#disciples' daughters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hedgehog-moss · 7 months

Text

I decided to dedicate a post to Mama Pampy! Who rarely gets the spotlight on this blog, because well-behaved llamas seldom make history... I mentioned yesterday that she's the matriarch of her little herd (for new followers: Pampelune aka Pampy is Pampe's mother and Poldine's grandma), but I didn't really go into what that entails. It means she's a precious help to me when it comes to curbing Pampe's fight for freedom, because she has the authority to call the other llamas back when they wander too far away from her.

(Note that this didn't apply when Pampe was a teenager. Teen!Pampe obeyed her mother rarely and/or accidentally and thought nothing of wandering away all on her own. But ever since becoming an adult and having her own baby, she's slowly started paying more attention to Pampy's alarm sounds and other commands. She grudgingly accepted the bare minimum amount of responsibility required to keep her child alive.)

If the other two llamas wander off and Pampelune is able to follow, she'll follow in order to keep an eye on them; but conversely if you make sure Pampy can't follow, then the others won't stray too far. So I can let the llamas out to trim the grass around my house without haltering Pampe or Poldine; I just have to keep Pampy close to me. To no one's surprise, she keeps her eye on 1 llama in particular—

If her daughter wanders too far, Pampy will utter a firm "muh!" and Pampe will reluctantly return. (It's more of a "moo", really, but since llama and cow languages are clearly not in the same family and probably don't have mutual intelligibility, I'll use different spellings so it's not confusing.)

Pampelune knows who is and isn't part of her herd. The hens are outside of her jurisdiction but Pirlouit is not—she doesn't talk to him, because he never muhs back, but she does spit on him sometimes which means he is an honourary llama to her (a dubious honour, if you ask Pirlouit) and she also quietly checks on him, especially when she's out of the pasture while he is stuck on the other side of the fence, alone.

I hope this foray into llama herd dynamics isn't too boring; I'll add that I can't let Pirlouit free roam along with the llamas because he would follow Pampe if she starts wandering off, and Pampe loves having Followers. It immediately goes to her head and she'll often stop listening to her mum and trot away if she's managed to recruit disciples (that's also why Pandolf is not in these pictures. He's locked in the kitchen because he would not only follow Pampe but heartily encourage her to go somewhere. Pan is a rule-follower but within the realm of reason, i.e. if going for a walk is wrong then he doesn't want to be right.)

Poldine following Pampe isn't a problem though, because she is very respectful of her grandma's authority, so if anything she's a good influence on Pampe. At some point she wandered a bit too far while grazing and a stern "muh!" was heard, and she immediately came back and stood at attention behind her chief.

Her attitude with regards to her grandma / matriarch reminds me of this kid:

It's not all work for Pampy, she does get to eat too, but always with one ear angled in the general direction of Pampérigouste.

Meanwhile I read and have a glass of apéritif—llama outings usually happen in the evening as an extra precaution (you can never be too prudent when you let Pampe free roam)—the llamas don't like being out of their pasture at night, so they'll go home without a fuss when it starts to get dark.

Sorry for the poor quality, this is extra zoomed in, but I just realised I managed to capture one of our elusive cow neighbours in this one photo!

One of the few advantages of an abnormally warm autumn is that the herds are still out... You can hear the clarines (cow bells) in the distance, it's such a peaceful sound. Besides the bells, evening bird calls and Pampy's disciplinary muhs, the only other sound is the occasional heart-wrenching braying from Pirlouit. Stuck in the pasture all alone. Deprived of grass, empty of hope, unloved. (He gets to go out for frequent donkey-only outings but that doesn't make the present unfairness of his situation sting any less apparently)

Bringing everyone home when my apéritif is finished is quite easy, all I have to do is offer some muesli to Pampy. No matter where she is, Pampe's head will spring up, indignant.

Pampelune isn't even really into muesli, she prefers fresh fruit peelings, but Pampe won't take any risks.

(Pampe's nose is all scratched because she got very annoyed with flies last month and kept rubbing her face on things to remove them... Thankfully now that the nights are colder, she's finally rid of them!)

Once Pampe is back in the pasture I can let Pandolf out! He'll run a few circles around Poldine then escort her back home, not that she wouldn't follow the other llamas without any prompting, but you've got to let Pan be a sheepdog sometimes, he's so happy to contribute. Sometimes I even let Pirlouit out so that Pan can immediately bring him back in. Once all four animals are in the pasture he'll turn to me like "Everyone's home safely! Just before night! Thanks to me, Pandolf" and I'll make amazed noises at his excellent herding.

#crawling along

1K notes · View notes

shanastoryteller · 4 months

Note

HAPPY HOLLYDAZE!! More Lady Mo if possible!!! ✨

a continuation of 52 53 54 55 56 57

"I believe," Lan Wangji says severely, "that what my wife does or does not do is no one's concern but mine."

Xuanyu raises an eyebrow at that, which he ignores. He knows exactly what she thinks about his concern regarding her actions. She'd been irritated that he was upset she faced fierce corpses alone, of all things.

Jin Zixun pales, but he must have a high opinion of his own importance because he says, "For fuck's sake, you're being ridiculous. A year ago no one would have cared if she drunk herself to death and now she can't even have a little wine?"

