#New Sacred Art Movement

[ajdrawshq]

oct2path has become real.........

[ak319]

Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

[simplygojo]

Pussydrunk ⸺ Choso Kamo

author's note ⸺ Saw some crazy Choso art this morning and I know that the world can always use more Choso smut...so enjoy. Also yes-he does thank you for your pussy... pairing ⸺ Choso Kamo x reader teaser ⸺ '"You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responds with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course..."' content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, pussydrunk choso, he is OBSESSED, cunnilingus, shy emo boy turned feral, oral sex (reader recv.), choso is such a nice boy he thanks u for ur pussy, he lovesss to eat you out but let a guy have hobbies!! overstimulation, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || fic image artist ||

Choso is perfect. Too perfect—really. 

Your sweet, soft-spoken, emo boyfriend who always knows exactly what you need. The one who texts you to remind you to drink water, gets you your favourite snacks even when you don’t ask, and holds your hand like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. 

He’s calm, attentive, and gentle—everything anyone could want in a partner.

But there’s something about him—a hidden streak that surfaces only when you’re alone.

And only when he’s between your legs.

It’s almost comical how the man who blushes when you tease him in public—who can’t take compliments without fumbling for words, turns into someone so utterly unrestrained when he’s got his face buried in your cunt. 

Your shy, sweet Choso becomes something else entirely. Feral. Hungry. Completely pussydrunk.

It’s not just a casual thing for him—it’s a fixation, a need. 

The way his pupils blow wide whenever you start to undress or the way his hands unconsciously flex when you shift your legs apart? He’s thinking about it. How soft you’d feel, how warm and wet and impossibly sweet? Yep, he’s thinking about it…and he never tries to hide it.

It starts so innocently every time, just like it had tonight, his long fingers brushing your thighs as he kisses your inner knees. 

He whispers something tender, something like, “You’re so beautiful,” as his lips trace paths closer to where you’re desperate for him.

His words always make your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, he’s dipping his head lower, brushing his nose along the seam of your panties. 

You let out a quiet gasp, hips twitching when his tongue flicks out to trace the damp fabric.

“Already wet for me,” he says, and there’s something darker in his tone now—a hint of what’s to come. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, sliding your underwear down your legs with deliberate slowness, and his breath catches when you’re finally bare before him.

Then the first taste hits his tongue, and that’s it—Choso’s gone.

Your thighs barely get the chance to press around his head before his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, so he can bury his face in your pretty cunt.

The first press of his tongue against your folds makes your back arch off the bed. 

Choso groaned like he’s the one being pleasured, and the sound vibrated against you, drawing a soft cry from your lips. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer, and he buries his face in you like a man starved.

He alternates between teasing your clit with quick flicks of his tongue and plunging it back inside you, each movement pulling a new, breathless whimper from your lips.

The soft squelch of his mouth working on you made your thighs twitch, but Choso didn’t stop. 

If anything, he groans louder, the sound reverberating through your core as his tongue dips back down to your entrance. He licks into you slowly, savouring the way you tighten around the soft, wet muscle.

You try to push him back once you’re trembling, overstimulated from his relentless attention, but Choso isn’t having it.

“Just once more,” he breathed against your skin, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’re glassy, unfocused—completely drunk on you. “Please, baby. Can’t stop. You taste so good.”

And how could you say no to that? To the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters? He is just so damn pretty. I–

His hands roam your thighs, holding them open as he devours you, sucking your clit between his lips and humming with satisfaction every time you cry out. 

When your fingers thread into his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss, he only doubles down, tongue thrusting into your heat like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. His lips and chin are coated in your arousal as he looks up at you with his dark hooded eyes—absolutely pussydrunk.

He looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, chest heaving like he’s the one who just came—and yet, he’s still leaning forward, nuzzled against your thigh, leaving lazy kisses like he can’t help himself.

“You okay?” You’d ask, voice shaky, and his lips curl into a sheepish smile as he rests his cheek on your leg.

“More than okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “You’re perfect. Thank you for letting me do this baby..”

You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” 

Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responded with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course. You’re like... a goddess, and I’m just the humble servant here, living the dream.”

You snort at his attempt to be dramatic, your hands running through his messy, dark hair. “Well, I’m glad to know you’re really living right now.”

He peeks up at you, giving you a wink that’s way too cocky for his usual shy self. 

“Absolutely. You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says, and you can’t help but giggle at its ridiculousness.

“Choso, you’re so extra sometimes.” You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’re enjoying it.

His lips curl into a grin again as he presses another kiss against your inner thigh. “What can I say? I don’t hold back. I’m committed, you know?”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “Committed, huh? To eating me out?”

Choso nods earnestly. “Yes, baby. To you. This is my true calling.” He lets out a dramatic sigh and presses his face against your leg again like he’s contemplating his life choices.

You laugh out loud at his melodramatic antics, but before you can make another joke, he dives back in, his tongue moving expertly against your clit with a series of teasing strokes. 

And that is how you and your cutie-emo-pussydrunk man spent the next few hours…

[enchantedwitchling]

Illuminating the Path: A Beginner's Guide to Candle Magick

🕯️✨🔮

Candle magick is a beautiful and accessible way to harness the power of fire and light in your magical practice. Whether you're new to witchcraft or looking to deepen your connection with this ancient art, candle magick offers a versatile and powerful tool for manifesting intentions, creating sacred space, and connecting with the divine. Let's explore the basics of candle magick, how to choose and prepare your candles, and discover simple spells and rituals to illuminate your path.

What is Candle Magick?

Candle magick involves using candles as a focal point for your intentions, prayers, and spells. The flame of the candle represents the element of fire, a symbol of transformation, energy, and purification. The act of lighting a candle and focusing on its flame helps concentrate your energy and send your intentions out into the universe.

Choosing Your Candles

The first step in candle magick is selecting the right candle for your purpose. Candles come in various shapes, sizes, and colors, each holding unique magical properties.

Colour Correspondences:

White: Purity, protection, healing, spiritual growth

Red: Passion, strength, courage, love

Pink: Love, friendship, compassion, emotional healing

Orange: Creativity, enthusiasm, success, joy

Yellow: Wisdom, communication, mental clarity, confidence

Green: Prosperity, abundance, health, growth

Blue: Peace, tranquility, protection, intuition

Purple: Spirituality, psychic abilities, wisdom, power

Black: Protection, banishing negativity, grounding

Brown: Stability, grounding, home protection, animal magic

Types of Candles:

🕯️Taper Candles: Tall and thin, ideal for longer rituals and spells.

🕯️Pillar Candles: Thick and sturdy, suitable for extended workings and larger spells.

🕯️Tea Light Candles: Small and convenient, perfect for simple spells and meditations.

🕯️Chime Candles: Short and fast-burning, great for quick spells and intention-setting.

Preparing Your Candles

Once you've chosen your candle, it's essential to prepare or "dress" it for your magical work. This involves cleansing, charging, and anointing the candle to align it with your intention.

Cleansing: Cleanse your candle to remove any unwanted energies. You can pass it through the smoke of incense, sprinkle it with salt water, or hold it under running water while focusing on purifying it.

Charging: Charge your candle by holding it in your hands and visualizing your intention. Imagine your goal or desire flowing from your heart into the candle, filling it with energy and purpose.

Anointing: Anoint your candle with a suitable oil to enhance its power. Use oils that correspond to your intention, such as lavender for peace, rosemary for protection, or cinnamon for prosperity. Apply the oil from the top of the candle to the middle, then from the bottom to the middle.

Simple Candle Magick Spells and Rituals

Basic Intention Setting Spell

This is a straightforward spell for beginners to focus on a specific goal or desire.

1. Choose a candle color that matches your intention.

2. Write your intention on a piece of paper.

3. Light the candle and visualize your intention coming to fruition.

4. Focus on the flame and chant your intention, such as "I am attracting abundance" or "I am protected and safe."

5. Burn the paper in the candle's flame and let the candle burn down safely.

Candle Meditation for Clarity

This ritual helps clear your mind and gain insight or guidance.

1. Choose a white or blue candle.

2. Light the candle and sit comfortably in front of it.

3. Focus on the flame and take deep breaths, allowing your mind to clear.

4. Ask a question or seek guidance, and watch the flame for any flickers or movements.

5. Meditate for as long as you feel necessary, then extinguish the candle.

Protection Candle Spell

This spell creates a shield of protection around you or your home.

1. Choose a black or white candle.

2. Anoint the candle with protection oil (e.g., rosemary or frankincense).

3. Light the candle and visualize a protective shield surrounding you or your space.

4. Chant, "By this flame, I am protected. Negative energies are deflected."

5. Let the candle burn down safely, reinforcing your protective barrier.

Love and Friendship Spell

This spell attracts love, compassion, and friendship into your life

1. Choose a pink candle.

2. Write your desire for love or friendship on a piece of paper

3. Anoint the candle with rose oil

4. Light the candle and visualize loving energy flowing towards you.

5. Chant, "Love and friendship come my way, with harm to none, this I say."

6. Burn the paper in the flame and let the candle burn down safely.

Tips for Safe and Effective Candle Magick

• Always practice fire safety. Never leave a burning candle unattended and place it on a heat-resistant surface.

• Use a snuffer or your fingers to extinguish candles. Blowing them out can disperse the energy.

• Be mindful of the candle's flame and wax. The way it burns can provide insights into your spell's effectiveness.

• Keep a journal of your candle magick experiences to track your progress and learn from each ritual.

Candle magick is a powerful and accessible way to work with the elemental energy of fire and manifest your desires. By choosing the right candles, preparing them with intention, and engaging in simple spells and rituals, you can harness the transformative power of candle magick to illuminate your path and achieve your goals. As you light your candles, may your intentions burn bright, your heart be full of magic, and your spirit be guided by the gentle glow of the flame.

Happy casting!

🕯️✨🔮

[eggluverz]

Dan Feng's disciple! Reader x Dan Heng IL Synopsis Idea: She tried to stop them from taking him away from her, she really did. But Jingliu and Jing Yuan were quick to stop her. She spent so many nights alone... Until she saw him. The man she loved and would give up her life for. She's not letting him slip away from her this time. Thank you~~❤️

AFTER ALL THIS TIME

PAIRING. dan feng x f!reader; dan heng x f!reader

WORD COUNT. 3,741

SUMMARY. you were the great imbibitor lunae's disciple. he trusted you with his life and you with his. but when the time came, you weren't able to save him. what happens when you run into his reincarnation years down the line?

SOF'S NOTE. i had so much fun writing this!! i wrote it 2 days ago now but i just haven't had the time to post it t-t but i'm finally moved into my new place and managed to squeeze this post in <3 i rly rly enjoyed writing this so i hope y'all enjoy reading!! and special ty to the anon who requested this!! ^-^

The art of cloudhymn magic was difficult to master. Even as a high elder yourself, there were intricacies you could not figure out on your own. But you trained daily, practiced in seclusion, and read all the books passed down from the most renowned masters. 

Each day, your knowledge grew. Your natural talents aided you in perfecting your own personalized form of cloudhymn magic.

Still, Dan Feng noticed flaws in your execution. Movements that should be more precise, patterns that should flow more intricately. You noticed him silently watching you on the vast training grounds. He wasn’t much older than you, yet his magic was already intricately refined— The makings of a leader to the Vidyadharas.

He saw great power within you, he told you in passing as he took you under his wing. There was much you could gain from him, he promised. 

Years went by as you studied under Dan Feng. He has many supporters and people who looked up to him, but he only allowed you as his disciple. You were the only one who could rightfully address him as master. 

As he grew in his status as a member of the High Cloud Quintet and later the Imbibitor Lunae, you too grew in your mastery of cloudhymn magic. You were able to learn Dan Feng’s signature combat skill of deflecting iron, making arrows of most enemies fall flat at your feet. But your skill shined in the illusions you were able to create. Not even the Imbibitor Lunae was as skilled in that art as you. 

Your power grew and as such, Dan Feng recognized you as more of an equal than a disciple. Out of respect for all the teachings he imparted on you, you still called him master. There was no way you would reach your level of strength in this short amount of time without someone like him fostering your talents.

Along the way, you found yourself viewing him as more than your master. When he began treating you as someone who matched his power rather than someone with much to learn, you were able to feel confident in all your abilities.

One late night, Dan Feng took you to his sacred training grounds for a sparring session. He had just returned from a stressful battle and while the casualties were low, they were more than he felt comfortable with. 

“If anything happens to me, at least I will know the Vidyadhara will be in good hands,” Dan Feng commended as you blocked the tip of his spear from grazing the base of your neck. 

You quickly shifted your gears from defending to attacking, knowing if you let Dan Feng get too many attacks in, he would be almost unstoppable. Spinning your spear in your hands, you imbued the weapon with water and launched it directly at your master’s chest. 

A normal man would have fallen dead before even realizing you attacked him, but not the Imbibitor Lunae. He sidestepped, the scene appearing like a mirage due to his speed. 

“Nothing is going to happen to you, master,” you scoffed. “You’re the strongest Vidyadhara alive. Not even I could defeat you in battle.”

He hummed, tapping his spear to the back of your neck, signaling you lost this spar. “Battle is not the only way someone can fall.”

Wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead, you sighed, sauntering away from him and back inside his living quarters. “Continuously speaking of your self-proclaimed inevitable downfall is unbecoming of you, master. What would the people think of a disciple who follows someone without faith in his own ability to live?” 

Dan Feng chuckled softly. “A pitiful disciple, is what outsiders would say.” You nodded and he stopped you in your tracks, running his index finger against your jaw. His fingernail dug into the bottom of your chin to lift your head until your burning gaze met his sharp one. “But we never cared much about what outsiders think, did we?” 

You placed your palm against his chest, feeling the detailed fabric of his garments. They were thick yet light, a sign of great craftsmanship that only the highest of elders could afford. You allowed your hands to roam along his body before Dan Feng grabbed your wrist, his long fingers wrapping easily around its circumference. 

He smirked. “Wait until we’re indoors, my beloved.” 

“Yes, master,” you complied with a roll of your eyes before releasing the front of his outwear. You held complete respect for the Imbibitor Lunae, and you revered him as such. But those moments when it was just you and Dan Feng—just you and your partner—you weren’t one to shy away from meeting his biting remarks. 

This night, like many, led to moments of passion on the silken sheets draped over Dan Feng’s mattress. It was a mixture of love, respect, and the intense craving for more. 

Your master, the Imbibitor Lunae, a member of the High Cloud Quintet— Dan Feng was many things. But most importantly, he was yours. 

Until he wasn’t. 

No good thing was meant to last, Dan Feng once said during an endless night of reflection as he laid in bed beside you. Friendships, relationships, entire civilizations, built to be destroyed from the start. 

No good thing was meant to last. But he would fight his damned hardest to ensure they did. 

And for once, his hardest wasn’t enough. 

It was the middle of the night when your living quarters were barged into. You woke with a start and noticed Dan Feng quickly wrapping your robes around your naked body. 

The noises weren’t at the bedroom yet; you heard the thuds from outside and you immediately called for your strongest weapon. Noticing even the slightest of your movements, Dan Feng softly placed his hand on top of yours. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. 

Your eyes widened, wanting to ask what he could’ve possibly been thinking. There was a large group of men outside with hostile intent, did he not want to protect himself from an attack? 

“I am going to see what they need,” he said calmly, pulling you into his arms and leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Please, stay here for me.”

A few members of the High Cloud Quintet—Dan Feng’s closest friends that easily became yours as well—were staying at the guest chambers at the Imbibitor Lunae’s invitation. At the commotion outside, Jingliu came in with a groggy look on her face, tired from being woken up, but not an ounce of surprise in her. 

Dan Feng nodded to her and a silent Jing Yuan that filed in behind her. “Jingliu, Jing Yuan… Make sure she stays out of harm’s way.”

“Of course,” promised Jing Yuan, a soft smile painting his lips despite the sad look in his eyes. 

As he spoke, the doors to the bedroom burst open, a trio of Vidyadhara Preceptors breaking down the defenses you and Dan Feng had set. Your spear was in your hand in an instant and you tightened the knot on your robe with your other hand. 

Dan Feng stood straight in high alert, though his expression remained as one of nonchalance and arrogance. “Can I help you?”

Without a single moment spared for niceties, the Cloud Knights charged in to grab the Imbibitor Lunae. The Preceptors sent chains of rope instead of metal to wrap around Dan Feng. Your eyes blazed as you immediately called upon your cloudhymn magic. Water danced around your spear in sharp droplets, and you pointed it directly at the Head Preceptor. 

He narrowed his eyes in your direction. “Stand down, or you will face the same punishment.” 

“That’s only if you can beat us,” you laughed with disdain. Despite the big group, you were certain you and Den Feng had the ability to hold them off together. 

“Don’t,” Jingliu called out, gently placing her hand on your shoulder. “We can’t help him anymore, Y/N. Not after what he did. Don’t get hurt in the crossfire.” 

You knew what Dan Feng had done. For Yingxing. And you both knew the crime he would have to commit to help his best friend, but you never imagined the punishment would be so severe. A crowd of Cloud Knights and even a group of the Vidyadhara Preceptors here, together, all to subdue the Imbibitor Lunae. 

But it didn’t matter the crimes he committed or the consequences he may have incited through his actions. None of it mattered because he was your Dan Feng. Your master and your lover who you would protect with your entire life. 

Unfortunately, Dan Feng seemed to know that, having gotten Jingliu and Jing Yuan here to hold you back.

Before you could move, Jing Yuan held your arm back and prevented you from using your spear. Your eyes widened in shock. 

“Jing Yuan…?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s too late for Dan Feng, but not for you.”

The Cloud Guards briefly turned their attention towards you and the members of the High Cloud Quintet. Their swords raised as they noticed the fire in your eyes. 

Dan Feng snarled when he saw their focus on you. “If you hurt her, you will all pay,” he warned, his voice a low growl that would’ve made an ordinary man quiver. He began to move his arms in a way that could only be described as the start of a cloudhymn spell and in an instant, all eyes were on him. The ropes tightened, restricting his movement in a way that caused immense pain. 

“I love you,” were Dan Feng’s last words as he was forced out of his own estate. “Take care of yourself, my beloved.”

“Why do you speak as if you’re going to be gone?” you cried, refusing to believe someone as strong as your master could be subdued even by a group as large as this. “I’ll come get you—!”

You felt the sharp point of a sword on your neck as you summoned your spear. The nick was only a warning, but it was enough to draw blood. Your eyes widened and you stilled under the mercy of Jingliu’s weapon. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You cannot.”

Feeling helpless and pathetic, all you could do was fight to not lose consciousness as Jingliu swiftly knocked you out. 

Your eyes drifted open and shut, your hand that was wrapped around your spear instantly loosened and the weapon that contained so much power fell at your side like a dull needle. 

The next time you woke, you were at your own residence. You had left this place to have a sanctuary with Dan Feng. Your sanctuary that was invaded, attacked, and taken from you. 

You went back on forth between two states of mind. One was complete and utter numbness at the loss you suffered. The other was uncontrollable pain and sadness. 

You spent your days and nights crying, refusing to see a single soul. You turned your meals away even when your loved ones begged you to take a bite. There was a hole in your heart at the thought of your master’s punishment. 

In your eyes, Dan Feng’s own best friends betrayed him, betrayed you. And after that night, you knew you would never want to be in contact with any of them again. 

To save a life, to save a friend who no longer regarded Dan Feng in the same light… You never could have imagined the punishment would be forced reincarnation. 

Uncontrollable sobs racked through your body, throat hoarse from the amount of crying you’ve done for weeks straight. It wasn’t only forced reincarnation, but also torture and imprisonment you knew he was facing. 

You had the strongest Vidyadhara alive as a master, yet you failed to learn enough to save him. When it mattered most, you couldn’t help.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. Those thoughts ate you alive before you were able to finally continue on with your life. 

You were no longer a Xianzhou resident. You refused the help the Vidyadhara with any advances in medicine and combat, keeping any profound knowledge of cloudhymn magic that Dan Feng shared only with you to yourself. The Preceptors couldn’t be trusted with anymore power. They had made themselves and enemy to you. As did the Cloud Knights, and inadvertently, the Cloud Knight General himself. 

Still, you tried not to let the hatred consume you. Vengeance would only breed insanity. Your mind would be consumed with sorrow and pain and you would never be able to heal. 

Dan Feng wouldn’t want that. 

You had to continue to live, for the both of you. 

Using your privilege as a Vidyadhara, you were able to travel around to different planets with relative ease. There were so many things to experience, such beautiful things to see—when you weren’t tangled in constant politics and battles. Your only wish was that Dan Feng was here to explore the universe with you. 

There were places where he didn’t need to have the pressure of the world on his shoulders. He wouldn’t be Imbibitor Lunae. He wouldn’t be a member of the famous High Cloud Quintet. Instead, he would just be Dan Feng, and you would get to explore the world as such. 

You wondered if his transition into the modern world would have been as smooth as yours. As you reminisced about your past, a nostalgic smile formed on your face. 

As you walked around this new city, you stared up at the flurries of pink and purple in the sky. The scenery was amazing here. With vast bodies of water and a bustling area of commerce and entertainment on the shorelines, you couldn’t help but look around in awe. Amidst your sightseeing, you felt yourself run into someone, dropping the map you held in your hands. 

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise. “I wasn’t looking at where I was going. I apologize.” 

“I wasn’t looking either,” the stranger said in response, picking the paper map up for you before the wind could sweep it away. “Here you go.”

As he handed you your belongings, you finally managed to get a good look at his face. Surprised by what you saw—what you felt—you accidentally dropped the map once more. 

The man gaped at you before hesitantly reaching down to pick up your map once more. This time, he held it instead of giving it back.

“Would you like your map back?” he asked slowly, this expression unsure.

The memories of the past slammed into you as you looked into his turquoise eyes. The bright green burned into yours. This man in front of you did not have the characteristics of a Vidyadhara. He did not don horns, a tail, or sharp ears like he once did. But there was no doubt in your mind— This was Dan Feng. At least, the person that emerged from Dan Feng’s forced reincarnation.

Tears started flowing down your face as you wondered what to say. Should you even say anything? You didn’t want to lose him again, but you wondered if the man in front of you would even want to get to know you. Dan Feng was a high elder, a powerful one at that. This man must’ve had some dreams about his past life— What if they were bad? What if they were all of the punishment? The crime? What if no part of him remembered you?

As you stood there, stuck in your thoughts, you noticed the stranger staring at the horns on top of your head. Then, at your tears. 

Without saying a word, he seemed to understand. “I’m not him.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt choked up. You knew that. Of course a reincarnation wouldn’t be your Dan Feng. But would it be close enough? 

Shaking your head, you scolded yourself internally. This man is not Dan Feng, he said so himself. And it would be twisted to project the qualities of your lover onto him without even getting the chance to know him.

“I know,” you said sadly, a disdainful smile on your face. “I just…sensed some of him in you.”

He nodded, a guarded look on his face despite the tilt of curiosity from his neck.“What were you to him?”

You smiled sadly, clutching the map in your hands and relaxing again. “His disciple. A close friend,” you said. You gazed into his eyes with an unwavering look. “His partner.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking around the area. You were at the beachside with patches of sand, grass, and pavement lining the ground. “Would you like to sit somewhere and talk?”

Deciding it would be rather tiring for you to stand and talk all day, you agreed with his suggestion. Silently, you walked over to the sand with Dan Feng’s reincarnation in tow and took a seat. The ground was warm and soft as you ran your fingers through the rocky granules.

As you watched the waves crash against the shore, you felt your body relax. Cloudhymn magic often   well with the element, and you found you had a natural affinity towards it yourself. 

After a few moments passed, you figured that, since he wasn’t Dan Feng, it would be rather rude of you not to introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He gazed out into the water before turning his head to you. “Dan Heng.”

Although you attempted to hide your amused grin, you felt the corners of your mouth lifting upwards. “Creative.”

He shrugged, fighting off a smile of his own.

“So, Dan Heng… Do you remember anything about your past life?”

“Some things,” he admitted, resting a palm on the sand behind his back. “None of them are good.”

You frowned. There was no doubt you blamed the Preceptors for that. Dan Feng lived years and years of life, love, and even sorrow. But for his reincarnation to only know him as something negative? That didn’t sit well with you. 

“Although, I have to wonder,” he continued, gazing at you with an inquisitive look in his eyes, “if he was capable of love and partnership, could he be more than the arrogant criminal my memories have painted him out to be?”

You softened. Any hatred he felt towards Dan Feng wasn’t his fault. And he was certainly struggling as Dan Feng’s reincarnation. 

“He was certainly more than a criminal,” you promised. “More than the Imbibitor Lunae, even. Dan Feng was a real person who experiences emotions and feelings, like any other.” 

Dan Heng’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. 

“If you want to learn more about him, I’ll always be here for you to ask.”

“And if I don’t?” 

You smiled sadly. “As much as that pains me, it’s your right. Each Vidyadhara can choose how much of their past they want to remember or embrace— Or if they want to start anew completely.”

“I do.”

A long exhale escaped your mouth as thoughts of your past filled your memories. You made no mistake— The man in front of you was not Dan Feng. Dan Feng was deceased, and holding on to any hope would only be futile and lead to more main. 

Instead, the man in front of you was Dan Heng, a reincarnation of Dan Feng. A Vidyadhara who deliberately chose to not incorporate his past life into his current. And that was okay.

“I am remorseful,” you admitted. Dan Heng nodded in understanding. “However, I am comforted knowing his reincarnation is here, and he looks happy. Dan Feng would be happy for you.”

He laughed quietly. “I find that hard to believe.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t know him like I do.” 

“Yes, you’re right.” 

Dan Heng sighed in contemplation, conflict evident in his expression. You weren’t sure what exactly what he was thinking, but you sensed deep turmoil within him. It was only natural, you assumed, after something he had such conviction for was shaken at its very foundation. 

“Do you want to board the Astral Express with me?” he asked hesitantly. 

You blinked at the sudden question. “Pardon?”

“Sorry,” said Dan Heng, clearing his throat. “That was impulsive.” He paused before continuing. “From talking to you, I gathered that maybe you’re being held back by your past, too.”

Your eyes widened in surprised. You didn’t except him to be so blunt. Perhaps he had some similarities to Dan Feng after all. 

