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themotherofblood · 1 year

Note

Can I request a Daemyra X daughter reader. Readers really quiet and barely talks to anyone even her parents. So Daemon and Rhaenyra are suprised when she comes to them all hot and bothered babbling about sex and such. And she tells them she was reading in the library and found a book about masturbation or something and she tried to do it but it didn’t work.

Breastfeeding and of course mommy/daddy kink

heheh this one is so filthy, YALL did not hold back!! Just by description whoever is reading; you already know it’s taboo as fuck, I will post individual warnings under here. Istg if I get one single ask saying you are so disgusting. I going to wish you eternal diarrhea for life 🤍

Masterlist

Dark!Daemyra Targaryen x Daughter!Reader

major tw: incest! infantilism, lactation kink/breastfeeding. major mdlg/ddlg vibes. lots of clit play (LIKE A LOT) squirting, kinda dubcon-ish, age gap and purity culture and aftercare because I’m not a monster

If this isn't your cup of tea, I have others, do not come at me :)

Rhaenyra had sat the court in her own chambers with her husband, Daemon looked behind her chair as they converted with their vassal lords at Dragonstone of politics and economical benefits and more mundane businesses of fixing toeholds and inkeeps. Their children undoubtedly had all been out dragon riding, all expect one. They were sure she was hidden somewhere deep in the libraries of Dragonstone.

You were one of true beauty, fathered by Daemon on some tavern wench; when he found out about your existence he had brought you back to Dragonstone as a babe after you had been legitimized by Viserys. A quiet mouse in the claws of dragons, a mere girl of eight and ten. You never said much or spoke over a whisper, an angel child with silver whisps of the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra had always been taken with you; her own children ran such a muck in her household that having one that sat still for hours at an end was a blessing by the gods.

“The Queen Alicent hopes to find a match for Lady Y/N,” The maester said hesitantly as he placed the parchment by Rhaenyra.

“Oh fuck that, she isn’t going anywhere.” Daemon barked.

Rhaenyra considered the possibility, you were old enough to be wed and yet she feared that your quiet demeanour would be squandered under the weight of a loveless marriage; Daemon was right, you could remain here where both Daemon and she could protect you. Such a sweet thing out in the world, it was cruel. The council dispersed as Rhaenyra lounged with a warm cloth on her swollen breasts, milk making them sore as baby Viserys had already been fed.

Then in walked Septa Marlow, her veiled face that remained pinched as always and her unkindly eyes looking furious as you- their sweet daughter followed behind with your eyes fixated on the ground.

“Your grace, your grace,” She offered her courtesies to both Rhaenyra and Daemon. It wasn't unusual for her to complain about the princess’s children. However your guilt-ridden face was a rare occurrence.

“What has happened?” Rhaenyra asked, looking to her teary eyed daughter.

“I had found the princess in the library reading- reading filth!” Septa Marlow hissed “Enganging in sin!”

“What sin?” Daemon perked up, rounding the table to lean against it

“Must- must I elaborate my prince?” Septa Marlow grew uncomfortable, fumbling to find words.

“You come in here, accusing my daughter of something. Speak it plainly then.” Daemon said, unimpressed at the the Septa’s chaste words

“She- she was coupling with herself.” Marlow looked as though she was ready to grace the gods. Rhaenyra’s eyes shot to you, tears of shame fell past your eyes as they remained fixated on the stone floor. You refused to look at your parents.

“Thank you for your report, leave us,” Rhaenyra commanded. The septa took her leave, closing the door behind her with a thud.

There was thick silence that followed, leaving the room in a delicate situation.

“Y/N, look at me.” Rhaenyra said, shuffling further into her seat. “What do you have to say for yourself.”

“I- I was looking for newer books,” You began stammering, your voice, as usual, was barely over a whisper “I couldn’t help it, I felt warm and the book said- I am sorry mother, I am sorry.” Your bottom lip wobbled as guilty tears coated your face.

Daemon’s eyes softened, looking at his little girl sobbing for apologies as if you had stolen candy, such a good girl and the poor thing had not a clue of why you felt what you felt. Daemon pointed to the vacant chair next to Rhaenyra for you to sit. You sniffled, still refusing to look at Daemon as you sat on the chair.

“You are growing sweet girl, it is only natural you feel such urges,” Rhaenyra cooed as she tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. Daemon knelt down to match your height, wiping at the tears coating your reddened cheeks

“No one shall punish my zaldrititos,” He said in attempt to stop your silent cries, you kept shuffling in your seat; yanking at your skirts and yet the fear- more so the discomfort from your face just wouldn’t fade “What is it, sweet girl?”

“I-it hurts,” You whispered as your eyes closed in shame again.

“What hurts?” Daemon asked once more, looking over your body to find any visible mark, if that hag of a Septa laid a punishment on you without him knowing; Caraxes was sure to have a fine meal for supper tonight.

“My- my...” You shuffled more, pulling at the skirts around your crotch, it was only then it dawned on Daemon before he looked back to his wife. His heart filled with fire for the girl’s frustrations.

“You didn't peak, did you zaldritos?” He said with adoration in his voice as he caressed your cheek. She looked up at him, teary-eyed and confused “That warmth in your belly like a sneeze stuck in your nose?” He watched as your eyes pondered his explanation before you shook her head.

Rhaenyra tutted behind him, “Oh, you poor thing.” She got up, offering his daughter her hand. You followed Rhaenyra as you were led into their bed chambers. She helped you onto their martial bed, your feet dangling of the edge as you fiddles with your fingers.

“Won’t you show us where it hurts?” Rhaenyra urged.

Daemon nearly felt his cock twitch in his breeches as his wife coaxed his daughter to rest against a mount of pillows. Daemon cleared his throat as he walked to the bed. His daughter’s eyes were nervously darting between him and Rhaenyra; your breath quickening as Rhaenyra pushed your pretty white sandals off.

“Good girl, just let mother take care of you,” Rhaenyra said in a sing song voice, she pushed your legs to the side; making you lift your hips to the bunch your skirts by your hip. Tears of embarrassment began to pour from your eyes yet again.

“Oh- that old hag didn’t even let you put your small clothes on,” Daemon shook his head, breath hitching as he looked right at the glistening mess in between your legs; he moved to kneel right by you as he urged Rhaenyra’s to console their daughter. “That does look painful.” He tutted.

Your pink bloom shielded by a dainty mound of white wisps, groomed to perfection to be a proper lady. He let a finger trail around your outer folds making you shudder. “Show kepa how you touched yourself.” He said stroking your inner thighs.

You nodded in disagreement, trying to hide your face at the crook of Rhaenyra’s neck as you sat flush between his wife’s legs.

“How are we to help you if you won’t show us sweet girl,” Rhaenyra kissed your temple as she guided your hands to your folds. “Be a good girl, show us.” Your dainty fingers began to hesitantly rub at her glistening petals.

You nearly wanted to be swallowed whole as you averted your gaze away from your kepa, small mewls and whimpers pouring from your lips that set both Rhaenyra and Daemon’s blood on fire. The frustration in their daughter's eyes grew further as your hips began to grind against your hand, a fruitless effort at best as your nimble fingers grew tired. He watched as her bottom lip wobbled again as angry tears began to flood at your eyes.

Daemon stopped your hand, his much larger one engulfing yours, fine little princess had not a clue about eliciting pleasures from one’s body.

“There is something wrong with me,” You whimpered to which Rhaenyra immediately differed.

“There is nothing wrong with our little girl, you just require a demonstration,” She cooed, reaching forward to wipe your tears. “Watch your father, he shall make it all better.”

