivia]

my heavenly salvation

Pair: Levi x Reader

Warnings: This series is going to be contain with fluff. Too much fluff. And smut. With mentions of self-harm, mentions of depression. Inspired by the Titanic movie. MDNI, NSFW

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry I didn’t pay attention enough to my blog aside from reblogging everything I see that’s new, especially when it comes to anime. The greatest gift ever is to escape from reality and write fanfic stories here on Tumblr.

(Please report if anyone decides to steal/plagiarize my work and notify me. Thank you.)

Chapter I

A New Beginning

Next Chapter

It was that midday. On that midday—chilled and under substance of weariness came to light when you stepped out of the cramped space with an extension of your hand stretching towards the driver’s hand to escorted you down from the carriage, staring at the glorious—rather gloomy—weather with 100,000 people compacted at every street corner, people waving each other farewell, others have an under inspection of clean hygiene. Then the departed ones kissed and hugged their loved ones and embarked on the grandiose ship.

Goliath.

Goliath is a ship that stretches 1000 ft. 10 inches—all crisp and sharp colors of red, black and gold protruded over a sullen day.

It was that day.

That day you’re going off to a different country to be wedded off to the great Zeke Yeager, the man who belonged into a clan of Eldians. Eldians are anything but elite people who holds more jewels, crown, gold and diamonds than any Marleyans and the poor could ever afford. They owned several mines and tobaccos across the peaceful land. Since the success battle between Eldians and Marleyans has been the greatest rivals since the dawn of time, things have escalated when the usurper, Eren Yeager, destroyed the Marleyans with an undercover invasion. Paradis, an island of Devils, overtook the headlines and marked into the history within the Marleyan lands.

It wasn’t all what Eren Yeager did. Secrecy is just as deep and thick as one’s blood that Eren isn’t willing to share on what he did to gain riches and status. And how Zeke Yeager got the title as a king to Eldians baffled you. In your heart, you knew, even your family and servants knew, Zeke Yeager is born as an Eldian—a commoner, but in the once rich land of Marleyans, served under Commander Magath, as the Eldian Warrior.

Warriors. Nothing but grueling, war-hungry freaks, thinking what they do is best for everyone when they have forsaken at their most vulnerable moments in mankind. You hated war, no matter what kind. It’s always the same thing. In the history of time and space, all people ever do is hate one another, it’s what they’re always good at—no hearts to spare, not even a shred of kindness. People are afraid to understand beyond their comprehensions and decided to take it by force.

More so, eternal power and fortune, to remain as untouchable. Humans craved it as a source of validation—their pleasure and a wanting of an endless gift.

It baffled you to the idea where lies are just a gain of source for the Yeager brothers to achieve their goals in one fell swoop.

The Yeager brothers are clever. So clever it froze you into thinking of a never-ending “what-ifs” and scenarios in your stable life.

You were fine with the idea of being spinster, until your dearest mother proposed the idea of you to be shipped off to see Zeke Yeager and wed him before the Goliath arrives at the new Eldian land that the Yeager brothers established after the Rumbling they called on years ago.

You weren’t just some old horse to be put down and casted off when humans so desire. You have a heart with feelings and distinguished ideals. A bird is a bird that meant to be freed off themselves from the nest and gain gift and glory to the best of their lives with a spread of their wings, no matter what kind. That’s the hope that you’ve longed for. But your mother has the extreme case of putting your ambitions and wishes, down and dead, by calling you “a silly little girl who knows nothing about the real world,” with a haughty laugh.

Despite your mother’s guttural, uppity laugh, your ears deafened at the sound of Titans’s feet crushing upon ruins and fire. You were scared before; cherishing one’s life after being born is the greatest gift to ever exist, but to be stripped off underneath the Rumbling’s stampede was another. You could hear your dead friends running and their bones crushed with their last teardrops stained into your memory. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, yet somehow, you survived. With life moving forward, you found yourself floating and idle instead.

