[Fanfiction] Dollhouse
Title: Dollhouse
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre(s): Angst/Drama
Character(s)|Pairing(s): China/Taiwan, Hong Kong
Rating/Warning(s): R, sexual content, gruesome imagery (descriptions of footbinding), nonconsensual activity with a young teen (not quite loli-con)
Word Count: 2,647
Summary: Request for pillowfight - China/Taiwan with Hong Kong - Her home surrounds her, a cage of silk bandages, gold columns, and a jealous dragon.
Home was a scarlet pillared palace with jade dragons and chrysolite phoenixes. She remembered another home, of mountains to the east and plains to the west, and seas all around embracing her.
Home was beautifully appointed rooms and silent attendants gowned in pale blue. She remembered dark skinned people who whispered to her and sang to her under a star-spangled sky.
Home was mincing about on her bound feet in softly carpeted halls and learning to embroider. She remembered being able to run barefoot on grass with her hair streaming behind her and fishing in the oceans.
When she could, she went to the courtyard filled with enormous goldfishes with big, bulging black eyes. Her silk slippers sank and squelched in the mud and she ruined the delicate brocade of her sleeves when she grabbed for the fishes and pulled at the water lilies. But she could not chase after the jeweled, lace-winged dragonflies or climb the gnarled branches of an ancient peach tree to pick the small rosy fruits. Her nurse would scold her every time and occasionally strike her bare thighs with an ivory fan that left stinging welts.
Then ge ge would come.
He would sigh when hearing of her exploits in the gardens and he would lecture her gently, sternly about the proper behavior of a lady. When she was younger, she had screamed at him that she did not want to be a lady, that she wanted to back home. And he would strike her full across the face, take her over his knee and whip her. Even then, afterwards, he would take her in his arms and embrace her, rocking her until her tears and angry sobs had melted away like snowflakes in the sunlight.
“It is because I love you,” he would tell her, every time. “I do this because I love you.”
He was not there when they first bound her feet, but he came after she had wept until her face was red and her nose swollen for the pain of it all. Ge ge gave her a beautiful clockwork nightingale studded with jewels of every color, which sang to her every time she wound it up, the diamond eyed head turning as the jeweled wings flapped. Every time they rewrapped the bandages, resoaked her feet in blood and herbs, he would send her a new present. Boxes of sweets that looked like lace and butterfly wings and colored mushroom tops, painted scrolls of flowers, carved ivory figures for her to play with, even a miniature castle made of gold and enamel, with little figures of servants and scholars, eunuchs and courtesans.
He had an aviary built for her brother, Xiao Lung, who seemed happiest there.
Xiao Lung wasn’t really her brother, just like ge ge wasn’t really her elder brother. But they looked alike and they lived together and she grew to think of him like her brother. He did not smile very much but he loved birds and stories of distant lands and he did not mind spending hours on end with an abacus, flicking the jade and pearl beads on their gilded teakwood frame.
She envied him, in a way.
He did not like her, initially, making his distaste obvious on his face when they were first introduced. Their shared meals became tense silences, their shared lessons bare civilities. Nonetheless, somehow, one hand, whose, she could not tell, reached out and found the other. And both gripped each other tightly.
Perhaps a sign of that trust was most evident when he took her to his aviary, which was built in a corner of the garden, a beautiful cage of gold and red and blue, with panes of glass and curtains of embroidered silk. He took her hand in his and placed a handful of tiny seeds in the middle of her palm, showing her how to stand silently, her hand extended, and wait for the birds.
And they came willingly, canaries of brightest yellow and white who sang to them, little finches colored garishly in green and blue and orange, even tropical birds with hooked beaks and vividly colored feathers and long trailing feathers. The little parakeets could be taught to take sunflower seeds from between her teeth and sometimes she heard the soft sweet song of a nightingale from within leaf cover.
He never let her go there alone but she did not mind that at all, because being with him, alone in the little world of branches and birds, was the best part of being there. She could see his dark, dark eyes sparkle and glow with a distant sort of happiness as a smile played at his lips.
Somehow, in the lethargic world of that gilt and scarlet house, they grew older. She did not have her moon blood yet, though her chest began to feel hot and tight and just a little sore and soon she grew too tall for her dresses. Ge ge did not seem to notice; he came even more rarely then, and his eyes had grown worried and pained.