Daemon made you stick two fingers out, your pointer and middle and gently placed them above where you had been caressing. You were confused until he pushed down on your fingers making you gasp, that’s where it was- the aching throb that bother you for hours as you read that God-forsaken book. Daemon smirked at your reaction as Rhaenyra placed more kisses at the side of your face

“Now gently begin again, darling.” Rhaenyra whispered in your ear.

“Yes, mommy,” You replied, much like as she taught you to write when you were little or took you dragon riding.

You began to rub the right circle above the please-inducing flesh, following the slow motions your father guided above your hands. Your toes curled, finding comfort in the gentle stroke on your arm and legs by three hands. You bit your lip hard to muffle the moans threatening to rip through.

“Ah uh- let us hear them little girl,” Daemon reached forward to pull your lip from you teeth. “That feels much better, does it not.”

You eagerly nodded “So good daddy.” You squirmed in your mother’s hold.

Both Rhaenhra and Daemon took much leisure in hearing you moan and whimper for them, a girl that barely speaks a word to them was wantonly moaning and replying to every word they uttered to you. A subtle panic ran through your body as you get that warmth build in you belly again, for whatever awaited you on the other end never seemed to come to you. Both Daemon and Rhaenyra felt your body seize.

“You must soften your body, just as you relieve yourself in the morrow.” She said, rubbing at your arms. You free hand parting away to take ahold of something, Daemon reached forward, entangling your finger in between his.

“Let go, zaldritos- be a good girl,” He cooed, some string in your mind snapped over your father’s command and you felt the tingles trapped in your swollen nerves spread through your body as you shrieked. Daemon hand held onto your tight as your body shuddered through it pleasures.

You could feel yourself look back to consciousness where everything didn't sound so muffled; you could feel your kèpa petting your hair and your muña peppering kisses down your neck. You blinked your eyes open, still breathing heavily, a lazy smile spreading over your lips her your cheek burned in humiliation over how you came undone for them.

“Must have felt so good,” Rhaenyra hummed as she lifted your fingers to her mouth and suckled on them before letting Daemon savour your taste.

“Mhmm, such a glorious delicacy,” Your father cooed at you.

You felt him shuffle lower, his breath hitting your sensitive mound as your eyes shot open. “So sensitive,” He used his thumb to gently circle your peaking bud from its hiding. He pushed your folds further exposing the reddened bud to the known world. “Such a tiny thing giving you all that pleasure,” He tapped at the exposed bundle of nerves making your jerk against Rhaenyra’s hold.

Daemon looked up, giving you a hardened gaze of a warning. Your father wasn't a strict man, and yet you always wanted to please him. You followed the rules, you finished your meals whole and went to bed at a proper hour; you under no circumstances wanted to anger him.

He let out a cool blow of air from his lips right onto your nerve, making you dig your hands into the sheets to not flick away from him. “It still looks frustrated, does it not Rhaenyra?”

“Yes, yes it does.” She agreed with her husband, letting her soft fingers pad at your nerves, you pathetically whimpered at how sensitive you were but did nothing to fight her advance. She began rubbing circles at your clit once more as Daemon rested on his knees, watching your untouched weeping hold clench and relax over the ecstasy you were in.

“Is your muña making you feel good?” Daemon asked, his fingertips still caressing your legs.

“kessa...Kessa!” You shrieked as Rhaenyra began to rub at your nerves faster, your legs tightened trying to fight the oncoming surge of sensations. The overwhelming sensations again began to water your eyes as you clothed onto Rhaenyra’s arm for dear life.

“Ah...there it is- such a good little girl,” Rhaenyra praised as your cunt spasmed, your legs shaking as your peak consumed your being yet again.

Daemon’s fingers yet again found your cunt, spreading your lips apart to admire your quivering little num, his fingers flicked at the flesh as you still recovered from the aftershocks of your second peak, you fought against them this time; your pussy was unable to take any more of this torment. Daemon pointed at you.

“Kepa deserves a turn, does he not?” He cooed, you still squirmed under his hold trying to wriggle yourself free “Whether you want it or not little girl.”

“One more riñītsos,” Rhaenyra kissed your cheek.

“Daddy- I will die,” You exaggerated, frightened tears spilling from your eyes as the tingles running through your nerves became far too over powering

“You won't die silly girl, kepa and muña will never let you die.” Daemon chuckled, Rhaenyra pushed forward to his down your abdomen as Daemon clutched a tight hold under your knees as he prepared to feast on his babyslut’s cunt. That quivering red little rosebud just begging to be in his mouth. He spat on your cunt before latching himself directly onto your bundle of nerves.

This time you screamed, the loudest anyone might have ever heard you in your lifetime. Rhaenyra consoled you, pampering your skin with her lips as she whispered words of encouragement in your ear. Just as a mother specified its child, Rhaenyra pushed the fingers she used in your cunt in your mouth; muffling your desperate cries as you suckled on them; tasting the sweetish sour slick on her fingers.

Daemon pushed your hood out even further flicking his tongue right under the hood, making you cry louder “Aw riñītsos, is that the very tingly part, is kepa licking your sensitive bit?” Rhaenyra shuffled the top of your gown down, letting your perky breasts spill free. She rolled your hardened pebbles in between her spare fingers. It was far too much, you were going due, you were sure of it. You tummy hurt from his hard you were clenching.

Daemon wanted nothing more than to feel his fingers in your untouched velvety core, yet he wanted your maidenhead unspoiled; something he planned on claiming him on a later occasion. Perhaps your forthcoming name day, he would pamper you old day just so he could watch your little body sob underneath him.

Daemon tapped at you clit “So tingly all over,” He piped, mocking your tears before rolling the nub in his fingers “We are making you feel so good, what do obedient ladies say sweet girl? What's the word?” He gently pinched at the red nerve. You were trying to muster the word at the tip of tongue yet couldn't over the incessant mocking.

“Aw, my love- her little nub is so red, our princess is so sensitive isn't she.” She pinched your nipples harder.

“What the word zaldritos?” Daemon laid a spank on your mound making you scream out the word over your mother’s fingers

“Thank you, thank you- krimvose,” You sobbed,

“Good girl,” Both Daemon and Rhaemhra praised in unison as kepa began rubbing at you clit harder before latching himself on one last time.

“So many tingles- I know, a few more,” Rhaenyra held on tighter to your thrashing “Oh dear- there- oh look at the mess riñītsos!”

Your peak gushed all over the bed, coating Daemon’s mouth as your eyes rolled back. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You were dying, you were sure of it. Daemon and Rhaenyra at both smiled at each other triumphantly as their parental instincts took over.

Daemon lifted his tunic off his body, using it to wipe at your drenched thighs and mound and helping Rhaenyra off the bed and onto her cushioned arm chair before gently placing you onto her lap. He wrapped the two of your with a blanket before yanking the wet sheet of their bed and crumpling it to the floor.

Servants began to pour in to find a perfect picture of a family where a daughter took comfort in her mother’s arms before bed and the father readied himself for bed. He had them rekindle the fire for you, even with dragon’s blood running in your veins you were some how always cold. Only once the servants took their leave, Daemon kneeled at your level as both him and Rhaenyra fussed with your gown.

“You were so good for us riñītsos,” He cooed as he helped you stand, he yanked once more on your gown; letting it pool by your feet.

You rested your weight against him as Rhaenyra ran a warm watered cloth against your body, she reached in between you legs to clean and you whimpered

“I know, sweet girl. Almost done.” She coaxed.

“From now on, whenever you feel the tingles. You come straight to us zaldritsos.” Daemon said as he caressed your head against his shoulder, you lazily nodded “Words, my girl.”

“Come to you for tingles.” You mumbled.