Titans no longer exist. But you’d rather be eaten and tear apart and stomped on than to be at the mercy of the Yeager brothers as a hollow self.

As an aristocratic Marleyan, you are born to be crowned with a blessing and a curse, filled with purpose and luxury. But to think your blessings will be outnumbered soon as soon as you stepped your feet into the ship of Goliath.

As soon as you enter the ship, your mother halted to your side and whispered, “There’s someone I would like for you to meet. Come this way; you shouldn’t make our honored guest feel uncomfortable.”

~~~

Levi Ackerman, a man with his youngish looks is tired of constant battles between soldier to soldier, enemies to enemies. soldier and titans. But this time, his battling with his last luck.

Beyond the crowd, Levi leaned his shoulder against the lamplight post with a cigarette in his mouth, the smoke smeared alongside the Goliath’s upon the bustling chimneys. Goliath’s a sight to behold. A commoner like him could never get onto the gigantic ship. He has no money to spare, not after the war he carried on as the last surviving member of his people—a lone man last standing amongst the pack of crowd, who have forgotten about the war that Levi faced and sacrificed alongside the people Levi knew.

Under his weary lids, upon the bluish-grey gaze of his narrow eyes, he examined the loved ones separating with tears streaming down their faces with their smiles quivered.

This is what they wanted to see.

If only they’re here…

In his heart, maybe, but the physicality on being here with him, watching the crowd, alive and happy, was something extraordinary and rare to behold.

If only Titans didn’t exist…

But if Titans didn’t exist, he would serve no purpose but to live his days in the underground—no air and sunlight, just people in the dark and make decisions that are undesirable and irritable—more so, irrelevant. Being a thief was challenging for him.

His love of cleaning is still there; he tidied himself through and through—effortlessly polished. Luckily, he didn’t need assistance; none of his eyes are damaged, neither his fingers chopped off. The only thing his body has damage is his left leg—though not severed or broken. He dislocated it from his last battle in his threshold with walls.

His cigarette burnt out quickly, thus nearly burned the skin on his fingers. His tongue clicked with annoyance, flicking the used cigarette off the ground and stomped on it.

Until now, his mind insistingly conjured up to the Rumbling. He didn’t want to look at the burnt cigarette, so his eyes focused elsewhere while his shoe deepened against his used smoke.

His eyes watched two lovers striding with giddy, who are also watching the folks climb onboard into the Goliath ship. Out of the blue, the young man got down on his one knee and pulled out the velvet box that contains a small diamond ring. The young woman caught on this and cried with happiness with her hands over her mouth, eyes glistening and knees shaking but kept herself with composure, but soon hopped with joy. Levi knew that the young woman would eventually say “yes”, and watched further as the young man spun his soon-to-be wife around as the crowd looked over and congratulated them.

Adjusting his cravat, as he was about embark his journey, a large colorful lollipop displayed before his eyes. Then a large shadow looming over him. A stink of breath drew closer to his ear, but not too close.

“Hey, little kid, you want a candy? Don’t worry, it’s free of charge,” a grating, raspy voice said behind Levi, laughing. Levi knew who it was. How did the clown survive from the Rumbling?

With his cane, his feet ambled briskly. He didn’t look who’s behind him, but he trudged into the crowd to lose the sight of a clown as the clown shouted in a slur that Levi doesn’t wish to understand or give his time for.

As he strode before the Goliath upon the thick spectators with ease, there were four men nearby shouting at each other about their gambling aftermath. Two of the men—Marleyans—wanted their tickets to the Goliath back, but unfortunately, the other two, who Levi assumes, are the Eldians—not born from Paradis—are shouting with their justifications. The golden tickets are on the table, to where the four men gambled. In a pure instinct, he grabbed the golden ticket with him and trudged his way to the bridge that was about to close soon within 7 minutes.

The inspector stopped Levi. “Do you have any diseases or bugs on you, sir?”

Levi looked at the crew member with a discern, nerving look in his eyes.

Realizing who Levi is, the crew member swallowed his fears, and in a low voice, his neck inclined forward and said, “It’s good to see you again, Captain Levi.”

