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vivispec · 2 months

Note

Happy Friday! For DADWC: "I had no choice..." for Viera Lavellan / Solas?

thank you for the prompt! ngl i got super sleepy halfway through but hallelujah it is finished.

i went for post-game, concerning their dreamer daughter. since vie isn't a mage, i like to play around with her dreams a bit. now, it is time to sleep.

@dadrunkwriting Viera'vun / Solas words: 1010

She was pigment and plaster, dried and cracking where once she’d been gold.

This…it was familiar, brushstrokes she knew. Her eyes followed the length of the blade beside her, up into the sky, where at its haft a lidless eye bore down upon her. Wolves howled, and she stumbled back into jagged mountains.

Looming, winged and fanged, shifting just beyond sight. From the clouds there came a head, and that one eye opened into many—six, red and glowing, centered upon her. A shadow fell upon her, feet bloody where they stepped upon broken peaks, but she could go back no further. She pressed against the barrier at her back, and faced him with chin raised. She faced him, and straightened.

Something brushed against her fingers, and when she looked they were solid no longer, but soft; flesh, where before she’d seen stone, and at their tips was a figure she recognized. A wolf, gray with eyes of blue like lyrium. He stepped back as her eyes cleared, and so did she.

Then, the wolf shifted and changed, until a man stood before her. Viera hardened herself.

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised you actually came.”

Solas tucked his hands behind him. “No more so than I,” he said, appraising the room her dream had composed for them: his rotunda with its frescoes, somehow breathing and alive. “I figured, however, that you would not call me as you did, if not for good reason. I was quite surprised, to hear such a request from your daughter.”

How easily, he admitted his fault. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her, gauging her response while maintaining that placid air he used like a shield. It almost made it easier to think he cared so little, even if she knew the truth.

Almost, but not quite. She sought the words she’d practiced while waking, the questions so carefully tailored to pick him apart, but found they all failed her here. This, all of it, was too near her heart to be scripted. Viera pushed breath through her nose, and shed her pretense.

“Solas,” she landed on as she found again her voice, “what is it you think you’re doing, truly, hanging around her dreams?”

He didn’t answer right away, mulling over his words carefully. “It was my intent only to watch over her, until she could navigate the Fade on her own.”

“And yet she wakes in the morning to tell tale of the wolf in her dreams, as much a friend to her as the wisps and Curiosity.” She scoffed, and shook her head. “Tell me, how does this possibly end?”

“I had no choice.”

“No choice? You’ve always had a choice.” With the rising of her voice the walls seemed to ripple, like raindrops disturbing otherwise tranquil waters. “Even if that choice is to stubbornly turn away from any option that might bring you happiness, and then covet the very thing you left behind. If you wanted to be her father, her mentor, there was a place at our side, even so long after you turned your back on me. You made the choice to never share your burden, and walk your path alone.”

“And it is a choice I must stand by,” he uttered, eyes locked still upon the roiling pictures before him, shaped by his hand, maybe, but given life by her thought. “Regardless, she is a Dreamer. There are dangers within the Beyond for one such as her, should she lack proper guidance. In this, I had no choice.”

“I know this. We’ve taken steps to protect her, she’s in good hands—”

“Hands that protect, maybe, but do not know. Ones that cannot fathom to teach.” Finally, he looked down and away, and though he held his voice steady still she saw the hollowness within him. He’d seemed to overflow with passions, once, even before they’d lain beside one another. Such spirit had since been drained. “Viera’vun, do not think I’ve deluded myself into believing I can walk beside her any longer than I have. Already she knows the pathways well, and has found fast friends to lead her down it,” he clarified, “but she is young still, and trusting. Had she not called for me, I’d have never stepped from the shadows where I watched her.”

“But where does it lead?” He blinked, eyes flicking away to find stone again. “Already your charm protects her. Can’t it be enough, that she carries a piece of you? Must she, too, carry the pain of knowing the wolf she called ‘friend’ is the same who’d break her world?” Silence. She breathed, deep into her core, and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense beneath her. “There isn’t any hiding, I know you see it. She’s bright. Observant, and stubborn, too. Let the lessons you’ve taught be enough a foundation, and let her find her own path.”

“And if the charm is not enough? If she were to wander into a danger it cannot fend against, on her own?”

“What ifs and chances, whereas I know all too well where the path at your side leads.” She squeezed, and the figures etched onto the wall seemed to slow, and deflate. Its luster dulled, as if aging eons in mere breaths. “Please, Solas, for both your sakes: don’t come for her again. In her dreams, at the very least, let her know peace.”

He had fully turned away from her, now, as if so much as looking at her pained him. Her grip loosened, lingering before it freed him, and fell back to her side. She’d wanted for an answer, or any sign that he’d taken her words to heart; as it was, she’d little indication that he hadn’t turned to plaster and pigment himself, outlined as he was by the many eyes of the fresco, boring down around him.

It couldn’t be helped. Viera turned, and left him there amongst the ghosts of their past. She only hoped her words would echo there in the rotunda around him.

#solas #viera #solavellan #dragon age #dai #my writing #dadwc #they are so divorced your honor. like so divorced

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everlastingdreams · 1 year

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Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart Chapter 7

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title: The Wounds We Cannot See.

Notes: Enjoy the innocent chapters before the chaos. Meanwhile I’ll be here stressing over chapter 8.

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +110K

Chapter: 7 / lol Gonna keep the chapter count a secret until the end.

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Your Uncle welcomed you back with open arms, like he expected to be forgiven for trying to hit you after this ordeal.

He even praised the Monk for returning you safely “Well done, my son.”

The Monk was patted on the shoulder and even that felt forced.

Uncle Carden turned to you “Dear girl, we are glad you are returned to us.”

You gave a bit of a backhanded comment that went along with the praise for the Monk “I would be dead if he had not found me.”

You would be dead because your uncle and the Church refused to pay for your life.

Your uncle did not detect the bitterness.

But he had…

The priest did not react on the praise, the Monk most have gotten enough praise for it already in his opinion “From now on, you will not go beyond the walls of the monastery without the watchful eyes of our Weeping Monk or our paladins. The enemy cannot be given the opportunity to do this again.”

It came as no surprise that he still wished to keep you locked inside the monastery and it wasn’t just for your safety but to avoid any further ‘scandalous’ behavior occurring.

Protesting against it was no use, he could still send you off to live in the forest alone.

You didn’t bother to even speak to your uncle, who saw you more as property than family.

It annoyed the priest tremendously when you simply walked away from the conversation “Halt.”

Your back was facing him, luckily he could not see your expression “Uncle?”

It sounded like an order “Head to the infirmary at once. You’re limping.”

Without turning around you replied “Yes, Uncle.”

Then you made your way over to the infirmary.

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There you sat on the shabby cot in the infirmary, three paladins buzzed around like flies. None of them looked sure of what to do or how to proceeded with their given task.

It made perfect sense that there were no female healers in a monastery, still you wished there had been.

It did not feel comfortable to be there and they looked like they hadn’t got a clue on how to help a woman without crossing a line.

And there were many lines… if they were to look at your bruised ankle or even touch you, it went against the vow they had made.

They knew it and so did you.

One would stop at your side and look to another for guidance, with a shallow shake of the head they would advice them.

Well, at this rate it would take a while to receive any help.

One of them finally stopped beside you again, more anxious than the last.

Was your discomfort so obvious that it made them feel the same?

The door opened without warning, the Monk walked in and went to stand in the corner to keep watch over the situation.

He had mentioned it to Father that it could be unwise to leave you alone in the infirmary with a paladin for such a thing. You were vulnerable for indecent behavior if it were to occur.

He questioned why nothing had been done or given yet “Has she received care?”

They replied in choir, one more quiet than the other “No, Brother.”

He was not amused “Why?”

One of them gestured and stammered “It’s not proper, Brother…”

The reply he wished to give turned into a deep agitated exhale instead.

They simply held to the vow. Some would take advantage of such situations, but these men were too frightened to even try to help.

The Monk send one out of the room and addressed another “Get her medicine for the pain in her ankle.”

The paladin was relieved by the command “Yes, Brother.”

The other paladin stood off to the side, waiting for a command to come his way.

And that command came when he was ordered to bring a clean linen bandage and a bowl of water.

Unlike his red brothers, the Monk showed no sign of discomfort when he came over and took your hand in his.

He turned it over and found the cut that the rough removal of your bangle had caused.

The water and piece of linen was placed on a small table near the cot. A wettened piece of cloth was handed to him when he signaled for it.

He had cleaned enough of his own injuries to know the best methods.

You couldn’t wipe the grin from your face while he was clearly doing his best to keep the attention on the task.

But he could feel the cheeky look you were sending him.

After washing off the blood and inspecting the cut, it did not need stitches.

A tiny amount of salve was smeared on and then he asked the paladins to hand him the fresh linen bandage.

The paladins bumped into each other, both eager to get the task over with and get approval of their Weeping brother.

It had you looking down to avoid laughing.

The linen was hastily handed over to him and gently wrapped around the cut “Keep this on for now. Take it off tomorrow. Let the salve do the work.”

You send a smile up at him and said the words for everyone there “Thank you.”

A paladin came near and handed you a small vial “This will numb the pain in your ankle.”

The concoction smelled outrageous, still you drank it.

The grimace you had as a result made the Monk turn a little to the side.

Ah yes, the notorious medicine used by the Church did not taste well.

Without being prompted, he offered an arm to steady yourself when you stood from the cot.

It had not been necessary but the thoughtfulness made you take the opportunity regardless.

The next proof of his thoughtfulness came the minute you walked out of the infirmary with him.

He inquired “Have you slept last night?”

Sleep? Calling it a nap would be exaggerating it “Barely. As you probably assume.”

He bumped slightly into you while letting a paladin pass “If you wish to get some rest…”

You shook your head “No. I want to do something today. What are your plans?”

The Monk knew where this was heading “I cannot leave the monastery with you. Father ordered you to remain here. Rest today.”

Grabbing a hold on his arm stopped him in his tracks “No. I spend almost the whole night tied up on a cave floor. I had my rest.”

Something had flashed in his eyes, did he feel bad for not finding you faster?

When another paladin walked towards him, you had to let go.

It was Brother Albert who stopped near him “Brother. We are ordered to travel to the Holy Father after midday, Father has request your presence to discuss it.”

If the Holy Father himself requested Father’s presence it often meant that there was a problem.

With a simple nod he acknowledged the information and Brother Albert went on his way again.

It saddened you, but he still had his work to do and you felt guilty for trying to take up his time more than you already had “Hey… uhm…I’m sorry. You have enough going on already, I won’t ask for more of your time today.”

His brow arched, gaze swiftly flowing over you “I need to go and speak to Father. I shall find you afterwards.”

He was already walking away when you spoke again “When you do, might I suggest starting your search around the cloister?”

A smirk was the reply he send your way.

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The sun covered the garden of the cloister, shadows were only offered by the statues depicting holy figures.

It was calm, not many paladins passed by under the covered archways.

After the chaos you had been through last night, it came as a welcome change.

You couldn’t resist lying down in the grass to enjoy the sunshine fully, eyes up at the sky to see the few clouds pass by.

It wouldn’t be hard to fall asleep like this and it had not been your intention to close your eyes for more than a few seconds.

And yet, when you opened them again time had passed and the Monk was kneeling beside you.

How long had you slept? It was still daytime…

How long had he been there next to you?

The Monk had been there for minutes, watching you bathe in the sun’s warm light. He did not have the heart to wake you from your slumber after the things you had went through last night.

When he saw that you were awake, he looked off to the side “I searched for you for a while. Let us say that I did not expect to find you on the ground.”

With a cheeky grin, you quipped “Not a good tracker if you don’t look at the ground.”

The marks beneath his eyes only added an intensity to the look he now gave you.

When you shielded your eyes from the sun with your hand, you noticed a wet dark stain on his sleeve.

Was that…blood?!?

You reached for him and rubbed the fabric of the sleeve between your index finger and thumb, the crimson stained them now.

You jolted into an upright sitting position “You’re bleeding!”

It was as if he had not even noticed it himself, he moved his cloak aside somewhat and realized there was a tear in his sleeve that had gone through the layers of clothing that were supposed to protect him.

Hours ago, that first man he had killed to save you from the cave had not made it easy on him. Still, he had believed he was not wounded from that brief fight.

And now blood was tracing a path along his arm, he must have made a movement for the bleeding to worsen.

Dammit.

He stood up abruptly “I need to inspect it. I will return.”

You were on your feet before he could get too far “Is that from last night?”

With a nod he confirmed it “It is.”

A drip of blood slid down his finger and landed right in front of your feet as you caught up with him “Are you alright?!? Does it hurt?”

These past weeks had been a blur of constant battles and fights, perhaps he had subconsciously blamed any pain on a previous wound.

It felt like this was one of these wounds that bled more than it should. It must have been just a cut, his sleeve had taken most of the damage.

He was already at the door of his room and opened it, not bothering to close it as you would just follow him in anyway “It does not hurt.”

You were the one to shut the door after you stepped inside, seeing it as an open invitation.

Worry took a hold on you “Do I need to get you something from the infirmary?”

Instead he gestured to the chest at the foot of the bed “No. Could you look into that chest?”

You were quick to do as told and open the heavy lid of the chest.

The Monk took off his cloak and tossed it on the modest bed, the full damage to his clothes came to view, the cut was on the back of his upper arm.

You had never seen him without the cloak, or without the surcoat and arming doublet…

The linen undershirt he wore was stained with blood, not even days of soaking would get the red out of that one.

It was then that you understood why he had asked you to look into the chest, there were clothes inside, among them was a clean undershirt.

He removed the ruined fabric swiftly before walking over to the bucket of water in the room, grabbing the linen cloth to wash the blood off “There should be another undershirt in there. Can you see it?”

The question waited for an answer and you could not remember how to form words for a few counts.

The sight of him like this had your cheeks burning to the point where you could feel it in the shell of your ears.

Answer. Answer. Answer…

Your throat felt terribly dry “Yes.”

He was completely oblivious to the response you had as he was cleaning out the shallow cut that ran only a few inches along his arm.

It was the sudden silence that made him look over at you and provide the request he had first thought was unnecessary to speak “Could you hand it to me, please?”

He saw you nod, look down, up again and down once more.

In all these weeks, he did not recall being bare chested around you. Among the paladins there was little care for these matters, but you were not a paladin…

You quietly stood up and kept a comical distance while handing him the undershirt.

He was trying to act like looking like this around someone else was not uncommon.

Even though it was and he was an under-dressed monk with a woman in his room…

Had he become so comfortable with your presence that he had not stopped to think about this?

When your eyes found the courage to look at him, they were drawn to the scars covering his back.

You knew what they were, living in a monastery made it impossible not to learn of the ways that those who follow the Church ‘cleanse’ themselves from sin.

It just… never came to mind that he did so too.

It was like the world had been ripped from under your feet for a moment, leaving you there alone to figure out how to process the information “I never knew…”

It caught his attention, the distraught look in your eyes was not one he had seen before and it alarmed him greatly “What is wrong?”

What was wrong?

There were fresh looking scars that still bled a bit and he was asking what was wrong?

You barely dared to gesture to him “Why do you hurt yourself? There are so many…”

The confusion vanished from his face.

The scars… you had never seen them before…

And by the sight of you, it had left you quite shocked to see them.

