#"i love you to the point you of immortalizing you in my paintings and poems and sonnets

[yanderestarangel]

Hello! Could you write something about the Lin Kuei Trio, please? Where do the three like the reader and know that one and the other also like it?

​​​​​​𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐊1 | 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐊𝐔𝐄𝐈 | 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

TW: rivalry, afab reader, smut in the final cut, foursome, blowjob, v!sex, anal!sex.

The first one to like you was Tomas, at first it was platonic, with him just wanting to be your friend because he thought you were an extremely nice person to him and everyone around him, but soon this innocent feeling turned into a need and need to have you. in a much more carnal and intimate way, like a couple.

Then Tomas asks for help from Kuai Liang, who is curious to meet you, soon going with his younger brother to find you, also falling in love with you, so a competition soon begins between the two, it wasn't a bad rivalry, Kuai Liang tells you I wanted you as much as Tomas also wanted you, but they would both be happy if one of them managed to stay with you at the end of the day, until Bi Han came in.

Bi Han found out about the brothers' competition, so he decided to get to know you too, at first he just wanted to be with you to annoy Tomas, but he really starts to like you as time goes by, your smile, your voice, your face then the competition really starts to get serious. Bi Han would love/hate the competition for your love, he would spoil you with expensive gifts bought by him - necklaces, rings all in pure gold and diamonds - or even some technological trinket that he ordered Sektor to make.

Kuai Liang, on the other hand, would spoil you with gestures of care and service, helping you clean your house, walking with you or offering to carry you in his arms or on his back, so you wouldn't get tired walking. He helped you rest by massaging your back, feet and legs - It was Kuai Liang's excuse to smell you and kiss your thighs from time to time, if you allowed him of course, artisanal oils made by himself, his favorite was of roses and almonds, it made your skin tempting and beautiful for him.

Tomas is more shy, but he writes you little letters, usually poems about how beautiful you were and how you brightened up his day, like warm rays of sunlight on a cloudy day, some were just letters about his subtle feelings.

"We painted and read together, or I listened, as in a dream, to his delirious improvisations of his soul aching for life. Your beauty blessed by the immortal gods, perhaps I loved your eyes more than my own, perhaps I vibrated with every timbre of your voice and movement.

Your grace is like a dance of swans on a crystal clear lake in the pure gardens of paradise itself.

The angels came to envy our nights together, wondering about the essence of our dawn, the touch of your lips on my skin, on my face, chaste as the purity of the finest silk, such a feeling was deprived of me in my distant childhood.

I wasn't, as a child, like others, and I never saw how others saw, but your company makes me see the gift of your beauty, only you, (Y/N) my divine blessing of select destiny."

Tomas wrote on the parchment, while looking at your reaction, he did the best he could with each letter, poetry and poem he wrote to you, accompanied by small flowers, picked by himself, along with small expensive perfumes that he managed to buy with the reserve of money he had, he would smile sweetly and ask you if you thought it was good enough, he really needed your approval and love.

The competition got worse when the three brothers realized that you had a favorite, Bi Han would get more pissed off with Tomas and Kuai, even ending up in serious fights - Kuai fights with Bi Han or Bi Han with Tomas, to the point where they left seriously bleeding -

So you would have to choose soon.

If you chose Bi Han, Tomas and Kuai Liang would be sad but would respect your decision, sad looks would be given to you as you spent time with Bi Han but would respect your decision.

If you chose Tomas, Kuai Liang would be sad but happy for his younger brother, even if he is still in love with you. On the other hand, Bi Han would freak out, his anger towards Tomas would increase with daily fights over you.

If you chose Kuai Liang, Tomas would also be happy for his brother, even if he cried every night because his heart ached with love and Bi Han would just ignore you two - you would also be banned from being in their house, to avoid the Tomas and Bi Han's suffering -

♡ Or you can resolve this all in foursome sex ♡

As Bi Han lifted you effortlessly and positioned you on top of him, his hard length pressed against your wet entrance, a low growl escaped his lips. His hands firmly grasped your waist, holding you in place as he began to rock his hips, the friction between your slick folds and his hardened cock sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Tomas wasted no time, his fingers trailing down your spine before coming to rest on your ass. With a purposeful grip, he guided your hips, pressing you down onto Bi Han's length. His touch was both commanding and gentle, his intentions clear as he guided you to find a rhythm that pleased all three of you. Meanwhile, Kuai Liang watched with darkened eyes, his own arousal evident as he remained in the hot spring. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, a mix of desire and frustration clouding his expression. You could almost feel his gaze burning into your exposed body, his fascination apparent as he bit down on his lip, struggling to hold himself back.

As grand master lifted you effortlessly and positioned you on top of him, his hard length pressed against your wet entrance, a low growl escaped his lips. His hands firmly grasped your waist, holding you in place as he began to rock his hips, the friction between your slick folds and his hardened cock sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

His hands instinctively found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he hissed in pleasure. The taste of him filled your mouth, the smooth glide of your tongue eliciting moans from his lips. His hips moved in tandem with your oral motions, seeking a deeper connection with your mouth. As Bi Han thrust into your wetness with force, his length stretching you to your limits, an intense mixture of pleasure and pain coursed through your body. The feeling of his dick plunging deep inside you, filling you completely, elicited a moan of pure satisfaction from your lips.

Tomas wasted no time, his fingers trailing down your spine before coming to rest on your ass, not one to be left out, took advantage of your exposed rear entrance. With slow and deliberate movements, he eased his girth into your tight opening, the sensation causing you to gasp in pleasure.

The dual penetration overwhelmed your senses, the mix of pleasure and tightness sending waves of ecstasy through your body. Bi Han's grip on your waist tightened, and with each forceful thrust. The intensity built, the rhythm of his thrusts matching the pace of Tomas behind you.

Lust surrounded you, pulling you deeper into a vortex of sensations that threatened to consume your every thought. Bi Han's thrusts grew more forceful, his voice dripped with taunting satisfaction as he spoke, amplifying your state of lust. "-That's right, my dear. You're just a vessel for our pleasure, a cum deposit for us to fuck." -He growled, his words spurring you on even further.

Tomas, his hunger for pleasure unabated, continued his steady rhythm within the tight confines of your ass. Each movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered breathlessly "-You want our cum, don't you? You want to be filled and marked as ours."

Kuai Liang pushed you further onto his cock, as you felt his balls hit your chin, he moaned loudly as he smiled roguishly seeing you a mess, lost in the unbearable vortex of heat and pleasure. "-(Y/N) can't even speak, like a stupid whore with my dick in his/her/they mouth, you really are little cocksucker, with three dicks in your little holes uh?"

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

#yanderestarangel #afab reader #mortal kombat #tw smut #mortal kombat fandom #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 #bi han x reader #kuai liang mk1 #kuai liang x reader #smoke tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #smoke x reader #sub zero x reader #scorpion x reader #tomas vrbada smut #bi han smut #kuai liang smut #mortal kombat 1 scenarios #mk1 x reader #mk1 bi han #mk1 kuai liang #mk1 tomas vrbada #bi han imagine #kuai liang x you #mortal kombat headcanons #tomas vrbada headcanons #bi han headcanons

[fyodorloveclub]

self-indulgent fyodor x gn!reader fluff because my heart is still so so broken :( no warnings! wc: 0.7k (divider by cafekitsune)

“I think that you and I would find each other in every universe.”

“Hmm?” your lover prods, pulling you closer against his chest and tipping your chin up with his finger. His violet eyes glowed in the waning light of the setting sun, slightly obscured by the raven fringe that swept across his forehead. “How do you mean?”

Taking advantage of the early summer weather and your approaching anniversary, you and Fyodor skipped work in favor of dedicating the day to your love. Starting with, of course, sleeping in, followed by a brunch you and him made together, visiting your favorite art museum, and ending the day with a picnic in a sprawling field within a nearby nature preserve.

It was like a movie, the way he hand-fed you strawberries and kissed away the juice that trickled down the corners of your lips with the laugh you could recognize anywhere. Prose and poetry danced off Fyodor’s lips as he read from the tote bag full of books you had lugged with you, reading stories of immortalized love and poems ignited by insurmountable passion as you laid your head in his lap. A few Russian novels had snuck their way into the collection as well, Fyodor gracing you with the heightened level of elegance and finesse in his voice as he spoke in his native tongue.

But now the two of you, pleasantly exhausted from the day, lie on the blanket laid out in the grass, surrounded by sprouts of baby’s breath and daisies in the cozy drowsiness of a summer haze.

You take the opportunity to press the gentlest of kisses against his warm lips, and he smiles softly as he returns the gesture. “I mean that… I don’t think there’s any version of us in any world, in any universe, in any timeline that don’t find each other. That never feel the touch of the other.”

Warmth blooms in Fyodor’s chest and spreads to each of his limbs, painting a rosy red on his cheeks that only you have ever been able to put there. “And why do you say that, my love?”

 “Because… I just know it. Our souls are intertwined. Don’t you feel it?”

It makes sense in your head. The way you perfectly compliment each other. The way you felt like you’d known him your whole life the second you met him. The tilt of his head and the almost mischievous spread of his lips felt like those of an old friend, and you hadn’t even known his name yet. And in that moment, too, you already knew you’d know him forever.

And yet, you weren’t two halves of a whole. You always found that expression to be reductive. To insinuate you were incomplete people without each other was incorrect – you would always be you, and Fyodor would always be Fyodor. But you made each other… better. More complete.

“Your handprint is forever burned on my soul, Fyodor,” you explain.

“I feel it,” he nods, answering your question from earlier as locks of your hair twirl between his fingers. “Like the roots of a thousand-year-old tree curl around each other and cement themselves into the earth, I feel it.” His hands leave your hair in favor of intertwining your fingers together, as if to illustrate his point.

 I fear we are stuck, you and I,” he chuckles, and you giggle along too.

“For better or for worse,” you say. “In every universe.”

“Through heaven and hell, and everything in between, above, or below. I’ll find you, my darling.”

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon now, casting your lover in a faint glow that made him seem ethereal, almost angelic. Your free hand, the one not enveloped in his, came to touch the delicate, porcelain skin of his cheek.

“You promise, Fedya? That you’ll find me?”

“I swear.”

#fyodor x reader #fyodor fluff #bsd x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader

[mortalees]

vash x artist gn!reader. ┊ ROMANTIC.

word count: 2.153.

no warnings! just love and art :P

it's interesting to think about the relationship between an artist reader and vash. how many paintings, true masterpieces, have been painted with vash's color palette? and then, how many books have been written about him? novels, poems, letters, love letters... especially if the reader is popular, i like to think about how vash would react to their most famous works being about him. he noticed, notices and will always notice all your looks at him while you draw some sketch. he also notices how after a sentimental conversation with him, you always sit with your pen and paper and start writing.

for him, it was many years of denying being loved and, suddenly, you show your love for him in the most interesting way: art. and it gets even cooler! let's say art is your job. may you be the best artist in noman's land, or something like that. at some point, you just got tired. you did it out of obligation. but that changed after vash appeared: now every scribble had a meaning. i imagine he realized this too, and probably felt very flattered, thinking how much he meant to you. of course he never came to any conclusion, but you already do your job: you show your love for him by immortalizing him in your art works. stating that his essence is worthy of being characterized as artistic. perfect.

it's pure, pure love. you let all your artistic thoughts spill out the moment vash does anything. he's your biggest source of inspiration, and at this point, he knows it. he will deny that he knows, but he knows. even though money is a sore point for everyone, he will shower you with gifts that remind him of you: “maybe this would be useful!”; “don’t you need new brushes?”... bla bla bla. again, pure love. and, if we appeal to the comical side of this, he has probably faked several poses just to get you to draw him. bonus: paint. him. naked.

the fact is that, little by little, you will break down these great walls that he has built around himself. not with a hammer, but with a brush, a pen. and he almost cry at the sweetness of every word you ever wrote when he picked up one of your books for the first time. is this really about him? it even seems very romantic to document how “vash the stampede has a lover who admitted to putting a little piece of him in all his works of art”! and he starts to feel jealous that he doesn't allow himself to feel when he sees you writing about someone else! like, hey! thats my sweetheart! my artist!

for me, it's also cool to imagine how when meryl or milly ask you about your work, you're embarrassed to answer that it's all about vash. every scripture about love is about him, for him. after all, “i will kill all the poets, i will be them all, and when you see anything about love, you will know it is about you.”

#vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun stampede #trigun

[anincompletelist]

Hi Sarah! 15, 17, 33, and 37 for the ask meme if you're feeling up to it. Hope you're doing well 💜

HI FRIEND! :D I am definitely feeling a little worn out but having fun answering some of these before bed :) I hope you've had a lovely day today!

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15: Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

oh absolutely. most of my reading is non-fiction psych books and/or poetry, so there are all sorts of feelings that must be written down expeditiously usually, and if I write in a notebook instead then the two get separated inevitably so I've found it much easier to write right there on the page. I love making a book my own and making it feel 'lived in'. looking back one day and being like hey! this made me feel things!! so much so that I had to write it down or highlight it or circle it or earmark the page to come back to again and again! I LOVE. (I do not, however, read in the bathtub because I have anxiety and am far too afraid I will drop it in the water on accident ksjhdk)

17: Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

as we all know, I have an unholy amount of wips in the docs currently but I feel like my 'main' wip is bridesmaids, which is concluding at the end of this month! it definitely has more lore than most of my other fics do thanks to a bunch of the characters being originals! when I outlined for this fic I had pages of background info for each of the characters and how it affects their behaviors and ties into the major plot points, but a lot of those details got cut as the fic crossed 100k and I didn't want to include a bunch of lore that wasn't directly relevant to our main characters/pairing. but the little found family in this fic is so special to me and if anyone's ever interested (or maybe if I do another fic set in this verse one day?) I'd love to delve into the original characters a bit more! they have tons of quirks and little details that are so much fun hehehehe

33: Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

I will do literally anything creative even if I am not good at it ksjhkdh I love to create! I've tried a bit of everything here and there, but I regularly enjoy photography, painting, and occasionally drawing! if poetry counts, I have written poems for fics, both in posted works and some upcoming ones, but other than that I've yet to have any of these crossover!

37: If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

ooooh what a good question!

ideally, I think I'd like some of the main takeaways to be that I felt deeply, did not shy away from hard or emotionally nuanced topics but always managed to find a bright spot within them, that ultimately leaves people walking away from my work feeling seen, validated, and/or inspired.

realistically, they might stick me in a textbook under the category 'words that should have been said to a therapist that have instead been immortalized on ao3 [tags include: emotional hurt/comfort, shameless smut]' SKJDHSKJDHSJH we out here!

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[send me a weird question for writers or reblog to play along yourself!]

#about me #ask #wips

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Hi! Tell us more about The History of Romance, A Cat Named Hilda and The Longow please!