“If you’re lost or want a place to call home, maybe you can pay it a visit,” he offered nonchalantly. “We travel the universe and occasionally assist some planets. I have a feeling you’d like it.”

The Astral Express? You wondered how a place like that would be. For so long, you’ve been traveling alone, avoiding the Xianzhou and even some Vidyadhara who might know of your existence as Dan Feng’s disciple and lover. 

A part of you longed for a social connection again— A place to belong. 

After some thinking, you asked, “Do you want me there?” 

“Yes— As Dan Heng though,” he reminded firmly. “Not Dan Feng.”

You laughed in amusement. “Good. I’m interested in getting to know your new life, Dan Heng,” you said, extending your hand out for him to shake. “Thank you for inviting me in.”

He took it gently, his hand lingering on yours even after the handshake was over. “Maybe you can tell me more about Dan Feng once we arrive at the Express. The parts that aren’t so bad.”

The look on his face told you he was genuine. You smiled. “I’d love that.”

Understanding passed between the two of you as you sat there in contentment. The wind whirled around you and the steady sound of the waves soothed your soul. 

“I want to learn about Dan Feng’s life,” concluded Dan Heng, unwavering. “Still, I think it is best if we look forward to making new memories of our own more.”

You nodded in quiet agreement, eyes never leaving his. 

The past was something you held near and dear to your heart. Dan Feng was someone you would always love and respect. But perhaps the future would have more in store for you, if you only allowed it. 

And as Dan Heng smiled his small smile and offered you a hand up from the sand, you thought, This time, you would. 

[crguang]

beneath it all, you

“Since I’ve met you, I've felt abandoned without your nearness; your nearness is all I ever dream of, the only thing.” in which garofano finds her equal <3

established relationship, fem!reader (r is explicitly referred to as “girl” a few times), smut, oral sex (garo receiving), fingering (r receiving), some praise because i’m me, uhh age gap, r has very sharp teeth and is normal about cannibalism as a metaphor for undying devotion, 7.7k words

A/N: this is not kafka but i swear she’s coming next… this was for me and like 2 mutuals but i figured why not post it here for the ptn community on tumblr. who doesn’t love a milf am i right??? go play this game if you’re not already

Your pulse is steady under the cutting edge of her sewing needle as it glides down the sensuous curve of your neck in a deliberate pattern, along one of the warm veins she knows lies right beneath this layer of perfumed skin. It thumps softly though not without a care; Garofano counts 52 beats per minute, each of them for her. In turn, hers races with no clear destination. Your head slowly tilts to the side, opening yourself to her burning gaze like a naive, doe-eyed fool, but the look in your lidded eyes only speaks of certainty. Three simple words are written for her in their colored depths: all of me. She welcomes those words like a confession. If you were to use your voice, you would say it isn’t one. Your truth is evident and unashamed. All of you, hers. All of you, laid before her in a perfect picture of vulnerability. Submission. Her pillows support your head, her sheets tenderly caress your bare arms and back with even the faintest movement the same way her weapon of choice traces the hollow of your throat, and her knitted shawl, made with her expert hands, still rests around your shoulders from the moment you absentmindedly mentioned feeling chilly earlier. Now, it embraces you so well she might feel a spark of envy in her gut if her insides weren’t overflowing with something else— desire. Desire to possess more than she already does. It’s never enough as if there constantly exists a crumb of you she has yet to taste, and just when she believes she’s had the whole of you, you meet her eyes with a smile that shows the barest hint of the canines past your lips and she’s certain that there is more to be had. 

Garofano can’t resist applying a small amount of pressure between your collarbones, pricking the skin until a drop of crimson bubbles up to the surface. She watches you and you smile at her little test like you did the very first time. She reflects your amusement with a low chuckle. The needle, dipped in blood, continues its journey down the middle of your chest. If it was a scalpel, she could have opened a cavity and fondly brushed the pad of her index over the length of your breastbone, but she would have gotten greedy and slipped her fingers between your ribs for a graze of your heart. Instead, she trails the pointed end across the expanse of your thorax. She both witnesses and feels the fluctuation of your next breath, a touch faster than the last, and she feels a tingling sensation in her limbs at the sight. Your upper body is completely bare to her leisure touch. She drinks in the rising goosebumps her needle leaves behind. Her gaze follows the glint of metal wherever it glides on your beautiful skin and her mind is unable to conjure up a compliment she hasn’t already uttered on your previous nights together. What new words can she possibly use that will encapsulate all of your beauty? She always has the same ones sitting on her lips: art, sacred, inestimable. Perhaps there is more value in repeating them over and over until her tongue grows numb rather than digging around for novelty. She has spoken every thought, has recited every stanza of poetry she’s found with your name spelled between the lines. Her love for you is anything but new after all. It’s familiar, like walking the same road home at the end of the day so often you could take the path with your eyes shut. Yes, she will repeat herself as long as she can use her vocal chords to form words. If not, she will write. Because love means nothing if she can’t express it for you to know. 

Garofano traces the gentle swell of your breast for a suspended moment. Your eyes are tame as you observe her every move before the sewing tool smoothly draws a curvy line back towards your heart. She keeps it there, watching your chest rise and fall under it. Her bedroom smells faintly of gardenia and stands still against the flow of time beyond its intimate space. You like the sweetness she carries with her, you often tell her. She’s not sure if you mean her fragrance or her. Looking at you now, with your heavy eyelids and an abundance of fondness for her on your face, she thinks you must be in love. The thought lights the embers in her belly, and its warmth spreads to the tip of her ears. 

“You know,” she starts quietly, “right now, your life is in my hands.”

She underlines her point by pressing the needle firmly against your skin without drawing blood. She knows exactly where to pierce for a fatal strike to the heart to take you out before you realize she’s done it, and she doesn’t even have to know your body like the back of her hand for it. Her needles are many things; tools she uses to create personally designed dresses, subtle weapons in snuffing the life out of the Garden’s enemies’ eyes and tonight, an intimate means of exploration. She glides the cool tip along the lines of your body, meticulous and attentive, like she wishes to lose herself in them. Her control and precision are unmatched, she doesn’t harm, only caresses. Though at times, she thinks you wish she would do the former, as if it was the strongest way to demonstrate what she feels for you. She prefers soothing strokes and tender embraces, sincere words and fond looks. It's unfamiliar to you, but she will hold your hand through your learning process regardless of how long it takes. 

Your eyes gleam at her words, prompting a knowing smile from her. You wrap both hands around her wrist and press the needle closer to your chest.

“Yes,” you agree easily, almost breathlessly, “right now and always.”

“Always? That’s a very long time.”

“Not long enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle with her growing smile. You release her wrist and allow her to draw patterns on your skin again, half circles and made up letters on your breast, sometimes dangerously close to the stiff peak of your nipple. Her free hand brushes up your abdomen. Her palm is warm, it often is, as she maps out the curves and dips of your stomach with a seasoned touch. Garofano knows just how to steal the breath from your lungs and render you a gasping mess for her. She’s so very skilled with her hands; anywhere they pass, a shudder follows closely. Your flesh is malleable between her fingers and she handles you like one of the expensive and delicate fabrics she works on whenever she has a moment’s rest— she’s careful, patient as a saint, and with a single curl of her slick fingers, a prayer of her name tumbles out of your mouth in half broken moans.

She cups your right breast and your lips part further. 

“You would stay with me forever then?” She asks, her voice a sultry caress. She already knows your answer and she never tires of hearing it.

“Mhmm,” you nod with a cheeky smile because you know what it does to her to see you so eager and devoted. “Forever yours.”

Her eyes burn into yours, you hold her lustful stare with as much heat reflected in your irises. Her thumb fleetingly passes over your hard nipple and the sensation is enough for your hunger to grow. Her hand leaves your breast to trail upward, over your collarbone, and she wraps her slender fingers around the base of your throat. She feels your next swallow under her palm. Garofano leans closer, her thighs now straddling your waist, and lifts the needle to your cheek. It unhurriedly draws a slim heart on your skin, but your gaze stays locked on hers and you tilt your chin, subconsciously gravitating towards her. Her guts clench at your expression, naked desire etched on the lines of your face. She lowers her eyes to the curve of your upper lip, so full and begging to be kissed, with the tip of your white canines visible just past it. She looks back at you.

“You look like you want to eat me,” she says teasingly, but there’s a truth to her words. 

“I do.” Your breath is slightly shorter and you swallow again, pupils blown. You inch closer to her, and your longing for her could not be clearer. “I want to tear into you. I want to sink my teeth into your skin and bite off a piece of you so that your taste never fades from my mouth.”

Her heart thunders in her chest like it’s trying to close the distance between it and your own. The needle pauses its languid movements. Your body is soft and pliant under her and the tips of your fingers loosely clutch the fabric of her shirt, holding onto her even as she’s pressed against you. Your eyelids droop further, your rising chest flushed to hers. You look intoxicated with her presence alone and Garofano feels her commendable patience fraying at the edges. You bring a hand to cover hers holding the needle again and stroke her knuckles. The warmth of your skin seeps into her, expanding to the rest of her body.

“Carve your name into my skin so there’s no doubt as to who I belong to.”

The pad of her thumb traces your bottom lip, pulling it down to see more of your teeth. She thinks your jaw must ache, hungry as you are. 

“And scar this perfect skin?” She smiles, eyes dark.

“Yeah. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Mmm…” 

Her thumb slips past your lips and slowly slides over the upper row of teeth there, back and forth in a soothing pattern. Your mouth stays parted for her and your eyes soften at the gesture. She absentmindedly seeks to soothe the dull ache of your teeth with her touch but all she succeeds to do is fan the fire within you. Your fangs graze her skin yet she doesn’t flinch, used to their cutting shape, or perhaps because she knows you won’t bite despite every instinct screaming at you to do so. Her trust is not unfounded. You kiss her thumb before it leaves your mouth. 

Garofano softly shakes her head and cups your jaw. “No, I think I’ll claim you in another much more enjoyable way.”

She emphasizes her murmured promise with a kiss. Her lips lock with yours like two puzzle pieces made for each other. She’s languid and firm, a hand under your jaw, and she kisses you until the quickened rhythm of your breaths synchronizes. She relishes the sound your mouths make with every brief separation and the feeling of your lips sliding against hers, always greedy for more. One of your hands sneaks under the hem of her shirt to trail up the curve of her spine. A small shiver follows your touch. You chase her when she pulls away, and a short chuckle escapes her before she presses loving kisses across your jaw. Your fingers sink in her voluminous hair in a gentle grip. You squirm beneath her, your skin is already heating up under her soft ministrations because of a few kisses and unlike her, you’re not known for your patience. Garofano quells your growing impatience with a warning graze of her teeth against the edge of your jaw. 

You’d almost forgotten the sewing needle held confidently between her thumb and forefinger. Garofano withdraws from you and immediately earns a petulant sound out of your mouth. Amusement shines in her eyes at the slight pout of your lips as she straightens up above you, sitting on your pelvis, but her fingertips ache to give you everything you want. She will, in due time. First, she wants to savour the feel of your body under her hands and bring you over the edge using only the fingers you love so much. She places the needle on the hollow of your throat and makes her way downward a second time, though this time she ignores the erect buds on your chest and draws a straight line down your abdomen. The pleasant sting of her weapon makes you shiver even as the room’s temperature steadily rises. You regard her with heavy eyes and she follows the movement of her hand down your body while the other feels the curves of your waist, possessively squeezing the flesh now and then. The zone around your navel is sensitive, she leisurely circles it with her needle and her pleased smile widens an inch at your response— the sharp hitch of a breath. 

“Truly a work of art,” Garofano utters appreciatively, more to herself than to you. 

Her nails softly rake your skin, a satisfying contrast to the sting of her needle. It glides over your stomach with no specific destination, etching shapes and broken patterns onto your body. You shift under her. Your hands come to rest on her thighs, fingertips digging lightly into the supple flesh, and Garofano can tell you’re getting a little needy. 

“Mmh? Is there something you need, my darling?”

“You,” your answer is instant and laced with desire, her gaze flickers to your face at your tone. “Always you.”

Your eyes are aflame with lust, and she thinks it’s a wonder you haven’t tried to take things into your own hands yet. Your need to be touched by her, to feel the love confessions she writes on your body with her nimble fingers, constitutes most of your inhibitions right now. Your restraint is endearing, as is the way your tongue subconsciously darts out to wet your drying lips. 

“It’s taking everything in me not to pounce on you,” you continue honestly.

Garofano’s mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a smirk. “Is that so…?” 

She brings a hand to her collar and deftly undos the first few buttons of her shirt, drinking in the darkened color of your eyes on her. She exposes the slope of her neck to your hungry gaze and goes as far as popping open the fourth button so that you get a teasing glimpse of the smooth expanse of her chest. She feels your grip tightening on her thighs, but you still make no move to pounce on her like you said.

“Nothing?” She taunts you one more time, dipping a finger between the opening of her shirt and pulling the fabric down only an inch. 

You look at her with pursed lips. She laughs quietly and leans forward to plant a lingering kiss on your mouth that you quickly reciprocate, your eyes fluttering shut. Her breath fans your lips when she pulls away.

“You’re being such a sweet girl for me tonight,” she mutters against your mouth, “allowing me to indulge in you like this even though you’re itching to touch me. I can almost hear your thoughts, what you’ll do to me later.”