Once all was said and done, Rhaenyra found a solution for her swollen breasts as you regressed further, she freed a breast from her sleep shift, opening her arms out in bed for you to lay in. You lazily latched at her nipple as spurts of sweet milk filled your mouth, you hummed; hungrily drinking from her as Daemon undid the bed curtains before joining his girls in bed. He picked out a book; one of your favourites for him to read out for you.

That night you dozed in between you parents arms, tummy full of milk as your mother cuddled your bare body from one end and your father from another.

It was an unsaid rule, parents never pick a favourite child and yet it would be written in history that their riñītsos was definitely the golden girl.

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animatedjen · 2 months

Text

Cal slipped.

Rock shattered under his foot and skittered down towards the treeline below. His knee and face took most of the impact, crimped handholds biting against his fingers. On his back, BD readjusted his grip with a whir of concern. Twice he’d told Cal this idea was stupid, both times after Cal fell into loose shale while approaching the wall. After that the droid hunkered down and kept his opinions to himself, if only to prevent throwing Cal off balance.

“It’s okay buddy,” Cal grunted the assurance as he looked for new footing. He tasted dirt and maybe blood, his arms were completely spent, and yet somehow it was the best Cal had felt in weeks. He shifted his hips lower and let his weight settle over his left foot, then inched his right up the wall to another toehold. Not great, but it should be enough.

He'd first found the crag while exploring with Mosey. “This path would take us all the way round Raider territory ‘cept for that bluff in the way,” she explained, steering her nekko away from the large outcropping. Cal remembered looking it over, instinctually tracing a line up through the various shapes and grooves in the basalt rock face. A project for another time, after they found Tanalorr.

Now halfway up the cliff, Cal can’t think about hidden planets or fallen friends or a looming Empire. All he can do is inch sideways and slot his hand into a nearby crevice, adjusting until the meat of his palm is wedged firmly into the gap. The next hand follows, then he finds his feet. Instinctually Cal matched his breath to each movement, a soft inhale followed by a deep hiss of an exhale. It’s a form of meditation that he’s never truly found while on the ground.

At the temple he climbed everything. The other younglings in his creche turned it into a game, pointing out interesting walls or columns that could potentially offer a challenge. Wynne once dared Cal to climb to the top of the Archive without touching the floor, and he made it over the railing and onto the second story bookshelves before a bewildered librarian sounded the alarm. His punishment was to dust those same bookshelves, which was wildly boring aside from the ever-present audience: Cal made sure every passing Jedi knew why an eight year old padawan had been assigned cleaning duty. Master Catrine called him a tree-goat and it became Cal’s nickname for the rest of the year.

Learning more of the Force only improved his physicality. Master Tapal had taken one look at his tiny human padawan, bouncing around the halls of the Albedo Brave, and immediately added aerobatics to the training regiment. “You won’t be able to overpower your opponent,” he would say while Cal learned to dash across walls and flip higher into the air. “Use your size and speed to maneuver through your surroundings, adapting to the environment and using it to your advantage.”

Years later, Cal scaled the hull of a half-scrapped Star Destroyer faster than anyone on his shift. The rusting, jagged pieces of metal were nothing like Venator-class training halls or the trees in the Temple meditation gardens. These ships were covered in tragedy, rotted by war and the incessant Bracca rain. He learned to climb with rigging gear, climb with too many pounds of scrapper kit, climb with gnawing emptiness in his stomach and torch burns across his knuckles. The Force was no longer an aid, only a dull, haunted reminder of his past. But years of training were etched too deep into his muscles to be completely forgotten, and the Guild valued those skills enough to employ a destitute liability of a child.

Above, two relters cut across the late afternoon sky, their shadows racing each other along the rockface. Cal tucked his knee against a well-placed indent and ground his foot into the wall until each side felt secure. The kneebar in place, he released his hands with a sigh, shaking out tension and letting the breeze wick away sweat. Guilt gnawed at Cal’s consciousness– he should be at the saloon with the others, helping pack supplies for their next trip through the abyss. The Raiders would likely be wiped out by the Empire anyway, and that’s a problem that no new climbing line can fix.

The Force hummed softly. Cal continued to the end of the fissure, finding another rest point just off to the side. He pressed a hand against a flat portion of the wall, testing its integrity.

“Ready BD?” he called. One beep later, a metal spike launched over Cal’s shoulder to his waiting hand. It would’ve been easier to rewire the entire Mantis than convince BD to swap out his stim canisters for pitons, but Cal didn’t want to risk losing any of his hardware mid-climb. He lined up the spike and let the Force gather around it, then with a Push drove it into the wall. The impact echoed across the treeline below with a satisfying boom.

That was the last piton, BD trilled as Cal added a carabiner. Leaning back, he checked the dangling rope below, tracing it through the previously embedded spikes. Everything’s holding. He checked in with his body. Everything’s hurting. Great. A stim would’ve been nice right about now.

The rope was threaded up and through the final anchor as Cal scouted the last section of the ascent: two sloping holds and a column that juts up over the top of the cliff. He moved his hands to each sloper, mantling up and to the side until there was enough space for his heel to meet his hand. Both hands shifted to the left sloper, and his other foot met them there. Slowly, achingly, he rotated upwards.

BD launched from Cal’s back with a whoop, his thruster carrying him just high enough to disappear over the cliff’s edge. Immediately the whirr of his scanner filled the quiet evening air. Cal laughed despite his weariness, reaching up to grab an edge on the column. Another reach, another foothold, and he had made it. Scrubby grass poked out from gaps in the basalt while thick clouds silhouetted the distant rock formations in pink and gold. In the valley between them lay Rambler’s Reach, just barely outlined in the sunset.

Everyone Cal loved was in that tiny speck of a settlement. Everyone else was gone. He sunk to the ground, keenly aware of each complaining muscle as he wiped the dust off his face. BD finished scanning and joined him at the ledge.

“What a view, huh BD,” Cal said quietly. Together they watched the rest of the sky fade to dusk.

–

One relter ride later, Cal was collecting leftover gear at the base of the cliff when nekkos trotted up from the ravine. Mosey emerged first, a lantern swinging from her pack. To Cal’s surprise, Merrin was following her.

“We thought that was you,” Merrin said, dropping from the nekko to greet BD. He immediately asked if she brought stims. “Toa and Zee set up a telescope on the roof of Pyloon’s. We wanted to see what was drilling into the mountains. Thankfully, just a Jedi.”

“Shoot, you really sent that.” Mosey was staring wide-eyed at the rock face, the rope carving a thin brown line to the top of the outcropping. “Incredible. I knew you were good in a fight Cal, but this is something else.”

“With the anchors in place, you should be able to add additional aid,” Cal said. “Make it as easy to climb as possible.” He imagined Turgle dangling from a rope ladder while somehow completely wrapped in another rope ladder. “With some help,” he added.

“This could be huge.” Mosey examined the approach, kicking shale and other loose rocks to form a potential new path. “What’s the backside look like?”

“Not sure, there wasn’t enough light by the time I got up there. But–” Cal glanced over to Merrin, weighing her expression. “We could probably get a rappel system set up, if we stayed on Koboh a little longer.”

Merrin tilted her head. “You said we should establish the Sanctuary as soon as possible,” she said. “Staying on Koboh would delay that.”

“That’s right." The gnawing guilt crept back to his mind, and immediately he wished he was back on the wall again, which only increased the guilt.

“But,” Merrin cut into his thoughts. “Our goal is to help those who need it. That includes the people here.” She looked up at the cliff, now a shadow against the emerging stars. “I think a new pathway away from Raiders and Empire could be very helpful, and would give Greez time to finish packing the saloon. He’s collected too many trinkets these last few years.”