He made it sound like it was not worth the concern “The suffering will cleanse us. It is there to remind us that only our hard work will make us worthy of salvation. Has Father not spoken of this to you?”

The Monk covered the cut on his arm by wrapping a piece of cloth around it.

It was hard to hear the explanation “No…” after a pause, the dismay slipped out “Is that what my uncle expects of you? For you to hurt yourself on top of everything else that he expects from you?”

Your voice had trembled and your eyes stung.

His next words shocked you further “I choose to cleanse myself, as I was taught.”

A single tear ran down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away, it was so painful to hear that someone you cared about was going through so much pain “Is it because you are Fey?”

A silence fell and answered the inquiry.

With his fresh shirt now on, he thought his words through more carefully “I was taught all my life how to handle physical pain. I can clean wounds, I can heal them.”

This was a substitute to avoid facing the other problems that he struggled with.

Your feet carried yourself towards him “You cannot trade the thoughts that haunt you for a different sort of pain, Lancelot.”

He knew you were right behind him but did not dare turn to face you, his eyes fell shut “I prefer this kind over the other.”

Your fingers tentatively snaked around his arm to make him turn around “Next time you wish to do so, come to me first. I’ll be there to listen even if you don’t know what to say, I will be there for you.”

When a door slammed shut nearby, you jumped and by reflex tried to step back. The Monk prevented it, he had taken hold of your elbow to keep you near.

The action had you return your attention to him, something in the way that he held on to you now was different.

The serenity that fell between you was new, as if your words had truly tied the bond together for him.

His gaze dropped to where he had placed his hand, slowly his thumb began to brush over it.

You thought of the kiss and how he had not spoken a word of it to you yet.

It was as if it had never happened, but it had…

Perhaps this was his way to preserve the bond between you, to prevent a friendship from being broken by it.

And then…this.

These actions, that look…

It had your head spinning and swimming with questions you did not dare ask.

You still needed him to say that he would first try to talk about it before resorting to self-flagellation “Promise me, Lancelot.”

There was a squeeze of his hand and it began to rub up and down your arm a bit “I will.” he gave a grateful inclination of the head, hand tentatively continuing to caress your arm “I need to get ready…”

They were expected to leave to see the Holy Father soon. And still he appeared very reluctant to start getting the rest of his clothing back on.

And… you did not mind that he was in no rush, seeing him like this was interesting…

You thought of something and bit your lip.

He was watching your expression like a hawk and had noticed.

His hand trembled when he withdrew it.

Before you lost the courage, you reached out and touched his biceps.

No arming doublet could hide his form now.

When you hummed in approval, you saw three things flash by in his eyes.

Confusion, surprise and finally shyness.

Of course you let go right away, letting your thoughts slip into a jest that was a complete truth “That attire sure does hide some of your finest attributes.”

It was as if he could not believe the compliment had actually been spoken out loud.

He had to fish his mind back together, asking for unneeded help to give him time to do so “Uhm…could you hand me my doublet? Please.”

You knew he’d only asked in the hopes that you wouldn’t notice the reddening on his face “Of course I will.”

For a moment you stuck your stained fingers in the bucket of water, rinsing off the blood that had since dried on them.

It was amusing to him “Better not be tainted by it.”

Did he think you cared that it was Fey blood?

With a playful wave of your hand, you scolded “Hush, you. Don’t start.”

His eyes followed you as you went to grab the doublet that was carelessly tossed on the bed.

Out of nowhere, your ankle decided to betray you. You sank to the floor so fast that it left no time to react.

It didn’t even hurt, it just happened.

You were already getting up from the floor when he hooked his arms under yours and helped.

He made you take a seat on the bed, concern evident on his features while guessing “Your ankle?”

With a nod you confirmed it “I didn’t even feel it happen. Is that normal?”

The Monk reassured you “It has happened to me as well, it will get better after a night of sleep. In the meantime, try not to run or balance on it too much.”

It had eased your mind and you let him go ahead and finish getting ready for the journey, meanwhile he let you sit on the bed to give that ankle some rest.

You fumbled with the bandage around your wrist, then the bangle to distract yourself from him dressing himself “Lancelot?”

He hummed while putting the cloak back on.

Asking about his burdens could help proof that you were indeed there to listen “How are things between you and my uncle now?”

The inquiry came unexpected and he thought a while before answering “Not so well. Trouble keeps arising with the mission. There is a constant pressure to keep ahead of the enemy.”

The pressure of the enemy was one thing, but the pressure he was placed under by Father was worse. It was personal.

It was nice to see that he felt comfortable enough to speak his mind “And my uncle is still upset that you interfered when he tried to discipline me.”

It was one of the things that he in fact did not regret “He is. But he did task me to protect you, he did not specify what that included.”

You shook your head at him blatantly making up excuses “If that happens again, don’t step between us. He’ll just take his anger out on you and I don’t want that to happen.”

There was no chance that he would not interfere again “I will not make you a promise that I cannot keep.”

You sighed “Stubborn man.”

A lighthearted chuckle fell, then he turned to remind you “Whilst we travel to the Holy Father, stay in the monastery.”

You smile vanished quickly “When will you return?”

He smirked at the somber tone “By nightfall. Why? Bored when I am not near?”

You arched a brow at him “Who else am I to annoy?”

The quip was unexpected “Ah, you admit it then?”

There were an array of words you wished to say but you bit your tongue and remained civil “You’re a twit.” you stood up from the bed carefully and opened the door “Ready to go?”

The last thing he put on again were the swords “No one is ever ready to visit the Holy Father.”

You snorted a laugh, he looked so reluctant to go “Everything will be fine.”

He stopped next to you “Remember, be careful with your ankle.”

A sweet smile found it’s way to your lips “Be careful with your arm.”

The Monk let you walk out of the room first and followed, shutting the door behind him.

When he saw elder Brother Samuel, he took a few steps back and headed down another hallway, dragging you along.

“What are you doing?” You squeaked.

He hushed you and waited to explain until he was far enough away “I have no interest in discussing the garden with him now, I do not have the time.”

There was more, you could see it “And?”

His hands folded behind him “Goliath ate some things he should not have. Brother Samuel is rather impassioned with what grows around the monastery.”

You pressed further “And?”

Finally he confessed his mistake “I might have left Goliath unsupervised that moment.”

So he was avoiding a scolding, smart.

The snickering was hard to mask, the sarcasm even worse “Well done.”

He send you a look, brow raised “I will speak of it to him later.”

The Monk did not look very enthusiastic at the prospect…

Together you walked for a little while before eventually letting him go do his work.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies

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#weeping monk #weeping monk x you #the weeping monk x reader #theweepingmonk #weepingmonk #lancelot x reader #lancelot #reader x lancelot #lancelot fic #lancelot x you #Cursed Netflix #lancelot cursed #netflix cursed #cursed fic #cursed #cursed weeping monk #weeping monk fanfic #reader x weeping monk

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misscammiedawn · 1 year

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Personal post - I lost an evening to a gray haze caused by my therapist yeeting me into a fire full of tumultuous emotions yesterday and I want to rant about it.

One thing that really annoys me about traditional Talk Therapy is the assumption of a continuity based narrative journey through therapy.

Ups and downs, there's always the path forward. To better.

I have told my therapist, who I require to maintain my alliance with for surgical reasons, that this doesn't work for me and have done the introspection and reading as to why. Yesterday I lost my temper and yelled at them for a good 35 minutes because we have had this conversation 4 times now and it always goes back to Patient Lead Therapy.

The issue, as I see it, is that in any given moment I am **CERTAIN** of my values, beliefs and drives. So when we talk about them in therapy I will engage actively and perform MY SIDE of the therapeutic alliance like a good mentally ill girl. But the issue is, my mood changes, my thoughts and opinions slide and suddenly I am not even concerned about the thing that caught me for 2 months, we're on to a new obsession and emotional permeance doesn't even let me remember what it was I was so proud of or angry about last month. I know I performed the actions, I know I was "writing for a project" or "upset that I hurt a friend's feelings" but I no longer identify with the person going through that and it can be frustrating. Because I liked how I felt when I was writing every day and now I cannot summon that energy or emotion and it makes me feel worthless.

I would hope a therapist who cared and understood the condition would try to find the root of these breakdowns that cause the sense of self and priorities to shift and try to map out ways to either stop it or identify it so we have a better roadmap to understand our condition.

My therapist would focus on the word "worthless" and say "...it makes you feel worthless...?" and we'll spend another $260 talking about my EPHEMERAL AND IN THE MOMENT emotion which is neither the problem nor a roadblock to my life.

It feels like paying $1000 a month for a personal trainer who you expect to hold you accountable for what days you're supposed to work on what body part, what weight is effective for your body type and experience, teach you how to use the equipment and educate you on how these exercises need to be maintained, when to rest, what to avoid eating etc.

And instead you get a person who just spots you and counts your reps. No guidance on what to use, no education on the way the body works, no telling you when working the legs 14 days in a row might yield diminishing returns.

Just someone who will watch you to make sure you don't pin yourself under a weight that's too heavy and will tell you when time's up.

I'm just...

I'm sick of being sick. I'm sick of struggling to tell my PAID PROFESSIONAL that I do not experience continuity of experience in the way a neurotypical person does and LITERALLY AM INCAPABLE OF LEADING THIS PROCESS. I need structure. Accountability. Defense against my brain's gleeful joy at being able to distract a session for 50 minutes to avoid talking about the proper things.

I once saw a seminar on Carl Rogers therapy where the speaker joked "if you get a narcissist then you're set for life, they'll come in week after week happy to just talk about themselves and fill an hour of your schedule." and fuck it haunts me.

On some level, whether it be delusional paranoia, blinding rage or terror-- I think of that when I see my mental health journey ally.

Someone who is satisfied to KEEP me distracted so I keep paying week after week. Which is likely not true, but my horrible goblin brain won't stop whispering it to me and suggesting ways of punishing them for it.

...god I hate mental healthcare so much.

#camden posting #watch me post my trauma in public #bpd #therapy #therapists #actuallybpd

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wolint · 1 month

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BALANCE

Daniel 5:25-27

Balance as a noun is the even distribution of weight to allow someone or something to remain upright and steady, and the obligation to remain fair and impartial in a situation.

As a verb, ‘balance’ means to put something in a steady position so that it does not fall. It is to compare the value of one thing with another.

We all must have balance in our lives, we can’t live life haphazardly without a system and balance of works. It eventually affects our quality of life and performance.

Matthew 6:33 provides guidance on how to incorporate balance into our lives. Otherwise, we may find ourselves prioritizing certain things over others, and not necessarily the right things.

Jesus was on a mission to save the world, the greatest mission in the history of mankind. Yet he took time to attend a wedding and participate in its festivities. We may be tempted to think we should not take time out from our important work for social occasions. But maybe these social occasions are part of our mission. Jesus valued these wedding festivities because they involved people, and Jesus came to be with people.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 demonstrates that healthy living includes doing things at their proper time. Many things in life can’t be put off to a more convenient time. For instance, we can’t wait until our children grow up before trying to train them. Balanced living includes doing what we should be doing when we should be doing it. And that could include joyous times of celebration with others as Jesus showed us.

Are you in shape both physically and spiritually? Today, much emphasis is placed on physical fitness, but spiritual health (Godliness) is even more important. Our physical bodies are susceptible to disease and injury, but faith can sustain us through these tragedies. To train for godliness, we must develop our faith by using our God-given abilities in the service of the church according to 1 Timothy 4:14-16. To maintain good health, we must balance physical activities that strengthen our bodies. Are you developing your spiritual muscles?

God assures us He will give us what we need so we can to do everything he calls us to do. We will find true peace and contentment when we realize we don’t have to do everything all at once—just those things God wants you to do right now.

And these are the things that God will weigh, as seen in our text.”

“TEKEL” in our text means “weighed”, God will weigh us all in the balance and so many will be found wanting! And according to Proverbs 16:11, only the Lord has an accurate scale to weight our works and life.

This means we must strive for balance in self-evaluation, understanding the importance of closely monitoring our lives to ensure our actions are just and equal. We must be on constant guard against falling into sin that can so easily destroy us. Yet we must watch what we believe just as closely. Wrong beliefs can quickly lead us into sin and heresy. We should be on guard against those who would persuade us that how we live is more important than what we believe. We should persevere in both and learn to bring balance to our lives by bringing Jesus into times of pleasure as well as times of work.

Would we be bold like Job to declare as he did in 32:6, “Let God weigh me on the scales of justice, for he knows my integrity. Can we allow God to weigh us in any and every area of our lives? Would He find us wanting, lacking or balanced?

Life is hard, but it must be evenly distributed or balanced, as Psalm 127:2 declares “It is useless to work so hard from early morning until late at night”.

We must learn to balance life before we become unbalanced.

PRAYER: Lord, may I learn to trust you in everything to help me maintain balance and not become unbalanced, and not be found wanting, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT. PRAYER MIN.

#spotify #devotional #christianpost #women's ministry #biblestudy #biblestudy christianpost women's ministry #biblestudy christianpost 'women's ministry #conference #family #prayer meeting

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valorxdrive · 9 months

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She casually refilled her cup with warm tea, taking a moment to take in the aroma. "It is good that you understand." Her eyes darted down to his callused hands. "You are no mage, not in the truest sense. You favor the sword over wand, melee over distance. A long time ago, there was a name we used for such combatants. Spell Blade, Mystic Swordsman, Battle Mage, just to name a few." She paused just before bringing her cup to her lips. "Though in your case, I suppose you prefer Keybearer?" She stood up now, a staff with an Amethyst jewel embedded materializing in hand. "Dear boy, I can teach you to improve your control. However, be wary. There are consequences to honing your magical craft too far. How old do you believe I am?"

Realizing weakness had been one of his greatest strengths. Taking it for what it is, allowing it to mold new potentials anew, by no means did he intend to let his failure settled in the cosmic Mark of Mastery be all for naught. There were simply too many people fixed within his life to bring under such lines of risks. He gives a soft nod to the words, reflecting understanding as those very hands would be drawn into fists.

"...." Stunned once again, his lips slacken, clearly caught by the sheer foresight invested within this Sorceress. Was this actually her first time in encountering ilk? The possibility scratches vividly as his amazement is scarcely hidden on his face. "You had this all figured out from my first steps. I.." Impressive as that is, he'd feel a touch rude if honesty wasn't given a proper two way street.

In some ways it felt good not to hide it. Allowing his hands to briefly raise as he gives a shrug, he relents the point. "And you'd be right on the Munny. Name's Sora, and what you're meeting here is a full on Keyblade wielder."

"You'd really be willing too!?" It was hard to let that excitement be contained within his body. The heart soars and in turn, that joyous energy finds itself elevating beyond the body, invisible to the common eye but to the adept, reveals a shining, fiery case of goal that practically dances around his figure. A heart like his was in a unique stage of growth, the power it's harnessing holding such abundance and freedom, that it hardly knows what to do with itself.

It's open to being refined.

Maybe this need for direction is what allowed his eagerness to be recklessly free. Ophelia's guidance was made by no means of recommendation or approval of his known circle, only by an adventurer's intuition and the seriousness showcased in her figure. The talk of prices however only adds to that lot of a brighter view as it briefly brings him pause, owlishly blinking towards her. "I.. Uh, isn't that usually a little rude for someone to guess or assume..?"