Levi Ackerman adjusted his fedora hat. “I’m not the Captain anymore. I’m nothing more than just a passenger of the ship.” Then climbed onboard. As he traveled his way to the ship’s deck, he didn’t give so much of a wave, he lit his new cigar and watch the anchor and the rope lifted, ready to take off.

He wasn’t much of a person with goodbyes, but the sight of peace has taken its way to his heart with pride and glory, after a long road of betrayal, sacrifice and courage that solidifies and shaped on what he became as then and now.

Saving the land and the people is worth it.

Taglist: @galactict3a @f1yh1gh @colored-tr-panels @slay0368

[superectojazzmage]

Sure it’s been said, but the real bread and butter of SpyXFamily imo is how Yor and Loid have polar opposite but equally batshit stupid and insane approaches to the whole “spies pretending to be a normal family” thing that lead to the same result of them functionally becoming their cover identities.

Loid has some weird denial complex from his life as a spy where he views everything he does as part of some kind of 5D mental chess game that he’s playing against some nebulous threat and approaches his cover identity accordingly, effectively being the “haha I was only pretending to be retarded” meme but with being a husband and father instead of internet trolling. Every interaction he has with his wife and daughter is accompanied by a machiavellian internal monologue about how this is all an elaborate scheme to further the mission. He could be taking Anya out for ice cream and be internally thinking “yes, now that I’ve given my daughter a delicious frozen treat, Westalis shall achieve ultimate victory!!!”. He could be dicking down Yor and he’d spend the entire time thinking about how his wife’s orgasm will bring about the fall of Ostania. He is so obsessed with being a fake husband that when he becomes a real husband, he just smirks and goes “all according to keikaku” while taking his family out to the zoo or helping Anya with her homework. And when the slightest problem for his family arises — like thinking Yor is mad at him or that somebody is being mean to Anya — he totally fucking melts down about it in a way that makes no sense for a detached spy, but he still goes through the effort of trying to frame his freak out as a problem for the mission; he’s not having a panic attack about his wife being mad at him because he loves her, he swears, he’s just worried about the mission!

And meanwhile Yor is just… all fucking in. She’s a method actor to the most unhinged extreme imaginable. She heard “you have to pretend to be a housewife to avoid drawing suspicion” and decided that meant she had to literally become a housewife. She’s the Daniel Day-Lewis of assassins. She throws her whole body and soul into every single thing she does, completely immerses herself in the “role” to the point that it isn’t a role anymore, it’s just her life. Within seconds of meeting Anya she’s like “guess I’m a mom now!!!!”, within seconds of Loid proposing she’s like “yep I love my husband!!!!”. She still has all her assassin instincts and training, but they’re all warped to fit her new life as a milf because that’s what she is now; she’ll brutalize or kill anybody who even looks at her family the wrong way, she approaches every situation from the perspective of “how can I eliminate this problem?”. And like any good method actor, she obsesses over whether her behavior is “correct” to the role. She is determined to be indistinguishable from a normal housewife to a point that you wonder how she has time to be an assassin anymore when all she seems to really care about is trying to win at being Totally Normal and/or being a good wife and mother.

And then in the middle of it all, you’ve got telepathic Anya just listening in on it and doing or saying the weirdest shit imaginable because she’s a kid and has no comprehension of why this situation is completely bizarre, this is just her mom and dad being cool spies.

It’s S-Tier stuff.

[froggyfics]

For Your Pleasure - 3

The aftermath comes to light.

18+ only! I do not consent for this content to be viewed by minors. Please take heed of the warnings listed, though they are not entirely comprehensive. Do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with the content. This story and its contents are 100% fictional, and are not affiliated with Marvel Comics.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: viking!dark! Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, bloodshed

Word Count: 1,774