Xiao Lung knew that something was wrong, even as she did too. She saw glimpses of odd, odd men in the corridors, men with pale hair and pale faces and men with dark hair and dark flesh, dressed in coarse clothing. One even drew close to her, almost close enough to touch, but she shrieked and the oft unseen, oft silent guards chased him away with their terrible gold swords. She did not ask what they did to him.
One afternoon, in their private time in the aviary, Xiao Lung said softly, “I will be going away soon.” Now, she nearly towered over him but his hands suddenly seemed bigger and his cheeks not as full.
She looked at him sharply, in the middle of feeding the canaries. “Why?” she asked.
“I am… being traded.” He suddenly looked scared, eyes big and face pale. “To England.”
She went to him, not caring that she disturbed the birds, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He did not respond but slowly, his hand went up to grip hers until he had finally turned himself around and gripped her in a crushing embrace as well. Neither of them tried to be brave, tried to pretend that it really was going to be for the best, but neither of them cried, either.
They released all the birds from the aviary that night. And she never went there again.
Without Xiao Lung, the quiet halls seemed even more silent, but not that of serenity and comfort. This seemed like the grave. She tiptoed, afraid of stirring spirits and distant memories, but she still half-expected him to come out of nowhere, bearing books, his abacus, a bag of seed for the aviary. But he was gone and soon she would no longer have even the memory of him.
One night, when she was about to prepare for bed, ge ge summoned her. Oddly enough, he asked for her to be formally attired. So her nurse placed fresh flowers and jewels in her dark hair, fine rings on her fingers, and delicate flower-shaped earrings gently chiming with every movement of her head. She wore her best slippers, of scarlet silk so heavily embroidered with gold and silver and beaded with the tiniest of pearls that very little of the original cloth could be seen.
Her nurse escorted her to a part of the palace she had never been to, passing by the dead and silent shell of the Xiao Lung’s aviary on the way. She shivered, despite the many layers of silk and brocade she wore, departing from the familiar halls of her childhood to finally stop at a small chamber closed by a door painted with five-clawed dragons. The screens slowly, silently slid open. A heavy, somnolent breeze redolent of old sweat and poppies struck her face as she minced in carefully, the doors sliding closed behind her.
She was no stranger to opium. Sometimes her nurse relented and let her have just a little bit of that bitter white powder when the pain of her bound feet would not let her be. But still, the books she read, the stories she had heard (tales that should have not been told to her), all of them warned of the dangers in indulging in the miraculous drug.
The room seemed oddly sparse compared to her pretty and airy flower bedecked chambers. It contained merely a small desk, two chairs, and a low, low wide bed, all fastened from dark wood glazed deep, blood red. Ge ge reclined there, gazing at her with heavy-lidded eyes. He beckoned to her as a slow and slightly unfocused smile flickered across his lips.
While he had never made her feel completely at ease, he frightened her particularly now. Particularly as she saw the small gold pipe dangling from between his long, long fingers. How wrinkled they look now, she thought to herself. The nails, once long but so immaculately manicured, were bitten to the quick and looked as though they pained him.
She hesitated and his eyes flickered gold. The lethargic dragon uncoiled, slowly, and his fangs flashed silver.
“Come here, Lan Yueh,” the dragon ordered in a whispery, imperious voice.
She could run, she thought in a wild moment. She could get out of here.
But where would she run to? She would be caught. She would be dragged here. She would be whipped-
Swallowing, she swayed towards him, towards the bed. And she could smell a stench of a male, sweat and musk, but tainted with dead, decaying poppies. He gently stroked a portion of the silken coverlet by him, indicating she sit there. Gingerly, she did so, fighting not to run, not to retch, not to cry, her heart fluttering in her chest like a trapped, terrified bird.
Then he bent over and kissed her.
This was not her first kiss. Xiao Lung had kissed her before-or, more accurately, she had kissed him. She had been curious, having read some poems and stories that she should not have had any access to, books her nurse had no idea about. They spoke of ladies’ lips and the pleasures found there, the toils men underwent for the promise of their touch.
But those soft, tentative kisses did not shake the world. Xiao Lung did not become her slave (if anything, he became more awkward and silent). His lips did not have a lingering sticky bitterness, only the taste of tea.
Ge ge kissed her as though he were a dying man and she were the Elixir of Life, desperately, hungrily, weakly. His withered hand touched her cheek and she shuddered under the contact. She pulled away, feeling a fog around on her mind and eyes.