Chewing briefly at the inside of his mouth, the discomfort is swatted briefly for a generous guess.

"You don't look a day beyond your twenties though, so somewhere around there?"

#Anon #| Bottle Mail

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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 3 years

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jester began falling in love with caleb in episode 103.

not any earlier in my opinion, and not later, either.

there's two elements to why i believe e103 is the turning point.

(1) the first is caleb's actions and jester's responses to them during the night they all sleep by the waterfall—his support of her idea to sleep underwater, his conversation with her after her commune with artagan, and his casting of programmed illusion in the dome.

(2) the second is the way her behavior toward caleb pivots around e103. before e103 is a noticeably different beast to how she begins to treat him after e103—the attention she pays him, her efforts to hold more standout interactions with him, and a dramatic swell of emotion and thematic meaning in these scenes’ respective subtext.

the rumblecusp arc is the point in which jester’s character growth, and caleb’s efforts to unconditionally support her, really begin to shine. throughout the complex growing pains that jester and artagan's relationship was experiencing, the one person who truly takes a moment to offer her support without any agenda or judgment is caleb.

(e103, 1:22:55, bold mine)

CALEB: You okay over there?

JESTER: (tearful) Yeah, I'm fine. Just—I'm just drawing.

CALEB: Maybe didn't go as well as you were hoping?

JESTER: Um... In some ways it went better. But no.

CALEB: I can't speak for him. But you do have us.

JESTER: I know.

CALEB: So whatever you land on, Jester, we'll make it happen.

JESTER: (shaky laugh) I have to figure out what I want to land on.

CALEB: That is the, uh—sticky wicket, isn't it?

JESTER: Yeah. Everything's confusing.

CALEB: Maybe... Maybe we sleep on it, it'll make more sense in the morning.

JESTER: Yeah. Yeah. Thank you, Caleb.

CALEB: I didn't do anything.

jester confesses that her commune with artagan didn’t provide the answers she was hoping for—that he knew about the curse on the island—and caleb doesn’t remark on what that seems like. he deliberately avoids speculating on why artagan is doing these things because “he can’t speak for him.” he doesn’t assume anything about what she might choose to do and explicitly leaves that choice up to her. jester vents briefly about how difficult the choice is, and caleb offers her reassurance, a reminder that some time will make things clearer. he doesn’t suggest solutions.

unlike fjord or beau, caleb doesn’t ask her to voice outright whether artagan is being a good friend. he doesn’t continually question his character and imply any personal opinions to her or what he thinks she should do. instead, he asks whether she’s okay. he listens. and he offers unconditional support.

this is consistently the stance caleb takes in the rumblecusp arc. and it’s not discussed much, i think, exactly how monumental that was to jester.

(hold on, this is a long one.)

jester is a young woman who grew up sheltered and wants to define herself outside of that shelter. for her, this campaign has essentially been a coming-of-age journey (talks for e76-77, 14:12). she is deeply sensitive to whether or not she’s respected because she’s aware of how her personality and general lack of experience makes others think she’s naive, immature, or incapable (talks for e79, 31:51).

it’s also incredibly evident that her relationship with artagan is unique. in e105 (1:15:01), jester tells the m9, “he really got me through a lot when i was younger, you know? and he was all i had, really.” he was her best friend from childhood in a home where she spent most of her time hidden in a single room. when she was younger, the few times she left the chateau, she was bullied by other girls (e110, 3:34:59). her best friend, though? her best friend was a god. a god with an incredible sense of humor, an aggrandizing attitude, and adoring respect for a young girl in a difficult situation who had as wonderful a personality as him. in every way that matters, artagan’s friendship undoubtedly saved jester’s life.

and she is so, so aware of this. she cares for him deeply, trusts him unconditionally, and is determined to be there for the one person who had been there for her when no one else was, not even her mother.

the renegotiation of this friendship after artagan revealed his full identity was clearly extraordinarily difficult for jester. she was having to reevaluate her entire relationship with the being that pulled her through a childhood of isolation and misery, question his intentions with her and whether they could even remain friends at all. and this was amidst her arrival at a dangerous island with her other friends to help him clean up his mistakes.

asking her to make a judgment on artagan before she’s ready to do it on her own, while managing some high expectations at the same time—not only is it a lot of pressure, it’s frustrating and painful. jester did not want to judge artagan without giving him his fair due and a proper conversation. knowing that her new friends dislike her old friend, besides being hurt by it, distracted her. she had to both defend him outwardly and interrogate him internally. and if she tried to explain how important artagan is to her, a lot of vulnerability would’ve been necessary when she was trying to be a leader and seem competent and capable, instead of a child who needs patronizing guidance.

this latter point is exceptional. because jester lavorre is so vulnerable when it comes to how much she thinks her loved ones respect her and consider her a valuable, equal, and trustworthy individual. and it’s difficult to feel like you’re being valued and trusted when people are repeatedly questioning you about a person and a relationship that they don’t understand in a way that, despite genuine concern, comes across as them doubting your own judgment of one of the most intimate parts of your life.

in this precise moment in e103, caleb is the only person who acknowledges—to her in person, even—that he doesn't have any place in judging her relationship with artagan. that it’s not what she needs from him or anyone else. that he’s content waiting for her to reach a decision. that he will respect that decision.

and jester can believe him. caleb’s done nothing but remain consistent on this stance. he repeatedly supports her choices to run travelercon, trust artagan, and come to his aid.

when other party members question artagan's legitimacy, caleb is the one who almost always speaks up to support jester (some examples: e61, 30:43 / e77, 49:17 / e95, 1:09:17 and 1:15:24).

he actively and enthusiastically offers his magical talents to her to provide for the event preparations. he has a whole conversation with her in e91 (beginning 1:53:41) where he expresses his immense respect for her and her personality, explicitly validates her faith in artagan, and shows her a tangible example of how he wants to help her during the upcoming travelercon. when she suggests some ideas, despite their arguable silliness, caleb takes them at face value and openly admits his lack of expertise in this area (e91, 1:58:35).

when they first arrive at rumblecusp, he directly reassures jester about the ‘travelercon 3000’ banner she leaves on the wrong beach by mentioning that he can make her a new banner (e101, 48:18). once preparations begin in earnest, caleb expends spells very freely, including ones of higher-level, to produce whatever jester requests.

in e103, he hears out her idea of sleeping underwater and gives it equal consideration in spite of other party members trying to shoot it down. the first time she suggests it (36:23), caduceus comments against it and no other party member acknowledges her except for caleb, who agrees with her quietly while the others move on. the second time jester suggests it (46:08), veth comments against it and caleb steps in to openly agree that it’s a good idea, even after fjord and beau join veth in being dubious.

compare these active, consistent moments of support and validation from caleb to similarly active and consistent examples of the other attitudes that manifest during the rumblecusp arc, in contradiction to people’s apparent claims of trust (one such claim of trust: e95, 1:00:21).

plainly insulting artagan to jester as if it’s a given, such as fjord’s “he’s generally full of shit, right?” (e107, 49:42);

fjord, beau, and caduceus’s conversation about “not ruining jester’s big day,” yet distrusting artagan to the extent of planning to keep her from being alone with him, preparing to attack him should he try to sacrifice 200 people for some speculated unknown ritual and/or hurt jester, and discussing all of this behind jester’s back (e108, beginning 15:41);

caduceus’s said shift to distrust of artagan because of a semi-disturbing conversation that jester was equally a part of (e107, beginning 20:40);

and the discussion right before jester’s commune with artagan where beau questions if artagan sent them to rumblecusp knowing of the memory problems, without regard for their well-being (e103, 29:40).

the unfortunate assumption being made by these party members’ repeated questioning and protectiveness of jester is that she cannot be trusted to have good judgment. despite their familiarity with some of the context of her relationship with artagan (especially after e105), they disregard her repeatedly-expressed support of him. they indirectly disrespect her ability to judge for herself whether someone is dangerous to her or her friends. they don’t acknowledge jester’s own role in creating dubious situations and instead direct all their negative feelings and sense of fault to artagan, minimizing her agency.

the e108 conversation is a dense microcosm of how the party perpetrates these assumptions throughout the rumblecusp arc as a whole. without qualm, they discuss deliberately controlling jester’s time with artagan to ‘protect’ her and their willingness to kill the evil image they’ve constructed of him, and dodge jester directly asking them what they’re talking about—even though it is a known given that the m9 would defend her with their lives with or without any prior discussion. the purpose of holding this conversation isn’t to make sure that jester is safe. like caduceus near-explicitly says, it’s to “feel better knowing” that “anybody else was on board with this” (20:26 and 18:57)—to validate their unacknowledged distrust of jester’s judgment with each other, behind her back.

and as laura has said: jester, with her very high wisdom, tends to know what’s going on even if she acts like she doesn’t (talks for e79, 32:39).

in e103, when jester is crying because she’s found out that artagan did know about the island’s memory problems, caleb doesn’t show any sign of taking this as proof of artagan's ill intent. what he does instead: he offers compassion for her pain with zero judgment. he promises to support her, no matter what she ultimately decides to make of this information. these are offers of safety and trust, ones that jester desperately needed.

then—caleb creates a programmed illusion of the m9’s lives. and it’s beautiful.

in comparison to all the analysis prior, this moment is straightforward. jester is an artist. she paints, draws, and creates, and she loves doing it. moreover, she loves making art for other people. though she doesn’t get many chances to do so, the mural of a flowery meadow that she paints for yasha’s room in the xhorhaus is a perfect example. similarly, she enjoys the art she makes when defacing other people’s property—altered signage or statue of the platinum dragon painted in rainbow—in part because they’re gifts to the traveler. she loves making those she loves happy.

happiness and love to jester is overwhelmingly about emotional intimacy. i’ve talked about this to some degree in a previous post about jester’s jealousy. please refer there for in-depth explanation. in brief, though, she puts value on how deeply she knows a person; how often she’s been able to be there for them. this is the love she learned from her mother and from artagan, and how she continues to love once she’s older.

caleb’s arcane rendition of the m9′s lives floating around the inside of the dome is a display of exactly this kind of love. not only is it art crafted from his magic and imagination and love—it’s blatant evidence of how much he cares for every member of the party and where they’ve come from. he remembers their stories and hangs them in the air in hopes that it’ll help them resist the memory erasing. he moves the memory of yasha and zuala in a meadow over to yasha’s pillow-side so she can watch it until she falls asleep. he creates a memory for vilya of her, her husband, and her daughter, listening to and respecting the emotional gravity of what she’s confiding in them.

only a few minutes after jester’s disappointing commune with artagan and her conversation with caleb, she walks into the dome and sees this art. she laughs and stares in wonder at all the memories (e103, 1:46:08). when beau points out the humorous memories of fjord being attacked by turtles so they can all laugh, she tells caleb with equal awe and joy, “wow. this is amazing, caleb” (e103, 1:47:04).

...of course, as lovely and meaningful as these back-to-back moments were for jester, it's not quite evidence of her starting to fall in love with caleb around this time.

that’s where the following episodes come in.

[id: three screenshots of messages sent in a discord channel by the user “prim” (the op). all are timestamped to friday, august 28, 2020, the day after the live premiere of e107. the first has an additional timestamp of 12:53 PM, the second 1:03 PM, and the third 1:30 PM. they read:

honest to god though i don't know if it's just the shipper brain that is making me think laura is trying to roleplay jester beginning to reciprocate caleb's feelings [...]

like........ the golden dick hunt teasing is definitely on par with jester's past shenanigans, but the compliments have been Catching My Attention bc it's honestly not normal for jester to compliment caleb of her own volition like that, just as a one-on-one "i appreciate you" reassurance

and i'm thinking less about the spells from last night's episode (although how much jester was emphasizing the compliments made me go "awwwww") and more of the moments like jester telling caleb "that was impressive" after getting cad out of the tunnel with beau's help

but laura is absolutely a shipping troll with jester this campaign so i'm here like "I'M MAYBE 80% SURE I'M BEING FUCKED WITH BUT IT MAYBE HOLDS UP????" [...]

basically laura keeps doing things that make the alarm in my brain go off and i don't know if i'm picking up something legit or if i'm projecting my hopes, like the recent pattern of compliments from jester LOL

/end id.]

i’m not going to lie, if i try to list every single receipt like i otherwise prefer to do in these metas, i think we (and especially i) would all lose our minds. so while i’m about to provide a lot of citations, they genuinely are just a few possible examples that will mostly be within the dozen episodes after e103.

the more important detail that can be observed from this is that e103 is a turning point.

prior to e103, jester does not particularly go out of her way to interact with caleb. by and large, most of their direct interactions are either initiated by caleb or prompted by the context of a general party conversation. the majority of other moments that could be referred to as ‘widojest’ are of caleb’s evident feelings. beyond early campaign days, jester rarely teases caleb about sexual topics while insinuating things about her own sexual life at the same time.

after e103, laura and jester begin to go out of their way to interact with and intertwine jester’s time with caleb.

the rate of jester’s compliments and enthusiastic gratitude to caleb skyrocket (some examples: e104, 30:36 / e107, 16:49 and 1:11:28 and 1:12:15 and 3:10:39 / e110, 15:58 and 3:37:24 / e111, 36:15 and 38:41 and 50:58);

several mature jokes/flirtations she makes involve both caleb and herself (examples: e107, 1:16:17 / e110, 1:18:07 / e115, 1:52:53);

she deliberately and specifically engages caleb in full-blown interactions, such as the conversations during the tour of her childhood bedroom (e110, beginning 1:11:38), hanging out with him on the icebreaker ship (e112, beginning 3:45:29), and the reading of der katzenprinz (e115, beginning 1:52:43);

as well as the expansion of more extended ‘conversations’ like their motif of dancing (e108, 13:39 / e109, 2:54:14), their parental relationships (e110, 20:44 and 3:38:41 / e115′s der katzenprinz / e121, beginning 1:52:12), and polymorph shenanigans (examples: e107, beginning 2:58:41 / e117, beginning 1:13:55 / e118, 43:57).

thrown in are additional background details that further tie jester to caleb, such as her determination to recover caleb’s amulet after their defeat of vokodo (e106, 25:33), the knowing comments on his purchasing of paper (e109, 22:32 / e111, 1:25:49), her deliberate choice to ride whaleb during the avantika chase (e113, 2:32:28), her retrieval of caleb’s coat when he’s attempting to remove the necromantic emerald (e115, 1:30:56), and her deliberate reference to der katzenprinz to iver (e120, 3:05:14);

and simply everything about the tower. it’s another example of the art and creativity caleb produces with his magic to make his loved ones happy, which jester acknowledges at least twice (refer to the e111 compliments). contrarily, jester also makes note of the signs that this tower shows less love to caleb than she thinks he deserves, in keeping with her value of emotional intimacy (e115’s der katzenprinz / e122’s floor 8, room 1).

the reading of der katzenprinz in e115 is arguably the pinnacle of these examples. it’s intentionally initiated by jester. she both takes the step to visit caleb's room and indirectly requests him to read the story to her. laura’s implication that she remembered this subplot because of beau’s reading of a very romantic letter from yasha is particularly suggestive. the story itself incorporates many similar characters and themes that are present in jester’s backstory: the lonely, sheltered boy and his single working mom as jester and marion; the dubious cat prince who ultimately gives the boy freedom and confidence as artagan; and the deep love between the boy and his mother because of how they only have each other, which compels a powerful being to have compassion and thus set the boy free so that they can be together. very similar to both jester’s depth of relationship with her mother and her pleas on artagan’s behalf to the moonweaver’s celestial servant.

and the post-story conversation—caleb’s confiding of its importance to him because of his mother. jester’s open willingness to compare the cat prince to artagan, knowing that caleb respects their friendship and has treated artagan fairly. jester’s lingering, repeated looks toward caleb while smiling and holding her copy of der katzenprinz to her heart.

with all this dramatic expansion of the emotional and thematic intimacy between jester and caleb beginning to roll down the hill after e103—in brilliant contrast to their more muted, less reciprocal dynamic before this episode—e103 is more than likely the turning point of jester’s feelings. and based on the events and context, it was caused by the combined emotional appeal of caleb’s offer of unconditional support and his display of love for his family in the programmed illusion of memories.