The invader – your assailant – leaves you writhing in pain in your home. You’re unsure if it’s because he wants to terrorize some other unlucky villager or if he just got bored of you.

You cough up spit, dust, and dirt. It’s impossible to keep your vision steady. Your legs are wobbly like a newborn calf and there’s a great pain in your abdomen. 

It takes every ounce of your energy to lift the barrel into your arms. A sense of remorse envelopes you. Although you are being forced by the invader to take your family’s food, you can’t help but feel like you’re stealing from them.

You grunt while you carry the heavy barrel to the rocky shoreline that sits at the edge of your village. Your peripheral vision notes that there are dozens of people scattered across the sandy shore. Some are your fellow bloodied villagers. The others are the barbarians. 

You remember your grandmother’s voice from when you were younger.

“The Vikings,” she ominously tells you. 

“Oh mother, don’t scare the poor child!” Your mother huffs. “The Vikings have not attacked in several years.”

Your grandmother exclaims, “They will return!” She shakes her frail hand in the air with as much energy as she could before hacking up some phlegm. She takes your small hands in hers, “This village has become lazy. The Vikings do not attack for a few years and all of a sudden, everyone thinks that they are safe. Ha!” She coughs some more. “You wait and see, child. Wait and see. The Vikings will always return. Be prepared.”

“Right over there.” A Viking shoves your shoulder towards a particular boat, forcibly bringing you back to the present. 

You approach the boat carefully. The stormy waves are crashing against it, but it does not yield to the power of the water. It holds steady in the wet sand. You almost want to marvel at it. The puny boats that the local fishermen had would have cracked and disintegrated against the power of the waters. 

You lower the barrel into the small boat, where there are several more identical barrels within. With the amount of food they are taking, your village will certainly starve before the weather warms again.

You turn around to look for your family. They’re not there and despair strikes your heart. Your legs take you to sit next to a crying Helga, wrapping your arm around her, like you did with Frida earlier. She does not speak, but you can tell the story of what happened to her by looking at the tattered remains of her clothes and various scratches and cuts across her. She suffered the same fate as you.

The two of you do not exchange any words. There’s still chaos all around. Screams pulsate in the air. Blood fills your nostrils every so often when you sniff hard enough. The Vikings relay orders to one another, readying their boats. There’s one behemoth of a ship a mile into the sea - waiting for the return of the barbarians. 

The lonesome ship piques your interest. It comes to your attention that there are actually very few Vikings around compared to the population of your village. They really overtook your measly village’s defenses with a skeleton crew. You all were easy to defeat. Just another village for them to conquer. 

Lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t catch Frida as your assailant drops her into you.

“Frida!” you cry out. 

“She certainly has a fighter’s spirit,” your assailant chuckles. “My men caught her trying to crawl away.” He meanly kicks her legs, as you cradle her body.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she does not regain consciousness despite your attempts at waking her. Slaps and pinches do not bring her back. Red splotches engulf her dress, but her chest moves up and down. She’s still alive, but hangs on by a thread.

“Please,” you stare into his eyes. “She is but a child. She needs to go to a healer.”

“A healer?” He scoffs. “Do not prolong her suffering. She may not be dead yet, but she will certainly cross that bridge tonight.”

Helga lovingly brushes her fingers through Frida’s hair. It was all she could do to communicate to Frida somehow that she was not alone. You rock Frida like you would a baby, trying to comfort her the best you knew how. 

There’s so much noise all around -  more than what you were used to hearing. The village was always so quaint. There were never this many screams.

The jarl barks out orders to his crew. The band of barbarians move swiftly like water, as if they have done this before. 

“Fear not! I do not intend to kill you. After all, who else will warm my bed while I travel across the sea, if not you?”

A shudder involuntarily comes over you. You pray with every part of your being that he didn’t mean what he said -  that it was just a scare tactic used to keep you compliant at that moment in time. 