The dust was back in Cal’s eyes again. “Would that work for you, Mosey?”

Mosey grinned. “Sure does. It might even be fun.”

#not my usual contribution to the fandom but wanted to try something different!#and any excuse to shove rock climbing into my creative hobbies because it's my other favorite hobby #star wars jedi survivor #jedi survivor #cal kestis #bd 1 #mosey cimmaron #merrin #nightsister merrin #jen writes jedi stuff

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cheesus-doodles · 8 months

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Could you do a headcanon or a short fic of Taiju falling for Takemichis sister. Taiju x reader tokyo Revengers. How would Taijus siblings react to it and the Black Dragons?

asdjnsjdnsj this is cute in a way, there isn't enough Taiju or Takemichi love - and there is no way either would ever win a poll so XD this is not irl time period accurate in the slightest, a very lighthearted piece that is a bit different from what I usually write!

Masterlist

‎‎‎‎‎‎

Wrestle-o-mania

Yandere Taiju with Takemichi's Older Sister Reader

It was obvious to the two pairs of eyes spying on you through the small open crack of the bedroom door that Taiju wasn’t trying to hurt you, not in the slightest. Moreso, their older brother was simply letting you live out your wrestling fantasy with him as your willing dummy; your excited rambling filling the normal tension that usually permeates the air of the Shiba household, the two siblings watching with bated breath as you put the blue-haired gang leader into a side headlock.

“...and did you see that double chickenwing facebuster?! That was fucking awesome! And-”

Breaths were held as the curse word slipped your lips, but against their better knowledge, Taiju didn’t even blink an eye, simply nodding indulgently and (as discreetly as possible) snuggling in against your chest; despite your bulky figure, your strength was still nothing next to his. But god only knew if either of them said such sinful words, the thrashing they would have received would be nothing short of legendary for fouling their tongues with such filth. So why you? What made you special to their notoriously foul-tempered brother?

You were an oddity in the Shiba household, to say the least. The precise type of person that Hakkai and Yuzuha would have never guessed could catch Taiju’s eye. Far from the quiet, submissive, and gentle Christian girl that they had always imagined the oldest Shiba would bring home, someone that would cook and care for him, you were loud, rambunctious and overly obsessed with all things wrestling. Yuzuha had even seen you wipe the floor with some air-headed rival delinquents who thought you were an easy mark to take down Taiju, and though you weren’t spared from being punished by your boyfriend for returning with more scapes and cuts than usual that night, he never went to the extent like he did with them, holding back his strength by a vast margin. Plus, the only thing you could cook consistently well was fried rice.

So how on god’s green earth did someone like you end up with a person like Taiju? Or more so where did Taiju even find someone like you? Did you not fear the other?

Hakkai was barely able to conceal the turbulent feelings in his chest, shock and horror intertwining like wine and honey as he watched with wide eyes Taiju chuckling along with you as he switched positions with you with ease, smoothly putting you into a facelock, with one of your ankles caught between his thighs. “Shi-” The youngest of the Shibas started, only to be quickly stopped by Yuzuha slapping her hand over his mouth. “Shut. Up,” she hissed, before the girl chanced a glance back through the crack in the door.

Fortunately for them, Taiju seemed too distracted by you to notice their presence as you shrieked in excitement at your current predicament. “The stepover toehold facelock??!!”

“You didn’t think I could learn it huh?” The Black Dragon leader crowed, lightly tugging your head backwards and stretching out your back and neck, ever so careful not to put you in any pain. “This shit ain’t that hard.”

“You absolutely have to come to my wrestling club!” You gushed, pretending to struggle in his hold, striking your hand down on the bed as if you were counting down in a boxing ring, all the while giggling. “The others would never believe me!”

But that was enough to dampen whatever cheer that the other had on his face, Taiju releasing you from his hold and pulling you back up to sit on his bed. Eyebrows pinching together, that telltale vein on his forehead started to throb once more as those yellow eyes bored down on you with his signature ferocity that had harden Black Dragon members quavering in their boots - the same hard gaze that Taiju leveled on his siblings right before pouncing on either. “I thought I already told you - I don’t want you going there to mess around with those filthy sinners.”

You, however, weren’t the slightest bit unnerved much to both Shiba siblings’ surprise. “Awww but Taiju! It’s wrestling!” You pouted. “And it’s only once a week!”

Your pleas didn’t work on the notoriously stubborn boy, who simply huffed. “I said no.”

This was one issue that you couldn’t seem to give up. “I can’t miss wrestling!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up.“You could just come with me, ya know? If you’re so worried.”

Yuzuha blinked. Were you…bargaining? With Taiju?

The vein almost popped, and both siblings flinched in unison. This was it. Having to tiptoe around their oldest brother for so many years and learning to read his moods from his body language to avoid any unavoidable outbursts, there was no doubt that Taiju was at his tipping point. Beast-like eyes narrowed, the larger boy looming over you like a tiger eyeing its prey, the shadow over his face growing as the foul mood manifested. As if on instinct, Yuzuha shoved her younger lanky brother behind her, though from the shallow and rapid breathing that could barely be heard even in the sudden stillness of the world around them, the orange-haired girl wasn’t exactly the most confident of the situation either.

As Taiju raised his hand, readying his strike, the spying Shibas couldn’t look away. It fell like the blade of a guillotine -

And landed right on your side as he dug his fingers into your ticklish spot, and you squealed, wriggling as you tried to get away to no avail, the still-stronger Taiju easily pinning you down on the mattress. “You’re going to listen to me, you hear?” He growled playfully as he dug into your other side as well, and your laughter erupted. “You’re going to quit wrestling club tomorrow.”

“Wai-it! N-no, stop that! I’m not quitting!” Your words fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend only renewed his tickling efforts, pouncing on you with vigor. “S-STOP!”

Pulling away from the cheery scene that shone through the small crack of the door, Hakkai and Yuzuha shot each other puzzled looks in the dark hallway, your giggles echoing through the otherwise silent house. Despite the relief of having gotten away scott-free after spying on such a personal situation (if Taiju caught them, there would possibly be no words to describe what would happen to the two of them), the questions remained.

What the fuck was that all about?

‎‎

A week had passed since they had first stumbled upon that domestic scene by pure coincidence and three since you had burst into their life unannounced, and despite their life somewhat returning to normal, neither Hakkai nor Yuzuha could seem to get you out of their minds. It was clear there was a growing pattern between Taiju’s good mood - one where he completely ignores their presence - and his normal demand of absolute obedience from them, which turned out to be when the Black Dragon leader was home alone and you were nowhere in sight.

“You sure that it’s alright I come over?” Takemichi hesitatingly asked, glancing between the two Shiba siblings. It wasn’t the first time the time leaper had met Hakkai, of course, just the first time he had really noticed and been noticed by the Second Division Vice Captain. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

Hakkai waved off his question reassuringly. “Our place is nearby. Won’t be an issue at all.”

But alas, it seemed that the Second Division Vice Captain spoke too fast, too soon, as the trio walked straight into a wall of Black Dragon members mulling outside their residence, pristine white uniforms gleaming under the harsh afternoon sunlight amidst the quiet Tokyo suburban neighborhood, the sound of their footsteps coming to an abrupt halt though not quick enough to prevent them from being noticed. “Hey, isn’t that the Tokyo Manji Gang uniform?”

“Toman? Here?”

Takemichi reared from the glares leveled his way, the uncertain atmosphere sliding straight into the - this was not good at all.