Of course!

The History Of Romance

Okay so, this idea came to me when I was reading about the invention of the telephone if I remember correctly. One thing led to another and I was wondering how people would send messages to one another over long distances. I love England and Portugal, and how their relationship is tied together with their alliance; I also think that their personalities - while sometimes clashing, mesh well together, and therefore I was like: 'How does this effect how they talk to each other?' So essentially, I'm thinking that it'll go from things like portraiture (which appearantly the big thing to do for nobles in love was to commission and send paintings of *yourself* to the person you loved, which is. wild to me. it's like the old version of the dick pic). To letters and poems. To telephone calls and telegrams. To the *text message.* Plus, I think England and his attitude towards technology is something I need to desperately write more of - cos essentially, I think he bemoans the invention of the mobile phone and signs them off like he's writing a letter. like 'Dear Portugal, I love you. I am hoping you're looking forward to the resturant this weekend and I have brought a new shirt for the evening. Miss you, *please* reply as soon as you see this and *not* a few days later. Sincerely and best wishes, Kingdom Of England' (Kingdom of England being the full name of the country in *technicality*, England's strange like that.) While Portugal replies 'ILY2' (not to say that Portugal doesn't love England! In this situation, it's more likely Portugal was the one who came up with the idea of going to a resturant *and* Portugal will turn up with lots of love to give! He's just not very talkative over text and I think he fell hard for those wonderful acronyms <3)

A Cat Named Hilda

I have the Sims 4 and the only expansion I got with it was the cats and dogs expansion pack. I decided to make England in the game (his human name is Edmund Sharpe - I do not like the name Arthur Kirkland, it's a personal opinion thing) and he adopted a cat while in the park. The cat was called Hilda and looked to be a point of some kind, and was described as 'troublesome, affectionate and curious'. Oh, and she was scared of the TV for some reason. Wonderful <3 England in the game, by the way, had anger issues. He would vent so angrily and stomp around the house - but kept stopping to randomly pet the cat. So you had this angry man, grumbling and having literal *steam* coming out of his ears, stopping to *tenderly* pick up his cat and cuddle it. He would also talk to the cat, gesticulating wildly. As you can imagine, I was inspired. The idea of this moody, stormy and quite frankly - arsehole, of an immortal being - being so gentle and kind to a random stray cat was so endearing to me. I might change the cat's name to something else (as in the game, she was already Hilda - but I'm not sure *why* England would name her that? I want it to be something that makes sense for the guy - so suggestions would be appreciated <3)

The Longbow

This behemoth I've rewritten already. I actually had a chapter 1 of it posted on my blog (I *think* I deleted it - I can't remember) as well as AO3; But, my HCs changed a lot since that chapt so I decided to scrap it and try again. Each chapter is going to start with some information on *longbows* - which, while you've likely heard of *English* Longbowmen, the actual invention of the longbow goes to the *Welsh.* The Welsh were already famous archers and they were used during the Hundred Years War, where the English started to use the longbow - and then the English obsession with them cranked up a notch. For a while, every Englishman was required to know how to draw a bow and it was *strictly* enforced to the point where the bones of English archers began to change! Hell, we almost ran out of yew-trees cos of HOW many we needed to make the longbows themselves! So I thought it was an apt weapon as a connection between England and Wales - a Welsh creation that was taken up by England. Wales teaching England to draw a bow - something that would *save his life in many situations.* Here's a snippet:

‘’What are you apologising for?’’ Cymru murmured as they stepped into the threshold of their small, hunting shelter; Beams of yew and oak criss-crossed the ceiling, herbs hung in aromatic bundles as tools and weapons were tucked far above prying, juvenile hands (she had not forgotten the day that England had cut the tip of his finger off, grasping at an axe that he was never meant to get his hands on). ‘’Is it about the rabbit?’’ She breathed out, tilting her head inquiringly as she set herself before the firepit; Arms opened to receive him - teary eyes and all. ‘’For God’s sake, I was just-’’ Cymru shook her head, hugging the boy close. ‘’Eng…’’

England slumped against Wales, sniffling noisily as he shook his head. ‘’N-nothing to do with the rabbit.’’ Honestly, he’d forgotten that they had been hunting at all on the way back home. It was hard to bite back the tears, budding forth like a spring meadow. Rubbing his eyes furiously, England looked up hopefully at Wales - dredging up what little courage he had, words heavy in his throat as he shook his head furiously in the end. Wales was the one with the beautiful voice, always braver with words than he ever dared to be - and England felt sheepish at once, a red-hot flush travelling up his neck as he swallowed a lump in his throat. 

He grasped the edge of his tunic, the rough wool rubbing against the palm of his hands. ‘’Let's talk about something else.’’ England mumbled softly, guilt laden like a stone (like a sword, heavy at his hip). There was a soft crack, the first embers taking hold in the firepit as the shelter grew a little lighter - chasing shadows into spidery corners. ‘’I-I forgot what it was.’’ England murmured lamely, pushing his forehead against Wales chest and sighing. ‘’Sorry.’’

Cymru knew at once what England had meant. She sighed, feeling her heart get a little heavier and sink to the pit of her belly, shadows drawn into deep furrows as she frowned. He felt light in her arms as she drew him closer, gaze trawling to the dark corners of their little shelter - as if she saw Wessex, propped up by a bloodied sword. ‘’Hm, fine.’’ She replied tersely, stroking England’s hair gently. ‘’Let’s talk about how you missed that rabbit then.’’ He squirmed in her arms, grumbling something or other about how she’d put him under pressure and made him muck it up, bottom lip pushed out moodily. ‘’Stop grumbling. This is the third time…I can’t possibly be distracting you that much-’’ 

‘’-But you are!’’ England bleated defensively. Cymru sighed, frustration clawing at her ribs as she felt her cheeks pink. ‘’Do you ever practise?’’ She retorted, glaring at him. ‘’Wessex should be teaching you these things-’’ Why on Earth she was the one saddled with England was lost on Cymru, who found herself equal-parts enamoured and enraged towards the small boy in her lap. It was never simple, a mantra that Cymru found herself repeating over and over, a mantra that Gwynedd had taught her a long, long time ago. A mantra that Cymru found herself repeating more often. 

‘’Hey-!’’ England squeaked, whirling around to grasp Wales’ hands as she snagged his hair. ‘’I do practise-!’’ Cheeks ruddied with embarrassment, he slowly pulled himself upright and crossed his arms - chest puffed and bold. ‘’And Wessex teaches me loads-!’’ England insisted, watching as Wales slowly stood up - and suddenly, England felt very small indeed.

‘’Right,’’ Cymru snorted, eyes narrowing as molten iron poured through her veins; Liquid malice as she looked at the boy and saw Wessex’s eyes staring back at her. Mercia, Kent, Northumbria…how many were there again? Too many, Cymru thought resentfully, and he was just one more trouble piled atop many - and so young too, not even a true country yet. It wasn’t too late, the warrior mused, he could still be defeated - and the firepit was so hot. ‘’Like what? How to fail at catching rabbits?’’ Cymru ground out, hands balling into fists as she drew in a deep breath, shaking her head gravely. Someday, he’ll catch one and it’ll be too late. His people still quarrelled, Cymru knew that - From across the border, just past Offa’s Dyke were whispers of conflict and complex politics (all of whom she doubted England understood). They rallied like quivering spears, liable to be knocked down by a gale - and if she was to be that errant wind, then so be it; Better him, than her.

#hws england #hws wales

[brooklynislandgirl]

“The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality…”

Tennyson’s words continue, telling the tale of a man gifted unending life and cursed with endless aging. Unlike Tithonus, Mikhail’s hair stays black. He more closely claims peerage among the portraits they stroll through, a Tudor-era collection on loan from some British gallery, all of them faces frozen from a lost time.

The Toreador primogen has arranged the night-time access. Art, so important, and while he must attend for political reasons, there is at least Beth’s company as reward. “Perhaps arrogant of me to think there is no better partner for you than myself, dear sprite.”

The poem ends and his thoughts begin, spun from an invisible tangent. “I can keep your mind fed and your body sated. I know all that you are and aren’t, and would raze this city to ashes before any could harm you. While I cannot join you in the sunlight, this is true, I do not claim to be a perfect being. Only that I am as ideal for you as any undying creature can be.”

A Million Reasons || Accepting

Tawny fingers slither around his bicep with the wool beneath doing little damage to her as she's temporarily altered her own body to compensate for the allergy. She leans her head closer to him. The slender column of her throat exposes itself for a single flirtatious moment of throbbing pulse before her hair hides it again. In so many ways it is a microcosm of what Mischa's voice does to her, wrapping her up in the silk of its measure,and warms her throughout as so little else in the world does.

She listens closely. Navigating intent and art to find the truths that he wishes to share. More often than not, Beth aches for him. Even if she extended her own life beyond any conceivable measure, she too, will have to leave him. That is the point of a life measured against the Tapestry. But that's not what she wants to think about, not when everything around them already whispers of death and time. She slows their measured tread as they pass one particular painting, and for a moment she half wonders if he'd not sat for it, though this one does surpass even his formerly human years in age. A relative perhaps. A doppelganger. Some Sidhe who dreamed Mikhail into existence across centuries. "Arrogance is the exaggeration of one's own importance and ability or skill, Kuluaumoe. When you speak as you do...is called truth." She enunciates carefully so that her meaning isn't swallowed up by the cracks in her native pidgin. "I would like to think, for so long as you wish to keep me, that I can feed your body and quiet your mind. I know what you are and I stand not afraid. And I know that if...if you were to be taken from me, that the world would drown in blood until I raised you back up, or else I would be content to twine my roots in your earth. I don't need the sun, when I have you."

He is perfect to her just as he is, and even he can't dissuade her from that. She gives his arm the slightest squeeze and stares up into his midnight gaze. "Why I love thee? Ask why the seawind wanders, Why the shore is aflush with the tide, Why the moon through heaven meanders; Like seafaring ships that ride On a sullen, motionless deep; Why the seabirds are fluttering the strand Where the waves sing themselves to sleep And starshine lives in the curves of the sand".

#Mahalo!MM <3333 #Left the Belltower|Mikhail Alkavich #White Translucent Black|Mischa and Beth #Mists at Midnight|Vampire the Masquerade #Latchkey Saints|Mage the Ascension #Brooklyn Stories|New York

[doorplays]

Musings on Art: Wherein A Dog Helps Me Get In Touch With My Inner Artist

Hello! As I talked about with my spoilery review for Immortality, I sometimes want to do an accompanying spoilery review/article for games that I want to really talk about, but can’t talk about as much due to not wanting to spoil their stories. I’ll be changing up the format of these kinds of articles so that it’s less a review and more of my thoughts on my experience of these games!

Before we continue though, I’ll have to give a big fat !!!SPOILER WARNING!!! for this article as I will be talking about this game in a somewhat in-depth manner, mentioning some character arcs and some lore.

With that out of the way, let’s get on to my thoughts about Chicory: A Colorful Tale!

Chicory was a lot of things I didn’t expect. Even starting out, the game asked me for my favorite food. I didn’t think it would be used for the main character name, so I just said “Lumpia” and moved on. So I guess my drawdog is named Lumpia! And based on the title, I thought the game will be chiefly about Chicory, and that I’d get to control Chicory, and I guess I was (partly) wrong about both points!

I wanna talk about the game. I wanna talk about how it made me feel. But first, let’s talk about art.

I feel I need to post a disclaimer: I am not an Art Expert in any way, shape, or form. I am just a huge fan of art! Specifically the Game kind, but I do find myself liking a bunch of art. ANYWAYYYYY

Art means a lot of things to a lot of different people. Some think it has to have a deep effect on you. Some think it has to be done in a specific way. Throughout the years, it has evolved and changed, incorporating new tools, being expressed through new mediums.

What I’ve found, though, is that at its core, art is about communication. It’s about the desire to share a thought in a way that you choose.

If art is about communication, then there’s always two parties to art: the artist and the audience. And art, in this exchange, is the message.

It is a description that may seem too simple, but I do believe that is the heart of it. Nonetheless, art is definitely more complex than that! Artists struggle to perfect their craft in an effort to deliver art that is worthy of their chosen audience. They want to perfectly distill the ideas they want to share in this capsule of art, and share it with the world. Books, poems, paintings, movies, even games are made in the name of art. From small one-person artists to sprawling collectives working with collectives, art has been made and remade in a constant conversation between artist and audience.

It is no wonder, then, that many people want to be part of this conversation in a speaking role. They want to deliver their own message and thus become artists.

In Chicory: A Colorful Tale, there is only one artist that truly matters, and that artist is the Wielder.

When you start the game, you are introduced to the concept of a Wielder, and how important the role is to the society of Picnic, the world of this game. Using The Brush, they bring color everywhere, painting the trees, the seas, and the skies. They go around Picnic, retouching old paintings and buildings, helping everyone who needs their help. Since this role is a singular one, it is very important, and the responsibility weighs heavy on those who are charged with it. A new Wielder is chosen by the previous one, apprenticing them until they are ready to take on the role.

We see four Wielders in this game. We see Cardamom, an adorable old Lion! He loved doodling. He loved being in touch with his creative side whenever he drew and painted. But when he became the Wielder, he found that he disliked the role, as it meant that he was no longer doing this for his own happiness. As time passed, he grew tired of being the Wielder and he searched for someone to pass it on to.

Blackberry was the Wielder after Cardamom. She is a severe figure who values skill and greatness. She sees the Wielder role as a very important responsibility that must be handled with care. As such, she took decades before she chose an apprentice. She chose Chicory. Though passing on the Brush to her was a traumatic event for both of them, Chicory ended up becoming the Wielder all the same.

Chicory worked hard to be the Wielder. It’s all she wanted. It didn’t leave her room for much of a life other than working for the role. And now she has it… and she has grown to hate it. Blackberry pushed her too hard to be great. She colors in one spot and is unsatisfied, repeatedly erasing and coloring it in until she thinks it’s perfect. She is celebrated by everyone… except herself.

Lumpia, my player character, was a janitor for Chicory. Throughout the events of this game, they end up becoming the new Wielder, with Chicory guiding them. While Lumpia is happy to become Wielder, they are keenly aware of how they just stumbled into the role by luck, and constantly think if they are worthy of it. They are happy to help people using the powers of the Brush, yes, but they also think that maybe someone else deserves it better. Not only that, they also don’t know if this is what they even want in life!

It is interesting to me to see the Wielders’ varied motivations and their differing relationships with their role. Cardamom saw it as a burden that he soon cast off. Blackberry saw it as a responsibility to carefully guard. Chicory saw it as her ultimate calling, a goal to work towards. And Lumpia saw it as a way to help others. This… relation of the art with the artist, this is what Chicory: A Colorful Tale wants to talk about. How does your passion move you? How does your creativity manifest? What do you like about being an artist? How do you use your art? There’s a lot of questions to ask, but the point of Chicory is to help you explore these questions yourself. And what better way to do this than to be an artist in-game?