“I’ll put my mouth on you,” you say like a promise, “my tongue, my teeth. They long for you, you know— my teeth. They ache at the mere sight of you.”

“I know, darling girl…” Her nose brushes your cheek with the next kiss she presses on the corner of your lips. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“No. I can never be close enough, immersed enough, it’s driving me crazy.” Your hands move from her thighs to the curve of her ass, and a small gasp escapes her at your firm grip. “You’ll be covered in the shape of my mouth once I’m through with you.”

Your words make her pussy clench. The mental image of your marks on her, bruising her skin until it turns a beautiful shade of purple and leaving behind a dull ache she’ll still feel the next day, swirls around in her head. You’ve previously shared your displeasure at her choice of clothing, how she prefers long sleeves and high collars, and complained about your handiwork going unnoticed because of it. You’ve taken to leaving lipstick marks on the underside of her jaw instead, and she finds your wish to claim her for all to see maddening. You share her passion, her visceral desire to possess and never let go. You cling to her with scorched fingertips and sweet vows on the tip of your tongue, your yearning for closeness mirrors hers in all the ways that matter most. It takes her breath away each time to bear witness to the profound way you love, and she has to admit that she hasn't yet gotten used to standing in the heart of it. 

Garofano guides your lips to hers for another insistent kiss. She readily swallows the quiet sounds out of your mouth and keeps her body flushed against you for a moment longer. Her tongue runs across the seam of your lips, and you part them wider to welcome it. Your shared saliva meld together with no clear idea where yours begins and hers ends, until there is only the feel of you, impossibly close, taking over senses. You often kiss her like you’re running out of air and she’s the one breathing it back into your lungs, as if she held the essence of your being on her lips. She attempts to withdraw from your mouth enough to catch her breath and your fingers flex on her ass as you lean forward to capture her lips again. A pleased hum sounds from her throat at your eager kiss but she still punishes your gluttony with a controlled press of the needle at your stomach. The sudden sting makes you gasp in silent surprise, and Garofano takes the opportunity to straighten up above you once more. 

“Patience,” she reminds you, “you’ll get what you want soon enough. But for now, let me enjoy you.”

You don’t respond, your legs shut in an effort at restraining the heat between them. Her gaze tracks the needle in her hand as it moves across your skin and she revels in the slight tremble of your limbs wherever it passes. The tip is a teasing sensation on your body and she feels a deep satisfaction at the shivers it earns from you, your hands obediently back on her thighs like the good girl you can be. She can hear some of the breaths you exhale every now and then. Your chest thumps with need, your fingertips clutch at her skirt and your dark eyes are fixed on her form sitting above you, but you reign in your urges like she so gently demanded. Luckily for you, feeling you quiver underneath her, exposed and open, has Garofano’s hunger flare up in her guts. 

She moves backwards to settle between your legs and your thighs part almost instinctively to accommodate her. Your thin underwear clings to your skin, already damp from her earlier attention. Garofano shoots you an amused smile.

“I’ve barely touched you.”

“Garo, have you seen yourself? I get wet watching you sew.”

She laughs and you mirror her expression with a small one of your own. “So that’s why you insist on hanging around when I work…”

“Busted,” your smile widens when she playfully pinches your inner thigh. “Can you blame me? You’re the sexiest person in this garden. Don’t tell Mentor. Though she’d probably agree.”

“You’re impossible.”

The air is thick with anticipation and Garofano’s eyes are full of adoration. She runs her splayed fingers flat down your torso from your breast to your pelvic bone, stopping just above the waistband of your panties. Your hips shift under her touch but she pulls her hand back to take hold of your left thigh instead and you bite back an indignant protest. She teases you with the needle in her other hand, trailing the tip up your right inner thigh firm enough to sting pleasantly without causing harm. The subtle weapon draws closer to the edge of your underwear, and the muscles of your thigh flex with the restraint it takes you not to squirm restlessly. You’re aching for her to touch you properly, she can see it in the way your breathing picks up a beat when she kneads your flesh, her nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. Still, you don’t pressure her to quicken her pace. Garofano rewards your good behavior with a kiss to the heated spot in the crook of your thigh. She can smell your arousal, intoxicatingly obvious. You’re ready for her and she’s barely done anything. She almost groans. 

Garofano effortlessly discards the needle with a flick of her wrist. She wants to touch you properly, feel your quivering muscles and raised hairs under her palms as she pleasures you. Two fingers toy with the band of your underwear and slowly reveal the curls underneath. She can hear each of your heavy exhales as she bares the rest of your body to her gaze. Your last article of clothing is discarded next and Garofano sucks in an inaudible breath at the sight of the telltale glisten of your lips exposing your arousal. She runs a single digit over your pussy, from your short, slick hairs down to your slippery slit and through your warm folds. Her finger shines in the low light of the bedroom. it ignores your aching clit and explores your cunt like it has a hundred times before. Your hips chase her touch, silently asking for more, but for some time it’s all she gives you. She spreads your lips to admire the pretty colors of your cunt and spreads your wetness all over your sex until it steadily drips down the crack of your ass cheeks. You sigh softly, a touch irritated despite the pleasure that courses through you at her reverent ministrations, looking down at her expectantly.

Garofano smiles; your lips part wider to speak— to whine for more, no doubt— and she applies pressure on your clit before you can utter a word. Your breathing stutters, she hears it more than anything, and your body desperately jerks further into her. Whatever sentence you were going to say is replaced by a quiet moan that makes her stomach clench in pleasure. Your pretty little sounds, so unashamed, always get the same reaction from her. She rubs tight circles on the sensitive bud and kneads the flesh of your thigh with her other hand, relishing the feel of it between her fingers. You get wetter by the second and she hasn’t even pushed a finger inside of you yet. 

“Hah, Garo…” you breathe out her name; it sounds softer in your mouth. 

She teasingly flicks your clit with a fingertip and tears another lovely noise from you. “Yes? What are you aching for, my darling? Tell me.”

“More… Your fingers.”

“What about my fingers?”

Her smile widens at the short whine you respond with. You can get so needy when she touches you like this, you forget yourself and easily lose your mind to the stimulation she provides you. It’s such a contrast to when you have your fingers around her throat and are stealing the air from her lungs with incessant kisses. She enjoys both versions of you, especially since you look this gorgeous, pleading and at her mercy. 

“Inside me,” you gasp brokenly, “God, just fuck me like you mean it— Mnh!”

“Bossy.”

You’re interrupted by two of her fingers slipping inside your cunt with no resistance on your part. Her digits are immediately enveloped by your dripping heat and curl inward to brush your inner walls, earning a proper moan from you this time. One of your hands gropes your own chest, thumb swiping over your nipple and adding to the assault of sensations your body is under.

Garofano’s thrusts don’t reflect her gentle personality, she adds a third finger that has your back aching off the bed and your eyes fluttering shut. Her hand leaves your thigh to toy with your momentarily neglected clit and you shudder with the first touch of her index on your pulsing nub. She can feel you clenching deliciously around her fingers. The wet sounds of them thrusting in and out of your needy pussy and your soft cries of pleasure fill the room in an erotic harmony. It’s music to her ears, she can’t tear her eyes from the arousing picture you make as you get closer to your peak; your hips eagerly meet each hard thrust, your brows twist in ecstasy and your lips are forever parted to let out those maddening moans you can’t contain. Her stimulation is unrelenting, she watches the way the pad of her finger rapidly teases your clit then further smears your arousal over your sex. Your glistening curls are temptatious, she thinks of all the ways she’ll taste you in the upcoming hour and the sinful thoughts only serve to fuel her desire to make you cream around her digits. She buries them inside you to the knuckle, savouring the warm and velvety feel of your cunt on her skin. 

She neglects her own arousal to focus on yours and your throbbing clit under her thumb, her need growing between her thighs. You pinch your nipple with two fingers and she briefly abandons the bud to bring a wet thumb to your other breast. She leans forward, never slowing her pace inside you, and lifts the plush mound to her mouth. Your eyes rapidly blink open, head tilting to gaze down at her, and Garofano’s pleased smile reflects in the crinkles around her eyes as she meets yours. Your free hand tangles into her long locks. Your grip is tight and desperate, a way to hold on to her closely. Your desire is written on your sweaty skin, it’s in your heated stare and in the flash of your tongue peeking just past your open mouth, and it’s all for her. All of you. Her tongue swirls around your hard nipple and suckles in time with the thrusts inside your cunt. You won’t last long like this, she knows your body’s tells better than you do and the way you clamp around her hand is the most obvious one of them all. 

Your breast slips out of her mouth with a slick sound. You respond with a small noise of protest.

“Don’t stop,” you almost whine, pushing her closer to your chest with the hand in her hair, “don’t stop, baby…”

“So greedy,” Garofano places sweet kisses on your breast, but it isn’t enough. Your fingers tighten in her hair and she curls her fingers in retaliation, knuckles brushing your sensitive walls. Your sharp intake of breath is as intoxicating as your taste. “You were such a good girl, don’t forget your manners now. It’d be a shame to stop right before you come for me.”

She slows her pace to a tantalizing rub to illustrate her point and draws another indignant mewl from you. She chuckles in amusement. 

“Garo, don’t tease…”

“But you make such pretty sounds for me.”

“Mmnh, I sound better when I come.”

“Oh, I know.” Her reply is low and honeyed, dripping with want.

It’s true, you do sound the most beautiful when you’re coming undone around her fingers or on her tongue. Your breath hitches, your eyes lift to the ceiling, and high moans meant only for her tumble from your pretty lips. With the image in mind, Garofano thrusts her fingers as deep as they can go, hard and fast, relishing the widening of your eyes at the sudden shift. Your soaping wet cunt clamps around her digits, sucking her in and refusing to let her go. The upper row of her teeth graze the heated skin of your breast and just barely touches the stiff peak, but it still earns her a breathless reaction from you. Your skin is burning with the desire coiling tight in the depths of your stomach. Garofano’s tongue darts out to swipe over your nipple just as the coil bursts and your orgasm crashes over you in electrifying waves of pleasure. You gush around her fingers and she merely rubs your inner walls to help you drag out your orgasm. Her name is a sinful drawl out of your mouth, her ears tingle with the rousing sound. Your desperate grip on her hair is almost painful, and she hums low in her throat at the pleasant sensation.

Her fingers effortlessly slide out of you once you’ve come down from your high and she lifts them to her line of sight so you can see the telltale glisten of your cum on her skin. Your lashes flutter open as you catch your breath and Garofano plants a parting kiss on your chest before sitting back on her knees. She meets your eyes with a satisfied glint in hers and brings her hand to her mouth, slowly sucking one cum-covered finger at a time. The digit disappears past her lips then slips out with a wet pop! that has your irises cower from the darkness of your pupils. Garofano makes a show of licking her fingers clean while you watch with parted lips, your pussy still pulsing with unabashed need. You lift yourself on your elbows. Your gaze is smoldering, full of promise, and she merely has the time to smile before you lounge yourself at her, wrapping her in your arms and bringing her back onto the bed with you. A surprised laugh escapes her as she willingly steps into your embrace. Her back softly collides with the firm mattress. Your lips are already on her jaw scattering kisses here and there, and the sudden movement has swept some purple locks into her face, tickling her cheek. She’s forced to shut her eyes when your mouth reaches the slope of her nose, her smile stretching wider. Her hands sneak around your bare torso and travel along the path of your spine in loving motions, as if writing those words that make stars burst in your eyes directly onto your skin. You hum contentedly near her brow in response. 

“My turn, now,” you mutter into her temple, a finger already tracing the hollow of her throat. 

You feel her next swallow under the pad of your fingertip. You pull away from her face to gaze down at her, and her eyes open to hold your stare, warm anticipation sending shivers through her limbs. Your fingertip is replaced by your palm, your fingers wrap around her throat and lightly squeeze the sides of it once. Garofano’s breath hitches, not due to the hand around her neck but rather to the heady veil over your half-lidded eyes as the tip of your tongue trails over your upper teeth. She recognizes that hunger, and her pussy throbs at the sight. 

“The world may not see my marks on you with all of these shirts you like to wear…” your free hand runs a straight line from her collar down to her abdomen, forcibly popping buttons on the way and effectively ruining the garment until more of her skin is revealed for your viewing pleasure. Your lips part wider, molars aching at the expanse of creamy skin before you. “But you’ll definitely feel them.” You lift your gaze to hers. “You’ll ache, like I do for you.”

“Is that a promise?” She asks cheekily.

You smile sharply. “Just a heads up.”

You lower yourself over her to capture her lips in a wet kiss. Your thigh slots between hers, bending in a way that applies delicious pressure to her covered cunt. You swallow the throaty moan that spills from her mouth and caress her tongue with your own. Garofano easily meets your intensity halfway. Your connected mouths move in a sensual dance that steals the air right from her lungs. Her hips shift under you, shamelessly seeking the dizzying friction of your thigh against her cunt. For one moment, you lose your mind to the intoxicating feeling of her kiss and melt into her body a little more. She tastes like sweet tea and the cum she sucked off her fingers just now, a strange yet addictive mix to taste off her lips. You normally could waste hours kissing her like this with no complaint, but your current impatience has other plans. Your hand trails up to her chest and sneaks under the pad of her bra, cupping a handful of her breast. It squeezes and kneads and caresses, manipulating the smooth flesh like clay.  Through your locked lips, Garofano’s sharp exhales become yours along with each quiet noise you pull out of her. Your thumb circles her stiff nipple and you feel the familiar shape of her nails on the skin of your back, digging ever so slightly. 