Unbeknownst to you on the other side of the crowd, you hadn’t even heard the initial stirs of commotion, engrossed with fiddling with the ring of the new shark plush keychain you had just received in a bid to hang it on your school bag. There was no second thought at the sudden light that flooded your eyes as Taiju pulled away from attempting to help, both of your heads having been bowed over and squinting at the small golden ring as the blue-haired delinquent barked instructions at you - it wasn’t unusual for your boyfriend having to drop everything to take calls or what not, being the gang leader that he was.

He really should join your wrestling club was what you mused to yourself, as your well-calloused fingers failed time and time again to part the rings and slip them through each other. It would probably be mighty fun to get to practice with someone as strong as him.

A few more minutes, and then a triumphant shout left your lips. “I got it!” You announced proudly, pumping your school bag into the sky, your newest attachment clinking as it jingled around the rest of your collection. “I told you-”

You paused, looking up for the first time since you had started your valiant attempt. The ruckus and rising tension rushed back into your world like the pressure of a vacuum chamber being relieved, the cries of ‘Death to Toman’, whatever that was supposed to be, coming as a sudden surprise to you; the attention of the white-clad boys you had just met turned away from you towards an unseen threat and Taiju nowhere in sight. This called from an investigation, you decided, casually swinging the brown bag over your shoulder and squeezing through the restless mass.

“Tai-Taiju!” With a final push, you popped out the other side of the crowd, though your words died off as quickly as they left your lips as your eyes landed on the unfurling scene. A blonde-haired boy wearing a middle school uniform, collar clutched in the grip of your boyfriend, what was supposed to be his face looking more like fruit pulp than an actual person. Splats of blood splattered across Taiju’s fist and down the barely-white shirt of the other’s school uniform, another blue-haired boy you vaguely recognised as Taiju’s younger brother left sprawled on the ground looking equally beaten.

For any other ordinary person, the frankly gruesome state of affairs would have been enough to set them running as far and fast as their feet could take them, let alone set off the alarm bells in their head - after all, what kind of older brother would thrash his own siblings without a very good reason? But not you, no; for there were no thoughts in your head save one.

One smooth step forward, and you had tucked your head under his arm, grabbing his arm and thigh. In the next heartbeat, up his heavy figure went, his clutch on Takemichi loosened enough to free the boy. Arm muscles bulging, it didn’t look like you were the slightest breath off despite lifting someone larger than you. And then you fell backwards, and down Taiju went, his back landing on the asphalt road with a loud crash in what his temporarily stunned mind reminded him was called a belly-to-back suplex - you would be pissed if he named it wrongly later.

“Don’t you scum dare touch her,” came his cursing from the ground right as you leapt back to your feet, and the Black Dragon members froze at the command from their leader. But you minded none of them, your ferocious, blazing gaze turning on the crouched, pathetic form of Takemichi. Marching forward in their direction, Hakkai gulped, though he still held his ground. The sense of dread knotted itself over and over in the blue-haired Toman member as your shadow came to a halt, towering over the quaking blond delinquent on the ground, his body and face already bruised from the early beating he took from Taiju. He didn’t like the look of this one bit - were you as crazy as his older brother? It would certainly explain a lot, given of all the people you could be dating, you picked Taiju.

And then you all but sang out your next words. “Take-chan!” Your eyes brightened, sparkling in the daylight as the menacing shadows lifted from your face in an instant.

Even though it didn’t seem possible at first, Hakkai swore that Takemichi paled even further, his ashen skin the color only reserved for the dead as he attempted to scramble back and away from your towering figure. “Wha-? Onee-san?” He stammered out. “It’s not what it looks like! I swear!”

The world seemed to pause as everyone present stuttered as if on cue, with the Black Dragon Tenth Generation President surprised enough to raise both eyebrows. Onee-san? The shithead of a Tokyo Manji Gang First Division Captain was your younger brother?

“I can’t believe you’re wrestling without me!”

“No! It’s not what it looks like!!” Takemichi pleaded again, but it was too little, too late, his words falling on deaf ears. You had already scooped him up into a fireman’s carry across your shoulders, swinging him round to ride piggyback, and then throwing yourself backwards and slamming the poor boy back into the ground.

“And don’t let this distract you from the fact that in 1988, the Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell in a Cell, and plummeted 16 feet through an announcer’s table,” you all but shouted at your completely disoriented younger brother, his blue eyes clearly swimming in his head as you shook him by his shoulders in front of a group of stunned Black Dragons and Toman members.

Taiju grabbed your arm, his eyes narrowing, the familiar vein on his forehead starting to throb once more. “Are you done?” He growled at you. If you had been anyone else, he would have all but pounded you into the ground, girl or not - no one treated him like this in front of his men and got away with it. But you were hardly intimidated, and of course you weren't. You were the only exception to his life, the only one whose antiques he entertained time and time again for some blasted reason. And even if he didn't share your love of wrestling, there was one thing for sure - he didn't want you sharing it with anyone else, especially not this piece of Toman shit, even if it was your younger brother. You were his.

You hummed, your thoughts moving on to your next highest priority. Picking up your discarded bag, you lightly swung it around one shoulder. “Oh Taiju! You’re up already!” You cheered, looping one arm through his and proceeding to drag him off, your mind already empty of your younger brother still lying dazed on the road. “Come on, wrestling club is starting soon, we're going to be late!”

"What did I tell you about wrestling club?" The notorious fickle gang leader flicked your forehead as the two of you disappeared round the corner, your laughs echoing down the still street. "I said to quit, didn't I?"

“Your sister is crazy,” Hakkai mumbled to the groaning Takemichi, whose only response was to hold his head in his hands.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev #tokyorev x reader #shiba taiju #shiba taiju x reader #taiju x reader #hakkai #shiba hakkai #yuzuha #shiba yuzuha #takemichi #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev x you #cheesus answers

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mapsontheweb · 7 months

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Number of Spanish Missions in California and Baja California by county/municipality

by mexidominicarican8

<div class="md">California: The Spanish missions in California formed a series religious outposts or missions established between 1769 and 1833 in what is now the U.S. state of California. The missions were established by Catholic priests of the Franciscan order to evangelize Indigenous peoples backed by the military force of the Spanish Empire. Civilian settlers and soldiers accompanied missionaries and formed settlements like the Pueblo de Los Ángeles. Indigenous peoples were forced into settlements called reductions, disrupting their traditional way of life and negatively affecting as many as one thousand villages Baja California: The Spanish missions in Baja California were a large number of religious outposts established by Catholic religious orders, the Jesuits, the Franciscans and the Dominicans, between 1683 and 1834 to spread the Christian doctrine among the Indigenous peoples living on the Baja California peninsula. The missions gave Spain a valuable toehold in the frontier land, and introduced European livestock, fruits, vegetables, and industry into the region. Indigenous peoples were severely impacted by the introduction of European diseases such as smallpox and measles and by 1800 their numbers were a fraction of what they had been before the arrival of the Spanish. Mexico: The First Mexican Republic secularized the missions with the Mexican secularization act of 1833, which emancipated indigenous peoples from the missions. Mission lands were largely given to settlers and soldiers, along with a minority of indigenous people. Most of the missions in Baja California were abandoned and are currently in ruins. Cities like Loreto, Mulegé, La Paz, and San José del Cabo were formed near/around Spanish missions USA: Many of these missions were restored in the mid 20th century. They have become a symbol of California, appearing in many movies and television shows, and are an inspiration for Mission Revival architecture. Concerns have been raised by historians and Indigenous peoples of California about the way the mission period in California is taught in educational institutions and memorialized. The oldest European settlements of California were formed around or near Spanish missions, including the four largest: Los Angeles, San Diego, San Jose, and San Francisco. </div>

#maps #mexidominicarican8

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hmslusitania · 13 days

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Hello! Long time lurker (I mean follower), I have been inspired by your recent bat family fics to get learn more about that universe but don't know where to start! I was wondering if you had a place to start?