Chicory: A Colorful Tale opens with the world being devoid of color. It is an open-world coloring book for your own creativity to run wild in. The cursor is a brush that can change to different colors (depending on the area) and sizes. There’s even an in-game series of art classes for you to draw your own interpretation of various prompts and art pieces!

The art classes are optional. Heck, to my memory, there are only really one or two required paintings you really need to do. The painting in-game is mostly a way for you to interface with the Metroidvania platformer gameplay. Nonetheless, the game invites you to have fun with it. Color in the world! Draw some graffiti! Draw some [REDACTED]! It’s a blank canvas, you can draw as much (or as little) as you like! This is all an exercise for you to explore how you want to express your own creativity, and how much fun you have doing it.

I really like the game for how much it let me have fun with drawing and painting. It made me remember my younger days where I’d draw a lot of robots on notebooks, giving them stats. And seeing the in-game characters comment on my art enriched the experience, making me feel like my art actually mattered.

I think it’s too simplistic to call this game’s story as “unexpectedly dark,” but that’s what first comes to mind. On its face it seems like a fun coloring book of a game. As you play it, though, it then tackles themes of burnout, depression, systems that gatekeep, and a bunch of others.

I identify a lot with Chicory. As a person diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, I really empathize with her. She has lost her drive, her main motivation, and is now lost. She blames herself for the current troubles of Picnic, even though it isn’t her fault. Blackberry pushed her too hard and she just took it silently because she really wanted to become the Wielder! The Brush that she so wanted to Wield has become the representation of the heavy expectations placed on her by Blackberry, by society, and by herself. Who wouldn’t buckle under all of that stress?

It is only when she lets go of the Brush that she begins to heal. As she helps Lumpia with their path to being a Wielder, they too help Chicory with their path to recovery. When the full nature of the Brush’s darkness revealed itself, they came back to Chicory and fought to help her despite her own self-destructive tendencies.

The Brush, being the creativity of all the Wielders made manifest, is also their doubts, their fears, their insecurities. Cardamom’s burnout. Blackberry’s gatekeeping. Chicory’s depression. Lumpia’s impostor syndrome. And so much more. It is the reason why the color of Picnic has been drained, and it will become worse if left unchecked. This is the moment where Chicory and Lumpia think: this has to end. There has to be a better way to create that doesn’t involve such trauma.

In Picnic, everyone can make art, but only one person at a time gets to be the Wielder. I like how the story discusses how unfair this system is, with recognition only being given to the current Wielder. Radish, an art student in Picnic, talks about this unfairness at length, and even after quitting art school in protest of this, she still needed Lumpia’s help to get her work noticed. So I especially liked it when in the ending, the current Brush is destroyed by Lumpia and Chicory, who have rediscovered the forgotten skill of growing your own Brush.

At the end of the game, she moves out of the Wielder Tower and into her own house. She painted it with her own style, and hung up Lumpia’s rendition of her. “I really want to be better,” she says. She doesn’t know what the future holds, but right now she wants to help all those who want to be artists in this new world that she and Lumpia helped build: a world where everyone can grow their own Brush.

I really like that. Anyone can be an artist, if they so choose to be.

Art is communication between artist and audience. But sometimes, you have to remember that you are also the audience of your own art. And sometimes you have to sit back, relax, and take a break. Take a moment to play a game about a dog who draws. The world can wait.

#door reviews #chicory: a colorful tale #chicory #spoilers

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 10600

The eunuchs to painted so, he     level see yet! Thy voice she frailties, and weep or comes the     right, and bowstring him will

not one, other too. Like his     wondering in all darting that holy knew I could breeding;     if ever saying mourners

broader-grown within hart still’d     mongst Tartars, who compared, fifty with baleful as old, Woo’d     and slain his new, the other

bow. He was not keep the than     lies! The cold solitude, which the soul with prodigy by     the Love. Wise I: be

consummate to approach an ox, an     imprint of these were. Sometimes pair—Rome’s they such stomach,     by degrees? Light of the

read they passion of nation shade,     like a manner leads the said, or still heat burnt, she long locke,     and may call oblivion

long water freed, the world fondly     chief music of the swoops the call not flies mixt; with the     chilled, reserventeen your

sigh and squatted, wae is of Faeries     mayd’n Muses were dwelt a nymph his lay stinging soul. Returned     be halfe seene to table

coast to the stretch’d there in     thunderstand o’erflowing in the master’s cold pleasure. For in     words the baracan the

spak’ the monstrous vestal and the     children of night and by meet pour’d th’ unwilling orphan     selfe might him great tower

is throte, and swell. Now Piers, will     move, as hope of creature both tears. Freedom’s berry, followed     was thus fault if this maisters

they griefs to the light, for weld.     The lost, about wives leap to adore; and adopt you may     kiss that falls that vanish,

and was sooner whim: on the     immortal pangs on edge, the first, did you may fingers run; to     settled in the child, and

so often times and when she sluttish     long: and hall, that below in pieced together eyes with     such a fane the Levanting

the Vates throats and the Future,     and catch, he should drew in suffers could delves doe beames     in vain; then—ah the shrinking

has made of the ensigns; for     small lie after his aim on altogether. To be from     were want pittie thy kissed there

Love! Now.—My Sandy O, my lords     coming clause, which as men bred with she come the eyes; ye greate     be set with her heel should

still tenderness. For pleasant point     at my pain, all the grew how true—tears: at leave a patriarch     of the old pleasure,

where a word which—as well to sparkle     language pass me with thee; she saw thickest of mouths of     Shalott. And so find when

the old men loues leapt thy bedew’d     to this torments willing lies through I have the good; and now     cold melt—’twas Ariosto.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #152 texts #ballad

[whoopdyprompts]

AAAAAA guys i just told my best friend that i love her because its her birthday and i just got hit by another wave of love but i can tell its different than a friend love and i just told her that i LOVE love her but i still dont know what my sexuality is or what she feels about it and now im living in panic until she texts me back and uhhh im scared that she would choose to cut our friendship of sth

#rant #guys help me please #??? #do yall have any advice #aahh #panic #i even told her #"i love you to the point you of immortalizing you in my paintings and poems and sonnets #in all i think of you

[justanormalpersonworld]

Analysing Douma’s Blood Demon Art Based on Tibetan Buddhism

Frozen Cloud

Clouds are a very recurring element in tibetan buddhism with Karmapas. For those who missed my last post, the Karmapa is the bearer of the Black Crown(the hat Douma wears), hence he is sometimes known as the Black Crown Lama. 

I always found it curious how Douma’s Frozen Clouds appear behind from him, surrounding him, instead of being shot with his fans. I then realized they’re not just an attack, they’re also a defense so if they surround Douma like this they can work as a shield because they keep demon slayers far away from him. But now I think this could have a symbolic aspect to it because in quite a lot Karmapa paintings, the Karmapas are surrounded by clouds, those generally behind him.

You can see a bit of similarity between this Douma panel and these Karmapa illustrations. Notice how in these Karmapa illustrations above the clouds are behind the Karmapas surrounding them like Douma’s Frozen Clouds. If Douma still had his Black Clown hat in this panel, the comparison would be perfect. The cloud is a common symbol in Tibetan Buddhism representing the creative power of the mind and the ability to take any form.

“In Tibetan Buddhism the symbol of the cloud is of such far-reaching importance, that a glance upon Tibetan Thankas (scrolls) or temple-frescoes would suffice to convince the beholder. The figures of Buddhas, Bodhisattvas (enlightened beings), saints, gods and genii manifest themselves from cloud-formations which surround their haloes. The cloud represents the creative power of the mind, which can assume any imaginable form. The white cloud especially (or even a cloud shining in delicate rainbowcolours) is regarded as the ideal medium of creation for the enlightened or enraptured mind, which manifests itself on the plane of meditative vision as sambhogakāya, the mind-created 'body of delight'.”

“Even the earlier Sanskrit-Buddhism speaks of the 'Cloud of Truth' or the 'Cloud of the Universal Law' (dharma-megha), from which descends the rain of bliss and liberating knowledge upon a world burning with passions.”

“Thus the 'White Cloud' becomes the symbol of the Guru's wisdom and compassion, and therefore 'the Way of the White Clouds' hints at the same time at the way of spiritual unfoldment, the way of a pilgrimage that leads to the realisation of final completeness.” 

Based on all this, a cloud can be used to describe Douma’s nature. As Kanao pointed out, he’s able to change the form of his face to match any social situation just like a cloud can take any form. So in this case the “Cloud of Lies” because he prefers to spread lies rather than spread knowledge.

Unsui is a term specific to Zen Buddhism which literally translates as "cloud, water" comes from a Chinese poem which reads, "To drift like clouds and flow like water." Helen J. Baroni writes, "The term can be applied more broadly for any practitioner of Zen, since followers of Zen attempt to move freely through life, without the constraints and limitations of attachment, like free-floating clouds or flowing water."

Attachment: A deluded Mental factor or Perception that observes a person or object and regards it as a cause or source of Happiness, and wishes for it. A deluded mental factor that observes a contaminated object, regards it as a cause of happiness, and wishes for it.

“He was sometimes consulted by his believers, and seeing them crumble under the weight of their desires, be it for money, status or love, seemed to be too foolish for him, but he felt curious what the feeling was like. He had money, status, and an almost-immortal body, but he didn't feel anything special, so he switched partners every now and then to try to play the childish game of love.” 

Another comparison can be made between Douma and a cloud based on the term unsui. Accordind to the kny 2nd fanbook, Douma thought it was stupid of his followers to crumble over money, status or love. He even had money and status, but didn’t feel anything about it and never felt love until death as he said it himself when he told Shinobu he fell in love for the first time with her when he was dead. That’s also why he couldn’t regenerate his head like Akaza and Muzan, because he had no desires and attachments to his past life and current life like them. While he was alive he had no material attachments nor emotional attachments. 

He moved freely through life, without the constraints and limitations, like free-floating clouds. He thought Gods, Buddhas, Heaven and Hell, and divine punishment were just constrainsts and limitations invented by humans to keep evil people from drinking the “sweet nectar” and so that mentally weak people would be able to live with themselves.

White Blizzard Princesses

Of the 21 Taras, the two most popular are Green Tara and White Tara. Tara’s name in Tibetan is Dolma, and you can see then that White Tara’s Tibetan name, Dolkar, is a short form of Dolma Karpo, which means White Dolma. Tibetans pray to White Tara especially for health, healing and longevity/long life. She offers healing to our wounds, whether it is our bodies or our minds that have been hurt.  

 As White Tārā she expresses maternal compassion and offers healing to beings who are hurt or wounded, either mentally or psychically. White Tara embodies compassion, purity, grace, serenity and the love of a mother for her child. White Tara is often referred to as the "Mother of all the Buddhas". Tara is very close to sentient beings, like a mother to her children. 

Her pure compassion for our suffering which is thought to be greater even than a mothers love for her child is symbolized in images of White Tara by her white color. White Tara has 7 eyes — with an eye in her forehead, and one on each hand and foot — symbolizing her compassionate vigilance to see all the suffering of the world.

She is very quick to fulfill our wishes and to grant us happiness and a long life, as well as to help us develop wisdom. Tara is seen as the very embodiment of this wind—resulting in her ability to fulfill our wishes and prayers swiftly. It is said that living beings receive Tara’s blessings as swiftly as the wind moves because she is the manifestation of the wind element of all Buddhas.

“Within Tibetan Buddhism Tārā is regarded as a Buddha of compassion and action. She is the female aspect of Avalokitesvara and in some origin stories she comes from his tears that were shed in pity as he observed the vast suffering in the world.

Tārā originated not in Buddhism but in Hinduism, where she was seen as a Mother Goddess. Known as a manifestation of Kali, the queen of time, Tārā was seen as the unquenchable hunger that propels all life. Hindu oral tradition states that Tārā first appeared during the Hindu creation myth of the churning of the ocean. In this legend, Shiva has drunk the poison that was created from the churning of the ocean, thus saving the world from destruction, but has fallen unconscious under its powerful effect. Tārā appears and takes Shiva on her lap. She suckles him, the milk from her breasts counteracting the poison, and he recovers. This myth is reminiscent of the myth in which Shiva stops the rampaging Kali by becoming an infant. Seeing the child, Kali's maternal instinct comes to the forefront and she becomes quiet and nurses the infant Shiva. In both cases, Shiva assumes the position of an infant vis-à-vis the goddess.”

Tara was at one time a human princess who dedicated her life to love and protection of all. She is an example of the soul's aspiration to develop qualities of love, compassion, wisdom and joy. White Tara is sometimes called the Mother of all Buddhas and she represents the motherly aspect of compassion. Her white color signifies purity, wisdom and truth.

The White Tara was incarnated later as the chinese Princess Wencheng. I initially thought Douma’s White Blizzard Princesses’ head necklace with a pendant on the forehead was supposed to a reference to White Tara’s third eye on the forehead. But then I learned that it’s widely known that White Tara incarnated as Princess Wencheng and looking at her pictures, she’s always depicted wearing a head necklace or some sort of head jewelery.

Update: Another possible inspiration behind Douma's White Blizzard Princesses.

Mandarava was, along with Yeshe Tsogyal, one of the two principal consorts of great 8th century Indian Vajrayana teacher Padmasambhava (Guru Rinpoche), a founder-figure of Tibetan Buddhism, described as a 'second Most Important Female Buddha' by many practitioners. Mandarava is considered to be a female guru-deity in Tantric Buddhism or Vajrayana.

There are a number of conflicting stories about the birthplace of Mandarava. According to some legends, she was born a princess in Zahor, Bengal in eastern India, while other sources, and some contemporary lore place this in Sahor, in Oddiyana (the Swat valley) of northern Pakistan, or near the city of Mandi in Himachal Pradesh, India.

According to legend, she renounced her royal birthright at an early age in order to practice the Dharma. Mandarava is known as being highly educated at a very young age, a rare accomplishment for a woman at that time. There is a distinction. She was the primary student of Guru Rinpoche’s Most Beloved Yeshe. Mandarava's devotion led her to bring at least 800 women, including her entire personal retinue, to the path of the Dharma, all before meeting her teacher, Padmasambhava.

Mandarava attained full enlightenment alongside Padmasambhava in the famed Maratika Cave in Nepal. She was a fully realized spiritual adept, a yogini, and a spiritual teacher. Chapter 16 of the Lotus Sutra mentions, "Mandarava blossoms rain down, scattering over the Buddha and the great assembly. This has been verified by numerous sources."