#cr #critical role #cr meta #widojest #jester lavorre #caleb widogast #by popular demand #inb4 the wrap-up #prim post #prim says some things #readmore #long post

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warcraft-lore-archives · 3 years

Text

The Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth Lore Facts

Editor’s Note: “Some of the tales you’ll encounter here may be rooted in canon, or they may be another traveler just telling a tall tale.”

Eyes of the Earth Mother

Though the Earth Mother heard the whispers of the Old Gods, she could not be swayed by them (13).

Pregnant, the Earth Mother sought a place away from the Old Gods’ corruptive influence to give birth to her children. Unable to find such a place, however, she decided to shape the world and, in doing so, create her own safe haven (14).

All of Azeroth’s lands, waters, and even the elements themselves came forth at this moment. They were suffused with enough of the Earth Mother’s essence so soon after their inception that they kept the Old Gods’ powers at bay (14).

The Earth Mother gave birth to twins: first An’she, a beacon of life and warmth, then came Mu’sha, who was to bring rest, tranquility, and healing. The elements called them the “sun” and the “moon” (15).

Eventually, both An’she and Mu’sha developed connections with the elements. An’she found himself able to wield the light and warmth of fire while Mu’sha maintained some control over the tides and winds (15-16).

The twins even went so far as to use the elements to create weapons to spar with. Mu’sha opted for a bow and arrow, whereas An’she’s weapon of choice was a set of blades (16).

To keep her children safe from the Old Gods’ ever-present influence while she slept, the Earth Mother took both An’she and Mu’sha up into her eyes. Their power was so great that she had to keep one eye open at all times (16).

This, however, meant that Azeroth no longer received An’she’s warmth or Mu’sha’s guidance of the wind while the Earth Mother rested. Cold slowly spread across the land and blizzards raged until she finally woke again (18).

The Earth Mother’s cycle between periods of sleep and awakening would come to form the basis of the seasons as we know them, with her time of work the summer and her time of rest the winter (18).

As the twins grew in power, they developed the ability to bring on the change of seasons at will, though they took care to do it slowly and give the world time to adjust. As the Earth Mother rested, An’she and Mu’sha continued to tend to Azeroth from behind her eyes (19).

After waking at one point, the Earth Mother found that there was new life walking the earth. Plucking wheat from the plains to sprinkle over them, the Earth Mother called them “Shu’halo,” - the tauren (19).

Just as the Earth Mother taught her children, both An’she and Mu’sha taught the Shu’halo in the ways of the elements and caring for the land (20).

When the Earth Mother next slept, however, the Old Gods extended their influence to the tauren, causing them to grow violent and turn on their own kind (20).

Saddened to see the tauren fall to such corruption, the Earth Mother shed a single tear. She realized that the land was no longer able to hold the Old Gods’ power at bay, meaning anything it touched could be corrupted (21).

Knowing that she was not safe for her children anymore because of her own connection to the land, the Earth Mother removed An’she and Mu’sha from her eyes and laid down in despair (21-22).

The single tear that the Earth Mother had shed became a blue baby, later named “Lo’sho,” or the Blue Child (22, 24).

Seeking to put an end to the Old Gods after what they had done to the tauren and the despair they instilled in their mother, An’she and Mu’sha fought against some of the eldritch beings’ manifestations. During the battle, An’she was wounded grievously. Though Mu’sha sought to heal him with wind and water, he continued to bleed (24).

The Earth Mother, stirred by her distant children’s dismay, eventually found her way to them. She urged them to take Lo’sho and go to the heavens so they could protect Azeroth from above, while the Earth Mother chose to root herself in the earth and prevent the Old Gods from ever claiming her children (26-27).

Mu’sha, the moon, continues to follow An’she closely across the sky so she can keep tending to his wounds (26).

One Small Tuskarr

The tuskarr etch their clan and family symbols into their tusks. Though this is customary, some do engrave other symbols - such as marks indicating deeds of great distinction - into their tusks as well (32, 36).

The catch master, who weighs the tuskarr’s catches, has a counting staff adorned with cords in the colors of each of the clan’s active fishermen. In accordance with how big a tuskarr’s haul of fish is, the catch master ties a single knot or more into their respective cord. These knots can be traded for tools, weapons, and coins, among other things (32-33).

A single knot is customary for those who meet basic requirements, while additional knots are allotted to those who catch more (33).

One can also earn knots from other tasks, such as fine embroidery, though they do so at a much slower rate than those who fish (38).

Food is shared equally among the tuskarr (33).

The tuskarr perform nomadic journeys that take them to various kalu’ak towns. While the fishers take their own boats, most of the mothers, adolescents, and children trek across the ice (34).

Fishing practices are passed down from parent to child. Though it is unclear if that is “law,” some of the tuskarr refuse to teach others to fish if they are not their own blood, going so far as to withhold information about the currents and places fish gather (36).

Tuskarr sometimes dye their moustaches (36).

It never gets fully dark in Northrend (38).

Oacha’noa is the tuskarr’s deity of both the sea and wisdom. Her symbol is that of a kraken (39).

The spearhead on most tuskarr weapons is made of sharpened bone (42).

A type of manta ray known as the stargazer can be found in Northrend’s waters (44).

The tuskarr can survive in water so cold it would kill other races native to Azeroth in mere minutes (45).

The tuskarr typically fly kites for fun, though they have been known to use them to send signals to others at great distances (48).

Lay Down My Bones

According to Vulpera beliefs, the first of their kind was born from the magic of the desert. Though they are a nomadic people, an old tale about an artifact called the Wailing Bone claims the desert calls their bodies back to where they began when they die. To ensure they find their way back, the vulpera follow the Wailing Bone (55-56).

Once one of their own has passed, it is customary for the next of kin to carry the bone at the head of the caravan while the vulpera wander in search of the proper place to bury them. The journey may take anywhere from days to weeks, but when the Wailing Bone begins to cry, the vulpera know they have found their loved one’s final resting place (56, 61).

A poem is carved into the Wailing Bone: “Wander, roam; bring me home, / Down paths at my behest; / Among the stones, lay down my bones, / So I, at last, may rest”. Few can read the script it is written in, but most all vulpera can recite it from heart (54).

Two vulpera, frustrated at their inability to find their elder’s final resting place, neglected their duty and left his corpse in a river in the hopes that it would bring him there for them. Refusing to obey the Wailing Bone caused it to crack. From that night on, the vulpera of the caravan found themselves cursed for failing to heed the Wailing Bone (62, 65).

Cracking under the pressure of the curse, the two negligent vulpera ultimately died gruesome deaths at each other’s hands. One of their bones was made into the next Wailing Bone (65).

A caravan always needs a Wailing Bone (65).

The Uninvited Guest

One goblin adage goes like so: “Every great goblin invention was born from necessity, bubble gum, or an accident” (69).

The goblins have a nursery rhyme: “In the dark of night and bright of day, / Keep in your hand a tossaway. / Guard your fortune, mind your greed, / Or else the Uninvited Guest will feed” (70).

The Uninvited Guest is a goblin boogeyman of sorts who is attracted by greed so egregious it offends even the dead. It is incorporeal, invisible, and has the ability to move through walls (76).

The Uninvited Guest feeds off of greed, but it can never be satisfied. It will latch onto its host like an invisible parasite to feed, inciting strange charitable behavior in them until they have given away all of their earthly possessions (76-79).

A “tossaway” is a shiny gold-painted coin stamped with the face of the very first trade prince. These fake coins get their name from the way goblins quite literally toss them away in a symbolically superstitious act to protect themselves and their fortunes from the Uninvited Guest (70, 74).

Tossaways were invented by Slixi Boompowder, the wife of one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel, after her own run-in with the Uninvited Guest. She only escaped from it because she distracted it with actual gold galleons, which inspired her to create the tossaways (83).

Legend has it that the Uninvited Guest still roams Azeroth to this day, looking to feed off of hapless greedy goblins (84).

Klaxz Boompowder was one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel. His rival was Rikter Hogsnozzle, the trade prince of the Bilgewater Cartel (70-71).

Tradition dictates that goblins are buried with their most valuable possessions so they can enjoy them at the Everlasting Party, the goblin afterlife. They are then given burial gifts by other goblins from their own riches, though most goblins are too greedy to truly part with anything important (73).

Once the coffin is sealed, goblins dance on top of it to usher the deceased on to the Everlasting Party (75).

Prominent goblins typically serve as pallbearers while goblins contractually obligated to serve as pack mules carry the rear (75).

The goblins used to employ golden galleons as their form of currency, but it fell out of fashion. Nowadays, they are incredibly rare and expensive (74-75).

Trolls have a tale about an invisible evil that sucks the souls from living beings and leaves them mad. It can only be seen in the light of a full moon (80).

Sister is Another Word For Always

Vereesa felt Sylvanas’ death at the hands of Arthas the moment it happened (89-90).

Sylvanas’ eyes were gray as a high elf (91).

In the midst of her sorrow at her sister’s death, Vereesa sought many escapes. At first she tried to sleep, but when rest and forgetfulness would not come, she embarked on a journey across deserts and forests with little in the way of proper food or nourishment except that which she found (90, 93).

It is very possible Vereesa perished at some point on this journey, for she came across a spirit healer, though she was told it was not yet her time. The spirit healer offered Vereesa a deal: if she could bring her the willing soul of Sylvanas without ever touching her, the spirit healer would restore her to life (96-97).

When Sylvanas first died at the hands of Arthas, it seems as though the Arbiter sent her to Ardenweald (98-99).

After she struggles to locate her sister in Ardenweald, Vereesa is inadvertently pulled into the Maw. There, she still has difficulty finding her, and is told by the Jailer that Sylvanas is not there - at least, not yet. He then urges her to leave, telling her she does not belong there (99, 102-103).

Eventually, Vereesa spots a silver glimmer she knows to be Sylvanas, though it is only a fragment of her soul (103-104).

Before she can escape with the soul of her sister, the Jailer stops Vereesa and inadvertently tricks her into touching Sylvanas, rendering her deal with the spirit healer null and void (106).

At the end of this journey, Vereesa awakes at the foot of a statue, her memory of the experience hazy (109).

The Paladin’s Beast

Uther is originally from Stratholme (117).

Introduced as a fable beloved by the princelings and princesses of Lordaeron, the Paladin’s Beast is a tale that follows a young Uther as he finds himself in a mysterious and unfamiliar land. Determined to prove himself and bring back a prize to his fellow paladins, Uther joins a tournament put on by a foreign kingdom despite the protests of its princess. Though he is a strong warrior, she insists the beast of the tournament kills every knight who challenges it. Still, Uther refuses to back down, confident that his faith in the Light will give him the strength he needs to prevail. However, the princess’ words hold true, as every knight who goes to fight the beast before him perishes. When it is his turn, Uther decides to stay his hammer rather than fight, remembering the princess’ words. The beast withdraws, defeated by his act of compassion. It is revealed afterward as Uther goes for his prize that the princess actually was the beast all along, cursed to fight in the tournament for disobeying her father and breaking the royal lineage. She casts a spell on Uther, making it so that when he returns to Lordaeron, he will not remember anything of who she was or his experience there until the day he finds himself in a fiery field. Though the fable ends there, it is said that Uther dreamt of the silver kingdom and its princess for many years to come. It was not until his final moments, trying to fell a beast with weapons rather than compassion, that he would fully remember the princess and her story (111-127).

For Lies and Liberty

Most undead do not get all of their memories back immediately once they are raised (or given free will). It takes time and encouragement (133-134).

On the long-standing issue of whether or not undead have ichor or blood running through their veins, it appears one Jeremiah Pall still has blood in his body, though it has stopped moving on account of his still heart (134).

The story of the “Fearless Flyer” - a man known as Captain Whitney - is famous among some of the Alliance forces. According to the man himself, Whitney and his outfit had been fighting orcs for months to no avail when he hatched a bold plan to launch himself by catapult into their camp and take them by surprise, hence the nickname the “Fearless Flyer”. This story, unfortunately, turned out to be nothing but hyperbole. As it stands, a drunk Whitney accidentally got tangled up in nets, fell in the catapult, and was unceremoniously flung into the orcish camp. Believing themselves to be under attack, the orcs retaliated and killed most of the unsuspecting humans while Captain Whitney hid (136, 142).

Stones, Moss, and Tears

Though female elves traditionally mark their faces after they have achieved a rite of passage, they can continue to add embellishments to commemorate any further deeds (155).

At least one kaldorei lorekeeper was charged with knowing the name of every Sentinel and recording details of their more noteworthy battles (156).

The Bloomblade druids were one of the oldest, unbroken lines of night elf druids (158).

A species of insect known as glowmoths migrate through Mount Hyjal every autumn (164).

The Embrace

The White Lady and the Sun were charged with keeping watch over Azeroth as it dreamed (171, 176).

Though she loved the people of Azeroth dearly, the White Lady found herself growing lonely and in want of a family (173).

The moon cycles are thought to be the White Lady turning away and hiding her face in her sorrow, though she would always look back upon Azeroth to watch over it (174).

It is said that the White Lady loved Azeroth and its denizens so much that a child - the Blue Child - was born of that love (174-175).

The Blue Child, ever curious, began asking the White Lady questions about the mortals that weighed on her heart, as she could not answer (176).

One night the White Lady woke up to find the Blue Child gone. Unable to find her, she swore off her charge until the Blue Child was returned to her (177-178).

Without her guidance, the planet sped up and the tides ceased. The White Lady was only convinced to return to her duty after the Sun urged her, telling her the Blue Child might return if she had the moonlight to guide her (178).

The White Lady began to glow even more brightly over time in the hopes that her child would see, her light quickly growing to rival that of the Sun’s. This, too, caused problems, for crops burned and navigators could not see the stars to travel by (179).

Upon seeing the terrible effect this was having on Azeroth’s denizens, the White Lady dimmed her light and retreated (181).

The Blue Child ultimately returned from her long travels to her mother. They embraced in the sky, creating a beautiful eclipse (182).

Ever curious, the Blue Child was bound to grow restless again and leave for the stars, but the White Lady knew she would always return (183).

When the moon turns red, it is a sign of her anger (177).

Why the Mermaids Left Boralus

Back when Kul Tiras was still a Gilnean colony, Boralus had hardly any walls or structures protecting it from the wind or sea. More often than not, when the Great Sea churned at the city’s edge, it took houses, ships, and even men down into its depths. So many would drown in these incidents that those remaining covered them with weighted nets, causing them to sink to the seafloor (187-188, 190).

Many of the roads out of Boralus flooded during great storms, making it deadly to try to leave the city on foot or by ship (198).