Hello! Thank you for asking! I definitely have an answer, but I don’t know if it’s a universal answer so we’ll see!

Batfam Et Al are part of what I would call a “supermedia” (there’s probably a proper media term for it but I don’t know it) by which I mean: it exists in basically any form of media you could want, be it the original comics, animated series, live action series, live action movies, animated movies, books, video games, and — I presume — antique radio dramas. Getting involved in that is super daunting and understandably so.

The best advice I can offer for breaking in is to figure out what type of media works best for you, and then start there. (Other people reading this who might be diehards, I am about to name check three pieces of media that tend to get heavily side-eyed by comics purists but which I think are all very beginner-friendly, so look away)

For me, the form of media that tends to give me the most effective brain worms is video games. Although I had already started my DC entry somewhat against my will, the thing that actually fully dragged me into caring intensely about the Batfam was Gotham Knights, which lets you spend intense amounts of time with Gotham as a nightmare city, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake.

If you’re not so much into video games, the first thing in the non-Arrowverse/non-Nolanverse/non-Snyderverse DC world I spent time with was the animated Young Justice series. It does not have a focus on the Batfam in particular, but they do all make appearances at one point or another. It also has the benefit of introducing you to bunches of other characters within the DC universe, and even if some of those characterisations differ largely from their standard characterisation in other media (Kon), it does give you a good faces-to-names-to-soundbytes introduction to quite a broad yearbook of folks.

If your interest in particular is the Batfam, honestly the easiest way to get a toehold on that group is Wayne Family Adventures on webtoon. It is free to read and it’s fun and even though it does tend to actually resolve these conflicts and tensions unlike the prime universe comics, it does a decent job of naming what a lot of the interpersonal conflicts and tensions between the characters are so you can get a sense.

At which point we reach step two of “how to get involved with a supermedia” which is to identify a particular character (or two, or three) you can become unwell about, and then dig in to see what media is available for them. And as you consume said media, their adjacent characters will also clarify and you may find yourself becoming invested in them, at which point you may dig in and find more about them, and rinse and repeat.

The other thing I find particularly helpful to think about as I continue on my expedition into the jungles here (extended DC canon iterations) is that Batman (and Superman, and Wonder Woman) has existed as a character for nearly 100 years. By this point, they are all so entrenched in the cultural landscape that they are basically American folklore. And as with folklore, everyone and their mother has their own localised version of it, and they’re all correct.

#I feel like I’m gonna be pilloried for this but maybe if I don’t tag it #the ghost ship answers questions #dannibriere

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twoiafart · 2 years

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CARAXES AT HARRENHAL Artwork by Gaga Turmanishvli

“We have friends in the riverlands,” the prince said, “though not all of them dare show their colors yet. We need a place where they can gather, a toehold on the mainland large enough to house a sizable host, and strong enough to hold against whatever forces the usurper can send against us.” He showed the lords a map. “Here. Harrenhal.” And so it was decided. Prince Daemon would lead the assault on Harrenhal, riding Caraxes.

#asoiaf art #daemon targaryen #caraxes #gaga turmanishvli

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mnemo-li · 11 months

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Gosh, I have so many thoughts about Gromph Baenre. Maybe I’m reading too much into things lol, but here we go. Spoilers below for Starlight & Shadows, War of the Spider Queen, Companions Codex, Homecoming, Generations, and parts of The Way of the Drow.

Imagine literally being the most powerful man in a city, potentially the oldest (non-undead) man of a race, and still being limited in what you can do just because you’re born male. You have so much power, and yet in the end you are not free. People may fear you and perhaps even respect you, but no one cares for you. You, no matter all you have done, are replaceable and will be discarded the moment you are deemed a liability.

There’s this quote in Tangled Webs:

But no matter what powers he might command, what information he possessed, Gromph needed someone like Shakti. The archmage was tied to Menzoberranzan by the task of enchanting Narbondel—an honor that was also a chain with links forged anew with the coming of each midnight hour.

The so-called honor of being the only one allowed to enchant Narbondel is a double-edged sword. It’s a symbol of his status yet, because he has to do it daily, it means he can’t be away from Menzoberranzan for more than a day. It’s a chain that binds him to the city, to the control of the Matron Mother. It’s a leash.

I also find the mention of Narbondel in Extinction to be interesting:

Despite the toehold the enemy had gained—and lost—in Tier Breche, Menzoberranzan seemed untouched by war. The stalactites and stalagmites of the noble manors still sparkled, and a ring of magical fire was creeping up the great spire of Narbondel. Gromph frowned, wondering which of the wizards of House Baenre had been keeping it going in his absence. It seemed that he was not quite as irreplaceable as he would have liked. He’d have to speak to Triel about that.

That’s what I was referring to. The lighting of Narbondel — something that is meant to be performed only by the Archmage of the city — is in actuality a role that anyone could do, really. Logically, I’d agree with Triel too. The city needs Narnondel to tell time and if Gromph was missing, it was more pragmatic to have someone perform his duty in his stead. And yet, all of this goes to show how if someone else could do what Gromph does, then that means he isn’t irreplaceable.

I also find this exchange between Guldor and Gromph to be intruiging (and funny— I always love when Gromph is his good old surly and sarcastic self).

“Archmage!” cried Guldor Melarn. He was supposedly without peer in the realm of elemental magic, though it couldn’t be proved by his performance thus far that night. “We were worried about you!”

“I’m sure,” said Gromph, striding closer. “I noticed all the search parties you sent out looking for me.”

Guldor hesitated. “Sir, the mistress of the Academy commanded—“

“Shut up,” said Gromph.

The small interaction is also very telling. None of the other mages seemed to care about Gromph enough to go look for him, or it could be that what Guldor said was true, that Triel forbid them from doing so. It’s either that Triel believes Gromph is capable enough to get out of whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into by himself, or she too couldn’t be bothered (or has other pressing matters to deal with— and considering the state of Menzoberranzan, that’s understandable).

Whatever the reason, it still must be harrowing for Gromph deep down. To learn that he is replaceable, and to not have anyone he concerned about his disappearance enough to look for him. Of course, the concept of caring for someone is arguable something alien to the drow in the first place. Still, it would be interesting to see how Gromph would react should he realize that his position as Archmage isn’t secure.

As much as I sometimes joke about RA Salvatore being a shit writer — at least compared to the likes of Elaine Cunningham and Paul S. Kemp (whose Star Wars books I’m a huuuge fan of, whose contribution to the War of the Spider Queen series I absolutely adore) — Salvatore did manage to sprinkle bits and pieces to make Gromph a sympathetic villain or at least a villain whom we can partially sympathize with and feel pathos towards.

Take for instance, this excerpt from Vengeance of the Iron Dwarfs:

It is about embarrassing Matron Mother Quenthel, Kimmuriel said in Jarlaxle’s thoughts, and he looked from the psionicist to the archmage, trying to sort it out. Or perhaps it goes even higher than her. Jarlaxle snorted at that, for who could be higher than Quenthel, who served as the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan? Then he figured it out, and he stopped snorting.

He looked at Gromph, only then beginning to appreciate how wounded his brother had been by the betrayal of the Spider Queen. Lolth had gone to the realm of arcane magic, had tried to dominate the Weave itself—and indeed, by all reports, she had made the magical strands encompassing Toril take on the aspect of a gigantic spider web. Gromph had dared to hope that Lolth’s move would elevate his standing, that he, as the greatest drow wizard of the age, as the greatest drow practitioner of the Art, would become more than a mere male in the matriarchal City of Spiders.That was Gromph’s error, Jarlaxle realized, and he nodded knowingly as he considered his brother.