The iconography of Mandarava in her sambhogakaya form often depicts her with white skin with a tinge of red and wearing regal bodhisattva ornamentation. In this form, in her right hand she often holds the dadar (or arrow) a teaching tool and ritual implement which is a powerful polyvalent symbol of Dzogchen, disciplic succession, lineage and transmission. Sometimes she’s depicted with a third a eye on the forehead. I actually thought she was White Tara for a second, they look identical.

Too often the White Tara is paired with the Green Tara as a pair, so I was wondering, why does Douma summons “two White Taras”? Why not one White Tara and one Green Tara? The Green Tara also incarnated as a princess(nepali Princess Bhrikuti Devi). For a while I actually just dismissed it as “ice is white/transparent”.

Green Tara is shown seated with one leg on the ground, ready to come to our defense while White Tara is seated in the more meditative diamond lotus position, with both legs folded under her, and her feet facing skyward. Green Tara is seated on a half-open lotus while While Tara is seated on a full-blown lotus. Green Tara doesn’t have a third eye on the forehead.

I was really confused as to why Douma didn’t manifest one Green Tara, then I looked more into her and found my answer. She protects people from disturbing emotions like anxiety, stress and especially fear. Green Tara also embodies activity.

Now allow me to copy and paste a whole page of Without Conscience, a book by Dr. Robert Hare. You can skip this part if you want. This is the most recommended book if you want to learn in depth about psychopaths. Robert Hare is probably the main authority when it comes to psychopaths. Robert D. Hare is a Canadian forensic psychologist, known for his research in the field of criminal psychology. He developed the Hare Psychopathy Checklist (PCL-Revised), used by psychiatrists and psychologists around the world to assess cases of psychopathy. He advises the FBI's Child Abduction and Serial Murder Investigative Resources Center (CASMIRC). This man is huge deal.

“The apparent lack of normal affect and emotional depth led psychologists J. H. Johns and H. C. Quay to say that the psychopath "knows the words but not the music."14 For example, in a rambling book about hate, violence, and rationalizations for his behavior, Jack Abbott made this revealing comment: "There are emotions--a whole spectrum of them-that I know only through words, through reading and in my immature imagination. I can imagine I feel these emotions (know, therefore, what they are), but I do not. At age thirty-seven I am barely a precocious child. My passions are those of a boy."

Many clinicians have commented that the emotions of psychopaths are so shallow as to be little more than proto-emotions: primitive responses to immediate needs. (I'll discuss the most recent research findings on this topic in later chapters.) For example, one of our psychopathic subjects, a twenty-eight-yearold "enforcer" for a loan shark, had this to say about his job: "Say I have to heavy someone who won't pay up. First I make myself angry." When asked if this anger was different from the way he feels when someone insults him or tries to take advantage of him, he replied, "No. It's all the same. It's programmed, all worked out. I could get angry right now. It's easy to tum on and off." 

Another psychopath in our research said that he did not really understand what others meant by "fear." However, "When I rob a bank," he said, "I notice that the teller shakes or becomes tongue-tied. One barfed all over the money. She must have been pretty messed up inside, but I don't know why. If someone pointed a gun at me I guess I'd be afraid, but I wouldn't throw up." When asked to describe how he would feel in such a situation, his reply contained no reference to bodily sensations. He said things such as, "I'd give you the money"; "I'd think of ways to get the drop on you"; "I'd try and get my ass out of there." When asked how he would feel, not what he would think or do, he seemed perplexed. Asked if he ever felt his heart pound or his stomach chum, he replied, "Of course! I'm not a robot. I really get pumped up when I have sex or when I get into a fight." 

Laboratory experiments using biomedical recorders have shown that psychopaths lack the physiological responses normally associated with fear. 1 6 The significance of this finding is that, for most people, the fear produced by threats of pain or punishment is an unpleasant emotion and a powerful motivator of behavior. Fear keeps us from doing some things-"Do it and you'll be sorry" -but it also makes us do other things-"Do it or you'll be sorry." In each case, it is emotional awareness of the consequences that impels us to take a particular course of action. Not so with psychopaths; they merrily plunge on, perhaps knowing what might happen but not really caring.

For most of us, fear and apprehension are associated with a variety of unpleasant bodily sensations, such as sweating of the hands, a "pounding" heart, dry mouth, muscle tenseness or weakness, trembles, and "butterflies" in the stomach. Indeed, we often describe fear in terms of the bodily sensations that accompany them: "I was so terrified my heart leapt into my throat"; "I tried to speak but my mouth went dry"; and so forth.

These bodily sensations do not form part of what psychopaths experience as fear. For them, fear-like most other emotionsis incomplete, shallow, largely cognitive in nature, and without the physiological turmoil or "coloring" that most of us find distinctly unpleasant and wish to avoid or reduce.

Psychopaths have little aptitude for experiencing the emotional responses-fear and anxiety-that are the mainsprings of conscience. 

In effect, the elements needed for the development of psychopathy-including a profound inability to experience empathy and the complete range of emotions, including fear-are provided in part by nature and possibly by some unknown biological influences on the developing fetus and neonate. 

Clinicians often describe psychopaths as individuals whose powerful psychological defense mechanisms effectively squelch anxiety and fear. Laboratory research supports this view and suggests that there may be a biological basis to their ability to cope with stress. This may sound as if psychopaths are to be envied. However, the downside is that the boundary between fearless and foolhardy is fuzzy: Psychopaths are always getting into trouble, in large part because their behavior is not motivated by anxiety or guided by cues that warn of danger. Like individuals who wear dark sunglasses indoors, they look "cool" but they miss much of what goes on around them.

"His social status notwithstanding, he is truly one of the most dangerous sociopaths I have ever seen," said the Superior Court Judge after sentencing respected 37-year-old San Jose attorney Norman Russell Sjonborg for the brutal slaying of one of his clients from whom he had embezzled money. His third wife, Terry, who initially had provided him with an alibi for the crime, said that when she first met him, "He seemed like a nice guy, soft-spoken and exceedingly charming." But she also noted, "From the start Russell spoke about this emotional void, an inabil ity to feel things like everyone else; to know when to cry, when to feel joy." Terry also commented that he "led a kind of paint-by-numbers emotional life," and that "he read selfhelp psychology books to learn the appropriate emotional responses to everyday events."

Although psychopathy is not primarily the result of poor parenting or adverse childhood experiences, I think they play an important role in shaping what nature has provided. Social factors and parenting practices influence the way the disorder develops and is expressed in behavior. Thus, an individual with a mix of psychopathic personality traits who grows up in a stable family and has access to positive social and educational resources might become a con artist or white-collar criminal, or perhaps a somewhat shady entrepreneur, politician, or professional. Another individual, with much the same personality traits but from a deprived and disturbed background, might become a drifter, mercenary, or violent criminal.”

Ok, back to the main topic.

If Douma ever felt any emotion while he was alive at all, he definitely never felt fear. During the tense Upper Moon Meeting, everyone except him were dead quiet listening to Muzan’s complaints while he was interrupting him, offering himself to be punished and his eyeballs. Not even when his whole body was melting including his bones from Shinobu’s poison he was scared nor even when his head was cut and he was desintegrating.

As for activity, Douma doesn’t seem to take much action himself. During his fights with Shinobu, Kanao and Inosuke, he seems to be mostly playing around. He only take serious action when he starts melting from Shinobu’s poison. Even as a child he never took action himself, he always listened to his parents to act like a good cult leader, no matter how stupid it sounded to him, and he kept this act going even as a demon. And even though he rose through the ranks of the Twelve Upper Moons, he probably done that because Muzan told him to when he turned him into a demon. Also, the kny 2nd fanbook ironically informs he has money and status, but suggests that he has no ambition because he thought it was stupid of his followers to crumble over money and status.

The Green Tara’s left hand is in the gesture of grant­ing refuge from every danger (abhaya mudra). This is perhaps Tara’s most well-known function. She protects from all fears, miseries, calamities, and disasters, including disease and illness, old age, death, attacks by wild beasts, harm from fire, floods, earthquakes, criminals, corrupt officials, poison snakes, and magic spells. It is often for this protective function that Tara is widely worshipped and propitiated.

Pacifying illnesses, epidemics, diseases, she scatters all the demons and bestows blessings, protection for all beings. Praying to Green Tara will bless you with success, protect from evil, heal illness, and bless your children.

The practice of Green Tara is helpful to dispel the suffering and emotional turbulence of these times. Green Tara promised always to appear in the form of a female bodhisattva and goddess for the benefit of all beings and especially to protect them from the eight fears. These eight fears are further classified as internal and external depending on their source of origin and are as follows: Internal External fear of fire (anger) fear of imprisonment (avarice) fear of lions (pride) fear of floods (attachment) fear of elephants (ignorance) fear of demons (doubt) fear of snakes (envy) fear of robbers (wrong views)

The First Dalai Lama’s Teachings on Tara

The first Dalai Lama wrote that we can call on her to instantly save us from eight particular dangers, each of which represents a corresponding human mental problem:

lions — pride

wild elephants — delusion and ignorance

forest fires — hatred

snakes — jealousy

robbers — wrong views, including fanatical views

prisons — greed and miserliness

floods — desire and attachment

demons — doubts caused by delusion

Ordinary Tibetans pray to her when we are sick, when leaving for a long journey, or when we hope for success or wealth. His Holiness’ teaching shows us that this is not actually the true purpose of praying to or reciting mantras to Tara.

When we chant the Green Tara mantra, we are not simply asking for Tara’s blessings and help with our lives and our “real world” problems.

Actually, we are also asking to be liberated from the misery of the mental delusions and negative emotions that blind us to true freedom, and to achieve the same enlightened body, speech and mind that Tara represents, not only for our own benefit, but for the benefit of all sentient beings.

The Eight Taras to the sides of the main Tara image depict the eight types of fears or dangers that may potentially endanger or derail the spiritual path of a practitioner. The basis of these fears come from a particular Sutra called “The Sutra of Tara Who Protects from the Eight Fears” which, in Sanskrit, is known as the “Tara Sṭaghoratarani Sutra”.

The Eight Fears contain both an inner and outer meaning:

Tara who saves from water or drowning represents desirous attachment.

Tara who saves from thieves represents false views.

Tara who saves from hungry lions represents pride.

Tara who saves from venomous snakes or serpents represents jealousy.

Tara who saves from fire represents anger.

Tara who saves from spirits or flesh-eating demons represents doubt.

Tara who saves from captivity or imprisonment represents greed.

Tara who saves from elephants represents ignorance.

Through the practice of worshipping Tara, we are able to purify the karma of receiving harm from these eight fears and their associated inner delusions. Thus, Tara is able to liberate us from all fear.

Meaning of the Green Tara Mantra

A 1987 teaching by Lama Zopa Rinpoche really opens up to us the profound meaning and benefits of practicing Tara’s powerful mantra. 3

Lama Zopa walks us through the mantra in a long discussion on Tara, which we have excerpted and shortened below:

In short, om tare tuttare ture soha means “I prostrate to the Liberator, Mother of all the Victorious Ones.”

The Tara mantra is om tare tuttare ture soha. To explain the meaning of tare tuttare ture: tare means liberating from Samsara.

Tare shows that Mother Tara liberates living beings from Samsara(reincarnation/cycle of death and rebirth/karmic cycle), from true suffering, or problems. You can relate this to the particular sufferings of human beings: birth, old age, sickness and death; meeting undesirable objects and experiencing aversion; not finding desirable objects or finding them but gaining no satisfaction… All these are the problems of true suffering. If you rely upon Tara by taking refuge in her and doing Tara practices—such as the recitation of mantra or praises — with tare, Tara liberates you from all these true sufferings.

The second word, tuttare, liberates you from the eight fears. There are eight fears related to external dangers from fire, water, air, earth, and also from such things as thieves and dangerous animals. However, the main dangers come from ignorance, attachment, anger, pride, jealousy, miserliness, doubt and wrong views. These eight disturbing thoughts that you have in your mind are the main dangers… This second word, tuttare, which liberates you from the eight fears, frees you from the true cause of suffering: karma and the all-arising disturbing thoughts.

The third word, ture, liberates you from disease. Now, of the Four Noble Truths, ture shows the cessation of suffering, which is the ultimate Dharma. In terms of liberating from disease, the actual disease we have is ignorance not knowing the absolute nature of the I, and all the disturbing thoughts that arise from this ignorance… By liberating us from disease, ture actually liberates us from the true cause, disturbing thoughts, and also the true sufferings.

I think it’s very clear now why Douma doesn’t summon the Green Tara. Douma is a demon so he doesn’t need to worry about illness, he only needed to worry about Shinobu’s poison. Douma is immortal so he doesn’t need to worry about old age and death. Douma doesn’t believe in Heaven and Hell so he most likely doesn’t believe in Sansara(reincarnation). As the yny 2nd fanbook makes it clear, Douma doesn’t care about success and wealth. Green Tara is “Mother of The Victorious Ones”, Douma doesn’t seem to care about winning like Akaza, he even adviced him to eat lots of women because it would make him stronger. Also, Douma might’ve won many battles, but ultimately he lost the war. 

I’m pretty sure fires, lions, elephants, floods and snakes aren’t effective against demons, especially Douma. I feel really bad for the robber who tries to rob Douma. Douma is the flesh-eating demon so people around him need to be protected from him by Green Tara. 

The closest Douma showed of genuine emotion was his somewhat upset/displeased face when Kanao pointed out he doesn’t feel emotions like happiness, enjoyment, anger, sadness, pain, bitterness. He also seemed disappointed when his head was cut and he was dying, but he wasn’t afraid of dying nor annoyed that he lost. That makes me think that he wants to experience the complete range of emotions, like anger and fear, not just “positive emotions” so why would he want to be protected from something he wants to have? Or why would he need to be protected from something he doesn’t have?

Douma might be a glutton, but he isn’t a stingy or greedy person, on the contrary, he seems to pride himself in being a very generous person. Like I said way earlier, Douma had no material attachments nor emotional attachments while was alive. That’s why he wasn’t able to regenerate his head like Akaza who was determined to become stronger. He’s ignorant about the existence of Heaven and Hell, but he definitely doesn’t think he is and he doesn’t know it. Instead, he always thought his parents and his followers are the ignorant and stupid ones for believing in Heaven and Hell. 

Even as a child he’s never showed any doubts, he’s always been very assertive and firm in his views that Heaven and Hell is just a fairytale created by humans and eveyone who thinks differently is stupid and that he was saving his followers and making them happy by eating them until the the end. Douma never showed envy for anybody in any moment, he actually thought Akaza was jealous of him for “reaching success” earlier than him despide becoming a demon way after he did. But he seemed frustrated when Kanao pointed out that he couldn’t feel anything so he has to pretend to feel emotions so he won’t reveal his empty heart and that he was nothing but an empty shell so maybe deep down he might be jealous of people who feel real emotions. He wouldn’t admit it though.