You can’t resist a minute longer, Garofano can practically see your restraint snap in two and she tilts her head to the side preemptively once you withdraw from her mouth. Your teeth on her skin always bring forth the same buzzing sensation in her lower abdomen; you litter marks along her neck, biting and licking everywhere your mouth reaches. The light sting paired with the wet warmth of your tongue as you suck the skin, painting splotches of purple on her body that rival her hair color, arouses her more than anything. The ache between her thighs is almost unbearable. Her clothes make it impossible to get the friction she needs to relieve herself, her hips uselessly grind into your thigh and she lets out a bothered sigh.

“Darling, ah,” she calls out breathlessly; your teeth sink into her collarbone before your tongue wets the spot there, covering her in your saliva, “a little help?”

Her hands leave your back to rake up the fabric of her long skirt up to her hips but are blocked by your thigh between hers. 

“M’not done,” you mumble, kissing the newly made bite marks across her collarbones. 

You absentmindedly pinch her nipple and tweak the erect nub between two fingers. Garofano swallows thickly. Despite her urgent need, she can’t find it in herself to reprimand your one-track mind. It’s cute how focused you are on your task while playing with her breast, relieving the ache of your jaw by nibbling on her like a chew toy. Your lips travel down to her chest and you take a few seconds to take off her ruined shirt and expose the dark bra underneath. The straps are sliding down her shoulders the next instant and the clasp is undone by an expert hand. Once she lies bare beneath you, you resume your ministrations on her chest. The flesh of her breast is soft and pliable, you spend the longest time stimulating her chest with lovebites and quick suckles, your eyes falling shut. Your tongue swirls around her nipple and your hand kneads her neglected breast. Garofano gazes down at your blissful expression as you suck her glistening nipple into your mouth once more, her lips parted and her eyelids heavy. She lifts a hand to the back of your head, a low moan reverberating through her chest. Her skin shines everywhere your tongue has touched and covers her in a soft glow under the bedroom lights. It’s littered with reddish indentations and purple bruises, courtesy of your desire to consume her, but you never go far enough for them to feel unpleasant. You kiss where you want to chew, lick where your molars throb with the instinct to tear and mutter reverent words when you best express yourself through the bite marks your teeth leave behind. Your restraint is commendable, but more than that, it is proof of a long-lasting devotion with her at the very center. 

Your mouth finally abandons her chest and travels to the soft curves of her stomach. With the movement, your thigh no longer stands in the way of Garofano bundling her skirt at the waist. She holds the fabric in place with one hand and spreads her legs enticingly, revelling in your immediate reaction to the sight of her drenched panties. Your fingers dig into her inner thigh, pushing it further apart, and you feel her stretch marks with a caressing hand. 

You tug the waistband of her underwear and glance at the wetness that connects the flimsy material to the slick hairs of her pussy, then lift your eyes to hers. “You’re so wet, baby.”

“I am. Why don’t you do something about it?”

“Mmm…” 

You leisurely drag your index up and down her covered slit, enjoying the sight of her lips emphasized by the pretty fabric. You hear a trembling breath and tilt your head to the right, pondering. 

“What are you waiting for?” Garofano shifts on the bed, brushing some locks out of her face and smiling down at you fondly. “Need some encouragement?”

“I’m just wondering how I want to fuck you. But… a bit of encouragement never hurts.”

“In that case… Be good and make me feel nice, won’t you, my darling?”

You bite your bottom lip in a futile effort to contain your growing smile. A swift movement has her underwear sliding down to her ankles and another  has a thigh resting over your shoulder. You turn your head to mark the warm skin at your disposal, taking your time to pepper bruises all over her inner thighs so that she won’t be able to close her legs without thinking of you. The colors are gorgeous on her, her body is a canvas you paint with your teeth and tongue, adding a few additional shades to the pink flush of her skin. She’s ready for you— has been ready a while ago— but you decide to tease her some more for what she pulled earlier, taunting you like that. Your lips follow a predetermined path towards her slick, aching cunt. Garofano tuts impatiently when you take too long, a quiet sound that amuses you.

“Patience,” you repeat her words from before and lick up a thin string of arousal smeared on her thigh, “I’m enjoying you.”

Her hand on your cheek brings your gaze back to hers and, despite yourself, you lean into the touch. Garofano strokes your face in a way that always has you melting, her thumb gently swiping over your cheek in a soothing pattern. It moves to your mouth and pulls your bottom lip downward. Almost instinctively, you suck the digit into your mouth. The low hum of satisfaction that you earn is enough to make you forget about your previous intentions to edge her. For a suspended moment, you simply look at her.

“You won’t keep me waiting, right?” The sultry and expectant tone of her voice coupled with the evident heat in her eyes make your insides clench. “I need you…” 

Her free hand lowers to her pussy, and she spreads her lips with two manicured fingers, giving you an unobstructed view of her dripping folds. Her thumb slips out of your mouth and wets your lips.

“I need your mouth, my darling,” she continues, a breathiness in her words, “that talented tongue on me. Will you be a good girl for me?”

You nod wordlessly, mind hazy. The lines of her face are more pronounced when she smiles, and you barely tear your eyes away from them as you taste her, tongue slithering up her slit to collect her arousal. You watch her with heavy eyelids while you lap at her like a thirsty kitten. You flick her erect clit with the tip of your tongue a couple of times, and Garofano moans in pleasure, still keeping her pussy lips open for your hungry mouth. The back of her head hits the pillows, her hips chase the sensations you bring her, and her chest falls heavily along every breathy sound that flies out of her mouth. She’s stunning, a sculpture that’s been given the breath of life. Her long locks of hair are like tendrils framing her face, her brows twitch with each pass of your tongue over her cunt, and lower, her nipples sit on her rising chest like precious gemstones. Your mouth waters. You long to suckle on them a bit longer, but that’ll be for later. You wrap your lips around her clit instead and suck, hard and fast. Face pressed to her drenched cunt, your chin and nose are rapidly coated in her essence. She fills your senses; her taste on your tongue, her scent in your nose, the flesh of her thigh beneath your fingers, those raspy, honeyed moans in your ears… She’s everywhere at once. Your world is reduced to her immense presence all around you. She’s not looking at you, her eyes are shut in pleasure. Her hand has turned into a claw on your cheek, her nails carving crescent moons into your skin, and her heel is pressed to your back to keep you against her. She clings to you as she grinds her pussy on your tongue, and you can’t help pushing a finger past her pulsing entrance. It slides in easily, she’s more than wet enough for it. 

“Hah, mmmn,” Garofano’s beautiful sounds above you encourage you to thrust into her at a steady pace. “Yes, just like that…”

You briefly withdraw from her cunt to marvel at how effortlessly your finger disappears inside her wet heat. The squelching noise it makes with each thrust is sinful yet it melds perfectly with her deep lustful moans. Praises fall from her lips like she’s uttered them a thousand times, and perhaps she has, your head spins with need and you forget to count. You slip a second finger into her and don’t let up on her engorged clit, suckling the nub until it twitches on your tongue. Garofano keeps her thighs spread prettily for you, though the muscles flex and relax in succession, a sign of her impending orgasm. Your tongue and fingers work in tandem to bring her over the edge, unrelenting and determined. You recall just how attractive she is when she comes, how her back makes this perfect arc over the bed and her pussy clamps around you, and you curl your fingers inside her cunt to hit the spongy spot that has her eyes rolling back in their socket. She’s so aroused, so wet, it doesn’t take much longer for her to get close to her peak. The pleasure steadily mounts within her, snaking around her guts and squeezing, and she lets you know through drawled out words of encouragement.

“You’re doing so good, darling— I’m so close, don’t stop.”

The assault of sensations is sending shudders through her body. She wantonly bucks into your mouth, chasing her high with no care in the world. You enjoy her the most like this, when she simply takes what she wants without question. She is greedy and you give freely with the burning desire to satiate her. Your fingers pump inside her dripping cunt, your muffled sounds of pleasure vibrate against her folds, and it’s not long before Garofano comes down your throat. Your soaked digits slip out of her and you latch onto her gushing entrance to swallow every drop of cum that that leaks out of her pussy with her powerful orgasm. Her strong thighs press against your ears and you let them, too focused on her tangy taste to do anything more than drink what she gives you. You lap at her a moment longer as she regains her bearings. Her hand lifts to the back of your head and strokes your hair while you clean her up. You look up to see Garofano already gazing at you, warmth etched in her eyes. She catches her breath and returns the easy smile you send her way with a soft chuckle. 

“Come here, sweet girl,” she beckons you closer and you obey instantly, pressing one last kiss over her dark, slick curls before climbing on top of her to reach her face. 

Garofano tenderly cups your cheek. The tip of her nose brushes along the side of yours, then she kisses your cum covered lips and sighs contentedly into your mouth. Her skin is as warm as the embers simmering in your belly. She kisses you sweetly, slowly so as to relish the feel of you against her, and you want more. You want so much more of her— you hunger for more of her taste on your tongue, of her curves under your fingertips, of her mouth on your body. She is there, lying beneath you, open and giving, and it still isn’t enough. Your weight on her is a welcomed one, she sneaks an arm around your waist to trap you on top of her body while she gets her fill of your kiss swollen lips. 

“Mmh, Garo,” you reluctantly pull away to speak, but she chases your mouth and presses some more kisses on it as you talk,” hope you’re not… tired…”

“Oh?” She tilts your chin upwards with two fingers and gives you a dark look. “And why’s that?”

“I’m in a playful mood.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm. I wanna play. And I have just the toy for it.”

Garofano laughs quietly at your raised eyebrows. Her forefinger absentmindedly rubs the cartilage of your earlobe. 

“Well, now I’m curious.”

Your excitement is adorable. A glint appears in your eyes at the thought you planted in her head, and your canines peek just so through your wide smile. Garofano simply observes your features in the low lighting as you ramble about your newest discovery.

“Okay, so, since I can’t actually get you pregnant, I got the next best thing…”

She’ll definitely entertain that thought later. For now, she only holds you close and traces the shape of your ear to commit the feature to muscle memory. In the sanctity of her bedroom and past these colored walls, you belong to each other. She smiles to herself. So precious, so beautiful, and you’re hers. Perhaps some hardships are worth suffering through if they lead to you.

[blissfullyecho]

Habits of High-Value Women

Join my 3-hour live workshop on Zoom, where we will create a tailored luxe glow-up plan personalized for you for 2025. Seats are limited and are first come, first served. Click here for more info.

High-value women command respect without saying a word. They live by a set of unspoken rules—habits so refined, so deliberate, they set them apart from the ordinary. If you want to elevate your presence and step into the rarefied air of exclusivity, you must adopt the habits that exude quiet power and undeniable allure.

Being high-value is not just about wealth or looks—it’s an entire lifestyle. It’s about radiating self-worth so confidently that the world adjusts itself to accommodate you.

— Punctuality Is Non-Negotiable

A high-value woman does not make others wait. Being on time shows respect for others and, more importantly, respect for yourself. Arriving a few minutes early, calm and composed, signals that you are in control of your time—because time is a luxury.

— Selective Accessibility

Not everyone gets access to you. High-value women are intentional with their energy, and they know how to say “no” without apology. Exclusivity is power. Overextending yourself is for the desperate, and desperation has no place in your world.

— Poise in All Circumstances

The high-value woman is unshaken by chaos. Whether someone insults her, coffee spills on her designer blouse, or a plan changes last minute, she remains composed. Grace under pressure is the ultimate flex, and nothing whispers “wealth” louder than effortless calm.

— Obsession with Details

A thread is never out of place and nails are always perfectly manicured. A high-value woman knows that the devil—and the luxury—is in the details. She irons her top, polishes her shoes, and ensures that even her grocery list is written in elegant script. Everything matters.

— A Master of Nonchalant Confidence

Confidence isn’t loud; it’s deliberate. High-value women walk into a room as if it’s theirs—because in their minds, it is. They speak with authority, listen intently, and never feel the need to prove themselves. It’s called quiet luxury, and it’s intoxicating.

— Boundaries Are Sacred

High-value women set the rules of engagement. They don’t entertain nonsense, tolerate disrespect, or over-explain their decisions. Saying “no” is not a weakness; it’s a power move. If you want access to her, you must prove your worth.

— The Art of Elegance

Every movement of a high-value woman is intentional. She doesn’t fidget, over-gesture, or slump. She knows how to sit, stand, and walk like she’s on a runway—even if she’s just walking to her mailbox. Elegance is her native language.

— A Curated Inner Circle

High-value women surround themselves with other ambitious, intelligent, and refined individuals. Gossip, negativity, and low-value energy are banned from her presence. Her circle is exclusive because she is exclusive.

— Mastery of Silence

Silence is one of the high-value woman’s greatest weapons. She doesn’t fill awkward gaps with chatter, nor does she waste words proving her point. Silence keeps people guessing—and keeps her in control.

— Relentless Self-Improvement

Stagnation is for the ordinary. High-value women are constantly evolving—whether it’s reading a book on philosophy, taking a new class, or refining their skincare routine. They don’t chase perfection; they embody it as a lifestyle.