The Kul Tirans declined to build a seawall for fear that it would have done nothing and also because repairing it after a storm would have been just as dangerous as the storms themselves (188).

Most of Boralus’ early inhabitants were seamen of some sort, whether fishers, sea priests, sailors, or pearl-divers (188).

During storms, the tidesages would act as a makeshift seawall and use their power to cut the waves before they made it deeper into the harbor (199).

Mermaids appeared quite openly near Boralus in its early days. Though they lived much deeper than most could naturally dive, they liked to sit on the rocks and watch ships go by, among other things. Most lived in temples beneath the sea that belonged to Kul Tiras’ former inhabitants (189, 191).

According to superstition, sighting a mermaid was bad luck and presaged many inauspicious things including a doomed voyage, a brutal winter, and poor fishing. They were also seen as the harbingers of storms (189-190).

Tidesages were (and still are) always the first and last to disembark from a ship. As a result, they usually went down with their ships (191).

The tidesages’ unrivaled dedication, combined with the frequency of drownings and shipwrecks, often meant they died young (191).

Mermaids are spawned from eggs and leave no corpses when they die (191, 203).

The mermaids had very little understanding of the Kul Tirans’ mistrust towards them (191).

Mermaids have some power over the rocks and water - granted to them by the Tidemother from birth -, but they use it sparingly because it is finite. Once a mermaid runs out of magic, they die. As a result, mermaids can live up to five hundred years (192).

Mermaids consider sirens lazy and murlocs deplorable (192).

According to legend, the bubble seaweed in Boralus Harbor is actually discarded pearls. A mermaid by the name of Halia fell in love with a tidesage and kept secretly gifting them to her as a token of her affection. The tidesage, Ery, was far too pragmatic for such a gift and dumped the pearls back in the water every time (195).

The mermaids believe that the Tidemother will give tails to those who slit their feet from toes to heels and walk into the harbor at dawn (197).

According to legend, Boralus’ great stone seawall was formed through the combined efforts of dozens of mermaids and one lone tidesage. A virulent tempest had come upon Boralus one day, taking men and ships alike with it. Though the city’s tidesages gathered to push back the waves, all but one were lost to the storm over the course of five long days. The last remaining tidesage, Ery, persisted despite her exhaustion while the mermaid Halia, too afraid to watch her lover perish, began using her own magic to craft a seawall. Though the storm repeatedly broke it down, her fellow mermaids joined her, ultimately expending their magic and sacrificing themselves to raise a wall so grand it towered over even the mightiest of ships and waves. Ery herself nearly died after this, though Halia saved her by invoking the Tidemother. She cut Ery’s feet from toes to heels and dragged her into the harbor, performing the ritual necessary for her transformation into a mermaid (198-203).

All but one of the mermaids - Ery notwithstanding - perished to save Boralus, which is why none are seen there today (204-205).

As a result, the sailors of Boralus now see mermaids as a symbol of the highest honor, good luck, and sacrifice (205).

During calm sunsets when the red of the sky is reflected in the harbor, sailors refer to it as “Ery’s blood,” after the tidesage who fought the storm so valiantly. Ery’s blood is a sign of good weather to come (205).

The Courageous Kobold and the Wickless Candle

Kobolds tell a sleep-time story (209).

Kobold families live together in caves. They have their own nests, but congregate in common areas for stories, among other things (210).

Some time ago, the Whiskersnoot kobold tunnels crumbled, submerging the Whiskersnoots in total darkness. They lived like that for generations, having decided it was no longer safe to dig higher after the cave-in. This spawned a saying: “Never pick above your snout, else the darkness snuff you out!” (210-211).

Granny Whiskersnoot, however, dug just a little bit upward every day until one day she broke through to a light above. She intended to lead the other kobolds to it, but could never find her way back through the tunnels again. It wasn’t until her granddaughter persisted in finding it that they made their way back above ground (211, 222).

The kobolds think of the sun as a “Wickless Candle” (211).

Visage Day

On a dragon’s Visage Day, they choose what mortal form they will take. This is significant, as it shows the Aspects trust them to adopt the guise of one of the mortal races and walk among them. It is the dragons’ hope that through choosing a form to embody and relate to mortals, the more mortals can understand dragons in turn (228, 234).

Onyxia, on the other hand, maintains dragons choose visages that allow them to control the mortals (241).

In accordance with tradition, the Visage Day ceremony occurs on the uppermost level of Wyrmrest Temple. Each of the Aspects are usually present for members of their own dragonflight, though Alexstrasza herself has been known to officiate on occasion. It is also customary for each flight to send emissaries (243).

During the ceremony, all attendant dragons take their own mortal forms in honor of the dragon whose Visage Day it is (245).

Before they publicly choose their form, the dragon in question traditionally makes a proclamation (245).

The Visage Day ceremony can be delayed (244).

Nozdormu has helped many bronze dragons prepare for their own Visage Day (230).

When Nozdormu sits in the sands at the heart of the Bronze Dragonshine, intricate patterns form around him (233).

Both Kalecgos and Chromie performed a short incantation to assume their mortal forms, though Nozdormu did not appear to need to (234, 236, 246).

Kalecgos says that he chose a half-elf form - which he calls a “blend of mortal worlds” - in order to symbolize his own attempt to blend together the dragon and human worlds (237).

Onyxia, on the other hand, opted to take the form of a beautiful human woman to better manipulate mortals (241).

The dragons often go by nicknames in their mortal forms because they find their full names sound too formal to humans (238).

The drakonid were fashioned by the dragons to be helpful and loyal (238).

The black dragonflight practices how best to inflict pain (239).

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shoichee · 3 years

Note

ALSO CAN I ASK FOR SOME RANDOM GOM HCS U HAVE? like just random ones u have or if u want like some toxic hcs abt them :D

I’m assuming that I can include their negative traits of their personalities as well 👀 Also including Momoi in this… lots of analyzing for this hc, so I used my brain here pls appreciate AGAIN these are all headcanons/interpretations of possible toxic hcs about them and only a few are canon

[Headcanons]

Kuroko Tetsuya

Kuroko is the hardest person to find a “negative/toxic” trait in, and it doesn’t seem like he has any

kind, understanding, hardworking, and compassionate; he’s everything a good-natured protagonist is

but he’s only like this to people/hobbies he cares about/close with; anything else he’s quite apathetic and also very passive/neutral about

the biggest hint to this is when Akashi criticizes Kuroko for cherry-picking who the GoMs should “go all out against” and who to casually toy with

and Akashi is absolutely correct

most of the series is portrayed through Kuroko’s perspective, and Akashi is the first direct outside perspective who comments on his actions/attitude

it’s obviously not that Kuroko didn’t “notice”... he clearly sees and knows what these GoMs are doing; after all, he had a conversation with Aomine about how observant he is to everything around him

of course, if you were close to him, all your opinions and issues matter to him

it’s the fact that what’s not really important to him is suddenly now important just because someone he knows is involved

just an example: if someone was advocating climate change, he has no opinion on it until someone he knows cares about the issue

in other words, he has a subtle hypocritical view on things, especially when he interacts with others

another clear negative trait could be that he’s too idealistic or perhaps naive, seeing things in a clear black-or-white picture and not necessarily a gray area

WE know, as an audience, that the GoMs honestly needed therapy and a proper adult to guide their out-of-control talents

but Kuroko, in his eyes, had viewed them as “bad” and “evil” in their ways of basketball until they changed after their respective matches

he’s probably someone who doesn’t yield to other opinions once he forms his own, and this may make him unable to consider things in other people’s perspectives

which is again, ironic: someone who doesn’t have generally a strong stance but once they do, it’s very unyielding, which further proves Akashi’s comment about Kuroko’s tendency to nitpick which to care about

a final hc about a potential flaw he might have here in a different ask!

Kise Ryota

y’all… it’s as canon as day that he has a mean side

straight from the author himself, it’s confirmed that Kise is only kind to those who he respects, and to the rest, he’s cold-hearted

in the manga, it’s very clear that he’s super judgmental on every first impression on people he meets, boxing them into categories based on the way they look, act, and speak

only when they surpass his preset expectations (low or high depends on his preliminary judgments of them) is when he opens his mind to the rest of their personality

this is a very close-minded way of thinking, and I hope I don’t need to explain why LOL

this can be interpreted as him being two-faced by the majority of the people in his school

his way of speaking can definitely be very cruel and crass, and to sensitive people, his words can easily shatter hearts

Kise’s negative/toxic traits are pretty straightforward here, so let’s move on

Midorima Shintarou

his harsh words can be considered a “negative” part of his personality, but I think it’s a lot more than just that

it’s confirmed in the series that he’s a bystander and almost always minds his own business

on one hand, one can say he’s self-driven and that he constantly strives for self-improvement

on the other, it can be interpreted as him being very dangerously ambitious and selfish, in which most actions he takes are for the sole reason of self-improvement and not for altruistic reasons

for example, when he helped Kuroko and Kagami in the training camp, it was under the reasoning that them becoming stronger would be a good challenge for himself to test and learn

that’s not to say that he can’t have friends, but most friendships he’s built are with capable people who can potentially provide him with some new beneficial skill/goal to strive towards

after all, he’s only learned to trust Takao as a friend only after seeing him as someone capable

because he’s so focused on himself, he’s extremely likely to turn a blind eye to injustice, most also likely to use Oha Asa to justify their “misfortunes” as he continues on his day

he’s not cold-hearted, but altruism comes by Midorima a lot rarer than the average person

now, we know that his Oha Asa aspect is used to balance his serious side as the “comedic side” of him, but if we really think about it, his obsessions with the horoscopes could be a huge obstacle in the future, where he may refuse to listen/depend on others in favor of his own intuition and the stars; after all, no one knows everything, and depending on the stars as one’s next source of advice and guidance isn’t a sound decision to commit themselves to

he seems like the person who overthinks and jumps to conclusions when it comes to social situations, but instead of confronting the person, he turns to fate and fortune if Takao isn’t near to help

Aomine Daiki

I wouldn’t be surprised if Aomine had a skewed sense of beauty standards from all those magazines he consumed and from being around Momoi for the majority of his life

of course anyone can distinguish pieces of media from reality, but during the most impressionable years of life, without experiencing other types of people and physiques, he would have limited knowledge on what “beauty” is and whatnot

this probably would be more of a problem in his adolescence than adult

a very given negative trait is his short temper plus his tendency to turn to physical violence when someone nags him to a certain point, seen with how he’s treated Wakamatsu in the beginning (though this seems to almost disappear by the end of the series)

what I’ve noticed in every scene he’s in, is that everything seems to revolve around him and his hobbies of basketball and Japanese idols

what I mean is that everytime we see Aomine, it’s always Momoi approaching to Aomine or just him always being the center of attention; never once has he approached Momoi for anything and it’s always been the other way around

in other words, people have to cater to him in order to get along with him/be in good graces (additional example: Imayoshi letting him do as he pleases to get him to be cooperative and participate in the games)

we’ve actually never seen Momoi’s hobbies outside of being a manager for her basketball teams and just anything basketball-related

he can be quite apathetic, choosing to only pay attention and try in things he’s interested in… which is basketball and those magazines

he seems to mature in the Last Game though, so I’m not quite sure to what extent these headcanons would apply to older Aomine (these also don’t really apply to Puremine)

Momoi Satsuki

the author probably also included this type of anime trope as comedy, but belittling another female for her body is definitely a no-go in reality; I feel like this is something most people gloss over really lightly

her body comments on Riko are actually what made me skeptical of her character at first before the show really shows her entire personality

that being said, it seems that she always takes the opportunity to look down on other girls (especially to those she is a stranger to) as a sort of “competition” when there’s boys around

definitely at certain moments, she screams a “pick-me girl” type of person (real phenomenon, you can search this up!)

while Kuroko doesn’t seem to actively mind this, I think she also has no good sense of boundaries and what’s considered appropriate touch and consent; people can chalk this up to “oh it’s just infatuation,” but this definitely isn’t okay if we really think about this

her life also seems to revolve around either Aomine or Kuroko, and based from that, I’d feel like she’d have a difficult time forming her own identity/life separate from her “manager life,” especially once she graduates from Touou

can definitely be interpreted as too clingy at certain moments, while others may think it’s her way of showing that she cares

Murasakibara Atsushi

most people would chalk up Murasakibara as “lazy,” and on the surface level, it does appear to look that way…

I think his true negative trait is that he has a lack of intrinsic motivations to drive him to do things

it’s different from being lazy; someone can be lazy while still having a goal, and certainly someone can be lazy while they’re motivated by thoughts of “I want to learn more,” “I want to get stronger,” etc. (you guys, it’s me right now in college)

and he doesn’t have that

part of this was contributed to the fact that he’s already so gifted with genetics and thus, there’s never been a goal for him to have to work towards to when he’s already at the top

he doesn’t actively seek out, and while that may be a characteristic of sloth, it’s not exactly right either

he willingly does things if people around him give him the motivations/reasons to do so; a person of sloth wouldn’t do anything even with all the motivations and goals handed right to their face

snacks/food are examples of extrinsic motivations that fuel him to carry on daily life

Himuro is always the main motivator for Murasakibara to come out and watch matches, and he also does whatever Akashi orders in both Teiko and present days // a person who can give the giant the motivation to do tasks would get along with him the most

searching out for a challenge against his basketball skills is something that’s never crossed his mind

why? he grew to be like the way he is because of the lack of results from his “search” of a challenge throughout his games

again, it’s only when Murasakibara gets handed a silver-platter of a challenge, Jason Silver, that actively gets him pumped up and raring to go

as such, Murasakibara is equivalent to a rusty machine, extremely difficult to start up and find compatibility with, but very powerful and efficient once he finds that spark

Murasakibara finding any partner or friend in the future would be extremely difficult because he ticks a different tune from the rest

Akashi Seijuro

his entire Bokushi side was a giant-ass red flag for very obvious reasons LOL anyways, moving on…

it’s difficult to pinpoint a negative characteristic for Oreshi because he’s the pinnacle of a gentleman character… but that technically is also his negative trait

for him to maintain that perfect image for himself and others, he has always carried himself in such a way that doesn’t allow for errors or expressions of “weakness”

thus, bottling up his frustrations and emotions to the point of no return is something very familiar to Akashi, and I’d feel like Bokushi is the result of his overflowing emotions left unchecked in the first place

I also predict that if Akashi continues to carry himself without letting himself wind down and feel emotions on the spot rather than locking it up inside him, a day will come when he splits into two halves again with a “new” Bokushi to deal with his current life (and let the current Oreshi take a backseat in his psyche to take a break from the turmoil)

also will tend to overwork himself to manage people’s expectations as well as his own, and he’s not one to depend on people not because he sees them as inferior or incapable, but because he’s doing this out of habit from being in positions of authority and responsibility for much of his life

and so, he may tend to hide important things or just not speak about his problems in general to those close to him because he feels like he can do it all himself and spare everyone the work and stress associated with them (a leader mentality)

throughout the majority of his life being calm and calculated, his emotions would definitely escape from him in forms of uncontrollable lashes of anger… before he would realize what he’s done… that is, assuming that another Bokushi hasn’t form within his subconscious yet

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paradife-loft · 3 years

Note

three sentences of jiang cheng and jin guangyao's co-parenting adventures :)

(“three sentences”. yeah, well, there sure are three sentences here. and then a bunch more sentences. I guess you could consider the extra sentences like interest for the wait time? :’D I don’t know what I’m doing with myself any more. oh well, I hope the disaster grape pov is enjoyable (’:)

-----

Even though it would’ve been perfectly acceptable to receive Clan Leader Jin at the gates to Lotus Pier proper, Jiang Cheng had decided today to take advantage of the lack of other guests arriving at all hours to meet Lianfang-zun and their nephew down at the docks in the town, instead.