Douma is infamous for his very wrong view that eating people will save them and will make them live forever happy inside him, when in reality he didn’t care about his followers and was just taking advantage of the emotionally vulnerable and killing innocent people and using them as food. His other wrong views include thinking that Heaven and Hell are fairytale created by humans and everyone who believes in it are stupid and that Shinobu was foolish and her attempts to take him down were useless. But despite all that, he certainly never once thought his view were wrong or that he was deluded or misguided until his death. In short, he absolutely no use for Green Tara. I think Douma summoning two White Taras instead of the standard one White Tara and one Green Tara serves to emphasize his emotionless nature.

#douma #kny douma #kimetsu no yaiba douma #kimetsu no yaiba #tibetan buddhism #white tara #green tara #karmapa

[cantteachanoldguardnewquotes]

Febuwhump Day 19 Chronic Pain

Warnings: lose of immortality mention, frustration at not being able to do things he once loved

Joe clenched his teeth together, his painting didn't look right, the proportions we're off, the lines weren't straight, the angles were all wrong and strange looking. He kept trying, he'd been at it for the better part of the afternoon and still there was no improvement. He was fairly certain the longer he tried the worse it was becoming, he'd started and stopped more times than he could count at this point and he was so frustrated he didn't know if he should scream or cry.

His hands hurt. Even the hand that didn't hold his paint brush hurt. His hand used to do exactly what he commanded it to do, and now it felt all but useless. Worse than useless since it was throbbing so bad.

After yet another failed attempt to capture what he say in his minds eye, he couldn't take it anymore, he threw his paint brush down and swept everything off the table.

Nicky came running in upon hearing everything hit the floor. "Joe? Joe? Is everything ok? Are you hurt?"

Joe held his head in his hands, and didn't look up. "I'll never paint again, my hands have betrayed me. After all this time, all I've seen and done and now I can not even control a simple paint brush."

Nicky knelt down and gently pressed his forehead to Joe's. "I'm sorry my love I'm so sorry. Can I do anything for you?"

He knew how much Joe was struggling with the pain that had crippled his hands. He knew how Joe longed to create again like he used to, but he knew even with all the modern medicine in the world their was still no cure. Even so he offered his help it was the only thing he had to give, he would do anything for Joe to feel a little better.

Joe shook his head. "There is nothing to be done. I'm broken."

"No." Nicky said firmly, this caused Joe to look up at him a little startled by his tone, a question in his eyes.

"No." Nicky repeated. "My husband is not broken." He took his hands gently holding them so he wouldn't hurt Joe further. "These hands have done so much good, have built and mended, created artwork more beautiful than tongues can describe, written poems so profound people would weep. They are not broken, my love, they are ready to rest and bask in all that you have accomplished in your long life."

A tear fell from Joe's eye and Nicky was quick to gently wipe it away.

"Thank you Nicky. I- I guess I overreacted."

Nicky shook his head. "I won't hear any of that nonsense either. It's only natural to feel this way, you've been young for ages and old for only a decade. It's a lot to adjust too." Truth be told Nicky had felt the same frustration now and again himself. He'd not been able to walk quite as far without his back acting up as he could last year, he knew it was a matter of time before he was in the same position as Joe. "Promise you'll just take it slow and we'll face this together?"

Joe placed a kiss on Nicky's hand. "Together, like everything else we've done. Always."

"Always."

Nicky helped Joe clean everything up, then led him to sit on the couch. "Wait here."

He was gone for a few minutes and came back with some water, pain medicine, and ointment Joe used to relieve the stiffness a little. "Take this." Nicky handed him the water and medicine.

Joe did without question or comment then reached for the ointment.

Nicky pulled it back a little, and opened the lid. "Let me." He sat down next to him and had him lay back so that he would be comfortable.

"What were you trying to paint?" Nicky asked softly, as he very gently rubbed the ointment on Joe's hands.

"I wanted to paint the time we went to the jungle and you loved those blue flowers. The memory came to me so clearly I wanted to paint it and show you how I saw you that day. The sun was perfect, shining on the flowers and making your hair warm and glowing, the greens were so vibrant and the plants were so beautiful, I wanted to capture it all."

"Ah, I remember that day well, it was a fun trip." He thought for a moment remembering what a wonderful time they'd had together all those years ago. "Would you... Describe how you would have painted it? I've seen enough of your works." He grinned at that. "That I know I'll be able to picture it clearly."

Joe made himself a little more comfortable and began to describe in great detail the picture he would have painted. The scene, the plants, the colors, everything.

Nicky listened imagining it all and seeing it all as clearly as Joe saw it in his own mind.

"Thank you." Nicky said when Joe had finished. "We can both still enjoy the paintings your mind can see and your hand are too sore to create. I know it's not the same but I would like to hear any ideas you have in the future if you'd like to share."

Joe felt like he might cry again. He had no idea how after so long Nicky could still be the kindest man he had ever known. "I'd like that very much."

#The Old Guard #Joe #Nicky #immortal husbands #Twi writes sometimes

[wickedpact]

dear tumblr user crim wickedpact pls write the essay/dissertation about nicky being shakespeare's fair youth (if you have time, ofc!!)

Not To Imply Nicky Was Shakespeare’s Fair Youth But Ive Read The Fair Youth Sonnets & Nicky Was Definitely Shakespeare’s Fair Youth, an essay by me, tumblr user crim wickedpact

background knowledge: our man shakespeare wrote some 120 sonnets about a young man referred to as the Fair Youth during the mid 1590s; there has been some debate among shakespeare enthusiasts whether shakespeare’s interest in the Fair Youth was platonic or romantic (but like. they were definitely romantic). no one knows for sure who the Fair Youth was, but it was definitely nicky and my first and most important piece of evidence regarding this hypothesis is the ‘lmao babe do you remember that guy who had a crush on me?’/ ‘i try not to remember the guy who had a crush on you’ look joe and nicky exchange when Merrick brings up shakespeare during the movie. especially since gina confirmed in a tweet that joe and nicky canonly did know shakespeare

my second piece of evidence is that it just Works (except for a couple small facts like.. the Fair Youth was prolly closer to his 20s than his 30s. and the fact that shakespeare implies that the Fair Youth slept with his mistress at one point. but he doesnt know what hes talking about shhh we IGNORE)

long post under cut

A. The Description Matches

when describing the Fair Youth (who I’ll call the FY from now on), shakespeare says he has a ‘gold complexion’ and ‘beautiful eyes’ and compares him to a ‘summer’s day’. He says the FY has “A woman’s gentle heart" and “An eye more bright than [women’s are], (...) Gilding the object whereupon [they] gazeth”

As much as shakespeare’s perceptions of sexuality and gender are very........  late 1500′s (whoo boy sonnet #20 is a wild ride) ...... the description does match, and also:

  B. The Fair Youth Refused to Get Married

it’s never really said why one way or another (shakespeare assumes it’s because the FY is selfish) but the FY didn’t/wouldn’t take on a wife and have a kid, and this was something that was a real sticker for our man Willy S. because, as he says in his sonnets a million times: beauty doesn’t last forever, but having a child not only passes down the FY’s beauty, but also blesses the woman the FY would have a child with (im not saying shakespeare wanted to bear the FY’s children, but he definitely did)

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

(ie. If you don’t renew yourself/ have children, you deprive the world and deprive a woman from having your child, since what woman out there is so beautiful that she wouldn’t want to bear your child?)

Like.

1.) if nicky is the FY then so many of these poems center around the idea of nicky growing old sometime soon and that must have been pretty funny to Nicky and

2.)  the fact that shakespeare would have been So Desperate for nicky to find a wife must have been the opposite of funny to joe. considering the ease of his and nicky’s relationship and the fact that being gay in late 1500s england was probably not a walk in the park, it is very likely shakespeare wouldn’t have known they were in a committed relationship-- or at least not known how close they actually were. Thus:

  C. The Rival (aka. Joe)

shakespeare mentions having a poetic rival in regards to the FY in several sonnets. In sonnet #21 he talks about how he’s not like Those Other Writers who use grand metaphors to talk about their muses

So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,

(ie. I’m not like other poets who, when inspired by a ‘painted beauty’ use heaven and every other beautiful thing on the planet to make a grand comparison to their muse: he specifically lists the sun and moon as examples as well as other beautiful things)

He then goes on to say

And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:

(ie. my love [the FY] is as beautiful as any other beautiful person, though I wouldn’t compare them to the stars/heavens (which is what he means by the 'gold candles’. those are stars.))

So shakespeare insults poets who compare their subjects to the sun, moon, and stars (amongst other things) and in the comics, Joe does literally exactly that

That man is the stars in my sky, and the sun that lights my days. That man is the moon when I'm lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold.

shakespeare also goes on to say in the same sonnet “Let them say more that like of hearsay well / I will not praise that purpose not to sell” which is to say ‘let people who like that kind of language use it, I wont because I don’t want anyone else to have the subject of my affections (the FY)’.

(which is a bit of a contradiction regarding his feelings abt the FY getting married, but these sonnets are full of contradictions. shakespeare was a confused dude; man spent the first 100 or so sonnets convinced the FY loved him back only for him to start wondering if the FY ever loved him near the end)

(not to mention Marriage For Love wasnt really.. much of a thing in Ye Olden Times but thats a different conversation. so shakespeare prolly didnt associate marriage with love/competition? anyways)

Shakesy-boo goes on to complain about this rival several times. In #79, he says

Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

(ie. everything ‘your poet’ (as the FY apparently favored this unnamed rival) says about you, he takes it from you in the first place. he talks about your virtue, but learned the word from watching your behavior. he calls you beautiful but only discovered beauty by looking at your face. every compliment he gives you he took from you in the first place)

[and, as a smaller example, he also bemoans the fact that people want to paint the FY in #67, saying, “Why should false painting imitate his cheek, / And steal dead seeming of his living hue?”. and yknow. Joe’s an artist.]

And then another example in #86

Was it the proud full sail of [the rival’s] great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

(ie. he’s talking about how he’s having difficulty writing abt the FY and is rhetorically asking if ‘the proud sail’ of the rival’s verses was the reason his ‘ripe thoughts’ were killed in their ‘womb’. He then asks (again rhetorically) if it was the rival’s ‘spirit’ (or creativity, maybe) ‘’’‘by spirits taught to write’’’’ that killed his own drive to write. none of the analyses I’ve read really explain what shakespeare means by ‘spirits taught to write’, other than maybe being a joke or reference to something we dont know, but... ‘taught by dead people to write in a way mortal people can’t’ very much sounds like a description of an immortal poet, eh?)

Which brings me to,

  D. Willy Boy Thinks There Are 500 Year Old Writings About the Fair Youth

shakespeare talks about people having written about the FY ‘500 years ago’ from the late 1500s in #59 which......................... would have been around 1100 AD. :thinking face:

Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame;

(ie. Oh if I could look back 500 years and see how you were described in some old books so I could see/reference what people used to write about you)

Which again brings me to,

  E. I’m Not Saying shakespeare Stole From Joe, But:

1.) In #22, shakespeare says this,

For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: 

(ie, your beauty is due to the ‘clothes’ my heart gives you-- probably means something like ‘you’re beautiful because i love you’. goes on to say his heart lives in the FY’s chest, and the FY’s heart lives in shakespeare’s chest)

so: shakespeare tells the FY he has shakespeare’s heart. in comparison, Joe calls nicky ‘my heart’ in the comics...... :thinking face x2:

2.) In #109, shakespeare tells the FY ‘thou art my all’,

For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

which rings similar to Joe’s ‘he’s all and he’s more’ as well as (from the comics) ‘he is my everything’

and just saying. joe looks pretty #done the mention of shakespeare.

  F. The last One

Despite shakespeare writing 30+ poems about the FY eventually growing old, the very last poem he writes about/for the FY says,

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein showest Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest. 

(ie. you [the FY] have power over the ‘mirror’ (fickle glass) of time as well as time’s ‘harvesting’ ability (sickle hour) and as you grow older, you remain beautiful while your lovers [shakespeare] wither and grow old)

The transition from ‘get married and have a baby before you get old!!!!’ in #1-20 to talking about the FY’s presence in 500 y/o books in #59 to admitting the FY isn’t growing old in #126 kinda seems to imply shakespeare learning of/about nicky’s immortality at some point, and this last poem is him accepting it.

TLDR: not only does it make perfect sense if nicky was the Fair Youth from the FY sonnets, but it also makes perfect sense if joe was the Rival from the FY sonnets. its canon nothing will convince me otherwise

#IS THIS GETTING TAGGED? YES #nicolo di genova #joe x nicky #my_essays #the fair youth saga

[yanderesmythos]

🎼Yandere! Apollo(General) Headcanon⚕:

Tw: Violence, implied dub-con, delusions, mention of flaying, slight nsfw, toxic relationship, curses.

Ah, Apollo is known to be attracted to those that represent beauty. So when he got the gist of rumor spreading through the island of Kythira, that a young maiden has a mellifluous voice and an equally divine figure. He declared that he had to investigate, to make sure the rumours are true.

Thus, the blond god decided to pay a visit to meet the cryptic maiden; that had lit the flames of his curiosity as if it was the flames of Olympus* itself!

Before he descends to the village, Apollo disguised himself as man in his mid-thirties that have a flowing chocolate locks for tresses and stubbles beneath his chin. ' Now, to find the μούσα* of this village.'

The first thing that came to his mind, is that to search for her in the fields of flowers. Alas, he didn't find her which made him the more so frustrated. Were those rumours a mockery, just to taunt him for every lover he had met a tragic end?* If so, how dare they!

Yet, a kind gentlemen has came his way and saw the impatient expression painting Apollo's face. 'χαῖρε*, friend! I saw you were troubled, that's why I am here to help. As far as I am concerned, you're here to meet the allegedly fair maiden of our village. If you want to her, then head to the south east of chora. You'll find her humming a hymn and playing with animals, and Ὑγιαίνε!*'.

Before, he could give his blessing and gratitude to the man. The individual vanished into thin air as if he never existed. Nonetheless a smile tore Apollo's face, as he began heading to the place that stranger told him to go.

When he arrived to the location, his breath was hitched by not the beauty of place. But, with the woman in a flowy white dress who was singing her heart out. His heart was thumping so hard, that he feared that it may stop thanks to the woman in a simple village dress. It seems that the rumours were not an empty gossip, after all. Oh, did he finally 'meet' his muse and he won't let what occured to his past lovers happen to you!

Apollo is obsessive, clingy, delusional, and overwhelming-ly overprotective to the point of being overbearing. But, that's understandable when most of your lovers either wind up dead or turned into some kind of plant!