“Here,” he told her, offering the pipe. “Breathe this.”
She tried to refuse but her legs would not move and she could only gaze dumbly at him. He chuckled, a rich, low sound and gently raised the pipe to her lips. The brass felt like it branded her lips at contact. She did not precisely inhale but the burning ball of opium was so close, the smoke starting to trickle into her lungs, chasing away the memory, the thought, of clean, empty air. There was only this, only a haze of poppy dreams.
The smoke made her lethargic, made her limbs feel boneless and very distant as she sagged backwards, to be cradled by thin arms. As though from a very long way, she could hear ge ge say, “And that is enough for you today.” She sighed softly. Yes… that would be best.
Even though her body felt so very heavy, her skin prickled with sensation and sleep did not threaten her eyelids. Instead, she seemed to be locked in a waking dream.
Her eyes partially opened, she gazed at the gold eyes that seemed to slowly devour her world like twin suns. The withered fingers undressed her, lovingly, but clumsily (she could hear the snarls of ripping silk, distant and faded to her ears). Soon, she was naked to his gaze. No longer did she have the anonymous, androgynous form of a young girl, so little different from that of a young boy. But her breasts still needed to bud properly, remaining only as soft, slight mounds upon her chest, almost nonexistent in her reclining position, and only the slightest wisps of soft dark hair grew between her legs.
Last, he had left her feet, her bound, tiny feet in their red and gold and pearl shoes. He lifted her legs up, caressing the golden lily he found, kissing all along there and exhaling deeply. She watched dimly as he lovingly, gently took off the slippers, his lips trailing along the arch of her foot and going down, to where her toes were curled and rotting.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Beautiful…”
Her slack face did not allow her to flinch. A soft and tiny voice whispered angrily that her feet were deformed, hobbled, maimed. He did this to her. He stripped her of her freedom, her dignity, her self. But that voice was very small, only a whisper in the entire universe.
His fingers undid the silken wrappings, the foul bandages that were to be changed tomorrow. If he noticed the smell, he said nothing as the stained wrappings fell to the floor with barely a sigh, coiling like hibernating snakes. She never looked at her feet, never before this, and to see them in stark light, held in ge ge’s hand like that, she would have been horrified, if she could feel anything at all.
His lips continued to kiss the foul thing he had found, the ruin and wreck she could barely acknowledge as hers. He breathed heavily, the distant sound of bellows, like dragon lungs expanding and contracting. An eternity passed and she soon found her eyes going elsewhere, to the ceiling, where she thought she could see a garden blooming. The flowers gently poked up from the dark soil, spreading their leaves, extending their ranches, their blossoms grew, budded, bloomed and they all died, sending withering petals to the ground to start anew. Or was it birds? Did she see birds up there, little canaries singing as they made their nest, the mischievous parakeets arguing with finches?
Her hand slowly, slowly rose, as if to lure those birds to her. Then pain exploded in her world and she found herself screaming, wailing, her chest seized up in pain. Lips collided with hers and breathed smoke into her mouth, sweet smoke, bitter smoke, filthy-cleansing smoke. The dragon kissed her and gave her the poppy dream again, though the pain of his fangs, his claws, on her body had awakened her and she could see the horrors that they both had become clearly, if only for a moment.
Ge ge was impaling her, was starting to slowly kill her. His hips snapped forward again and her shriek was cut off as she fell into the smoky dream again. Her eyes streamed tears that felt like molten iron on her cheeks. She could see his eyes, his massive golden eyes, and his mouth, his red, red mouth.
“Still mine,” he was ranting. To her ears he whispered but surely he must have been shouting. “Still mine. My Lan Yueh. Mine. They will not take you away from me-” His claws contracted around her body, around her waist and occasionally desperately scraping along her breasts.
She turned her face away from him as the pressure in between her legs, seeming to reach right into her innards, did not cease. Smoke hid the garden from her hungry eyes and chased away the birds. Her eyes closing at last, she thought of Xiao Lung locked in his aviary, alone, unable to fly away.