Rocking Frida back and forth relieves you of your worries and your pain. Despite your chest and pelvis screaming in agony, she is all that matters at this moment. Splintered wood from the jarl’s arrow surrounds her gaping wound. Whoever found her must have yanked the arrow out, hoping that Frida would bleed to death. 

“Too bad for them. Frida’s a fighter,” you think. “She’ll come back to me soon enough, ready to talk my ears off.”

More and more survivors gather on the shore. The smell of defeat is in the air. You look around for your village’s chieftain, but he is nowhere in sight. In fact, you don’t see a single member of his household. 

Anger suddenly surges inside your chest at the thought of the chieftain’s likely death. You don’t quite understand why. You neither liked nor disliked the chieftain. Yet suddenly, in the midst of the turmoil and vanquishment, you’ve become a devout follower of his.

Your eyes survey your surroundings. You finally find the jarl, talking to his men with his back turned to you. You hope your eyes gain the divine power to burn holes in the back of his head.

As if he is clairvoyant, he slowly turns around to face you. You hope he sees the hatred in your eyes.

He does - you know he does because he grins. His teeth are still stained red. He motions you to come to him with his hand. You stubbornly look away.

“Go, girl!” Helga scolds. “Go, see what he wants. Otherwise, you will be the death of us all!”

Helga pries Frida from your arms. It feels like you’re losing Frida again.

“Oh, yes, please. Take your time! No rush!” The jarl shouts, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You hold your tongue, even though a growl froths in your throat. Shaky legs trudge to him. Every inch of you still hurts from his earlier assault. 

His hand gently grabs onto your shoulder. It feels like a mocking gesture. You know just how dangerous his hands are. You don’t think you could ever forget how his hands violated you.

“We’re going into that one.” He points at a boat some distance away. 

You inhale a shaky breath. The world becomes fuzzy and black spots take over your vision. The ground no longer supports you, and you slowly freefall into the dark abyss. 

A muffled voice exclaims, “Oh no, we will not have any of that!” 

He’s there to catch you. When you land in his arms, the darkness fades away, but then you’re left with the inescapable light. You take a moment to process your fainting episode. You peer up at the smiling jarl, with his blood-stained teeth. Your parents raised you right - you were nearly about to thank him for catching you. The words fumble in your mouth though, as your mind catches up to the situation.

Why are you even surprised? He quite explicitly told you that he would kidnap you earlier. You have an out-of-body experience as he marches you to the designated boat. This feels like a dream - a dream that you have when you have a fever so great that it deludes you.

When you’re within arms reach of the boat, you’re suddenly pulled into reality. 

“Run!” your mind screams at you. “Fight back or die trying! Die now with your brethren instead of far away from home!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts disapprovingly at your hesitation. “Do not provoke me, girl.” He leans in closely to whisper in your ear. “I’ll make you watch as I slit that little girl’s throat.”

You blink at him, and then observe the other villagers. Not one of them dares to meet your gaze. The shame of their silence is more nauseating than the blood.

The jarl laughs heartily when you voluntarily step into the boat. “I knew you were well-behaved!”

Frida’s limp body becomes smaller and smaller as the boat sweeps you away. Helga does not even look in your direction. 

The ship is so much bigger than anything you’ve seen before. If it were under different circumstances, you would take the time to marvel at its gorgeous architecture. It’s not like your captor would have allowed you a moment of reprieve. A flurry of bodies surround you as the crew prepare to set sail. 

You clutch onto the ship’s railing, looking longingly at your village. You’re in a daze until a certain sight piques your interest. 

The shoreline is barely visible from the ship, but you know it’s them. Despite the obvious injuries they’ve sustained, it’s evident that your parents have come out from their hiding places to the shoreline to survey the survivors. You can tell it’s them despite the tattered remains of their clothes and the large red stains. They are searching - trying to find their siblings, nieces, nephews, neighbors, friends, and children. 