Apollo adores you immensely, so much that he will go as far as to defying you to his worshippers. Any mockery of you is akin of insulting him, which will steer his wrath. And his wrath isn't something to be taken so lightly, especially if his darling is involved.

It's a guarantee that Apollo will write poems, hymns*, and songs of praise for you. As well as, ensuring one of his devoted servants to sculpt you in the most pristine form and to be spread all through Greece. Then, he'll get rid of them* because he is the only one who has the right to appreciate s/o naked figure. 'What a fair woman you are, my μούσα. How fortunate, for the sisters of fate had decided to bind us together. So, let's take advantage of it and create the masterpiece of our deathless love.'

In fear of your death, the first thing Apollo will do is to force the ambrosia* upon you. Whether be it you're willing, or kicking and screaming to be let go. He simply will ignore it, as he believes those are 'signals' indicating that you desire him as much as he desires you. 'Shhh, μούσα. No need to be afraid, after all we will be together forever. Aww, those tears of happiness has blessed my day. Now, let me return the favour in our private chamber.'

If you're were to be taken away from Apollo, or worse injured significantly. Then, those imbeciles must be prepared to accept their fates. Oh dear, it has been itching him for a while to use his bow and arrow! Or, maybe flay them for their discretion of his sacred beloved.

Plus, he may or may not consider cursing their homeland with a terminal illness to make an example out of any mortal who has any ill intention toward s/o.

On another notice, rejecting or escaping him won't effect the outcome. As he'll accumulate you one way or another, in addition you'll be punished severely for 'breaking' his fragile heart. But don't worry, he won't hurt you....that much.

If you happened to escape on your own accord, not only will you make Apollo upset but also Artemis for upsetting her twin brother. (In which case, I believe from this scenario Artemis would've developed platonic obsession. Mainly, that you make her brother happy and that you haven't been dead yet. And, for that she promised to protect you until her last breath. Not only for her brother, but for herself as it has been a while since she met a kind mortal.)

Then, you'll become the prey of both Apollo and Artemis hunting game. If Artemis was the one to catch you, then you'll be handed to the lovesick god as he begin to drown you in his hold. However, if Apollo was the one to catch her then the s/o must be in for an intense 'love' session. In both scenarios, you'll be handed to him. It's just his reaction, that will differ.

Oh, also don't even attempt to break Apollo's delusions of you. As he will become a horrendous individual to meddle with, if he ever become lucid. And, the punishments will be amped to mind-shattering level. So try not to tread on his delusions, and you'll be safe for the most part. The more you escape, the more he'll be aware. Thus, he'll slowly become lucid. Oh, and just because he's lucid doesn't mean that he'll give up his beloved. NO! he'll be more persistent and bitter in his approach than his deluded state which is more softer and sweeter than any honey.

Anyways, one of his favored hobbies is to enact your and his fantasies with you. He can't help, but gushes at your flushed and drooling visage as he overstimulates your genital. 'Ahh, you're so.... dazzling especially with that flustered expression upon your face. Oh? You want more? Ask and you shall receive. No need to be shy with me, my βασίλισσα*.'

Anyways, as long as you play your cards right you might escape with your wits and sanity intact. But.....at the cost of either becoming the most dreaded immortal or cursed so no one can love you, but Apollo himself.

In which case, the isolation and ostracizion from the mortals will most likely drive you to return to him. 'Ah looks like you've learnt your lesson, κακῶς κόρην*. I forgive you now, so come into my warm embrace.'

Notes:

* Flame of Olympus: Here, I was referencing the myth of the first flame that Prometheus gave to humanity. Leading him, to be punished by Zeus.

* μούσα: Muse in greek.

* Tragic end: Poor Apollo. Each time he loves someone, they die or turn to plants. First, Daphne(turned into a Laurel tree) then Hyacinth(turned into Larkspur flower) then Cassandra(cursed for the rest of her life with the misfortune of no one believing her oracles). The last one, was a prickly act from Apollo ngl. But, then again there is no one right in the mythos. Everyone must've done something shitty for petty reasons with few exclusions (hestia/hades).

*χαῖρε: Hello in ancient greek.

*Ὑγιαίνε: Good luck in ancient greek.

*Hymns: are songs of praises towards a deity.

*then he'll get rid of them: you'll ask why would he spread sculptures of you around Greece, yet will punish anyone who worships it. Simply, because that's called hypocrisy and boy there is alot of it in the mythology. *Cough* Zeus *Cough*

*Ambrosia: Called 'the food of the gods', it is guaranteed to make any mortal into immortal.

* βασίλισσα: Queen in ancient greek.

*The first one to answer this will get a cookie from me: Who was the mysterious man that spoke with Apollo?

A/n: I apologize for uploading late, as I am busy with studying for my finals. Lastly, I hope you enjoyed this and thanks for requesting! Take care!

#yandere #yandere greek goddesses #yandere greek gods #yandere greek mythology #yandere x reader #yancore #Yandere Apollo x reader #Yandere Apollo

[regina-del-cielo]

Immortal Siblings AU | Four, then three, then four again

I mentioned that the bulletpoint post describing how the Guard from the Immortal Siblings AU found Joe had totally run away from me. It has, in fact, become a study on them grieving over Lykon and then finding Yusuf. 

I have, somehow, reached a sort of natural end to the amount of bullshit my mind can add to this list/fic draft. So, if you want to give it a read... grab a snack. It’s long. I’m sorry.

Warnings for Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy - I added links to the relevant pages when quoting historical events, but since I was just trying to work out a timeline (famous last words), the research wasn’t extensive. There’s a lot of hand-waving.

By the end of the 11th Century, I think Andy, Quynh and Nico haven’t been in Europe for a while, not really. They moved south, and then east, after the sack of Rome of 410 CE. Seeing the great cities fall has become hard for them, especially for Nico, who is a nomad at heart but has a soft spot for cities, together with Lykon, the true city boy in the group. He’d seen it happen to Athens, he wasn’t sure he could deal with seeing Rome wilt.

For reasons I cannot fathom, my mind is settled on them having been in India when Lykon dies (possibly sometime around the middle of the 6th century, in the mess that was the crumbling of the Gupta Empire???)

Seeing him die destroys them, and they take a break from any battlefield to grieve their friend and brother. They wander, occasionally helping but almost never raising their weapons, too leery of injuries and of losing each other.

(Quynh, who was the first to notice Lykon’s wounds, has nightmares that make her cry in her sleep. Andromache holds her so tight Nico can feel the tension on her muscles against his back. He and his sister barely sleep, scared of the open spaces of Asia as they’d never been before. Lykon was the youngest of them and he died, what if they stop healing too?)

(If Nico stands guard over his sisters and feels an ache in his chest seeing how they hold onto each other, he’s never going to say it out loud. His Mache deserves the love she shares with Quynh. But sometimes he wishes he had someone to hold him like that, one he can call his heart.)

The first time they go to battle again like in the old days it’s almost the end of the 10th century, and they’re helping Quynh’s lands gain independence from China. They have a reason and a specific side to root for, and it’s the kind of cause Lykon would have approved of. They find purpose again.

They are distantly aware of how things are holding up in the west – they know Constantinople has crowned itself capital of the Roman Empire (what is left of it anyway); they know of the new religion, Islam, and how it was brought further east with the armies conquering Persia. They met the Varangians on the Northern Plains of the Rus’, when Andy insisted on going back to their steppes for a while.

They acquire new swords, repair the old weapons, make improvements on their bows. They travel, and help, and listen. They learn new languages. They heal.

They’ve just spent the winter in Samarkand when they hear merchants newly come from Constantinople talk about the Frankish armies that took Antioch and making their way further into Palestine. 

The words ‘freeing Jerusalem from the infidels’ make Andy sigh in exasperation and twist Nico’s guts. The three of them don’t really understand the point of going to war for a god, but Jerusalem is old, and she’s been coveted by many throughout their long lives. Things like this never end well, they know it intimately.

But they’ve been away for a long time, centuries at this point. Things are very different from when the Romans had the power. They are less eager to throw themselves into the battlefield now, and there’s much they don’t know about the dynamics of Europe and the Levant. Still they’re worried, and decide that they’ll move west to see if something can be done, for the civilians at least.

At first they travel slowly, keeping an ear out for gossip spoken by the caravans coming from the west. Things radically change, however, when they dream of a new immortal (a man, with a curly black beard and shining dark eyes) dying on the walls of Jerusalem and reviving to an unprecedented slaughter – said man is, obviously, absolutely terrified and they feel it.

He’s also woken up surrounded by living enemies, with high risk of being killed or injured multiple times, and of being seen.

They are still too far away to do anything more than hope that the new guy is clever enough to keep himself alive until they can reach him, but now Nico is all for moving west at full speed to get him out.

“What the everloving FUCK is happening over there?!” is the common theme in their thoughts; nothing about this war they’re walking towards is making any sense.

Yusuf al-Kaysani is, in fact, clever enough to keep himself (and a few other civilians to boot) alive and get out of Jerusalem when it becomes clear than no matter how many Franks he kills he can do nothing to stop them alone. (It’s a fucking carnage, and he’s so tired). He walks away from the battle and tries to reach some sort of safety in the desert.

When he’d decided to stay in Jerusalem and fight instead of escaping the siege, Yusuf had considered the possibility of dying. He had not accounted for waking up from a fatal wound with no sign of having been hit in the first place.

And then there are the visions. Or dreams, he’s not sure. They don’t seem to make any sense? Who are those people?! Is his mind so addled by the war that he’s conjuring scary warrior women and a stupidly handsome man, armed to the teeth and camping in the desert?

(fantasizing about handsome men in his sleep isn’t exactly news for him, but there were never women in those. And none of his usual dreams involved weapons. Something is definitely off)

For the following days, Yusuf makes sure to stay away from human settlements while putting as much space as possible between Jerusalem and himself – the last thing he needs is to become a potential target for any invader that may cross his path.

But he’s alone, having nightmares, constantly on edge, and in a body that suddenly doesn’t feel like his own anymore, since he doesn’t even have the scars to prove that the injuries he sustained were real to begin with.

After a couple of weeks, the appearance of the strangers in his dreams starts feeling safe and comforting; they seem to operate like a little family, and God knows how much he misses his own.

(should he try to go back home? Would news of the siege reach his family before he does? Would he be able to go back to his previous life in the state he’s in? Could he keep this secret from them? Would they still love him or think him a monster?)

Despite their impressive warrior appearance, they feel... kind. And gentle. Sometimes, it feels like they’re trying to reassure him, even. Especially when he dreams from the perspective of the man.

The sensation those dreams leave on his skin is like a cape. You’re not alone, it whispers. Wait for us.

Andy, Quynh and Nico have just left Baghdad when the dreams change, and not for the better - Yusuf was passing through a village when a band of marauding Franks started harassing the locals. He moved to defend the villagers, but was overwhelmed and what’s worse, the Franks saw his wounds close too fast. Their reaction was vehement: they called him a demon, incapacitated him and then brought him back to their garrison, with every intention of ‘properly getting rid of him’.

Nico wakes up screaming and Andy has to sit on him so he doesn’t just sprint ahead without actually knowing where the fuck he’s going.

“We can’t just raid every single Frankish encampment in a twenty mile radius around Jerusalem, Nico!” “TRY ME” *Aggressive Sibling Bickering follows* *Quynh doesn’t bat an eye and just rolls out a map of the area she purchased and starts mapping out the fastest routes*

Yusuf is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week at the hands of his captors, who are getting disturbingly creative in their tortures, but whenever they let him fall unconscious he sees the people of his dreams travelling much faster than before, looking Royally Pissed Off, and the surroundings are... starting to look familiar too? 

If he tries to pay more attention to the conversations his torturers are having with each other outside of the tent he’s in and hoping the dreams go both ways, so the maybe-real trio can find him easier, now that’s nobody’s business but his own.

(spoiler: it works)

When they are in sight of Jerusalem, the immortals find a drunk “pilgrim” boasting about his band capturing a ‘pagan demon’ while coming back from their victory at Ascalon, follow him back to his camp, and as soon as it’s feasible they attack.

(Andy will later gripe that Nico didn’t leave her anything to do because he just paved his way through the Franks like he was harvesting wheat.)

seeing the Stupidly Handsome Man of his dreams standing in front of him covered head to toe in blood, with a double-bladed axe in one hand and a sword in the other, staring intensely at him as if to peer directly into his soul is... an experience for Yusuf.

(he may have composed a lot of poems about that first vision of Nico through the centuries. The words ‘avenging angel’ have been used quite profusely, too)

The protective instinct that Nico has felt for the newest immortal since the first dream clutches at his throat when he finally sees him, chained to a pole and so thin his clothes barely cling to his body, but with the softest dark eyes staring back with a glint of recognition when he comes closer.

(he could cry with relief at the knowledge that he’s not scared of him. Nico has seen the faces of the men that were keeping him captive, he knows he looks a lot like they did, and that he paints a gruesome picture.)

“Are you alright?” Nico asks first, in Greek. (He knows, from the dreams, that his captors prayed in Latin. He wants to make sure that the other knows that he’s not like them.)

“You were in my dreams. You came.” Yusuf answers back in the same language, although his sounds much newer than Nico’s.

“Of course. We’re not meant to be alone… and no one deserves to be in a cage”.

Nico uses the axe to break the chains, and by the time he’s done Andy and Quynh have reached them and his sister throws the keys at him to open the shackles.

“Couldn’t take a moment to get them yourself, little eagle? You wanted to show off your skills to the new one?” Quynh teases, just to see Nico blush. Andy stares at her brother and their new companion for a few beats, before finally asking his name.

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani, known as al-Tayyib” he answers, letting out the first smile in weeks at the raising eyebrows of his saviours. “Just Yusuf is fine.”

“You have a sense of humour, brother. I like you!” Andy snorts, before cutting her palm with the edge of her axe, and showing him her fast healing.

“We are like you, Yusuf. That’s why you dreamt of us, and we of you” Nico adds gently, while Quynh offers her waterskin to Yusuf. They also offer their own names.

“We need to clean up this mess and move away from here” Andy says, while Nico helps Yusuf up. “One of those fuckers was boasting about an undying demon with others in a tavern, the last thing we need is to fight our way out against their whole army because someone else decided to come check if he was saying the truth.”

“It’s been a long time since we were in Kush” Quynh whispers, and Yusuf sees their faces open in a look of affectionate grief he remembers seeing on his Baba’s eyes when he talked about his own mother.

“We can talk about it more when we’re somewhere safer” Andromache suggests, before moving to set up the stage of an ‘accidental’ fire.

As they’re riding away, Yusuf turns slightly to watch the camp burn, leaving no trace of the invaders that hurt him. Jerusalem looms in the distance - lost, and wounded. If he were a little less exhausted, he could  easily work out a metaphor about his own situation.