Join my 3-hour live workshop on Zoom, where we will create a tailored luxe glow-up plan personalized for you for 2025. Seats are limited and are first come, first served. Click here for more info.

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Lit Hub: The Question of Homoeroticism in Whitman’s Poetry

Walt Whitman’s best poems demonstrate an almost unimaginable prescience; he and Dickinson, among 19th-century American poets, possess a nearly chilling self-consciousness, an acute self-analysis. Edward Carpenter, the British anarchist, writer, and champion of the Arts and Crafts movement whose life and romance were the model for E. M. Forster’s novel Maurice, wrote this elegant description of a visit with Whitman in 1877; the emphases are Carpenter’s own: “If I had thought before (and I do not know that I had) that Whitman was eccentric, unbalanced, violent, my first interview certainly produced quite a contrary effect. No one could be more considerate, I may almost say courteous; no one could have more simplicity of manner and freedom from egotistic wrigglings; and I never met any one who gave me more the impression of knowing what he was doing more than he did.” That there were words for homosexual behavior in Whitman’s day there can be no doubt. Social structures for enabling same-sex congress seem to have been a feature of life in the modern city at least since the later 18th century, when the “Molly houses” in London offered a zone of permission for transvestism. Herman Melville, in Redburn, carefully evokes the nattily dressed fellows who hang out in front of a downtown restaurant where opera singers perform; he means us to understand what these stylish outfits convey. Historian and theorist Luc Sante describes a 19th-century pamphlet that takes as its project the publication of the locations of various quite particular spots of diverse sexual practice in New York City—so that those informed of, say, the address of a bordello featuring willing boys can take special care to avoid this hazard. Trenchant evidence comes from Rufus Griswold’s review of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass: “We have found it impossible to convey any, even the most faint idea of style and contents, and of our disgust and detestation of them, without employing language that cannot be pleasing to ears polite; but it does seem that someone should, under circumstances like these, undertake a most disagreeable, yet stern duty. The records of crime show that many monsters have gone on in impunity, because the exposure of their vileness was attended with too great indelicacy. Peccatum illud horrible, inter Christianos non nominandum.” Which is all a way of saying that Whitman inscribes his sexuality on the frontier of modernity; he is writing into being—particularly in the “Calamus” poems of 1860, with their frank male-to-male loving, their assumption of equality on the part of the lovers—a new situation. He does not know how to proceed—he has no path —but he does it anyway. My guess is that he couldn’t have written “Calamus,” or the boldly homoerotic portions of the 1855 Leaves, even ten years later, as the advent of psychology increasingly led to a public perception of the normative, and imagery of the sacred family becomes the object of Victorian romance. As a category of identity—sodomite, invert, debauchee, pervert, Uranian—begins to emerge, so the poems with their claims of a loving, healthy, freely embraced same-sex desire become unwriteable, paradoxically, just as new language of homosexual identity begins to appear. Unwriteable, and, it would seem from Whitman’s later remarks, and some of his revisions, barely defensible. Carpenter and his readers were reaching for signposts of a gay identity when such a thing barely existed, but Whitman is ultimately a queer poet in the deepest sense of the word: he destabilizes, he unsettles, he removes the doors from their jambs. There is an uncanniness in “Song of Myself” and the other great poems of the 1850s that, for all his vaunted certainty, Whitman wishes to underscore. Again and again, he points us toward what, it seems, must remain folded in the buds beneath speech, since it cannot be brought to the surface. (Full article)

[siegecraft]

Defining spaces, work-play separation, and avoiding TTRPG burnout.

I’ve seen a lot of folks in indie TTRPGs talk about overlapping issues and experiences around feeling burned out, not being able to keep up with new games, playing games starting to feel—or actually being—always for work rather than for fun.

I have begun to think of this issue as a game is never just a game. Not in the sense that it can’t be, but that many people working in TTRPGs in some capacity don’t allow it to be. Play has become the secondary function, because the game's primary function is no longer play, but something else. Be that a playtest, an Actual Play (AP) recording, a charity stream, content creation fodder (a review, a blog post, a video essay), a self-imposed obligation to stay on top of industry trends, etc. Because it is for work rather than play, the game is no longer play.

My firmly held litany against that is twofold:

1. Name the purpose of the game.

A playtest or AP can be fun, but you can't trick yourself into believing that that instance of play is for the sake of it. There’s a book I love called The Art of Gathering: How We Meet and Why It Matters by Priya Parker. One of the key takeaways is to be deeply intentional, for yourself and for the people joining you, in defining why you have gathered together. What does this do?

It frees you from the mismatched expectations that inevitably emerge when intentions are not set. The rules and expectations for a playtest are not the same as they are for play’s sake, so get everyone on the same page.

It allows you to fully take advantage of this instance of play for its primary function. Letting go of the notion that you’re “just” playing a game lets you set expectations different from those in a space where you’re playing for play’s sake.

Whenever I playtest, be that for one hour or an intended campaign, I am extremely candid with my playtesters about what I need from them. That the expectations of the space are different than when we play together for fun.

I ran a six-hour playtest of The Prince of Nothing Good a few weekends ago. If I was just running a game for fun, I would consider that a nightmare of a game length! I would never do that to my players!

But everyone had a blast with this playtest. Because we had set aside the entire day for that purpose, and said we’d play until it was done. Everyone came in with the goal of helping me iron out some kinks in the game, and was excited to do it. And that wouldn’t have been possible without defining why we were gathering at that moment, and what we were doing to make mode of gathering work for us (dedicated time, many short breaks, blanket permission to get up from the table to meet movement/food/bio needs, I bought everyone lunch).   

2. Protect your time to play for the sake of play.

I believe the quickest way to kill your enjoyment of something is by making every instance of partaking in it work.

I’m aware there are Actual Play professionals who only play games as part of their jobs and not in their personal lives. That’s great for them, if they’ve figured out how to enjoy it (or earn enough money doing so that it doesn’t matter if they do), but the overwhelming majority of people in the game industry are simply not earning “only doing it for work” money. And until you are—and for most people in games, that will be never—you need to allow yourself time to just play games.

I’ve run a weekly home game since I got into TTRPGs, and I consider that space is sacred. Some of the players help me playtest outside of that game, but that weekly meeting is just for play, not work. Dedicating time for play to just be play makes it possible for it to be other things, too.  

I’ve never experienced anything consider close to the TTRPG burnout, exhaustion, and frustration that I’ve heard many people talk about. I’ve done it to myself with other things! I used to read and evaluate theatre scripts for work. I’ve read literally hundreds of plays. And there was a whole chunk of time where I was still doing that and I absolutely dreaded reading plays. A friend invited me to a play reading group during the pandemic and I had to decline because reading plays was synonymous with evaluating them for what was honestly not enough money to do it.

So I just stopped. I don’t read scripts for pay anymore, and I stopped reading them for fun too, because I was at a place of deficit where even doing it “just” for fun was not appealing. I’m only now getting to a place where I am interested in reading theatrical work again. It is much harder to get back to a place of enjoyment than it is to never depart in the first place.

[tobiasdrake]

Any thoughts on how Dragonball handles Death, narratively

To be honest, I find the status quo created by the Dragon Balls and their easy free resurrections to be interesting. The setting of Dragon Ball is a unique and creative place, and part of that is because the characters live in the knowledge of death's impermanence.

From the moment Goku first climbs Karin Tower and meets the God of Martial Arts, Dragon Ball has a strong spiritual side to it. This is not a grounded story of a guy living a life in a mundane but fantastical world. Son Goku, an adaptation of the Monkey King Sun Wukong, brushes elbows with gods and learns sacred arts of the heavens to carry him along on his journey.

As I've said before, there is no one correct way to write a plot. There are no universally good tropes to use or universally right interpretation to employ. Every story is a unique creature, and the elements that make up the story should be suited to what that story is trying to do.

I'm not saying that Dragon Ball's approach to character death is better or worse than other approaches; Rather, that it's unique, and that uniqueness makes it interesting and adds to its identity. The way Dragon Ball does things wouldn't work for other series, but it works for Dragon Ball.

Dragon Ball is an individualistic story about the never-ending journey of self-improvement and personal development. It's about Goku coming into his own and growing up as a person and as a martial artist. The ultimate stakes of the story surround how Goku will grow and change and whether he will be able to prevail in this new predicament he's been placed into.

It's not about the world. It's about him and his emotional, physical, and spiritual journey.

With that in mind, Dragon Ball's relationship with death suits its story. Essentially, the stakes of any given Dragon Ball adventure are Winner-Take-All. If our heroes prevail, then all the damage is reversible. But if they fail, then all is lost.

This allows Dragon Ball to have its cake and eat it, with deaths that feel meaningful in the moment.

These deaths become motivating factors that drive the plot forward. But the tantalizing promise of revival is also a motivating factor that drives the plot forward.

While also building on the relationships between characters, which can then be followed up on when the character next returns from their grave.

The thing about Dragon Ball that sets it apart from other settings where death is often reversible is that Dragon Ball has a consistent mechanism for its reversal. One that the characters are fully aware of. This is precisely what makes its setting so distinctive, because it plays into the movement of the plot. Goku up there is going to meet God in order to bring resurrections back online.

The cast goes to Namek later on for the same reason. Piccolo's death means Kami dies means Shenron disappears from the Earth means no resurrections on the table for anyone Nappa and Vegeta killed; However, Krillin was paying the fuck attention during the battle and realizes that a slim hope exists for their friends.

The impetus for the entire Namek arc comes from the existence of resurrection as an option for the characters. Everything that happens on Namek is a quest to undo the damage Vegeta and Nappa inflicted.

This is the third time the possibility of resurrections has driven the plot. The second time was when Goku met God in Heaven. The first was when Goku went to war with Red Ribbon in the climax of their arc.

This is what I'm talking about when I say the stakes are Winner-Take-All. That characters can consistently return from death as long as conditions are right drives the plot forward at multiple points.

It also introduces new calculations into the decision-making of the cast themselves.

"Krillin, you've spent your 1-Up but I've still got mine so if one of us dies here then it should be me, not you." That's a choice Yamcha made, that would go on to pay dividends through this arc and the next.

"Can I come back to life if this goes bad Y/N?" is a real consideration that characters have to take into account when making their choices. Goku easily sacrifices himself to kill Raditz.

He's able to take us to visit the afterlife, meet Enma-Daio, and discover a great martial arts master in the heavens beyond life and death because of it.

All because he knows he's still got a revival on the docket, that he can trigger once he's ready to come home.

The Majin Buu arc takes the Winner-Take-All stakes to their absolute extreme with arguably the darkest moment in series history.

Majin Buu's been promised a great opponent to have a good fight with. In his new Super Buu state, he's impatient and wants his fight now. To buy time, Piccolo takes advantage of the fact that Shenron can revive the world to make Buu an offer: Finish exterminating humanity and then come back, and your opponent will be ready.

It's a bid for more time. It backfires in the most horrific way possible, when Super Buu uses this vantage in Heaven to fire Human Extinction Attack and kill all living humans at once.

What a fucking moment this is. Made possible by the reversible nature of all those billions of deaths - If, and only if, we can beat this guy. Winner takes all.

These are angles for the story that couldn't be explored without Shenron providing convenient resurrections. It's part and parcel of what the world of Dragon Ball even is, and a core component both in its storytelling and character decision-making.

Dragon Ball simply wouldn't be Dragon Ball without it.