You inhale as deeply as you could, so that your scream would be deafening. Your mother’s head whips in your direction.

A genuine smile stretches across your face. “Mother,” you croak - your voice finally giving out to the day’s trauma. You give a small wave before your hand is yanked and twisted behind your back.

You know it’s him before he even speaks. “Shut it, woman!” His grip on your wrist tightens tenfold. “You will speak only when spoken to.”

He continues to yap in your ear about obedience and compliance, and even though the village grows smaller in your vision as the ship sails away, you continue to smile.

[flyingpurplepeopleprogrammer]

I did it. I got asked about this for the 100th time and now it's an essay.

Do you, dear reader, have ADHD or some other neurodivergence-classed diagnosis and worry that hypnosis might not work for you? Read on.

I’ve thought fairly long and hard about how to write about this without just dumping a several thousand word treatise on neurodiversity, ableism, and hypnosis on y’all, and I think the best thing to do is start with a hot take and go from there. I’ve tried to be comprehensive and clear for any newbies, so people with a lot of experience with this issues might feel like I’m taking a lot of words to say some things that are very simple:

So. Being neurodivergent is not a barrier to hypnosis.

While there are aspects of the experience of neurodiversity – things like the difficulty of communicating across gaps in experience – that can be a hindrance, these are individual traits that are not restricted to or generalisable within a diagnostic clade.

It is also not true that neurodiverse people of a given category are particularly compatible or incompatible with certain hypnotic approaches. For example: a hypnotee with ADHD may find it very easy to fixate or hyperfocus on a visual stimulus, or they may find it seemingly impossible to focus on something so boring. Different people mesh well with different approaches, and what is going to work for a given person is something dependent on how they experience things.

It is my belief that categorical statements about the ability of people with ADHD to engage with a given approach are rooted in ableist stereotypes of people with ADHD, and trying to categorise subjects by diagnosis and assign an appropriate intervention or hypnotic approach for that diagnosis is not a thing anyone should do.

This doesn’t mean that you should just ignore cognitive diversity when doing hypnosis – quite the contrary, hypnotic play is cognitive play, and so we should pay close attention to how our partner is thinking. What it means is that you shouldn’t make assumptions about how a person thinks based on their diagnosis. The best way to find out what will work for yourself or someone else is to experiment with different styles, talk about what did or did not work, and communicate as best you can about how you experience hypnotic play.

I want to stress as a person with ADHD that I am not intending to dismiss or invalidate the difficulties that anyone may personally experience in being able to play with hypnosis. Rather, I’m wanting to make clear that the best way to figure out what works for you is to explore your individual experience.

Let’s say that I’m a person with a diagnosis like ADHD and am struggling with hypnotising or being hypnotised. What can I do?

Well, to start with, try something else. A good rule of thumb is that you should be feeling engaged with the hypnotic content or hypnotist: if files aren’t working for you, try a few different live hypnotists. If relaxation isn’t your jam, try a different induction style.

Often, it’s pretty apparent why hypnosis won’t work for someone: Do you feel like the way you’re being hypnotised is boring, find one that’s less boring. Do you feel like you don’t know what a suggestion means or how you’re supposed to feel? Then find a way to frame that suggestion that makes sense to you or ways of describing feelings that are consistent with your lived experience.

If it’s not obvious what’s not working, you might try talking to someone – it doesn’t have to be your partner or even a hypnotist – about what you experience versus what you’d like to experience. Or you can just try different stuff all willy nilly.

Just don’t trick yourself into thinking that there’s only a certain way that works for you. Being hypnotised is a skill, and once you’ve figured it out, you might go back to approaches that didn’t work for you in the past and find that they’re fantastically fun and effective now that you’re better at slipping into the right kind of headspace.

And please, communicate.