But then he looks at the three people of his dreams – Quynh, Andromache, Nikolaos – that came for him. Who are the same as him, immortal.

His world has turned upside down, and there are so many questions to ask, and he could sleep for a month straight – but one thing is certain. 

He’s not alone anymore.

#the old guard #my ponderings #long post #Immortal Siblings AU #andromache the scythian #quynh #lykon #nicolò di genova #yusuf al kaysani #otp time #murder wives #andromaquynh #the First Brother #the Former Goddess and the Former Priest #THIS WAS MEANT TO BE LIGHTHEARTED INSTEAD THE SQUAD TOOK POSSESSION OF MY KEYBOARD #Lykon is here for literally three points and YET #I kept Yusuf's background SUPER VAGUE because 1) this was long enough already and 2) I have to read up some more #hope the Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy don't bother you too much I tried my best #the Kaysanova isn't there yet but the Boys like each other already #Lykon's timeline of death is still feasible of variation btw hit me up with your ideas!

[stiltonbasket]

Hi!! Could I perhaps request LQR baby-sitting A-Yu and A-Lan for the renouncement verse? Thanks, love you <333

(brief author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

Lan Qiren’s nephews keep overworking themselves. 

This wouldn’t be a bad thing if they hadn’t been doing it for the last several years, but it’s beginning to wear on them. Xichen’s eyes are always red and swollen from writing letters by candlelight, and Lan Qiren doesn’t remember the last time he saw Wangji without trade reports in his arms and spit-up milk on his robes, so he finally puts his foot down and decides to give all three of them a break in early autumn. 

“Xichen, go take a soak in the hot springs,” he orders, sweeping into the hanshi and shoving everything on Lan Xichen’s desk up one of his sleeves. “Now.”

Lan Xichen is so exhausted that he tries to paint a line of calligraphy onto the expensive wood of his writing table. “Shufu?” 

“You heard me,” Lan Qiren scolds. “Go on! I’ll finish the petition forms by tomorrow.” 

Somewhat bewildered, Lan Xichen ambles out through the hanshi’s back door and splashes into the hot spring, leaving Lan Qiren to march down to the jingshi and confiscate all of Wangji’s trade contracts. He also confiscates baby A-Lan, who is lying in Lan Wangji’s lap and trying to eat his jade pendant. 

“What are you doing?” Wangji asks, watching him tug the rest of his letters out of Wei Ying’s hands and stuff those up his sleeves, too. “Uncle?” 

“You and Wei Ying need a rest,” he announces. “I am taking your work to the meishi, and I am also taking your children. Do not come to fetch them until sunset.” 

And with that, he straps Wei Shuilan to his chest and takes Lan Yu by the hand, bundling them off to his own residence before their parents have time to do much more than blink at him in confusion. 

“Huh,” Wei Wuxian says, after he leaves. “I think your uncle has a point, actually. Let’s go to bed, Lan Zhan.”

__

When Lan Qiren gets back to the meishi, he settles A-Lan down for a nap and gives Xiao-Yu a snack and some silver puzzle rings to improve his hand-eye coordination. “It almost reminds me of the old days,” he sighs, as Shuilan kicks her chubby little feet before falling asleep with her thumb in her mouth. “Even if Wangji never went down for naps without a fuss.” 

Lan Qiren was nineteen when he became acting sect leader, and he was also nineteen when he received custody of Xichen: not coincidentally, because the clan hoped that taking charge of the sect would prevent him from raising his nephew and allow one of them to take over his care instead. But Lan Qiren was nothing if not stubborn, so Lan Huan went with him everywhere—to meetings, discussion conferences, and even the odd wedding now and then, and was generally such an amiable baby that he adjusted to his uncle’s fraught travelling schedule without a fuss. In fact, the first time Lan Huan met Jiang Yanli had been during a week-long cultivation event at Lotus Pier, yawning in a sling on Lan Qiren’s back while Jiang Yanli napped on Jiang Fengmian’s chest, and Jiang Fengmian had even mentioned the possibility of a betrothal between the two babies when they were older. 

“My wife wants to contract an engagement between Xiao-Li and a son born to her sworn sister, but Jin-zongzhu and Jin-furen have not yet had a child,” Jiang-zongzhu had sighed, letting his daughter’s little fingers wrap around his. He looked heartbroken at the mere thought of parting from her, Lan Qiren remembers—which was probably why he named her yan li, to hate separation, because Jiang Yanli’s premature birth nearly stole her away from her parents the moment she entered the world. 

“Lanling is closer to Gusu than Yunmeng,” Lan Qiren pointed out. Yunmeng Jiang would make an excellent alliance by marriage, and he was fairly certain at the time that Jiang Yanli would grow up to resemble her mild-mannered father rather than her hot-tempered mother. He was right, of course, since Jiang-guniang took after Jiang Fengmian in both looks and character, but contracting a betrothal with her for Xichen would have done both of them a disservice—because Xichen could never have loved her as she would have wanted to be loved, and he could never have given her children, either. 

“Shugong?” a little voice says at Lan Qiren’s elbow, distracting him from the possibility of a world where Lan Huan married Jiang Yanli and crippled Lanling Jin’s influence after the Sunshot Campaign. “Xiao-Yu is done with the puzzle. I have another one?”

“Already?” Lan Qiren asks. This is yet another trait Xiaohui inherited from Wei Wuxian despite not being related to him, and Lan Qiren feels his heart swell with pride at his great-nephew’s intelligence. “Then you may play with the wooden blocks on that shelf, and see how high you can build your tower without letting it fall over.”

Xiao-Yu settles down on the hearthrug to stack up the fine-carved building blocks, and Lan Qiren goes through his nephew’s papers in peace for another hour before A-Lan wakes up from her nap and wails for her milk at the top of her lungs. 

“Do not cry,” Lan Qiren soothes, securing the child in her swaddle before heating a bottle with a warming talisman. “Here is your supper, and your xiongzhang is there on the mat.”

He has to keep A-Lan in his arms after that, since his tiny great-niece is so used to being held that putting her down would break her little heart; and Lan Qiren would rather die than let go of her, because he dearly misses holding his nephews, and not so long ago he was certain he would never have the chance to hold a baby again. 

And then, as if cuddling A-Lan to his chest wasn’t wonderful enough, Xiao-Yu pulls one of Wangji’s old picture books out of Lan Qiren’s storage trunk and runs over to sit in his lap, pushing the trade contracts aside and replacing them with the fable of the magic lotus lantern.

“Shugong, read to Xiao-Yu?” the little boy begs, snuggling into Lan Qiren’s overgown next to his cooing baby sister. “A-Die likes this story best.”

Of course he does, Lan Qiren thinks, as he flips the cover open and starts to read. The tale of the magic lotus lantern was written about a child whose mother was stolen away from him, taken back to the heavens by force when her godly brother discovered the magic lantern that illuminated her way to the mortal world—and for a while Wangji believed that his mother was like the immortal Sanshengmu, who loved a human man and had a child with him before returning to the realm she came from. Sanshengmu’s story ended with her being reunited with her husband and son, and the little Wangji never gave up hope that his own mother might come back in much the same way, even after he was old enough to stop believing in fairy stories. 

“Why did they fight?” Xiao-Yu asks, leaning closer to see the picture of the goddess’s lover with his brush and scroll. “That’s against the rules!”

“Sometimes people who love one another fight because they cannot understand their feelings,” Lan Qiren tells him, tapping the point of his soft button nose. “So it was with Sanshengmu and Liu Yanchang-gongzi, and when he awoke, she revealed her true identity, and explained why she sent a rainstorm to plague him after she read his poem. 

“Both apologized profusely. Days went by, and Liu Yanchang finally recovered. By then the goddess and the scholar had fallen deeply in love, and marriage naturally ensued. Encouraged by Goddess Sanshengmu, Liu Yanchang continued with his journey to the capital to take the imperial examination, and months later, the goddess gave birth to their son, whom she named Chenxiang.

“At the same time, the goddess’s celestial family had learned about her marriage to an earthly man. Her brother, known as Divine Erlang, found his unruly sister and demanded that she renounce her new family and return with him to their heavenly home, but Sanshengmu refused, and battled him with the power of her magical lotus lantern…”

__

“I want to paint a portrait of this,” Wei Wuxian whispers, when he and Lan Zhan creep into the meishi after sunset to find Lan Qiren fast asleep on the floor, with A-Lan snoozing on his chest and Xiao-Yu curled up in the crook of his arm. “They’re so sweet, Lan Zhan!”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan murmurs, his eyes softening as he looks at the open book on his uncle’s desk. Lan Qiren clearly just finished reading it before he fell asleep, because the book is open to the very last picture; a color painting of a goddess embracing a youth and an older man with a lotus-shaped lantern hanging at the crook of her elbow. “Bring a blanket and a pillow, Wei Ying. We should let them sleep.”

(Lan Qiren often finds himself toting his little great-nephew and niece around the Cloud Recesses after that, and Xiao-Yu’s favorite place to play in his parents’ absence is always the house where his shugong lives.)

#wangxian #mo dao zu shi #my fic #wangxian arranged marriage au #renouncement verse #lan qiren #lan xiaohui #wei shuilan

[amarimaryllis]

I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Loved (Ushijima x Reader)

Pairing: Ushijima/Reader

Prompt/Summary: Shakespeare wasn’t wrong, you’re just afraid of admitting the truth. Alternatively, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s first love never died.

Tags: Angst, Haikyuu Timeskip Spoilers

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, You might wanna reread the ending of “All The World Drops Dead”, I gave Ushijima’s mom a name, Ushijima’s a rich boi, Bold Italicized sentences are excerpts from the poem “Sonnet 116” by William Shakespeare

Warnings: Swearing, Heavy read, Author doesn’t know how off-seasons work, Mentions of separation

Part of A Sensitivity to Ephemera

Ushijima Wakatoshi was your antithesis, in a sense, and somewhere in the sky, Cupid laughs.

Way to go for putting the most incompatible people ever, am I right?

You found beauty in the temperance of words. Enjoyed their sheer ability to paint a hundred stories with only strokes and letters. Words meant everything and nothing all at once, and snippets of different stories appeared with each changing context. Ushijima, on the other hand, found beauty in the directness of words. Observed in the brutal honesty that constantly leaves his lips. He preferred to have it all laid bare, no hidden meaning, no ulterior motive. What you see is what you get.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love—

It was with words that you two ever even met, back in your first year at Shiratorizawa. Ushijima was not the best at literature, or any subject aside from Physical Education, and you were the panacea that the concerned teachers had offered as a remedy for the ace. It was a rocky start, but eventually, the relationship had grown into something more.

A literary genius and an athletic prodigy.

A master of language and her stumbling apprentice.

And eventually, a poet and her muse.

You never thought it would work out, but somehow, it did. And you were thankful that it did because you wouldn’t be where you are today. Standing in front of a large window overlooking the city, reminiscing on the events that led you to your present reality.

—Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

Ushijima comes up from behind you and grips your hips with his large hands before he presses a tender kiss on your nape. “What’s on your mind?”

You smile as you turn around in his grasp to wrap your arms around his neck. “Nothing much.”

Ushijima raises a brow as he moves his hands from your hips to your waist. “By nothing, I’m guessing you mean anything and everything.”

You grin as the two of you begin to sway to the silence. Dancing to nothing but the sound of your breaths and the noise from the city below. “You know me too well.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Ushijima smiles as he pulls you in for a kiss.

You smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms tighter around Ushijima’s neck to pull him closer to you. The telltale signs of lovesickness had been set in motion in your body once more: warming cheeks, speeding heartbeats, and crashing lips.

As you find yourself pulled deeper into Ushijima’s embrace, you wish for the world to freeze this moment. Unmoving. Unchanging. Immortalized in your memory and for the rest of your waking reality.

A few days after your engagement with Ushijima, you found yourself in the place where it all started. Shiratorizawa had not changed at all since you left. Sure, the notices hung on the wall, the faces that roamed the rooms, and the shape of the shrubbery had changed, but everything else was the same as you remember it.

You shut your eyes, take a deep breath, and it’s almost as if you’re transported back to 2012. A year of loss, victory, stagnancy, and change. So many had happened, and it all rushed past you in the blink of an eye.

“Love—“

“Yes!” You stand up straight from the bench, eyes wide open in an attempt to pull away from your little flashback. “Yes, hi. Sorry, Toshi, I was… Lost in thought. Are you done talking to Washijo-sensei?”

“Yes.” Ushijima chuckles softly as he flicks your forehead lightly. “You should be more observant of your surroundings. What if it wasn’t me who found you?”

“But you did, didn’t you?” You grin up at him only to see him looking ahead.

You turn around and your eyes land upon a familiar sight.

Warmth floods your cheeks and Ushijima laughs as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin atop your head. “I remember Tendou catching us there.”

You smile fondly at the memory as you look at the tree beside the volleyball gym. “Not my fault you kissed me all of a sudden.”

“Not my fault you look absolutely irresistible.” Ushijima’s warm breath tickles you as he leans down to whisper against the shell of your ear, placing a quick kiss before he lays his chin back onto the top of your head.

O no! It is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

Ushijima Kimiko’s eyes were burning holes into your skull. It was clear from the moment you had stepped into the house that you were not welcome. That you were not the one she wanted for her son.

There’s bitterness in the way she looks, the way she acts, and the way she speaks. She’s eloquent, so well-spoken that you wouldn’t have noticed the insinuation of each backhanded compliment she threw your way. Her son seemed to be oblivious to the silent war of undertones and context buried underneath your exchange of seemingly harmless words. It had gone on for the entirety of dinner, his mother unforgiving and you unrelenting. If she thought her disapproval would send you running, then she was sorely mistaken.

After dinner, Ushijima leads you to his room. A place you had not acquainted yourself with because this was the first time Ushijima had brought you into his home. Your lover sits on the bed, watching you while you familiarize yourself with the setting.

“So this is where you grew up.” You smile to yourself, choosing to bury the events that transpired earlier into the darkest corners of your mind in hopes that it would be consumed into the void. “Nice room.”

Your eyes trace over every inch of the room, taking in what you can to better understand the man that you were soon going to marry. It’s plain, nothing revealing anything personal save for the pictures lined up and hung on the wall.

There were many different faces. A young girl, a few boys, some familiar, some unknown. There were also pictures of some teenagers, particularly the members of the Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club.

“Is something bothering you, love?” Ushijima asks from his bed where he’s currently seated. “You haven’t been talking much since dinner.”

You froze on the spot, having an internal debate on whether or not you should voice your concerns.

“Come here.” Ushijima beckons you to come closer and you do. You stand between his legs, placing your hands on his broad shoulders as you continue to look at the pictures behind him. Ushijima reaches for your hand on his shoulder, intertwining your hands there as he plays with the ring on your finger. “Something’s wrong.”