Ge ge- “Older Brother”
Lan Yueh - Orchid Moon, a random name I made up for Taiwan though partially based on a name I found in a fanfic somewhere
Xiao Lung - Little Dragon, my name for Hong Kong (also a sneaky, slightly obscure Card Captor Sakura reference)
-Only members of the direct Imperial family could wear five-clawed dragons or carry that particular motif.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre(s): Angst/Drama
Character(s)|Pairing(s): China/Taiwan, Hong Kong
Rating/Warning(s): R, sexual content, gruesome imagery (descriptions of footbinding), nonconsensual activity with a young teen (not quite loli-con)
Word Count: 2,647
Summary: Request for pillowfight - China/Taiwan with Hong Kong - Her home surrounds her, a cage of silk bandages, gold columns, and a jealous dragon.
Home was a scarlet pillared palace with jade dragons and chrysolite phoenixes. She remembered another home, of mountains to the east and plains to the west, and seas all around embracing her.
Home was beautifully appointed rooms and silent attendants gowned in pale blue. She remembered dark skinned people who whispered to her and sang to her under a star-spangled sky.
Home was mincing about on her bound feet in softly carpeted halls and learning to embroider. She remembered being able to run barefoot on grass with her hair streaming behind her and fishing in the oceans.
When she could, she went to the courtyard filled with enormous goldfishes with big, bulging black eyes. Her silk slippers sank and squelched in the mud and she ruined the delicate brocade of her sleeves when she grabbed for the fishes and pulled at the water lilies. But she could not chase after the jeweled, lace-winged dragonflies or climb the gnarled branches of an ancient peach tree to pick the small rosy fruits. Her nurse would scold her every time and occasionally strike her bare thighs with an ivory fan that left stinging welts.
Then ge ge would come.
He would sigh when hearing of her exploits in the gardens and he would lecture her gently, sternly about the proper behavior of a lady. When she was younger, she had screamed at him that she did not want to be a lady, that she wanted to back home. And he would strike her full across the face, take her over his knee and whip her. Even then, afterwards, he would take her in his arms and embrace her, rocking her until her tears and angry sobs had melted away like snowflakes in the sunlight.
“It is because I love you,” he would tell her, every time. “I do this because I love you.”
He was not there when they first bound her feet, but he came after she had wept until her face was red and her nose swollen for the pain of it all. Ge ge gave her a beautiful clockwork nightingale studded with jewels of every color, which sang to her every time she wound it up, the diamond eyed head turning as the jeweled wings flapped. Every time they rewrapped the bandages, resoaked her feet in blood and herbs, he would send her a new present. Boxes of sweets that looked like lace and butterfly wings and colored mushroom tops, painted scrolls of flowers, carved ivory figures for her to play with, even a miniature castle made of gold and enamel, with little figures of servants and scholars, eunuchs and courtesans.
He had an aviary built for her brother, Xiao Lung, who seemed happiest there.
Xiao Lung wasn’t really her brother, just like ge ge wasn’t really her elder brother. But they looked alike and they lived together and she grew to think of him like her brother. He did not smile very much but he loved birds and stories of distant lands and he did not mind spending hours on end with an abacus, flicking the jade and pearl beads on their gilded teakwood frame.
She envied him, in a way.
He did not like her, initially, making his distaste obvious on his face when they were first introduced. Their shared meals became tense silences, their shared lessons bare civilities. Nonetheless, somehow, one hand, whose, she could not tell, reached out and found the other. And both gripped each other tightly.
Perhaps a sign of that trust was most evident when he took her to his aviary, which was built in a corner of the garden, a beautiful cage of gold and red and blue, with panes of glass and curtains of embroidered silk. He took her hand in his and placed a handful of tiny seeds in the middle of her palm, showing her how to stand silently, her hand extended, and wait for the birds.
And they came willingly, canaries of brightest yellow and white who sang to them, little finches colored garishly in green and blue and orange, even tropical birds with hooked beaks and vividly colored feathers and long trailing feathers. The little parakeets could be taught to take sunflower seeds from between her teeth and sometimes she heard the soft sweet song of a nightingale from within leaf cover.
He never let her go there alone but she did not mind that at all, because being with him, alone in the little world of branches and birds, was the best part of being there. She could see his dark, dark eyes sparkle and glow with a distant sort of happiness as a smile played at his lips.
Somehow, in the lethargic world of that gilt and scarlet house, they grew older. She did not have her moon blood yet, though her chest began to feel hot and tight and just a little sore and soon she grew too tall for her dresses. Ge ge did not seem to notice; he came even more rarely then, and his eyes had grown worried and pained.