To wrap up, there’s a lot of general advice that could apply to people who are having trouble hypnotising and being hypnotised, and I’m simply not going to be able to summarise it all here. The best advice I can give is for anyone who’s struggling to try to articulate as best they can what they expect hypnosis to be like, what they’ve experienced so far, and what the disconnect between the two is. With that information and a bit of learning – from books or from asking questions –, you should be able to find a way that works for you.

[chemicallywrit]

It’s Audio Drama Sunday and this week was full of bangers! This list is not comprehensive but it is what stuck out this week. Let’s goooooooo

🔥 The Heart Pyre continuously leaves me with the perfect impression of being in middle school reading under my desk. It’s so good it feels like I’m getting away with something. Maybe it’s because Rena is such a relatable protagonist. She’s just a normal girl! She’s just a little teen! What is she supposed to do! And that makes her even more heroic. As always, the choice this week was impossible and I can’t wait to see how it shakes out. Also, Logan And Finn Should Kiss 2k24. @theheartpyre

🗡️ SIDEQUESTING 😭 This episode is so SWEET. I love when Rion grows a little—Sidequesting is episodic and doesn’t lend itself to like, substantial character development. That is fine; it’s not the point of the show. It makes the moments Rion does grow, though, stand out like little jewels. This episode shone. @sidequestingpod

🗝️ Palimpsest is doing its slow burn thing, referencing itself over again as its name suggests it will do, and in this story, I am Very Concerned About That Man Lenore Married. He is condescending and dismissive and he is isolating her, and I DO NOT TRUST HIM.

📼 Within the Wires—oh my gosh, I literally screamed when the canned noises stopped. What is your game, Tony? What do you want with Brian?

🅿️ Podcube was short this week—Podcube is always short—but this episode had me cracking up at work. I love that this team manages to find new conflicts somehow. Man vs man, but they’re assassins and one of them is convinced the other is in love with the target. Why does this work? Why is this so funny? Please listen to Podcube. @podcube

🩸 Hemophobia continues to make my skin crawl. This episode reveals that the characters are Church of Christ, which, for those who don’t know, means they have a really specific set of beliefs about baptism that I KNOW are going to be perfect fodder for the Horrors. And yet it’s all so normal so far. Creepy. Oh, another thing this episode does is portray with perfect gut-wrenching clarity how strange and awful it us to be a devout teenager, and in like, four different ways. Incredible work.

🎣 Eeler’s Choice has some FANTASTIC sound design this episode as Ran comes into their own as a storm chanter—FRICK. I am worried about them. And their new ship. Please be careful and don’t get eaten by fungus. @eelerschoice

✨ Stories from Ylelmore is brand new and SO GOOD, oh my gosh, I am in love with the earnest delivery, the characters who are absolute BABIES, the genuine fascinating mystery. I can’t wait for more. @storiesfromylelmore

🍔 Midnight Burger’s THREE HOUR FINALE brought us home with Clementine. It wasn’t what I expected, and I think that’s kind of Midnight Burger’s MO. The fact that the tone of the dialogue, that the characters themselves, are so cynical and hard—it will trick you into believing that it’s a cynical show. Maybe it is! But it also fights over and over again for the idea that things can be fixed, that love matters, that you can save people and you have to try, you always have to try. And sometimes you win. And that’s how the universe is meant to work. It kills me every time. Also, shoutout to Alan Burgon, always the best, who I love to hear doing his actual accent. @midnightburgr

🐦‍⬛ Leaving Corvat. Oh my word. It’s a wellness cult. Sleeper’s in a wellness cult. I am really pleased with the development his character’s showing, being decisive and brave.

🍵 Gastronaut is going some places and I am OBSESSED. The relationship between Oscar and Polity is everything to me, and the fact that Oscar has gotten to the point where he refuses to ignore his responsibilities, he refuses to leave people behind—he is sometimes stupid, but he is trying and I’m proud of him.

🧟‍♂️ We are getting to the final episode of Precious Cargo in the Dead and y’all….it’s gonna get juicy. I’m not exaggerating, one of the zombie actors used watermelon to get things sounding juuuuust right. Our next story might be even better, too, I can’t wait to show you.

Thank you for reading! If you like what I do, buy me a ko-fi!