Lan Wangji does not make the conscious decision to unsheathe his blade, but there it is gleaming in his hand.

Jiang Yanli is being pushed back into her seat by her husband while her son stares wide eyed.

There's some intense shuffling from the Lan section. Although he doesn't turn around, he does hear Jingyi and Sizhui whispering furiously. He wonders who is restraining who.

Jiang Cheng is standing with a hand on his sword and no one is going to any effort to restrain him at all. Li Shuchun, the only one that might have a chance of it, is leaning back to exchange money with another Jiang disciple.

"This is quite enough!" Jin Guangshan shouts. "What's this about? Sect Leader Lan-"

"Oh, be quiet Father," Xuanyu says, getting to her feet and stepping forward to grab his hand and shove his hand down. "What's with you today, Wangji? Put that away." She's very close and glaring at him, so he resheathes his sword.

"Jin Xuanyu!" Jin Guangshan thunders.

She rolls her eyes, turning to Jin Zixun. She punches his shoulder, a move that he dodges instantly. Which leaves him wide open when she grabs his sword off his hip, tosses it to Jin Guangyao, and then drops to kick his legs out from under him.

She pushes down on his shoulder, keeping him on his knees, and says, "Wangji, dear, would you hold him for me?"

She called him dear.

He steps to grab Jin Zixun's wrists, keeping him in place.

"What are you doing?" he howls. "You can't just-"

"You wanted to drink, right?" she asks then picks up a wine bottle with one hand and pinches his nose shut with the other.

He opens his mouth and Xuanyu pours wine down his throat. He can either drink or drown.

"Come on," she says cheerfully, "don't you want to drink to another fruitful year? Have some more!"

He drinks until he's coughing and sputtering, eyes glassy. Everyone just watches, but then again who is there to say anything? Jin Zixuan is keeping himself firmly in his own seat and Jin Guangshan and Madame Jin are just staring, probably more interested in watching everyone else's reaction then anything else.

"There," she says once the bottle is empty. "Feeling better?"

"You're crazy," he coughs.

Xuanyu's grin widens. "I am the legitimate daughter of Sect Leader Jin. I am the wife of Hanguang Jun. What I am is someone who is above you. You're lucky I don't have you whipped for your impudence. Isn't he, Father?"

Jin Guangyao has never once made a fuss about his status, afraid that what was easily given could be easily taken. Xuanyu clearly is, because her own status can't be revoked without making a mockery of the Jin's treaty with the Lan, and Jin Guangshan either reaffirms her rights and privileges as his daughter or risks lowering the authority of the son he does favor - Jin Zixuan.

Lan Wangji is suddenly grateful that Xuanyu hadn't been interested in manipulating him to her benefit.

Jin Guangshan is nearly purple in rage, but he gets out through clenched teeth, "Yes, Xuanyu. Of course."

"Why has the music stopped?" she asks the hall, giving Lan Wangji a look. He lets go of Jin Zixun and can't help the curl of amusement when he falls flat on his face. "This is a banquet, after all!"

The music starts up again and conversation slowly starts once more as Jin Zixun stumbles from the hall. He doesn't want to leave her side, but she's seated by Jin Guangyao once more and chatting about the schedule for tomorrow. Jin Guangyao seems supremely relaxed, which Lan Wangji is given to believe that means he's laughing on the inside.

He sits down next to his brother, waiting for the scolding he rightfully deserves.

"Wangji," Xichen says seriously. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I love your wife."

He hides his smile behind his teacup.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #untamed

589 notes · View notes

hoodiedoodles · 2 months

Text

the existence of Fern and Stark points to an interesting trend in Frieren-- that of the protege, the successor. For humans or similarly short-lived creatures, a successor is crucial. That can take the form of a daughter-figure, disciple, student, etc.

There's that scene in the first intro where the two panels divide and separate as a metaphor for time, with Frieren in the middle, indicating that Stark and Fern are successors to Eisen and Heiter-- they are successors, carrying on the legacy of their forbearers, with Frieren as the link between time for them

But then, who is Himmels successor? If Eisen and Heiter have one, then logically shouldn't there be a fourth member of their party to continue his path?

Until you realize that Frieren is Himmel's successor. She is both the link in time and a continuation of his teachings-- the one who taught her to be kind, to explore dungeons, and to value the small moments of life that you won't realize are there until they're past.

#frieren #sousou no frieren

419 notes · View notes

stiltonbasket · 2 months

Note

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan.

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun.

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem.

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong.

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier.

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu.

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand.

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son.

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead.

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem.

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils.

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it.

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying.

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing.

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth.

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle.

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there.

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within.

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two.

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty.

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy.

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight.

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave.

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward.

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin.

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes.

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him.

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded.

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve.

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand.

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him.

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled.

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

#svsss #bingyuan #binggeyuan #the scum villain's self saving system #my fic #i live to serve and i have delivered #this is my first foray into multichapter svsss fic so please reblog if you liked it/would like to see more!#shen yuan's name is still shen yuan btw #we will unravel the backstory behind the name he's using Later #as well as some other.....backstory #;)

409 notes · View notes