[apiswitchcraft]

the ogham alphabet and their divinatory meanings

FIRST AICME

ᚁ beith

UPRIGHT: joyful beginnings, new possibilities, renewal and rebirth--even if it is uncomfortable

REVERSED: a blind path, wasted efforts, fixation on the past, longing for the impossible

ᚂ luis

UPRIGHT: clarity, attention to detail, purification, danger avoided or overcome, two paths are open to you

REVERSED: vulnerability, uncertainty, deception, delusion, something (possibly your own emotions) is misleading you

ᚃ fearn

UPRIGHT: protection and guidance, emotional security, good advice, prophecy, unexpected solution(s), music, poetry

REVERSED: willful blindness, refusal to listen to advice, arrogance or not enough information

ᚄ saille

UPRIGHT: go with the flow, intuition, dreaming, unconscious, letting go of preconceptions, feminine energy/connection to the moon

REVERSED: inability to adapt, feeling defeated or lost, lack of movement, difficulty that will inevitably pass

ᚅ nuin

UPRIGHT: connection and transformation, being a part of something bigger, fate, divine action/inspiration

REVERSED: isolation and boredom, being blind to (either good or bad) possibilities, take control and be assertive

SECOND AICME

�� huath

UPRIGHT: patience, protection/purification, reserve, feeling suffocated, problems that will eventually change, self-sacrifice

REVERSED: you are acting too hasty, take a second to think OR you're at a standstill, you need to take action

ᚇ duir

UPRIGHT: sacred spaces, forward movement, power and energy, the power to endure, leadership, endurance

REVERSED: help from those in power, success despite means, borrowed strength, a gift, cowardliness

ᚈ tinne

UPRIGHT: challenges or tests, recommends decisive action, balance, integrity, talent/skill/expertise, growth

REVERSED: attack, hardship, aggression, lack of direction or balance

ᚉ coll

UPRIGHT: knowledge and learning, transformation and flexibility, creativity, daydreaming, rituals/divination

REVERSED: intellectual/creative blockages (art/writer's block), lack of insight, fear of failure, ignorance

ᚊ quert

UPRIGHT: happiness, healing, beauty, love affairs, awakenings and new experiences, opportunity (or the choice) to live more fully

REVERSED: despair, ailments, unavoidable choice(s), mixed gain/loss, procrastination

THIRD AICME

ᚋ muin

UPRIGHT: inspiration, prophecy or psychic senses, community and celebration, freedom, rest, examine life's lessons

REVERSED: burdens, difficulties, a need to relax/unwind, you're strung out or trying too hard OR overindulging

ᚌ gort

UPRIGHT: slow/indirect progress, wildness, purpose, determination, transformation, follow life's path

REVERSED: entanglement, think twice about what you're doing, and arduous path

ᚍ ngetal

UPRIGHT: vitality, awareness of environment, creating order from chaos, prioritizing personal health, you aren't finished yet

REVERSED: inability to act, need for healing and patience, you aren't ready to act yet OR you have done all you can

ᚎ straif

UPRIGHT: necessity/inevitability, fate or omens, death, rebirth, some things cannot be changed, wheel of fortune

REVERSED: pain, difficulty, retribution, necessary suffering, no choice is a good one

ᚏ ruis

UPRIGHT: resolution, completion, looking ahead, omen of success, difficulties permanently overcome

REVERSED: endings and departures, face the facts, shame, illness/disability

FOURTH AICME

ᚐ ailm

UPRIGHT: insight, grounded in the present, clear vision, start new project(s), new perspective, foresight

REVERSED: ignorance of the broader picture, unrealistic ideas, step back and reassess, fear and anxiety

ᚑ onn

UPRIGHT: energy, life, vigor, sexuality, attraction, gathering together, consider changing your life's direction

REVERSED: difficulties and delays, overconfidence, taking too many risks, unrealistic desires

ᚒ uhr

UPRIGHT: spiritual/magical power, forces of nature, deep connections, fulfillment, death and memories of loved ones

REVERSED: deception, deceit, loss of contact with nature/spirits, need for recuperation/reconnection in a relationship

ᚓ eadhadh

UPRIGHT: courage and tenacity, a struggle for victory, quest for inner strength, enlightenment

REVERSED: addiction, terror, declining health, compromise and negotiation, choosing a different path

ᚔ iodhadh

UPRIGHT: ancestry, aging or dying, things unchanging, old age, memory

REVERSED: stagnation and immobility, death or mourning, the past is a burden, things lingering past their prime

FORFEDHA

ᚕ eabhadh

UPRIGHT: spiritual wisdom, complexity, place of balance/harmony, presence of many factors, spiritual wisdom

REVERSED: confusion, bewilderment, too many factors at work to allow for a successful prediction/decision

ᚖ oir

UPRIGHT: radical transformation, abundance, sudden illumination or destruction that is set about by outside forces

REVERSED: patience, preparation, the path before you is a slow one, wait for outside forces to act

ᚗ uilleann

UPRIGHT: knowledge and lore, learning and study, wisdom of the past as a guide, private thoughts or secrets

REVERSED: ignorance, failure to learn from the past, future instead of past

ᚘ ifin

UPRIGHT: secrets and revelations, subtle influences, releasing emotions of guilt/shame

REVERSED: the situation is not as it seems, the information that you need is not available to you

ᚙ eamancholl

UPRIGHT: unexpected change, arrival of new influence, illness

REVERSED: sudden endings or disruptions

[handweavers]

"the skin of religion" by s. brent plate is one of my favourite pieces of writing on art & spirituality, i always go back to it. such a foundational work for me tbh

["The skinscape of religion stands at the crux of the matter, the heart of religion: it happens at in-between, mediated places. From this focal point, it unfolds outward to become the foundation stone in the construction of social-sacred space. Recall Lefebvre's comment: "Within the body itself, spatially considered, the successive levels constituted by the senses [...] prefigure the layers of social space and their interconnections." To understand religion and its places, we cannot merely operate through third or fourth order disembodied hermeneutics regarding texts, doctrines, or previous relatable experiences. Neither can we submit that so-called "mystical" and "im-mediate" experiences occur without the mediation incurring through one's cultural environment. Neither is it enough to iconographically study the visual arts, or phenomenologically investigate ritual movements and extract from them a system, disregarding sensual encounters with the works. Finally, to suggest that the new cognitive sciences can describe everything for us is also bound to fail for it often lacks the ways cultural environments shape cognitive processes; hard wiring is always a little bit soft.

Unpacking the chart more, in the first instance the skin (a synecdoche for the senses in general) is to human cognition as the medium is to the message. (And I am here conjuring McLuhan's hyperbole that the medium is the message.) The senses are the media of the body, the channels through which understanding occurs. The senses do not merely influence cognition, but become the thought itself. Beliefs, and conceptions of super natural/transcendent higher powers are not possible to be disentangled from sense perceptions, nor from the media in which religious conceptions occur. If, as George Lakoff and Mark Johnson have observed, there is a bodily basis to metaphor, there is likewise a bodily basis to mythology, to the stories and proverbs and ethical commands of sacred texts, and to sacred symbols. The sensual body is not relegated merely to the ritual and behavioral aspects of religious life, as is commonly posited. Rather, the body pervades all aspects of religion."]

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Moaning by India Ame'ye, Author It takes patience, time, and devotion to unlock the sacred power that lives inside the female body, these untouched, unmet secrets and enigmas. It's like meeting the black hole of the universe for the first time, a mystery that scientists and astronomers still have not been able to fully solve or understand. You have to be willing to be a beginner to unlock the competency and potentiality held in your body parts--in your deep cervix, pelvis, breasts, hips, and the back of your throat. A lot of times we don't allow ourselves to be a beginner at this divine feminine work, and meet ourselves inside the messiness of the cocoon. We won't try new things and be horrible at them or place ourselves in uncomfortable situations and still keep going. As a woman who lives in my body, who trains in different types of dance alchemies and arts, I can honestly say that in order to wake up the dormant power resting in your female body, you have to be curious about your body, feel new narratives of yourself (your cells) move through your body, and re-sensitize the block and stuck scar tissue through your listening, breathing, singing, moaning, screaming, wailing, and willingness to open up and be that butterfly you were meant to be. Today I went to a high-end pilates studio with reformer machines. I highlight "high-end" because the quality of the studio makes a difference, particularly in pilates, but any pilates class is better than none. I was so happy that the music in class was obscenely loud. I had the level of noise needed to moan inconspicuously without being noticed or heard by the teacher or other students. I do the same thing in my flexibility classes. There is a re-sensitizing or waking up of the parts of us that have locked or suppressed power that we get to harness through our breath, voice, and deliberate and intentional sounds and movements which helps to move old energy up and out. That's why I moan in low registers while biking. I moan while walking the dog. I moan while cooking. I moan while bathing. I moan while hoisting myself up on the pole. I moan while authoring. I moan while loving. I have never been caught moaning by a stranger. Most people are too busy or distracted to notice the lowest and oddest of sounds. I can't tell you how many new versions of myself I have met through my willingness to use my voice as a tuning fork for energy to flow and new versions of myself to sow. And soft moaning sounds permeating from the body translate as safety, that you are in a safe environment. Therefore the body relaxes and feels safe to expand and create new narratives of itself, whether growing larger muscle fibers or completing a longterm project.

-India Ame'ye, Author

[ramayantika]

The Dancer Immortalized in Stone

Sshh.... Do not be startled, my friend. All of it is real but not terrifying. I am not the alluring spirit who shall lead you to your death. Did you forget that these ruins were once a part of a glorious temple?

Who am I?

I have forgotten my name. It's been a while. Nobody ever reached out to me. I am a stone now, but somehow alive. This stony body is decorated just how I used to decorate my body, warm and full of energy, full of life. I was beautiful, very beautiful when alive. There is a reason I was carved onto the walls of this temple.

Just call me narthaki. What does it mean?

It means a female dancer.

I just know I dance. I danced. I was a dancer. I will always be one.

You wear different clothes now. Do women not wear the clothes like my friends and I have worn in this temple?

No? Oh.

Do you dance? Do you love it?

I loved it too. Wait a moment. Why is that man ogling my body this way? I have never felt the urge to cover myself before. I am set in stone, but I can feel lusty eyes over my chest.

He is tracing his finger over my waist. Make it stop please? I don't like it.

Thanks for getting rid of that touchy man. I encountered some bad men back in my time too. They thought they could own my body, my art, my soul by complimenting my beauty and body. As if I would ever let them taint me.

Ah! You are imitating my dance posture. I remember the sculptor requesting me to model for him, so he could decorate the temple tower housing the Gods.

Stretch your left leg a little. Loosen your fingers as if they are tired. Look to the left sharply. Yes, that's it. See you are standing like me!

I wish I could dance again. What is it to dance now?

I am ethereal? Yes, thanks. The sculptor made me so.

What is dance, you ask? You said you are a dancer yourself. Why should I answer it then?

Fine, if you insist.

For me, dance has been equivalent to living. It is life adorned with music, stories and colourful garbs, each that is changed with time and with the onset of a new tale. As a woman, my dance, my art, is sacred. It is a part of Laasya, of the feminine counterpart of nritya. Fluid, sublime, playful and sensual.

You wistfully smile at the word sensual. Why so?

Oh.

Who says sensuality is bad? I see you rarely move your hips while performing movement.

What? They say it is coquette and the sensuality expressed shall bring lust?

When stories flow through the entire body, through every bone, every muscle, and every nerve; when music fills the blood, surrounds the senses, and you become one with the tale, your body a canvas for the story to be expressed, you must depict it completely with openness, dedication, love and passion. If you contain it, you do not become a true storyteller.

You look from a different time and Time always moves forward. How is that you your lot are so regressive?

What is 'classical'?

Dance is dance. It has been since the days of early men and women, finding movement to express themselves with Time slowly enhancing it, beautifying it. You do not bind it to rules of forced moral standards. You must embrace every story, every character, every music within you.

The later women dancers were forced to sell themselves and cheapen their art? They are now depicted as women who titillate?

No, they were all wrong. Dance can never be impure. It can never serve to only entertain the senses.

What dance do you do? I see my sisters in your eyes, who loved and longed for dance, for the love of art so much. You aren't a part of that dirty spectacle, are you? You know that I speak the truth. You understand my words. You understand us women, don't you.

'I am sorry. I do understand, you, your friends and sisters. So much time has passed and men wrote your history. Your art only served to serve the pleasurable senses, to arouse desire and lust in the audience. This is what they wrote. They don't write about the long arduous hours of practicing and perfecting movement and poetry. They did not write about the penance dancers took. I am sorry. We carry you and your history in us. It is only an essence, but the meaning has changed. There is still hope. There are people who truly understand what dance is, what you, me, us women dancers are and have been. We are your legacy, and I will try to live up to it.'

_XXXX-

Bye, I am hungry, kinda pissed off too because I am tired of seeing female dancers from the past and even now being seen as mere tools of entertainment. I am tired of this constant debate of purity in dance. I also have a test and maybe I was a dancer back in my previous birth or something because I visit old temples only to look at all the dancers immortalized in stone, and I hate how dancers, female dancers have always been pictured for beauty and body, and very less for their art and dedicated practice. Nritya tapasya hai.

Bye.

Tagging: @ramcharantitties @jukti-torko-golpo @alhad-si-simran @krishna-priyatama @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @houseofbreadpakoda @swayamev @rhysaka @aesthetic-aryavartik

(it's been a while since i have checked my taglist so sorry for not tagging everyone. Will check it and tag you all in my next works. I kinda also want to start a substack lol)

[serpentface]

I’m sorry if this is a weird thing to randomly send but I’ve spent the last few days looking through your blog and I’m totally enchanted with your worldbuilding and art. You have such a rich and detailed writing style and the illustrations are so good at making that information feel grounded. I’ve been finding a ton of amusing, small similarities with my own WIP fantasy story and it’s made me really excited to read the White Calf when it’s released! If you happen to have any extra information about the Odonii priests offhand, would you be open to elaborating some on them? I’ve been really curious about the details of their order and customs.

Thank you!

Ok so the Odonii priesthood is a remnant of very ancient ethnic Wardi and Wogan traditions involving the veneration of lions. It used to be a minor and secretive mystery religion, but gained increased prominence with the emergence of the Wardi Empire and increasing connections with the military.

At their core they are a state-sanctioned cult of the Lion Face of God, which is the spirit of sovereignty, military might and warriorhood, and has evolved an association with the health and survival of the imperial entity itself.

Older Wardi religion under the 3rd Burri empire had the Ox Face of God as the most important Face, reflecting the region’s status as an agricultural hub. Transition to prominence of the Lion Face (entirely rooted in native Wardi and Wogan traditions with little Burri influence) was effectively a rejection of ‘foreign’ influences, and the signal of a new native political power as the city-state of Wardin began to conquer and ally with its neighbors in the chaos of the Burri empire’s collapse.