He doesn’t have to wait long; the boat carrying the Jin clan retainers comes into sight on the river within a quarter shichen, and is soon unloading a stream of pale gold out into the lakefront market stalls. Lianfang-zun is one of the last out onto the pier, but Jin Ling rushes past much quicker – the child clambering out through the benches and onto the dock, then turning back to peer in over the railing. He calls an impatient “xiao-shushu!” into the boat, trying to wave him further along without letting go of the ornate, adult-sized sword he held clasped in both hands.

A moment later, he’s apparently given up waiting for his other uncle and flung himself toward Jiang Cheng instead, skidding to a halt and almost overbalancing a few feet in front of him, where he then nods into a perfunctory bow that’s maimed from the start by the way he keeps the sword hugged to his chest. “Uncle Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng feels a small stone at the pit of his stomach, remembering how last time it had simply been jiujiu (when they were in private, he reminds himself, just the three of them that were his remaining family, without all the rest of these disciples and townspeople around) – but he nods anyway, eyeing the sword. Jin Ling scurries around to his side, and Jiang Cheng drops an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in tightly.

It’s a familiar sword, moreso in its spiritual aura than the profile of the hilt and sheath which runs toward the sort of Jin gaudiness whose distinctions he’s never made a particularly intent study of – oh. He understands, abruptly, why Jin Ling must be clinging to it so tightly.

He glances up to where Lianfang-zun is finally emerging from the boat, holding the train of his robe up in one hand and the proffered arm of a Jin disciple in the other. Throughout the elegance of his arrival, he seems to spare a few soft glances at Jin Ling – until he straightens up on flat ground, and the expression melts off his face with a keen fleck of his eyes up toward Jiang Cheng.

“Xiandu.”

“Jiang-zongzhu.” His greeting is effortless and graceful in all the ways Jin Ling’s was not; and afterwards, his mouth quirks in an amused smile for the seven-year-old currently leaning into Jiang Cheng’s side. “I recall you mentioning a desire to show me Lotus Pier’s marketplace in your last message – but it seems a-Ling perhaps has other ideas?”

“I wanna go watch the sword practise,” Jin Ling confirms, burrowing his head and shoulder further in toward Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng looks down at him. His hair is studded with tiny ornaments and tied up into a pale embroidered gold Jin ribbon. He holds Suihua (where had he gotten it from?), and cajoles two uncles in place of a mother and father.

(Had Jiang Cheng ever clung to Yanli like this, when they were children? Of course he had. The recognition tears something unsettling in his throat.)

“You can have one of the senior disciples take you to watch the drills, and then Jin-zongzhu and I will come see how well you’ve learned once we’re done here,” he says – a passable enough recovery of his usual authority, he hopes. He turns and beckons one of his own seniors in Jiang blues with a nod of his chin.

Jin Ling looks back at Jin Guangyao when the Jiang disciple leans down to take his hand. “It’s okay to go ahead?”

Jin Guangyao smiles again, the broad one that crinkles his eyes and dimples his cheeks and always makes Jiang Cheng feel irritatingly patronized, or seen through, or… something. All he knows is it gives him an unsettling clench in his gut half the time he sees it, even if it’s not directed at him.

“While you’re at Lotus Pier, you’re free to do whatever you please within Jiang-zongzhu’s guidance,” he says to Jin Ling, before ending with a glance up, meeting Jiang Cheng’s own gaze with the same smile on his mouth but a different look entirely in his eyes.

That’s a premonition of a conversation to come, Jiang Cheng figures. He’s only been Jin-zongzhu for less than a year by now, but Jiang Cheng’s been met with enough looks amidst discussions with the previous clan leader, followed by Jin Guangyao catching his sleeve after he’s left for running another variation on the topic without his father present, to understand the same one now.

Whatever. He’ll deal with it whenever Lianfang-zun decides to make it his problem and no sooner. If he doesn’t like Jiang Cheng using his own authority with his own nephew in his own sect, he can bring it up on his own time.

Once Jin Ling and most of the disciples have gone ahead to the main complex, though, Jiang Cheng ends up reminding himself of exactly why Jin Guangyao has a tendency to be pleasant company. He asks after the relationships Jiang Cheng has been overseeing with the minor sects in the region, and offers up a couple suggestions for other contacts outside Yunmeng that he might be able to offer them to ease some of their trade problems. He listens to the impromptu tour Jiang Cheng gives of the Lotus Pier market, as he introduces the various familiar faces he’s looked at with a certain pride of responsibility ever since they’d been waving at him as the sect’s young master; as well as the newer faces he’s come to know in the rebuilding process, as they brought in replacements for the pieces of Lotus Pier’s foundation that had been lost during the war.

He asks just the right questions to let Jiang Cheng segue into a topic he can feel genuine pride at, and manages to look genuinely interested in the answers. When they stop to speak with the stall owners, he smiles at all the aunties and uncles and grandfathers oh so charmingly, and compliments their wares as if he’d been shopping in Lotus Pier his whole life.

(“Oh, and here I’d been hoping you might serve some of that delicious wuchang fish you had prepared during the last cultivation conference while I was here again,” he’d exclaimed when they came across one of the fishermen hauling in the day’s catch from a nearby lake. “I remember it being sliced so beautifully as well – but one could hardly expect anything else in Yunmeng, could they?”)

And Jin Guangyao is indeed such a flawless conversationalist, that after another half-shichen in his company, Jiang Cheng has begun to find it almost grating. He’s got a pinched feeling in the base of his stomach that’s only grown as they’ve wound their way back up to the Jiang sect’s compound, vaguely listening to Jin Guangyao update him on recent news from other corners of the cultivation world.

They’re almost to the gates when the sound of sword drills reaches Jiang Cheng’s ears, and he remembers in a sudden rush back of emotion the thing he’d been meaning to get answers on before they rejoined the rest of their sects.

“Lianfang-zun,” he interrupts, unable to help the tension he can feel creasing his brow from taking up its usual home in his face. No use trying to be delicate about it – he’d see through it anyway, and then Jiang Cheng would just feel like a fool again for having tried. He squares his shoulders and refuses to be moved to apology by the questioning surprise in Jin Guangyao’s glance.

“Jin Ling was carrying Jin Zixuan’s sword when you arrived here,” he says. He tries at least to make it sound less like an accusation than it feels. “You gave it to him?”

In return, Jin Guangyao smiles at him briefly. “I did. Not for practicing with, of course – not until he’s older and his core has formed properly.” He’s using a soothing tone of voice, Jiang Cheng can recognise – as if he himself is the yet-coreless child who needs to be reassured that way. He bites the inside of his lip.

“It’s merely… I’ve been intending on installing honors for my elder brother within Golden Scale Tower recently as well, since presumably this position would’ve been his if not for… well. But it seems the renewed discussion of Zixuan-ge has gotten a-Ling missing his father, and I thought giving him something he had so treasured during his lifetime might provide a small comfort for what I can’t replace. And he has been working quite diligently on his sword forms, so it seemed fitting.”

Jin Guangyao is looking up at him, while Jiang Cheng is trying to sort out what his feelings are doing and keep the reflexive scowl off his face, and – it’s almost astounding how a person can manage to look both apologetic and thoroughly unwilling to give any ground away at the same time. He glances down to where Jin Guangyao has clasped his fingers together, almost hidden beneath the sturdy silk of his sleeves, and then breaks away entirely.

“Oh, well. If that’s what it is, then good. He should have something of his father’s to remember him by.”

The people at Golden Scale Tower still tell plenty of stories of Jin Zixuan, Jiang Cheng knows – he’s heard some personally on visit, and also about them, via Jin Ling’s resultant questions and boasts, as reported to him by none other than Jin Guangyao himself. But he wonders how many people still left there knew Jin Zixuan in the way a child ought to know his father, instead of as a distant figure worthy of gossip now and again because he’s the sect leader’s only (acknowledged) child.

He wonders whether anyone at all has seen fit to tell Jin Ling anything meaningful about his mother whatsoever.

Around the hilt of Sandu, his knuckles clench white and painful, as he tries to make himself stop letting that line of thought grow, before it can take over and loom over his head entirely. A stupid waste of effort, usually, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t want, it’s letting his emotions so obviously getting the better of him in front of Jin-zongzhu, Lianfang-zun, ever-accommodating perfect host Jin Guangyao.

Jiang Cheng takes a couple of hopefully-understated breaths to try and steady himself, and then scowls despite it all when it only does about as much good as ever – but he lets the last out audibly through his nose, and then turns back to look at his guest beside him. Waiting patiently, as always.

“Well? Let’s go, then. If he’s been practicing his sword forms as much as you say, he should’ve picked up something passable here by now since we’ve been gone.”

Jin Guangyao only inclined his head politely, and follows Jiang Cheng inside to where the rest of their disciples – along with their shared nephew – are waiting.

As he enters the main courtyard, he hopes for the first time in a while, childishly and without much real conviction, that if his sister is watching over any of them, himself or Jin Ling most of all – that she will grant him the strength missing from his heart these past several years, to make part any of this easier for him. Even just a little bit would help.

#that time James wrote fic #no good things for the poor sad cultivators #Jiang Cheng #Jin Guangyao #....look much like jgy I myself am only going to sort of apologise for the sneaky chengyao agenda here #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#TWO FUCKING THOUSAND WORDS ISTG I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENS #I *literally* wrote this all today #do you remember when the last time I wrote 2k in a day was? nope? neither do I!#I should. go the fuck to bed now.#maybe clean this up and give it a title and shit for ao3 tomorrow #.....oooor finish the last prompt I still have here before jgy month is over #that's a thing I could/should do too #wombathos

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meltingxpoint · 3 years

Text

Melting Point - A Hyoga-centric story focusing on his past, his emotional struggles and his relationships. Part 1!

I was given permission by the artist to translate! My plans to pay for a translation were put on hold, so this is a rough translation and the translation can be read below the pages.

The artist can be found on ss-melting-point and xeenaste.

Read more here.

At this time... if she comes out here to get food, it’s likely only one baby will survive. ...Since death comes so simply in this land A world that cannot live by responding sentimentally to each life. So one has to learn thoroughly...

How to become numb to it.

Whenever the tide and the ebb intersect in any sea, there is a time for the current to stop. The process comes in as short as 30 minutes, an hour at most, and four times a day. Even this place, notorious for its strong current, becomes as quiet as a lie during such a period. I was trying to find Isaak’s remains, but he was nowhere to be found.

On this land, on this sea, I am always helpless.

I wanted the power to go beyond man to face that impotence. I've continued to train for a long time and finally achieved it... But in the end it didn't mean anything in my life.

I believed that if I could break that thick ice and enter this place, my life would be different after I passed that test.

That I’ll take her body out and find her safe.

I even thought of paying off my debt by using the undeserved power in my hand gained through self-interest, from now on to save lives.

But the reality is— Once again, someone's life just disappeared on my behalf. Mother's rest was here from the beginning.

It was impossible.

My life so far was headed here as if it were planned. It was never a coincidence.

When I first heard of saints, I was honestly dubious. Is there really such a thing?

When I arrived in Japan and found out that all the children there had gathered to become saints, this coincidence was amazing.

But when I was designated for Siberia, I started thinking about fate for the first time.

Mama, who was as good and devoted as anyone.

God certainly couldn't have left such a mother alone. That's why he was trying to send me to Mama.

All of this is a destiny set by God--

... I had thought so

Thoughts that were possible as a child... It’s not a grandiose door to test my faith. It's not even a place to confirm my destiny.

Simple ice holes, simple ice seashore, I was delusional, and I was searching for hope.

It was right to think of it as the entrance to the underworld if I was to give it a proper meaning.

Below this is the world of death A world frozen in place after swallowing my precious people A world that seems to hold the moment to its fullest The only thing that is allowed to the living is to simply watch. I had hope for that.

Maybe it was just bringing me back, that which couldn't kill me when I was younger--

Camus: It is dangerous to give meaning to the phenomenon. There is no will to the phenomenon. When you give meaning to repeated coincidences, delusions begin.

Camus: Hyoga, I have always taught you to see reality calmly.

If your delusions are true, was it God's guidance that you lost your mother as a child? Is it inevitable that you lost Isaac? Is it a fixed fate? You want to blame Isaac's death on that place?

It was an accident that Isaac died. I don't intend to blame you for that. But if you don't learn a lesson after that, the story is different. Take it as it is.

A cool head comes from facing reality.

Camus: Be cold like that permanent ice wall, Hyoga Camus: Otherwise, the next person to die will really be you.

The teacher is right. He was always right But after filtering out the delusions, a cruel reality appears. The reason the people dear to me died was the same. Reason to save me--

The reason they tried to save me was-- Because I am helpless...

...I want to be strong...

So that I won't be swung over by pathetic delusions Like this creepy and cold world displayed under ice With frozen hearts and frozen eyes So that I won’t shed a single tear even at someone’s death ...no

So that no one will ever die for me again So that I can protect someone with my own strength

I want to be strong

Yakov, I don't have time to talk to you. Go back if you don't have business.

Yakov: Oh right. I forgot Yakov: A letter came for Hyoga.

Hyoga: It must have come from the Grad Foundation in Tokyo anyway. Hyoga: No matter how much I’m pressed, I have no intention of going to such a performance contest.

Yakov: No, the origin is from Greece.

What...?!

Wow Wow This is the cross of the Cygnus... The more I see it, the more amazing it is... Hyoga... Wow...

Yakov: Hyo-ga, can I touch this? Hyoga: Do it in moderation, Yakov. It's not a toy Yakov: Eh~~ Yakov: Anyway, you’re supposed to go to Tokyo. You're going to fight in the contest with this? Yakov: I want to see... Hyoga: Fight? Hyoga: I'm going to kill them all.

Yakov: Kill-?! Yakov: Why?! Hyoga: 'Cause the order of assassination came from the sanctuary. Yakov: So you kill people?! Hyoga: Yakov... You have forgotten. Hyoga: I am a saint. The world in which we live in is different Yakov: Still, it's murder... Hyoga: I can't do much, Hyoga: As long as you’re a saint, the order of sanctuary is absolute. Hyoga: Besides, this directive is in Camus’s handwriting.

Hyoga: Prior to the sanctuary, it was a command from Camus. How can I disobey... Yakov: Hyoga... Hyoga: But it's strange... something feels unusual.

Hyoga: —Call from the sanctuary. Camus: Yeah, an emergency call

Camus: They’re showing suspicious movements in places like Japan and elsewhere Camus: I don't think I can come back for a while, but I'm done for the time being. Camus: Because I had to make a formal report that you qualified as a saint. Hyoga: ...Yeah. Camus: You’re still not ready. (??)

Your skills are already beyond the standard of bronze And you still hesitate... … Is it Isaac? ...... Hyoga... Thinking of the dead, is different from being obsessed with thoughts of the dead.