Poor Gromph had dared to hope.

I feel pity for Gromph reading that. As an aside though, I really love the dynamics between Gromph and Jarlaxle throughout the series. I wonder too if Gromph is secretly jealous of or resentful towards Jarlaxle for his relative freedom.

Also, there’s this bit from Archmage that really makes me feel for Gromph:

His sly taunting of his sister did little to improve Gromph’s bitter mood. Even if he toppled her, even if he destroyed every matron mother and high priestess in the city, what would he accomplish?

He was a male, nothing more, and even when Lady Lolth had turned to the Weave, to a domain he had come to dominate more than any dark elf in centuries—in millennia, in perhaps the entire history of the race—Lolth’s gratitude had not reached to him, nor his fellow male wizards.

Sorcere, the drow school of arcane magic, the academy under the control of Gromph, had counted among its students almost exclusively male drow, with only a few notable exceptions of priestesses looking to enhance their magical repertoire by adding arcane spells to their divinely inspired magic. Yet as soon as the Weave had become a web, as soon as it appeared that Lady Lolth would steal the domain of the goddess Mystra, the noble Houses had flooded Sorcere with their daughters as students.

The matron mothers, with Lolth’s blessing, would not suffer the males of Menzoberranzan their position atop the ranks of Lolth’s arcane disciples. Would Gromph’s ultimate title of archmage have proven secure? But Lolth had lost her bid for the Weave, so Gromph had learned, though the details were not yet known to him. The Weave was no longer in her spidery claws and the city and school would return to normal, perhaps. Gromph would remain the archmage, and, he now even more poignantly understood, would remain a “mere male” in Menzoberranzan.

I’d like to argue that it isn’t Gromph’s ego or arrogance that is the reason behind his hunger for power. But rather, it’s Gromph deep rooted desire for security— not just in his position as Archmage, but security in the sense that he is quite insecure deep down. After all, excessive arrogance is often a mask for hollow confidence. Look at the scene here leading up to Gromph’s accidental summoning of Demogorgon.

“Your demon led the defense,” the matron mother spat. “This failure falls upon your shoulders. Be cautious, wizard, for Tsabrak Xorlarrin will surely survive this, and he remains in the graces of the Spider Queen.”

She spun and swept out of the room and Gromph fell back in his seat, his fingers tap-tapping once more. He tried to dismiss Quenthel’s overt threat, but he began to see some troubling possibilities. Would his sister cut a deal with Matron Mother Zeerith to absorb House Xorlarrin into House Baenre? Where might the Xorlarrins go if the dwarves gained an unshakable foothold? They would not be welcomed back into Menzoberranzan as a rival House, particularly not now with so many backroom alliances being formed among the ruling matron mothers.

And perhaps Quenthel would spread the whispers that Gromph had failed, that the archmage had, in fact, been the cause of the loss of Q’Xorlarrin. In that event, would Quenthel be in a stronger position to offer Zeerith one of her most coveted trophies: a Xorlarrin as Archmage of Menzoberranzan? Nay, this was not a threat Gromph could easily dismiss, and in that realization, so came his outrage.

His “outrage” was a reaction to being “threatened”. Sure, it was his anger and ego that overruled his common sense, the sense of caution that he should’ve had when summoning a powerful demon… but the root of it all was the fact that Quenthel threatened his position as archmage.

This all harkens back to the fact that Gromph is replaceable and will be replaced should he no longer be useful. Hence, his insecurity and the constant need to prove himself.

Additionally, I also find Gromph's interaction with Catti-brie in Maestro to be incredibly fascinating from a character perspective.

First though, I should put a disclaimer saying that I think their relationship is weird as fuck, and Salvatore's way of writing Gromph thinking of Catti-brie in a horny way is just... ew. The whole 'mind-rape' thing is not something I condone, the bit where Gromph uses his psionic abilities to impart a vision of him and Catti together into Catti-brie's mind. However, it does hint a lot at the way men are treated in Drow society and how Gromph's sexual relationship with women usually go.

In Daughter of the Drow, there is this quote:

Perhaps even more than his obvious wealth and famed magical power, Gromph's ability to select his consorts was a testament to his status. In this matriarchal city, males had a decidedly subservient role, and most answered to the whims of females.

I might be reading into it too much, but if men are suggested to be unable to choose their wives, then it is implied that they wouldn't have any experience in romantic courtship either. It's like their entire notion of what a relationship is for men, is that they are meant to be pickedby women and forced to marry or have children with women without any say in it. Men getting to get to know someone, to flirt with them and court them, before making the mutual decision to enter into a relationship doesn't seem to be a thing in drow society. Starlight & Shadows goes to explain more about how male drows don't even get to be a part of their children's lives either, which is why Gromph's decision to murder Sosdrielle Vandree and "adopt" Liriel Baenre to be such a major powermove and a violation of societal norm.

Anyhow, the point I am trying to make about Gromph and Catti is that, of course Gromph would "flirt" with Catti in such a fucked up manner. He doesn't know anything about courtship, doesn't have any other frame of reference for what a healthy courtship or relationship between males and females is like.

“I forgive you,” she repeated. “For your telepathic intrusions. I understand now that you were not even there in my thoughts, and that it was only a suggestion placed for me to find.”

“And to enjoy.”

Catti-brie’s expression went cold.

“Then I am no rapist,” Gromph smugly replied to that look.

“You are a scoundrel and a fraud,” the woman said. “But I expected as much from the outset. I forgive you because now I trust that you will not hold me in lust, in body, in mind, or in hatred.”

Gromph wanted Catti to "enjoy" the image of him and her together. In other words, that really is his way of initiating a sexual relationship, that is what he thinks flirting or courtship is. In real life modern day terms, Gromph's telepathic intrusion would definitely be a form of sexual assault... but Catti-brie is right in the sense that Gromph hadn't meant to rape her. Let me be clear though, I am not justifying any of his actions. I just find Gromph to be so fascinating from a narrative perspective. If the Drizzt series wasn't what is was, if it was more like A Song of Ice and Fire for example, then I'm sure the author would explore more about how Gromph's actions and attitudes probably stems (at least partially) from his women-related trauma.

Look at this scene in Archmage here for example:

She dared look up, to find Gromph glaring at her.

“You know nothing of what I know or do not know, Minolin of House Fey-Branche.” His reference to her lesser House, instead of naming her as a Baenre, was a clear and sharp reminder.

“You are not a woman,” Minolin Fey said quietly. “There is nothing more … personal.”

“I am not a woman,” Gromph echoed. “A fact of which I am reminded every day of my life.”

Gromph definitely has a sore spot about not being a woman, and thus being beneath a woman in terms of societal status. This resentment and emotional wound of his shows up again in Maestro, in this interaction of Catti-brie.

“You have no power over my free will, and that is the measure of intimacy,” Catti-brie pressed on against his sheer awfulness. “You’ll not get back into my thoughts, nor will you ever get beneath my robes.”

“Truly?” Gromph asked slyly. “Dear human, you will be amazed by the things I can accomplish, particularly when a woman tells me that I cannot.”

I find the latter half of the sentence to be poignant. It's as if he's taking Catti's resistance as a challenge, or an insult. Mind you, Gromph is still a monster for many of the things he does. But he has such a potential to be a multifaceted villain (who then becomes something of an anti-villain), something I believe Salvatore is working towards. I believe Salvatore’s attempt at a pseudo redemption arc for Gromph is very... lacking. The scene at the end of Maestro where he bows down to Catti also gives me weird vibes too ngl.