Xiao Lung knew that something was wrong, even as she did too. She saw glimpses of odd, odd men in the corridors, men with pale hair and pale faces and men with dark hair and dark flesh, dressed in coarse clothing. One even drew close to her, almost close enough to touch, but she shrieked and the oft unseen, oft silent guards chased him away with their terrible gold swords. She did not ask what they did to him.
One afternoon, in their private time in the aviary, Xiao Lung said softly, “I will be going away soon.” Now, she nearly towered over him but his hands suddenly seemed bigger and his cheeks not as full.
She looked at him sharply, in the middle of feeding the canaries. “Why?” she asked.
“I am… being traded.” He suddenly looked scared, eyes big and face pale. “To England.”
She went to him, not caring that she disturbed the birds, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He did not respond but slowly, his hand went up to grip hers until he had finally turned himself around and gripped her in a crushing embrace as well. Neither of them tried to be brave, tried to pretend that it really was going to be for the best, but neither of them cried, either.
They released all the birds from the aviary that night. And she never went there again.
Without Xiao Lung, the quiet halls seemed even more silent, but not that of serenity and comfort. This seemed like the grave. She tiptoed, afraid of stirring spirits and distant memories, but she still half-expected him to come out of nowhere, bearing books, his abacus, a bag of seed for the aviary. But he was gone and soon she would no longer have even the memory of him.
One night, when she was about to prepare for bed, ge ge summoned her. Oddly enough, he asked for her to be formally attired. So her nurse placed fresh flowers and jewels in her dark hair, fine rings on her fingers, and delicate flower-shaped earrings gently chiming with every movement of her head. She wore her best slippers, of scarlet silk so heavily embroidered with gold and silver and beaded with the tiniest of pearls that very little of the original cloth could be seen.
Her nurse escorted her to a part of the palace she had never been to, passing by the dead and silent shell of the Xiao Lung’s aviary on the way. She shivered, despite the many layers of silk and brocade she wore, departing from the familiar halls of her childhood to finally stop at a small chamber closed by a door painted with five-clawed dragons. The screens slowly, silently slid open. A heavy, somnolent breeze redolent of old sweat and poppies struck her face as she minced in carefully, the doors sliding closed behind her.
She was no stranger to opium. Sometimes her nurse relented and let her have just a little bit of that bitter white powder when the pain of her bound feet would not let her be. But still, the books she read, the stories she had heard (tales that should have not been told to her), all of them warned of the dangers in indulging in the miraculous drug.
The room seemed oddly sparse compared to her pretty and airy flower bedecked chambers. It contained merely a small desk, two chairs, and a low, low wide bed, all fastened from dark wood glazed deep, blood red. Ge ge reclined there, gazing at her with heavy-lidded eyes. He beckoned to her as a slow and slightly unfocused smile flickered across his lips.
While he had never made her feel completely at ease, he frightened her particularly now. Particularly as she saw the small gold pipe dangling from between his long, long fingers. How wrinkled they look now, she thought to herself. The nails, once long but so immaculately manicured, were bitten to the quick and looked as though they pained him.
She hesitated and his eyes flickered gold. The lethargic dragon uncoiled, slowly, and his fangs flashed silver.
“Come here, Lan Yueh,” the dragon ordered in a whispery, imperious voice.
She could run, she thought in a wild moment. She could get out of here.
But where would she run to? She would be caught. She would be dragged here. She would be whipped-
Swallowing, she swayed towards him, towards the bed. And she could smell a stench of a male, sweat and musk, but tainted with dead, decaying poppies. He gently stroked a portion of the silken coverlet by him, indicating she sit there. Gingerly, she did so, fighting not to run, not to retch, not to cry, her heart fluttering in her chest like a trapped, terrified bird.
Then he bent over and kissed her.
This was not her first kiss. Xiao Lung had kissed her before-or, more accurately, she had kissed him. She had been curious, having read some poems and stories that she should not have had any access to, books her nurse had no idea about. They spoke of ladies’ lips and the pleasures found there, the toils men underwent for the promise of their touch.
But those soft, tentative kisses did not shake the world. Xiao Lung did not become her slave (if anything, he became more awkward and silent). His lips did not have a lingering sticky bitterness, only the taste of tea.
Ge ge kissed her as though he were a dying man and she were the Elixir of Life, desperately, hungrily, weakly. His withered hand touched her cheek and she shuddered under the contact. She pulled away, feeling a fog around on her mind and eyes.