You will face numerous deaths in the future The death of an enemy, the death of a companion, the death of mere innocents As long as you’re a Saint, they're not accidents, they're inevitable. Sometimes, you may have to hurt a loved one with your own hands. But we, the cold-blooded Saints, do not hesitate to do so Are you going to fall apart every time? Hyoga... Be infinitely cool. So that the heart freezes

Don't forget the coldness of this heart and make it a heart that never melts. Don't be sick of death. Don't hesitate to bring death. Remember this land, heartless to all life. An extreme ice floe that never melts- This place that raised you and me-

Camus: The Cygnus cloth will be given to you when you prove that resolution in any form. Camus: I look forward to coming back.

Hyoga: He was a teacher who had given his word. Hyoga: And you just give me my cloth like this? Hyoga: That Camus...?

( a flashback )

Milo: The disciple was recognized as a Saint, right? Milo: But why didn't you bring him in? Camus: Because he can't wear his Cloth yet. Milo: Huh? Camus: Cloth on hold, granted starting rank as a Saint. Camus: As a frost-handling saint, he's not getting through the last hurdle.

Milo: As always, you're doting on your apprentice. Milo: It's enough to make me cry Camus: Is that how it sounds? Milo: Of course. you gave your student the qualification first because you were worried he'd be discouraged, right? Milo: That's why I said you're too soft Camus: Harsh words.

Camus: He’s a child with a troubled past. Camus: But it can be solved within time. He’s phasing it out. Milo: Nonono Milo: You can’t just take the situation at face value! Milo: What do you think? Leave him to me for once. Camus: No way. Camus: A hot-tempered person like you will lead him into being a fool. Milo: Oh- is that how you see me~? Camus: Don’t you know the meaning of the word “honesty”?

Milo: Look at this guy~ Milo: He really does love his cute disciple~~ Camus: I would say it's a blunt evaluation Camus: You don't have the personality to cultivate a pupil properly Milo: What cold, heartless man! Milo: And who knows if my methods will work? Milo: What if it works fantastically? Camus: If you’ve never raised a student, shut up. Camus: Is my disciple a toy? Milo: (He was almost my disciple!) Guard: Hey, Camus- Guard: Excuse me- Camus: What is it? Milo: (I knew it, he was just pretending to be cool) (??) Guard: Well... Guard: The Pope ---

Part 2 Here

#cygnus hyoga #andromeda shun #aquarius camus #scorpio milo #saint seiya #saint seiya doujin translation

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nillegible · 3 years

Text

(Part 3 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )

It’s several more weeks before he meets Qin Su again, and it’s like having a sword shoved through his gut a second time.

He thought he’d gotten over her death in the weeks since, but apparently not.

Meng Yao’s skills at administrative work, honed to perfection over years of managing Jin sect, had resulted in a series of rapid promotions, as more and more people realized that Meng Yao was not only capable but willing to do boring meticulous drudge work and do it well. By the time Qin Su returns from her mother’s small, secluded clan, Clan Liu, Meng Yao is one of Qin Cangye’s personal aides.

He keeps his face when she thanks him for saving her life just barely. It’s so hard, when she looks so young and carefree, untouched by the grief for a lost child, of a secretive husband who never turned to her.

Meng Yao had done that to her.

I didn’t have a choice, he’d cried to Er-ge, in a temple and felt justified. In front of her sweet face, that defence dies a quiet death.

She’d killed herself, when she heard the truth, and for one moment, in between the grief, the rising terror of an unknown enemy stalking him, he’d hated her for it. Do you think you have suffered more than I? How dare you take your own life, while I still didn’t give up?

But he owes her better than that, so he smiles, and promises the Young Mistress Qin that it was Meng Yao who was honoured to have been of assistance to her. He remains perfectly cordial, always, in her presence. He doesn’t hide away, doesn’t take paths around the buildings that she frequents, even though every time he sees her again, it hurts.

This pain, at least, Meng Yao deserves.

He’s careful not to get too close though. He makes his excuses not to join her where he can, and never shows her the attention he had in a previous life. He didn’t expect this to be noticed, but as he’s learned the hard way, some eyes are always sharper than Meng Yao would give them credit for.

When Qin Tianyu approaches him for tea and a discussion of the talismans that Meng Yao has been reworking to be more efficient, he thinks nothing of it. When they’re working on writing some together after, and the talisman master carefully broaches the topic as if it wasn’t intentional, Meng Yao can see the Sect Leader’s interest in the matter.

“Meng Yao has been noticeably cold to Su-sizhi,” says Qin Tianyu.

Meng Yao looks up, sharply. “I have no quarrel with Qin-guniang.” How did I miss this?

“I said cold, not a quarrel,” he returns calmly. “She is the only one you do not call shijie.”

“She’s the heir, it’s polite, Qin-shishu,” Meng Yao says, even though he knows it’s not good enough. Everyone else calls her Su-shijie, quite enthusiastically. He endures the carefully considering look that Qin Tianyu sends his way. His mask had held up beneath Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangshan, and Lan Xichen. He would not be unmasked by the a simple elder of Laoling Qin.

But Qin Tianyu just nods, as if confirming something to himself. “The idea was floated that Meng Yao joined Qin sect for Su-sizhi.” he says, and Meng Yao freezes, wary. “After all, Sect Leader Jin does not need another spare heir.”

Meng Yao sits in silence, work ignored as he tries to decide on a response. He had briefly considered before approaching Sect Leader Qin that it may look like this from outside, but had reasoned to himself that as long as he showed no interest in Qin Su, it would blow over, and he’d look like any other disciple. That people would find it suspicious that Meng Yao was not angling to marry her to become the next Qin Sect Leader is a surprise.

So, what should he say to turn this suspicion astray?

“This humble disciple is merely Sect Leader Jin’s bastard son. Young Mistress Qin deserves better,” he says, hoping that was vague enough to be acceptable.

“Meng Yao professes to be remarkably unambitious,” returns Qin Tianyu, lightly. Liar, he’s saying, even though for once Meng Yao isn’t actually lying. Qin Su did deserve better than what he’d given her. He’d loved her enough to know that. But unambitious people cannot do what Meng Yao did to keep his place at Wen Sect. Couldn’t remove the head of Wen Ruohan and end a war.

Unambitious people would not do all of that, just to become one of threw personal aides of a minor Clan Leader.

“Maybe I used it up,” says Meng Yao. From the way the elder glances up, he realizes that he had been silent long enough that he believed he wouldn’t get an answer. But Meng Yao has found his words, and there’s nothing to do but continue, “My mother wished to be a Jin concubine. She wanted me to do anything it takes to secure a place within Jin Sect. That it was the only way for me to live well.”

And she was wrong. She was as wrong about this as she was about Jin Guangshan. It had been a constant, grinding pain, to know again and again that the person he loved above all else had been so incredibly wrong. Meng Yao had thrown himself life and soul into trying to prove her right, into gaining his father’s regard and living well. He’d fought desperately, thinking that if only he gathered a little more influence, that if he did just a little bit more, then he’d succeed. Get the recognition his mother craved for him.

At some point, spite and fury had taken the place of love and duty, but he had not wavered in his goal. But he’d still never proved her right; had murdered his own father, and sat in mourning like a filial son, truly mourning how much he’d failed.

Nothing that he did could ever make up for it. This time, he knew better than to even try.

“It was my mother’s ambition,” he says aloud for the first time. Perhaps to a broken woman who did not even own herself, it had been liberating to imagine owning so much, to be in control of her own fate. “It was hers, but I…”

He falls silent, and after a few moments Qin Tianyu returns his attention to his paused work. For several minutes, he just watches the hypnotic way that the talisman master draws the same talisman again and again with the most minute of differences, to be tested and ranked according to efficacy.

“But you?” he prompts, when the stack is complete.

I want to live. That single, animalistic need, that had kept him alive through so much that would have killed others. I will not die here. Not now.

“I want to live,” says Meng Yao. And then continues, unable to stop, “I wanted her to live, too.” And when she didn’t, when illness wasted her away, taking her from him in pieces, unable to save her for want of something as immaterial as gold… something had broken in him.

Qin Tianyu nods, serene, as he gathers up the completed talismans. “Meng Yao would do well to think about why.”

Why?

You think your life is worth more than theirs? All the people you sacrificed, to live just a few years longer?

“Why shouldn’t I deserve to live?” asks Meng Yao, sharp. “Why shouldn’t we… why are our lives to be discarded at the whim of those stronger than us?”

“Silly child,” he says, “You have survived. You are alive. Now what?” Meng Yao just stares. “Perhaps Meng Yao should consider getting on with other things.”

Get on with what? Meng Yao had turned down Sect Leader Jin’s offer, had given up the name Jin Guangyao, just to escape the tragedies that that would precipitate.

But he was alive now. He was alive, and had time – perhaps even unmeasured time, so long as he stayed out of his father’s way. Perhaps he wouldn’t cultivate to near immortality, like those stronger than him, but he could live nearly a century more. Now what? Why are you alive?

It was so unlike him to not have a plan, but for once he hadn’t really. He didn’t…

“Meng Yao,” Qin Tianyu snaps, and when Meng Yao looks up, he’s leaning forward over the table, hand out and hovering over Meng Yao’s wrist.

“Master Qin?” asks Meng Yao, but rather than answer, the elder gently touches his fingertips to Meng Yao’s wrist. The pressure of foreign qi is familiar; light and diagnostic, before it withdraws.

“This old teacher apologizes,” he says, when he’s done. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“Not at all, this martial nephew is glad for his elder’s guidance,” says Meng Yao, taking his hand back and holding it to his chest. “I will meditate on how to prove myself more useful to Qin sect in the future.”

“Meng Yao, you misunderstand. No, rather, it was this master who misspoke. I did not mean to imply that you must prove yourself.”

“I understand,” says Meng Yao, after a beat. Spoken aloud, it must have sounded more cruel than he wished. But that was still what he meant.

There is no resolution after that. Qin Tianyu seems unable or unwilling to explain better, though he clearly thinks about it for a while. Finally, he dismisses Meng Yao, who leaves with the talismans. The lingering unease of a conversation that went poorly is left to fester in the room, while Meng Yao retreats to the disciple quarters immediately.

He resolves to work harder.

[AN: What do you think? Too OOC? I'm hoping to give MY a proper and slow redemption story, but it’s a toss up whether it’s going well or not. Thannk you for reading, please drop a comment in the replies if you have writing advice! I’ll be so grateful!]

[Click here for part 4!]

#jgy time travel verse #meng yao #qin sect #meng yao is on qin sect #qin su #OC

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demonsandmischief · 3 years

Text

His Beloved Ch. 1

A Sebastian Stan Multi-Part Story

Vampire Sebastian Stan x Female OC,

760 words

-Chapter 1-

Meeting him was an accident, or so she thought.

----

New York City was loud. That had been Lila's consistent thought since she had moved to the city a year ago. She had a great job as a partner in a veterinarian clinic, but Lila had begun to develop a longing for something more.

How could she possibly want more when she was living her dream? She didn't know, and she had yet to be successful at burying the feeling for good.

After a long day of appointments and barking dogs, Lila didn't feel up for eating a meal at home. She loved to cook, but today was not one of those days. She decided to order some take-out that was only a few blocks from her apartment, that way she could just pick it up on the way home.

The small restaurant was packed with hungry customers, and Lila was grateful she had called ahead. She couldn't wait to get home and take off her shoes. It had been a hectic week, and it had taken Friday a long time to come around.

She paid for her meal with cash, the nonstop chatter only exhausting her further. She could hardly hear the lady talking to her.

Lila was happy to leave the place. There was only so much energy she could give to the world before she had to recharge.

"Excuse me, miss!" Someone called out to her.

Lila spun around to find a tall, handsome man. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"I was on my way out and I saw you drop this," he said, holding out a five dollar bill.

She furrowed her brows. She didn't remember dropping anything. "Are you sure it was me?"

He chuckled lowly, the sound was rich and warm. "Well, yeah. I'm positive it was you."

"Oh, thank you then," Lila said, taking the bill from his hand, their fingers brushing slightly. She gasped at the contact, a strange tingly sensation fizzing through her body.

"You're welcome. Have a good night," he said, before walking down the street.

Lila shook off the weird encounter. She must be really tired to not have noticed dropping money like that. Who did he look like? He reminded her of someone.

She shook away the thoughts before finishing her walk home, not noticing the protective shadow that followed her.

It wasn't until later that she realized how big of an idiot she was. She had run into the Sebastian Stan. He played Bucky in the Marvel movies. Maybe it was time to get her head checked. Maybe that's why the encounter was so strange.

It didn't matter either way. She was never going to see him again.

----

Sebastian's assumptions were correct. He could smell her tantalizing scent from inside the restaurant where he was having dinner with his friends. Of course he didn't eat, but it was nice to catch up every once and awhile.

He had to have a glimpse of her, so he left the table early, following the temptation all the way to the counter. There stood a petite girl with long brown hair and cute glasses. She shifted anxiously on her feet like she was tired of standing. He wished he could move closer to take in the details. He knew immediately, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. His Beloved.

Romania was known for its vampires. He was born there, his father a vampire himself. His mother was a human, and when his father left, the place became too dangerous for him to grow up in without any proper guidance.

He had dreamt his whole life about his soul mate. It was the only good thing about being a creature of the dark. For as long as he could remember, he had glimpses of her in his dreams. It was teasing, just a taste. Blurry images and smiles, only fueling the aggravation. He had waited patiently for this moment.

He had to think quickly about how to talk to her, and she had given him a perfect opportunity.

She didn't drop any money, but he needed an excuse to talk to her, to see her up close. She was breathtaking, with warm brown eyes and a shy demeanor that called out every protective bone in his body. She was obviously very intelligent, if the scrubs didn't give that away, but very polite, too. He never wanted the conversation to end.

Sebastian was hoping that she would recognize him and try to prolong the conversation, but this one time that wasn't the case. He didn't even get her name.

----

A/N: Thanks for all the love on my Seb Imagine. I think this one will have 4/5 chapters. What did you think? I was inspired by the interview clip where the lady asked Seb to bite her neck and he seemed to like the idea hmm

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fluff #vampire #marvel imagine #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #vampire Sebastian Stan

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Title: hot and sharp (it’s the cold) Ship: Eeez/Timothy Hearst (D.Gray-man) Summary: Eeez always knew he was going to die abandoned, dirty alley. Curse Tyki Mikk for giving him hope, for letting him dream— Hold on, who’s the brat in the fancy uniform? AN: It’s my rare pair and I get to be the only one writing fanfics for it.

It wasn’t that Eeez hated Tyki, far from it, actually. For the most part, Eeez adored the older man and soaked up his attention like sunlight. For all that he spent the least amount of time with Tyki given that he was gone so often and so very long on those secret jobs of his, and Eeez saw Momo and Crack far more often, the fellow Portuguese was Eeez’s favorite. They had a connection that went beyond that of countrymen.

Tyki had been the one to pulled Eeez from the dirt alley, cleaning up his pale cheeks with a nearly equally dirty tissue, a soft smile, and kind words. He helped Eeez remain upright when his coughing ended with blood on his lips and always made sure that he wore enough layers when the winters got bad.

Eeez had clung to Tyki because the man had saved him. Without Tyki’s interference, Eeez would have died in the alley he collapsed in and nobody would have cared about his young age. They wouldn’t have called it a tragedy, merely seen him as trash.

But Tyki thought he had worth.