Yet, I still wouldn’t dismiss his attempts to soften Gromph recently. Take this scene in Boundless for example:

“And your friend in Ship Kurth?”

“Any who should concern us are in no danger,” the archmage assured her. Caecilia gave a little snort, but tried to cover it when she saw the scowl on Gromph’s face and realized he knew she was mocking him.

“Such a drow thing to say,” she admitted. “If all of Luskan other than those you deem valuable to you were to be slaughtered, would you even care, Archmage?”

“Should I?”

Caecilia blew a long sigh and let it go. Curiously, though, as she walked through the door leading to her extradimensional mansion, she realized that she actually didn’t believe Gromph. Had he been so battered by the distorted culture of Menzoberranzan that he thought it a sign of great weakness to admit compassion? How many others? the cloud giantess wondered. How many other dark elves had been similarly broken?

Gromph has spend pretty much the majority of his long, long life in the Underdark. Menzoberranzan is all he knows. Which makes me curious about the direction Salvatore plans to take Gromph’s character in the The Way of the Drow. Take this scene for example:

“To the Nine Hells with that ugly spider,” said Gromph from the tunnel.

Drizzt turned to watch the sour archmage come forth, and took great pleasure and great hope in seeing the man verily transform at the sight, as if the tension and anger were suddenly simply falling away from him as he looked upon the wonder of Callidae.

“It was worth the journey, yes?” Jarlaxle asked him, and Gromph couldn’t respond, and he didn’t have to.”

Callidae, a place where drow may live in peace upon the surface, is a symbol of hope-- a hope so strong to the point where Gromph is willing to throw away his allegiance to Lolth. I know Cunningham is unlikely to come and write for the Drizzt series, but damn... I wish Gromph could meet up with Liriel again. I wonder what she’d think of her father now. I wish we could one day see Gromph fully embody his role as the Archmage of the Hosttower, shedding the former identity of Archmage of Menzoberranzan, both in name and in heart. Speaking of Liriel, a part of me wonders too how much Gromph actually cares to her (yes--- she is a tool to him, but Liriel seems to be capable of activating a strange sort of fatherly instinct in him, something very vulnerable and pure and hopefully enduring). We have this scene of their first proper meeting, in Daughter of the Drow:

"Look down," advised a lilting, melodic voice, a voice that rang with mischief and childish delight.

Incredulous, Gromph shifted his gaze downward. There stood a tiny, smiling female about five years of age, easily the most beautiful child he had ever seen.She was a tiny duplicate of her mother, whom Gromph had recently left sleeping in a nearby suite of rooms. The child's face was angular, and her elven features delicate and sharp. A mop of silky white curls tumbled about her shoulders, contrasting with baby skin that had the sheen and texture of black satin. But most striking were the wide amber eyes, so like his own, that regarded him with intelligence and without fear. Those eyes stole Gromph's annoyance and stirred his curiosity.

This, then, must be his daughter. For some reason that thought struck a faint chord in the heart of the solitary, evil old drow.

(Of course, I won’t disregard how he then goes on to murder her mother / his wife in the next scene... so lol. Gromph is still a ruthless drow, after all. But even monsters can love, or so I wish to believe.)

There’s also certain tiny details that stuck out to me:

"So, drowling. I don't suppose you can read?"

It was a ridiculous question, for the child was little more than a babe. Yet her brow furrowed as she considered the matter.

"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "You see, I've never tried."

She darted toward the open spellbook and peered down at the page. Too late, Gromph slapped a hand over her golden eyes, cursing under his breath as he did so. Even simple spells could be deadly, for magic runes attacked the untrained eye with a stab of searing light. Attempting to read an unlearned spell could cause terrible pain, blindness, even insanity.

See what I mean about fatherly instincts? His immediate instinct was to protect her eyes, her sanity etc.

As Liriel grows up, her relationship with Gromph also seems almost... cordial. She seems relaxed with him, not holding back her tongue too much. At times, Gromph is seen chuckling and seemingly enjoying her presence too (unless he’s in a bad mood or she crosses a line somehow). Gromph is more lenient with her than one would expect, but also knows how to be strict when necessary, as befitting his station.

"Have a good time," Liriel mimicked bitterly as she and the archmage strode down the hall. "This, from someone whose idea of fun involves whipping people with snakes!"

Her blasphemous remark drew a shocked chuckle from Gromph.

"You must learn to guard your tongue," he admonished. "Few of the Academy's mistresses are burdened with a sense of humor."

"Don't I know it! Father, do I really have to become a priestess?" she demanded. "Can't you do anything to stop this?”

Liriel knew the words were a mistake the moment she spoke them. No one stayed healthy for long by pointing out to proud, frustrated Gromph that there were limits to his power. The expected rage did not come.

"It is my will you become a priestess," the archmage said coldly.

The scene continues with Gromph granting Liriel the means to go wherever she wish.

The archmage reached into a hidden pocket of his cloak and drew out a small book.

"This is yours. Learn it well, for you would surely go mad in Arach-Tinilith without the escape this book offers you." He paused for a grim smile. "I had this compiled for you—a task that spanned several years and cost the lives of a number of wizards—knowing this day would come."

That was quite a pitch, even for melodramatic Gromph, Liriel thought with a touch of wry humor. She took the book and opened it to the first spell. She skimmed the page, and the meaning of the symbols came to her with a rush of excitement and disbelief.

"This is a spell for summoning a gate!"

"And so is every other spell in the book," he agreed. "With this knowledge, you can travel where no priestess can follow."

Liriel leafed through the spellbook, her excitement growing by the moment. Magical travel was extremely difficult in the Underdark, and those who tried it often ended up as a permanent part of the landscape. This gift would give her greater freedom than she had ever enjoyed. Best of all, her father had foreseen this day, and prepared for it! Liriel hugged the precious book to her chest.

"I can't begin to thank you!" she cried joyfully.

Gromph Baenre smiled down at her, but his amber eyes remained cold. "Not yet, perhaps, but when the time comes I will tell you how you can properly express your gratitude. Become a priestess and seize what power you can. But never forget you are a wizard first and foremost. Your loyalty belongs to me."

The warmth fled from Liriel's heart. She held the arch-mage's hard gaze, and her golden eyes mirrored his. "Don't worry, Father," she said softly. "Lloth forbid I should ever forget what I am to you."

Gosh, this is why I love Cunningham sooo much. Much like Gromph’s scene with baby Liriel where the two have somewhat of a cute father-daughter moment, throwing faerie fire at each other etc.. the heatwarming scenes are always proceeded by an emotional whiplash, reminding the readers that this is Gromph Baenre we’re dealing with. In the first scene, Gromph murders Liriel’s mother right after having a cute moment with Liriel. Here, Gromph grants her what is one of the most valuable grimoires she’ll ever own, right before reminding her that she belongs to him as his tool.

A part of me could not help but wonder too though... does Gromph see himself in Liriel? The natural aptitude for magic, the fact that by their gender they are being forced into a role they did not want (Gromph being subservient to females as a male, Liriel being forced to become a cleric as a female despite wanting to be a wizard etc). The parallels are definitely there. I wonder if, through Liriel, Gromph may be unconsciously wishing to give her the opportunities he never had: freedom.

True freedom.

A part of me would like to think that Gromph, deep down, secretly wants Liriel to one day flee Menzoberranzan--- just as Jarlaxle did, to an extent at least.

I could go on and on about this forever, but I’ll stop here. If anyone is reading my rant this far, thanks! Feel free to hmu if you want to talk to.

#legend of drizzt #gromph baenre #war of the spider queen #Starlight & Shadows #the way of the drow

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