The role of Odonii is open only to people assigned female, and only open to legal citizens of Imperial Wardin (with occasional exceptions being children chosen by the Odomache). It’s a broad priesthood with two different classes, with un-sworn Odonii not being fully initiated, having no expectations of celibacy, and basically existing as a ceremonial role and for the purpose of political marriages. Sworn Odonii are selected at puberty (usually by senior priestess but occasionally by the head of the order) and serve for life.

There are thirteen senior priestesses (not always reflective of age, this is often a political status) and one leader, the Odomache, who is a deified mortal believed to be the physical incarnation of the Lion Face of God. The senior priestesses and Odomache interpret signs and omens and advise military leaders. The Odomache is the de-facto general of the entire military and has ultimate say in its action and movements (this is not officially mandated by law, but is common practice- this person is literally believed to be a manifestation of God, so their say has extreme power). This is to a point that tensions between the imperial family and Odonii order are pretty extreme (as the military will, in practice, answer to the Odomache above anyone else), and only retained by continued allegiance and political maneuvering.

Sworn Odonii are conceptualized as a sort of physical manifestation of the sanctity of the military and the imperial state. Their bodies are heavily politicized as such, and they are expected to be virgins and remain celibate, be physically fit and powerful, and have skill in all basic weapons (and bear them on a routine basis). This serves to, by extension, ensure that the military is similarly blessed and its power is maintained.

The central power of the order is stationed at the temple of Dinaeti, which is located on the edge of the city of Wardin and is appropriated from an ancient fortress. The highest quality captive lion population is kept on its grounds (a large, walled field with a sacred grove and spring). Members of the public will make pilgrimages to the temple to donate tribute to the Odonii and make sacrificial offerings to the Lion Face (usually through bloodletting and offerings of wine, though there are a few Galenii priests kept in service to perform animal sacrifices for the public). Young Odonii in training live there from their induction until they are 21 years old (usually 5-10 years) and the Odomache is stationed there when not performing other functions.

The average day to day role of a sworn Odonii is mostly just a mundane routine of blessing of soldiers and their weapons, consecrating various ritual materials (oils, grain, metal..), physical activity and training, attending festivals. Some Odonii (mostly those that are un-sworn or in training) spend much of their time tending to the captive lion population, and are involved in selecting and blessing them for sacrifice when needed. Sworn Odonii lead soldiers in a weapons dance prior to battle or during training, which boosts morale and intends to secure God’s blessing for the endeavor.

Their social status is one of high esteem. They are the most powerful priesthood and have legal rights typically denied to other women (self representation in trials, free and sole ownership of land and property without being specifically gifted such by a husband/father, etc). Crimes committed against Odonii are subject to severe retribution- stealing from one carries a death sentence, a physical assault results in being killed and denied burial (condemning one to a dismal afterlife as a wandering ghost). Even being accused of inflicting a curse on an Odonii can result in an execution (proof is required, but the standard for proof isn't exactly infallible). Sexual assaults on an Odonii are the most severe crime by far (and very rare), resulting in the aggressor and their entire immediate family and heirs executed, the aggressor mutilated and denied proper burial, and all their assets being appropriated by the victimized Odonii (who is forced to retire due to having been 'defiled').

Their vows of celibacy are also extensions of their body's ceremonial role as an embodiment of military power and sanctity- breaking this vow means that this sanctity is broken. This is partly related to body taboos in the region, where receiving penetrative sex is one of many forms of metaphysical vulnerability (the positive aspect is that this vulnerability allows for conception, but the negative aspect is it opens one to spiritual pollution and curses). This is simply accepted as the reality of life for women, and used as a justification for the patriarchal structure of this culture (ie women are innately frail and unsuited to leadership because they are subject to spiritual pollution). So women in positions of exceptional power are generally expected to remain celibate as a means of reducing some 'innate' or inevitable female frailty.

Odonii are the only women who are directly involved in the military on a normalized and official basis. It’s rare that they actually engage in active combat, but they will have been trained in all relevant weapons and will fight when necessary. Their role on the battlefield is a spiritual blessing and a rallying point for their soldiers (they aren’t just fighting for whatever the hell agricultural land they’re attempting to subjugate, they’re fighting to protect a sacred priestess blessed by God). They aren't commonly killed in combat except as an accident or a VERY intentional show of hostility to the imperial entity, as their enemies are generally aware of their esteemed role and how serious retribution can be. Odonii on defeated sides in battle are often spared and allowed to freely leave (sometimes even given provisions and the release of some captives as a show of honorable conduct, which may grant the winning side mercy and better negotiating positions with the imperial entity down the line).

Odonii are also the ONLY people who are allowed to own and carry firearms outside of combat (civilians can’t even legally carry a dagger within the city limits). Firearms are extremely rare and expensive, and their use is restricted to only elite groups of soldiers. Odonii, as physical embodiments of military might, are allowed to freely carry all classes of weapons and get first pick of firearms. (Their perpetual bearing of arms again translates to a military that is spiritually imbued with constant empowerment). This can and does make them targets for robbery, but the consequences of robbing an Odonii are dire enough that few will make the attempt.

Odonii occupy a somewhat unique gendered space in the cultural framework. Imperial Wardi culture is patriarchal, with women, eunuchs (categorized as a third gender), and akoshos (an identity group of people designated male who take women’s roles in daily life) having a lesser status, but sworn Odonii exist outside of the expected roles for women and have relative socio-political equality to men.

This role definitely would have some attractiveness to some people who we would now consider bisexual/lesbians, or trans men/transmasc, as it allows for divergence from expected gender norms and no expectation to marry (which would be to a man), and ‘celibacy’ in this context means abstinence from penetrative sex (meaning you could Generally get away with anything else (though not with someone who is societally considered a man, as it would simply be Assumed that penetration is involved))

[yellow-yarrow]

Plain text version of this post about Russian cosmism and Disco Elysium's lore:

[Image description of the linked post: a collection of various quotes from the game, the book, and from cosmist texts or writings about cosmism. The text that is displayed is the following:]

Cosmist connections in Elysium’s lore

Cosmism emerged in Russia before the October Revolution and developed through the 1920s and 1930s; like Marxism and the European avant-garde, two other movements that shared this intellectual moment, Russian Cosmism rejected the contemplative for the transformative, aiming to create not merely new art or philosophy but a new world. Cosmism went the furthest in its visions of transformation, calling for the end of death, the resuscitation of the dead, and free movement in cosmic space. […] Cosmism was developed by the Russian philosopher Nikolai Fedorov in the late nineteenth century [..] Cosmist ideas inspired visual artists, poets, filmmakers, theater directors, novelists (Tolstoy and Dostoevsky read Fedorov's writings), architects, and composers, and influenced Soviet politics and technology. [1]

-

From the Disco Elysium artbook:

Hegel says there is a World Spirit. It is on the march toward Absolute Knowledge. As Soviet artists – perhaps the last Soviet artists – it was our duty to add to the relay. To keep history moving. Onward to the outer cosmos and the stars. Now, imagine you really believe this to be your duty. Something you have to do, or you’ve failed as a person. The Soviet project was always about messianistic salvation. Soviet artists took on the insane responsibilities: to fight against Heat Death, or to build a new God. The horizon was always millions of years in the future.

-

In a sense, Fedorov developed his project of the resurrection of past generations as an attempt to “materialize” Hegelian philosophy. Hegel understood the historical process as a work of negation: we should negate the past and present to let the historical new emerge. According to Hegel’s Phenomenology of the Spirit, the goal of history consists, however, in the spiritual reconstruction of all its past epochs. Thus, Hegel believed that through his Phenomenology he had achieved the ultimate reconciliation and even synthesis between past and future. [1]

-

Creative labor, in our understanding, is a cosmic category, and the goal of all labor is to overcome time. We need to stop hoping for a ready-made eternity and start producing time. Blind, irrational time is already in its death throes. Beyond it lies the new, more perfect and rational time-a creation of the future global culture. —V. Muraviev [2]

-

ENCYCLOPEDIA - There is a name for this ideology: Entropolism. A faith in and desire to accelerate the spread of pale across the world, until humanity has reached what its adherents call the 'rest state' of humanity, the final reconciliation of past, present, and future in timeless spirit…

EGG HEAD - "THE PAST IS THE FUTURE, BUT THE FUTURE IS DEAD!"

-

According to Muravyov, under capitalism there is planned development (the first derivative of time). Communism involves the acceleration of planned development (the second derivative of time). Muravyov’s cosmist project depicted the prospect of further acceleration, potentially up to the limit of our universe (the third and further derivatives of time). To achieve this goal, Muravyov insisted on the final quantification of the world and the development of a “universal productive mathematics” that would be used to manage it. [3]

-

ENCYCLOPEDIA - An innocence is infallible. The decisions made by one are not decisions. They are inevitabilities -- what would have happened anyway, only accelerated, packed into decades instead of centuries. An Innocence is a continuous, compressed event, a sacred human being.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - The highest category of historic individual -- an embodiment of the World Spirit.

-

Evald Ilyenkov’s “Cosmology of the Spirit” was written in the 1950s (..) Addressing the physicist idea of the “thermal death of the universe,” and creating an original combination of the Hegelian dialectics and Spinoza’s notion of the attribute, Ilyenkov claims that thought (and the seemingly contingent emergence of “thinking life”) is a necessary attribute of matter, as it is able to prevent the terminal entropic collapse.

“Thought is undoubtedly the highest product of universal development, is the highest stage of organizing interactions.”

“Just as there is no thought without matter, so there is no matter without thought.”

-

A BRIEF LOOK AT INFRA-MATERIALISM - But one subject [Ignus Nilsen] returned to time and time again was the fundamental relationship between thoughts and matter… "We may yet discover," he wrote in his notebooks, "that under certain, exceptional circumstances, the proletariat's embrace of historical materialism may be so fervent that their beliefs take form in the world of matter as a kind of revolutionary 'plasm'."

-

“Does not the development of productive power of humankind remove the danger of perishing from cosmic freezing, from the cold of intergalactic space?”

-

A BRIEF LOOK AT INFRA-MATERIALISM- During his final years in exile, he produced, among other things, […] plans for a universal pictographic language […]

-

Many [cosmists] were publicly supportive of Leon Trotsky

-

Our goal is a common written language, common for all the nations of the third satellite of the Sun, to construct written signs, comprehensible and acceptable for the whole star that is settled by humanity, lost in the world. —Velimir Khlebnikov, The Artists of the World, 1919

-

“Humankind […] at some, very high, point of its development— at the point acquired when matter, of more or less vast cosmic spaces within which humankind exists, starts to cool and is close to the condition of so-called thermal death; in this fateful point for matter and in which in some way or other […] consciously facilitates the start of the reverse (in comparison with dispersed motion) process, a process transforming the dying, freezing worlds into the fiery- incandescent hurricane of emerging nebula.”

-

PROJECT DREAD BOARD- A pinned postcard reads: 'The heat death scenario -- a desperate fight for geothermal energy engulfs the world as Wirrâl becomes untethered from its sun, drifting through the Universe.'

-

“Our Earth must become a spaceship steered by the wise will of the Biocosmist. It is a horrifying fact that from time immemorial the Earth has orbited the Sun, like a goat tethered to its shepherd.” [1]

-

“Without it, there is nothing.” “Nothing. It was a blizzard, but it was bright, it was morning. Communism is white, it sparkles! Communism is the morning, it is a jubilation!” The pale begins to recede dangerously around the entroponaut. The world turns white; beams of light seep from Ignus’ chest into the dim spruce trees. The falling snow sparkles in the beams like silver confetti, the colour creeping into the world like a threat. Zygismunt stomps his foot. He covers his ears with his hands and shouts, “Enough! Stop!” -Sacred And Terrible Air

-

Indeed, if one assumes that the thinking spirit is born somewhere on the periphery of universal matter only in order for it soon to vanish fruit lessly and without a trace [..] then one ends up with a very strange notion of “attribute.” Indeed in this case thought turns out to be something like mould on a cooling planet, something like the senile disease of matter, and certainly not the highest flower of creation, not the highest product of universalworld development. [4]

-

The pale is approaching—an avalanche of the world’s memories—and burying matter greedily.

History swallows the present; the world of matter disappears,

when the pale is only a few days away, it’s always signalled by the same beautiful event. Fruits go mouldy. It grows vigorously on them.

-

SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER- "A theory of the pale where instead of an outer ocean it metastasises -- like a cancer or a mould -- erupting in points inside the world."

-

The scientists here claim: once the earth was covered with the geosphere, then with the biosphere; now is the time of the noosphere. A mind covers the earth, and Noo’s skyscrapers are the throne of that network. The throne of the mind.

-

In the theory of the cosmist Vernadsky: The noosphere is the third in a succession of phases of development of the Earth, after the geosphere (inanimate matter) and the biosphere (biological life). Just as the emergence of life fundamentally transformed the geosphere, the emergence of human cognition fundamentally transforms the biosphere. [5]

Sources:

Various quotes from the following writings:

Russian Cosmism edited by Boris Groys

Timeline of Russian Cosmism by Anastasia Gacheva, Arseny Zhilyaev, and Anton Vidokle, e-flux journal

Optimists of the Future Past Perfect by Arseny Zhilyaev, e-flux journal

Cosmology of the Spirit by Evald Ilyenkov from Statis journal and an abridged version of the text

Noosphere wikipedia page

Disco Elysium, Sacred and Terrible Air by Robert Kurvitz, Disco Elysium artbook