Even though Eeez contributed nothing to their income and ended up eating quite a large portion of their food in turn, Tyki always treated him with care, cracking jokes to make him smile. The man was too young to be Eeez’s father, but he could be his older brother or uncle. Eeez had neither and the terms mixed and matched in his head well enough, reforming in the shape of Tyki Mikk, running his fingers through his hair, switching cigarette brands until he found one that didn’t bother Eeez’s lungs as much, dropping the habit entirely when his health relapsed.

Tyki, whom he hadn’t seen in months.

Anger bit as hot and sharply into him as the cold outside.

Tyki’s jobs had become more frequent and more exhausting as they could tell by the bags under his eyes, but now he simply hadn’t shown up for months. Were he younger, one of those street kids running around the bigger cities, running errands for those posh and proper nobles, Eeez would have thought that they would never see Tyki again, that he got a little too bold and clever and was now a little too dead to come visit them.

Eeez had seen it too often when he’d been alone on the streets. No gang wanted to take him in, his fingers constantly shaking and numb from anemia to make him a good pickpocket. Those kids that got too smart always ended up dead, paying the price for behaving better than the rabble they were supposed to be.

But Tyki was a proper adult who knew better than to throw away his life. He always told Eeez to be mindful, to cherish the time he had. True enough, Tyki didn’t look like he was particularly well-educated, but once you got him started, he turned out to be quite the philosopher, able to quote more books than Eeez had ever had the chance to touch. Always on the road without a school to attend, the adults had taken it upon themselves to teach Eeez whatever they deemed important. Sometimes that was bartering, how to fix your clothes, what fruit or vegetable to eat, or the language of whatever country they were in.

Tyki never seemed to have a problem with any of them

So he might not be a genius, but Eeez was intelligent.

Therefore, rationally, Eeez was aware that he shouldn’t be too upset with Tyki’s disappearance.

The world had gone crazy recently, monsters appearing everywhere. Despite their many travels, their group had never run into one. Usually, that was also due to Tyki’s guidance. He somehow always managed to bring them to safe lodgings, to take the route where they weren’t attacked by some bandits or police that had about the same attitude.

Traveling without him was more difficult even though they had one mouth less to feed.

And now, the snow still sticking to his bloody knees, that monster looming over him, all Eeez could think of was that this wouldn’t have happened if Tyki were here.

That Eeez would still die in a dark and dirty alley, abandoned by the world.

“Eh?” the monster tilted its head. “Aren’t you a fun little— urgh—!”

One moment, the monster looked like a grotesque skeleton, created from blood-coated machinery, large holes for eyes, a twisted halo framing its head. The next, it was kind of soft, and instead of rusty red, the now whole plating was covered in light blues, yellows, and whites.

“Are you alright?” the monster suddenly asked, voice much lighter than before.

Eeez could only nod, unsure of what to do with this sudden change.

The monster grinned, razor-sharp teeth flashing before it gave him a thumbs up. “Great!”

Then it promptly began attacking the rest of the monsters with much prejudice. Their screams would haunt Eeez for years to come if he still had years to experience. Returning to his senses, Eeez scrambled to his feet and rushed to the nearest house for safety. Taking a quick look around, Eeez realized two things:

1) The house had been abandoned in haste.

2) It was not actually abandoned.

Eeez stared at the small body lying in the corner. It looked like somebody had placed the other kid there – and what a weird kid it was. Bright blue hair and a freaking marble the size of Eeez’s fist in his forehead. Maybe whoever had put him there had been killed by those monsters. Eeez had gotten separated from Crack and Momo when those things had appeared in the sky. He didn’t know if they were still alright, but if they’d been hit by even one of those monsters, there was nothing Eeez could do for them anymore.

The monsters seemed to be mostly chasing through the streets, tearing open the houses. They’d probably already gone through this one. It didn’t make the house very secure, just better than anything else. Eeez probably had more luck if he headed to the nearby forest and hid out there. Glancing at the body once more, Eeez realized that the kid was still breathing if a little strained. He was only a little smaller than Eeez. The safe solution would be to just leave him there, give the monsters something else to entertain themselves with while he made his getaway.

Tyki Mikk had pulled him out of the dark and into the light, lifted him into the air, let him sit on his shoulders, and nearly touch the sky.

Uncharacteristically crude, Eeez let out a string of curses and rushed over to the boy. He struggled to put the body on his back, the boy turning out to be heavier than he looked.

First, he thought he would die because of Tyki, now he was going to die because of some stupid unconscious kid in a fancy jacket that could feed Eeez for a week at least.

God better see this one good deed and deem it enough to repay him handsomely in the afterlife.

Wheezing under the strain, Eeez got to his knees and headed towards the back of the house, the sounds of the battle echoing in his ears.

#d gray man #dgm #tyki mikk #eeez dgm #timothy hearst #timotheez #poker pair #we'll get there anyway #fanfic

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 3 years

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Contending the Flame V

Author’s Note: Chapter 5, things take a turn for the dramatic and a bit angsty here. I really am having fun getting reacquainted with this story, and I have a lot planned for future chapters and an ending. Thanks for being such a wonderful audience, your feedback is always appreciated!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2307

Warnings: Master/Servant dynamic, mentions of suicide attempt, blood, angst

Ivar was exhausted as he propelled his way forward through the city streets. He had opted to stay up on the walls with his warriors through the cold night. It had served to enliven the men into a frenzy to have his presence, but he had only done so out of avoidance.

As the days went by, it seemed his little nun had less to say to him. The truth of the priest's death weighed heavily on you, and you carried it around like a sickness. You had lost your desire to argue or even to spare a simple word. Ivar was disappointed. He had given up trying to teach you his language when you had refused to repeat everything he taught you. The only way he could spurn a reaction out of you was to address you as Ólaug, but even that enjoyment had waned.

Thoughts of revenge against Lagertha were never far from his mind, nor was Kattegat. The heathen army was not destined to stay in York, but while Ubbe and Hvitserk were fixated on settling in on Saxon farmlands, Ivar had other ambitions. He was torn by the enticing idea to travel and become a conqueror, or return to Norway and have his revenge for his mother's death. His brothers looked to have abandoned that notion, leaving him alone and frustrated with his hatred. They would say it was because they did not want to fight with Bjorn, but Ivar knew it was that they didn't love their mother as much as he had.

Ivar did not like feeling so lost. It made him feel like a boy again, only now Floki wasn't there to give him guidance. He was certain he was fated to cross paths with the rangy lunatic one day, but what madness would lead them back together was not foretold. Without Helga, Floki had become as empty as a horn with no mead. Ragnar had vanished for ten years, yet Ivar could not recall his mother ever being heartsick over his absence. Not all love was meant to last.

The concept of love and marriage was something he had been considering more often as of late. As a leader to his people and a son of Ragnar, it would be expected of him to have a wife and heir. Ubbe was already married, and Hvitserk likely had fathered a brood of children he didn't know about. Where did that leave him? Even if he took a wife, it wouldn't be long before the people would speak about the lack of an heir. Ivar did not consider himself to be nurturing, but for his own children, he would have tried. Now it seemed impossible that they could ever exist.

"Ivar."

He was broken out of his dour thoughts by Hvitserk. It took half of his own stride for his brother to catch up to him. Even with the braces and crutch, his mobility was limited, but he chose to take the muscles he had built as a victory. Though his legs were useless, they no longer hung from his waist like gnarled tree branches. They almost appeared normal, except that they couldn't bear his weight.

"You have news," Ivar guessed to Hvitserk, who had slowed to match his pace.

"Our scouting party has returned with word that the Saxons have made camp south of here. They don't appear to have a plan of attack yet. Maybe now is the best time to negotiate for land when we have the advantage."

Hvitserk's tone was pleading, and Ivar was sure he could get him to grovel with the right persuasion.

"Yes, we have the advantage. So why compromise our position for negotiations that will end in rejection," Ivar said, and he delighted as Hvitserk's face fell. "The Christians do not want us here, brother. If we want land then we'll take it."

"At least let me or Ubbe go. We don't have to give up our position behind the walls, but we can send one of us to negotiate, as a son of Ragnar."

"And risk losing a brother to the enemy? No, that would be foolish and I would appear ill-advised," He said, rounding the corner towards his room with Hvitserk following.

His intention hadn't been to return to his chamber, but with Hvitserk's desperation and his lethargy, fate had brought him back to the familiar door. Thoughts of sleep were welcome, even if he detested retiring during daylight.

"This decision should be made with all three of us. We need to sit down with Ubbe first before anything is final," Hvitserk said, not abandoning his cause.

Ivar let out a sigh before casting a long look at his brother. This was important to him, and to Ubbe. He didn't want to continue to have strife with his brothers, even if they didn't share the same aspirations for the army. "I agree."

"Really?" Hvitserk's mouth hung half opened as if awaiting another argument. "Well...then let's do that."

"Yes, fine." Ivar waved his hand, hoping to banish him from his sight.

Opening the door to his room, he had hoped Hvitserk would take the hint to leave, but instead, they were met with a startling sight. The air stung with the smell of copper, and there was Ólaug, on your knees weeping. The stone floor before you had a puddle of blood, enough to fill a large pitcher, and you were clutching your left wrist. A gash had been cut there, and lying on the ground next to the blood was the weapon. It was a broken piece of a clay plate.

Ivar threw his crutch to the side and dropped to the ground in a heap of twisted bones and metal. His braces were heavy, but he managed to crawl to you quicker than he would have walked. Ignoring any proper thoughts of decency, he pulled you to him to inspect the damage.

"Get a healer, now," He shouted to Hvitserk who had stuck to the doorway, disturbed by what he had witnessed. The order got him moving, and he disappeared to fetch a healer while Ivar tried to stanch the bleeding with his larger hand over yours.

"You stupid Christian, look what you've done," Ivar hissed. He was sitting in your blood, the warmth seeping through his trousers. Your back was held tight to his chest while he tried to keep from jostling you around.

"Forgive me," You uttered over again, and Ivar knew the words were not meant for him.

This was the closest you had been together since the first night you had spoken. You were still devoted to your weak God, and Ivar wasn't certain you had even taken heed of his proximity. To take one's own life was cowardice, and he couldn't understand what had driven you to act on such an impulse. You were pitiful, in need of comfort, and he was enraged. After the courtesy, he had shown you this was how you chose to escape him. His hand clenched tight on your arm, his nails biting into flesh until you whimpered.

Just as he contemplated finishing the work you had started, and it would have been simple to take the clay shard to your throat, Hvitserk returned with a healer.

"You need to move, Prince. I must see what I'm dealing with," said Audhild. She was their most senior healer, a broad woman with wiry blonde hair and shrewd green eyes. With skillful hands, she tended to battle wounds, not Christian thralls. If she had any grievances about being summoned, she hid them behind a stern face of practicality.

Ivar passed you over to Audhild. You had grown cold and quiet, ceasing your own utterances to your God. Hvitserk was at his side with a hand and his crutch to lift him off the floor. The first thing Ivar sought once he got back on his feet was the bucket of tepid, clean water to wash up. He had been covered in the blood of his enemies before, but when his hands hit the water and darkened it to a murk, he felt a strange sadness.

"What happened to her hair?" Hvitserk questioned, coming to stand at Ivar's side.

"She did that to herself," mumbled Ivar. He wasn't in the mood to entertain all of Hvitserk's questions. "Just more Christian nonsense."

"It could have been worse," Hvitserk intoned in a low voice. "At least she didn't keep this hidden and try to kill you in your sleep."

Ivar looked at the jagged piece of clay in Hvitserk's hand before resuming his wash up. He couldn't make out his own reflection through the filth of the water, but he could feel the frown on his face. The thought had never crossed his mind, and he was certain it hadn't crossed his nun's either.

"No, she would never risk the wrath of her God by murdering me," He said, drying his hands on a rag.

"You sound confident." Hvitserk's tone lacked the same strength.

"Yes, here we are," He quipped, tossing the sodden rag at his brother. "This isn't my blood that was spilled."

Hvitserk set the rag aside, along with the makeshift knife. He seemed prepared to argue further but was interrupted by Audhild. She had far less blood on her hands and appeared satisfied with her work.

"The cut was not deep enough to be fatal. A part of her must have wanted to live," said the healer.

"No, it was fear of her God. Sinners go to Hell." It was utter nonsense that kept you alive, he was certain of it.

Audhild's eyes crinkled to a squint, unsure what to make of this information. "Well, her wound will heal, but she'll need to eat and drink to replenish what she lost."

Ivar peered passed Audhild to his thrall. You were whiter than your old virginal robes, and your head was bowed. Except for the rise and fall of your chest, you were still like a statue. He had no kind thoughts towards you at that moment.

"Take her to the kitchen to be fed. She can remain there with the other thralls," said Ivar, turning away.

Hvitserk perked up at the remark and came forward. "You aren't keeping her?"

"No, I have no use for a cowardly slave."

While Hvitserk looked alarmed by his callousness, Audhild appeared thoughtful. "Excuse me my Prince, but before you make that decision, might I inquire about her usefulness? If she was a nun prior to this, then she should have skills to aid me. They tend to their sick and dying, not to goats and pigs."

"Fine then, you take her," Ivar huffed. "Just get her away from me."

Audhild said nothing more, taking her dismissal as she went to collect you from the floor.

You startled from the healer's touch on your shoulder but stood up when you understood you were being ordered away. Ivar fought the need to watch you depart but surrendered to the urge at the last moment. You were looking back at him also, curiosity alight in your sad eyes. And there was fear also. You broke the gaze that lingered between you both, following Audhild out of the room.

"Why did you do that?" Hvitserk asked the moment they were alone.

"I already told you," Ivar bit back, in no mood to have to explain his rationale to his slow-witted brother. "Go and fetch Ubbe. I want to hear what plan you think you have to negotiate with the Saxons."

Hvitserk took on a concerned frown. He must have known there was little hope for their plan of a sit down with the Saxons now. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as Ivar assumed.

He trudged to the door, halting once he got to the entryway to get the last word in. "I have seen these nuns do this before. You shouldn't have been so quick to release her, brother. Something must have happened to make her act on impulse like that."

Maybe something had occurred to spurn such a reaction from you, but at the moment Ivar could not see through his fury to consider such possibilities. You had tried to use death as a means to escape him after he had shared parts of himself with you. He told you of his parents, and you had spoken in kind of your own. By granting you those stories, he had allowed you to know him. It was more than he had given to another in years, and this was how he was rewarded. The Gods were not smiling down on him today.

"I'm not like you, father," He said aloud, with the hope that his words would reach Ragnar in Valhalla. "I can't befriend a Christian."

He staggered over to the abandoned washbasin. It would need emptying by another thrall now. The broken clay shard remained atop the soiled cloth, and Ivar felt it in his hand. His rage had peaked, and he squeezed the piece of clay until it drew blood from his palm. When the sting of the blade ceased, he pitched it across the room, shattering it to pieces.

The silence in the room made it impossible to ignore that he was alone once again. Ivar collapsed onto his pallet of furs, braces still intact on his legs, and the exhaustion returning along with this new hurt squeezing his chest. He was tired of being let down by others. No one ever remained at his side.

Hvitserk was wrong. He couldn't keep you after knowing you would rather die than be his thrall. Lying on his side, Ivar could see the dark stain of your blood on his floor, and he turned away. Yes, he was better off without you tearing everything he had built apart.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings #vikings ivar #history vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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