“Here,” he told her, offering the pipe. “Breathe this.”
She tried to refuse but her legs would not move and she could only gaze dumbly at him. He chuckled, a rich, low sound and gently raised the pipe to her lips. The brass felt like it branded her lips at contact. She did not precisely inhale but the burning ball of opium was so close, the smoke starting to trickle into her lungs, chasing away the memory, the thought, of clean, empty air. There was only this, only a haze of poppy dreams.
The smoke made her lethargic, made her limbs feel boneless and very distant as she sagged backwards, to be cradled by thin arms. As though from a very long way, she could hear ge ge say, “And that is enough for you today.” She sighed softly. Yes… that would be best.
Even though her body felt so very heavy, her skin prickled with sensation and sleep did not threaten her eyelids. Instead, she seemed to be locked in a waking dream.
Her eyes partially opened, she gazed at the gold eyes that seemed to slowly devour her world like twin suns. The withered fingers undressed her, lovingly, but clumsily (she could hear the snarls of ripping silk, distant and faded to her ears). Soon, she was naked to his gaze. No longer did she have the anonymous, androgynous form of a young girl, so little different from that of a young boy. But her breasts still needed to bud properly, remaining only as soft, slight mounds upon her chest, almost nonexistent in her reclining position, and only the slightest wisps of soft dark hair grew between her legs.
Last, he had left her feet, her bound, tiny feet in their red and gold and pearl shoes. He lifted her legs up, caressing the golden lily he found, kissing all along there and exhaling deeply. She watched dimly as he lovingly, gently took off the slippers, his lips trailing along the arch of her foot and going down, to where her toes were curled and rotting.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Beautiful…”
Her slack face did not allow her to flinch. A soft and tiny voice whispered angrily that her feet were deformed, hobbled, maimed. He did this to her. He stripped her of her freedom, her dignity, her self. But that voice was very small, only a whisper in the entire universe.
His fingers undid the silken wrappings, the foul bandages that were to be changed tomorrow. If he noticed the smell, he said nothing as the stained wrappings fell to the floor with barely a sigh, coiling like hibernating snakes. She never looked at her feet, never before this, and to see them in stark light, held in ge ge’s hand like that, she would have been horrified, if she could feel anything at all.
His lips continued to kiss the foul thing he had found, the ruin and wreck she could barely acknowledge as hers. He breathed heavily, the distant sound of bellows, like dragon lungs expanding and contracting. An eternity passed and she soon found her eyes going elsewhere, to the ceiling, where she thought she could see a garden blooming. The flowers gently poked up from the dark soil, spreading their leaves, extending their ranches, their blossoms grew, budded, bloomed and they all died, sending withering petals to the ground to start anew. Or was it birds? Did she see birds up there, little canaries singing as they made their nest, the mischievous parakeets arguing with finches?
Her hand slowly, slowly rose, as if to lure those birds to her. Then pain exploded in her world and she found herself screaming, wailing, her chest seized up in pain. Lips collided with hers and breathed smoke into her mouth, sweet smoke, bitter smoke, filthy-cleansing smoke. The dragon kissed her and gave her the poppy dream again, though the pain of his fangs, his claws, on her body had awakened her and she could see the horrors that they both had become clearly, if only for a moment.
Ge ge was impaling her, was starting to slowly kill her. His hips snapped forward again and her shriek was cut off as she fell into the smoky dream again. Her eyes streamed tears that felt like molten iron on her cheeks. She could see his eyes, his massive golden eyes, and his mouth, his red, red mouth.
“Still mine,” he was ranting. To her ears he whispered but surely he must have been shouting. “Still mine. My Lan Yueh. Mine. They will not take you away from me-” His claws contracted around her body, around her waist and occasionally desperately scraping along her breasts.
She turned her face away from him as the pressure in between her legs, seeming to reach right into her innards, did not cease. Smoke hid the garden from her hungry eyes and chased away the birds. Her eyes closing at last, she thought of Xiao Lung locked in his aviary, alone, unable to fly away.
Ge ge- “Older Brother”
Lan Yueh - Orchid Moon, a random name I made up for Taiwan though partially based on a name I found in a fanfic somewhere
Xiao Lung - Little Dragon, my name for Hong Kong (also a sneaky, slightly obscure Card Captor Sakura reference)
-Only members of the direct Imperial family could wear five-clawed dragons or carry that particular motif.