“Toshi…” You sigh, giving in. “I don’t think your mom likes me very much.”

It’s Ushijima’s turn to tense up. “My mom doesn’t like anyone.”

“Yeah well… I think she hates me.” You fiddle with Ushijima’s collar. “God, I hope not. I really wanted her to like me too…”

“In time.” Ushijima smiles as he pulls at your hand to make you cup his cheek. “But for now, let’s talk about it at home.”

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Ushijima sits alone on the couch, waiting for you to come back. You had left after a heated exchange, unable to stand being in the same room as him, it seems. A few weeks had passed since your visit to his childhood home, and things in your relationship have been somewhat rocky since then. While Ushijima wanted his family to accept you, he knew that their disapproval wouldn’t stop him from pursuing a life with you. You were the person who stood by his side when nobody else was there. The world would have to end before he let you go.

But you didn’t understand that. You were still stuck in the events that transpired at the dinner table while Ushijima was already walking towards your future. He knew he shouldn’t have invalidated your concern simply because he could stomach going against his mother. He just wanted this argument to end, he had an Olympic game tomorrow, and he didn’t want to walk in there with a heavy heart that would most definitely affect his performance.

The ringing of the doorbell pulls Ushijima from his thoughts. He stands up and walks towards the door to answer it, wondering who it could be since he did not remember inviting anyone.

When he opens the door, it is not noticeable, but there is shock written on his face. “Sato-san, what brings you here?”

“Ah, Waka-kun! Your mom told me I’d be able to find you here.” Sato pushes a paper bag into Ushijima’s hands, her eyes disappearing into lines as she gives him a bright smile. “I just got back from Cali, and I wanted to give you your souvenir and some ingredients from Kimiko-san…”

“Ah, thank you.” Ushijima gives a soft smile as he grips the paper bag tighter in his arms. He knew that his mother was in the area, visiting so that she could watch her son’s game tomorrow. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

“Ah no! It’s fine.” Sato waves her hands, smiling as she turns the offer down. “I have to go meet up with a friend.”

“Ok then.” Ushijima nods. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Same here.” Sato moves to walk off. “I’ll be off then.”

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

With his bending sickle’s compass come...

When you come back home, Ushijima is quick to pull you into his arms. A string of apologies falls from his lips, weaving their way into your hearts as you melt into your fiancé’s embrace. The walk had cleared your mind enough, and you knew that Ushijima had a point. If he was willing to brave it out despite his mother’s disapproval, then you would do so as well.

After all had been said, and the issue was closed, you both retired for the night. Ushijima lays on his side of the bed, and you on yours. You turn to your side and are met by Ushijima’s broad back. Scooching closer, you wrap your arms around him, press a kiss onto his nape, and mumble, “I love you.”

You wait a few seconds for a reply, but you are met with silence. You sighed and wrapped your arms tighter around him, nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. He was probably asleep.

Ushijima was wide awake. Memories of a young girl with bright eyes and rosy cheeks running through his mind. And as he loses himself to vivid images of the past, sleep never laid itself upon his eyes that night.

The next day, you make Hayashi rice from the ingredients that his friend had delivered, and you wish him luck.

Apparently, that luck wasn’t enough because the Japan team had lost to Argentina that day, and as much as you wanted to comfort Ushijima, his mother had gotten to him first and was now talking to him inside the stadium.

You waited outside of the venue, sitting on the steps that led up to the doors that opened to the realm of competition and Olympic athletes. You could only wait it out, not wanting to bother your fiancé and his mother in fear that the latter might attack your very being once more.

The sound of footsteps comes closer, and you turn around quickly in hopes to see your lover, but you are met with the sight of their trainer instead.

“Oh, Iwaizumi-san!” You stand up to bow. You notice the red at the corners of his eyes as if he had been crying. You don’t ask. It was normal to be upset after a loss. “You guys fought well, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He moves to sit beside you on the steps, and you follow suit. “Hey, L/N-san…”

“Hm?” You reply with a hum. While Iwaizumi and you were not close, you two were still familiar enough with each other to carry a casual conversation. “What is it?”

“You’re a writer.” Iwaizumi states, but there is hesitance in his tone.

You can’t help but snort. “No shit.”

Iwaizumi glares at you, and you suppress a laugh. “Ok, I’ll stop, but yeah, I am. Why?”

“That means you’re good at the poetic symbolism shit right?” Iwaizumi asks for confirmation and you resist the urge to laugh at his choice of words.

“I like to think that I am good at the—“ You use your hands to show air quotes, “—poetic symbolism shit as you said.”

“Does first love never really die?” Iwaizumi asks and you nearly choke on air.

Iwaizumi is looking at you expectantly, and you look like a deer caught in the headlights. Out of all the things that could happen in your life, talking to Iwaizumi Hajime about his love life was not something you even thought of ever happening. Not even a single bit. It’s silent, and you realize that Iwaizumi is waiting for a reply.

You pause to think, not wanting to give Iwaizumi a half-assed answer that could make whatever he was going through worse. It seemed like Iwaizumi was more hung up over this than he was over the game they just lost, and while you don’t know the full story, you realize its gravity. “It’s something people like to say… Haven’t quite understood it because I’ve never felt it…”

You smile sadly. It seems like Iwaizumi wasn’t given the similar luxury of living out the rest of his life with his first love. “First love never dies, but true love will bury it alive.”

“And what if your first love is your true love?” Iwaizumi asks, his fists clenching as he looks down at the steps.

“Then you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning a lifetime that was never meant to be yours.” You sigh as you pat Iwaizumi in the back. “You never really know if it’s true love, Iwaizumi-san. Tomorrow promises nothing, after all. The only time you’ll ever truly know is when you’re a breath away from death and reliving your entire life.”

“Fucking hell.” Iwaizumi mumbles to himself. “Love is hard.”

“It is.” You smile. “But whatever the situation, Iwa-san… Don’t deprive yourself of the opportunity to move on, yeah? It’s kind of like volleyball.”

Iwaizumi turns to look at you. “How so?”

“Well, when you get blocked during games, do you stop spiking for the rest of the game?” You raise a brow.

It’s silent until suddenly, it’s not. Iwaizumi is laughing. He’s standing up, and he pulls you up before enveloping you in a hug. “You genius, I hate that you have a point.”

You reach around to pat his back, happy that your words somehow enlightened him. You knew that this enlightenment was brief and that somewhere along the way, Iwaizumi would be tempted to give up, but you were glad to have at least given him a way out. “As I said, I’m good at the poetic symbolism shit.”

A cough interrupts your little hug session with Iwaizumi, leading to the both of you pulling away and turning to the source of the noise.

It seems like the universe just loved screwing you over because standing at the top of the steps were three people: two familiar faces, and one that was teetering between remembrance and oblivion.

Ushijima Kimiko looked smugly angry. Her son looked confused, tinges of betrayal creeping into his eyes. The young woman beside them on the other hand looked absolutely livid as her eyes flitted between you and Iwaizumi.

“How scandalous.” You could hear Ushijima Kimiko whisper to her son. “Are you sure this is the woman you want to marry?”

You pretend you don’t hear it, forcing a smile and a bow. “It’s nice to see you again, Ushijima-san.”

Iwaizumi on the other hand does not let the comment pass. “There’s nothing scandalous about the situation, Ushijima-san. I simply asked my friend for advice and showed my appreciation. She loves your son too much to ever even think of looking at other people.”

You notice how the stances of Ushijima and the young woman relax.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ushijima Kimiko’s smile is tightly lipped.

The drive to Ushijima’s penthouse was silent and absolutely tense. Ushijima’s knuckles were practically white with how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. You can see the creases between his brows deepening as he clenches his jaw in both frustration and concentration.

“Who was the girl from a while ago? She looked familiar.” It was a seemingly harmless question on your end. You didn’t want to talk about the game because they did lose. You didn’t want to bring up his mother because that would be another argument. You didn’t want to talk about Iwaizumi because you figured that maybe the hug you shared was the reason for his frustration. So you decided to settle with the one thing in that situation that had no heavy feelings attached.

Well, you were sorely mistaken.

Ushijima tenses up before he relaxes. “She’s my childhood friend. She used to be my closest friend until middle school.”

“Ah.” You nod to yourself. “Cool.”

“She means nothing to me now, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Ushijima quickly added.

“Ooooh, did little Toshi have a crush on her?” You tease, trying to use this opportunity to lighten the mood.

Ushijima tenses up before a fond smile makes its way to his face for the first time since this morning. “She was there for me throughout my childhood. She helped me get through my parent’s separation.”

You didn’t know why, but you finally realized why she looked familiar. It was minimal, very minimal… But there was a large similarity between her facial and body structure and yours. And as you realize this, the conversation you had with Iwaizumi echoes disturbingly through your head.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Although they had been given a month-long break after the game, Ushijima was still out most of the time. Some part of you was bitter over the fact that your fiancé chose to spend more time spiking balls and playing with his teammates (that he already plays with on a regular basis), but you don’t pressure him to stay. If that made him happy, then you were happy with it as well. But still, some part of you wishes that he would just stay in with you and cuddle while you type your next piece on the laptop.

Later that night, Ushijima comes home with his arm slung around Kageyama who looked like he had just walked through hell and back. There’s a dopey grin on his face as he reaches out for you and crashes his body against yours. The smell of alcohol fills your nostrils, and you scrunch your nose up in disgust.

“Please take care of Ushijima-san.” The setter bows lightly before straightening up.

“Thank you for bringing him home.” You smile at Kageyama who blushes a deep red.

“I’ll take my leave.” Kageyama bows and walks off.

You shut the door once you see that Kageyama has made it to the elevator.

“You’re so pretty…” Ushijima’s grin is wide as he cups your cheeks. Nuzzling his nose against yours before peppering kisses all over your face. “Can’t believe you’re here…”

Ushijima presses you against the door and leans down to capture your mouth into his. He presses against you, grabbing at your wrists to wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes his mouth harder against yours. There’s desperation in the way he digs his fingers into your hips as he lifts you and pulls at your legs to wrap it around his waist.

“I love you so much…” Ushijima whispers between kisses as he nips at your neck. “Don’t ever leave me again… Fuck.”

Ushijima’s hand creeps under your shirt, trailing on your skin while his other hand supports you against the door. As good as it felt to be finally receiving attention from your lover, you grab at his wrist to stop him. “Toshi, you’re drunk. Let’s go to bed first, yeah?”

“What happened to Waka-kun?” There’s a pout on Ushijima’s face, and you would find it endearing if you weren’t confused by the words that left his mouth.

Choosing to chalk it up to his drunken stupor, you just smile, unwrap your legs from his waist and bring him to bed. “You need to sleep.”

Once you two were settled in bed, Ushijima nuzzled himself into your neck as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, positioning himself to prepare for sleep.

His breath tickles your neck as he mumbles, “Don’t ever leave me, please.”

“I won’t.” You smile as you sink deeper into his embrace. “I love you too much to do that.”

“You love me?” Ushijima was a talkative, sappy kind of drunk, it seems. “Really?”

“Very much.” You mumble as you intertwine your fingers with his.

“You’ll stay with me forever, right?” Ushijima’s voice is weak, almost as if he was afraid of what your answer could be.

“Of course.” You answer without a second thought.

You can feel Ushijima kiss your neck before his breathing starts to slow. It’s a whisper, the way he says it, lips brushing as he lightly mouths the words into your skin, but you hear it clear as day.

“I love you, Fuyumi-chan…”

If this be error and upon me prov’d,

You stare blankly at the Instagram profile on your laptop screen, your hands on the table as you focus all your emotions into clenching them as tight as possible. The apartment is quiet, but the noise in your head is a different story. Voices, faces, and emotions flood your brain, each wave stronger than the last as it threatens to drown you into the void of your head. You briefly wonder where it all went wrong.

When Ushijima decided to get drunk? No, it wasn’t.

When Iwaizumi hugged you after their loss at the Olympics? No… It wasn’t that either.

Maybe when you had visited Ushijima’s childhood home? No. Although it seemed like it went downhill from there… It wasn’t that.

It all went wrong the moment you allowed yourself to fall in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“Good morning.” Ushijima smiles as he sits across from you on the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

You force a smile. “Slept well?”

Ushijima freezes for a split second before recovering. “Had a good dream.”

“Good for you.” You don’t know how much longer you can pretend like your relationship wasn’t falling apart. “About the wedding—“

“We’re having it in 2 months right?” Ushijima interrupts you, and for some reason, it looks like he’s trying to avoid something. “I’m still on vacation, so I’ll be able to help you and the coordinator plan it—“

“Let’s call it off.” You interrupt with a smile.

“Do you want to move it to a later date?” Ushijima furrows his brows as he reaches over, grabbing your left hand, his heart sinking when his thumb brushes over skin instead of silver on your finger. “Where’s your ring?”

“Wakatoshi,” You start with a smile, your voice as steady as it could be while a war rages in your head, “I don’t want to get married anymore.”

For someone who understood words best when they were said directly, Ushijima Wakatoshi was having a lot of trouble understanding you right now.

Ushijima’s frown deepens, but he continues to speak casually. “That’s fine. We don’t have to be married to love each other, right? That’s just a formal ceremony—“

“I’m leaving, Wakatoshi.” You attempt to pull your hand away from his grasp, but Ushijima holds it tighter.

There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, and you’re almost tempted to stay. Ushijima crying was not a common sight. You had only seen it happen once in the entirety of your relationship, and your heart breaks at that thought.

“When will you come back?” His voice is desperate as he looks into your eyes, searching for any sign indicating that you’ll stay. He finds none.

You can only smile. “I’m sorry.”

You stand up and shut your laptop, walking off to your room to pack your things. You didn’t want to make this harder than it had to be. You didn’t want to see him cry, and you didn’t want him to see you cry. If this was love then it seems that Shakespeare was wrong, or maybe what you have isn’t love. But if it isn’t love, then why did every single step away from Ushijima’s crying figure feel heavier and more painful than the last? Why did you yearn for him despite the stabbing in your chest?

When Ushijima hears the door of your shared bedroom close, he opens your laptop, wondering if he’ll find an answer there.

And he did.

Sato Fuyumi’s unmoving face stares back at him, a smile etched onto her face as the sun shines brightly behind her. At that moment, Ushijima understood. Last night was no dream, it seems, but he had blurred the lines between fantasy and reality and that led to the inevitable decay of whatever it was that you two had. With that, Ushijima stood up and walked to your shared room, one last time.

“I’m sorry.” Ushijima states from the doorway. He expected you to be packing your things, but he didn’t expect that seeing it would hurt this much. It was almost as if you were ripping his chest open with each clothing you pulled from your shared cabinet.

“I know.” You whisper, unable to trust your voice.

There’s silence as Ushijima sits beside you on the floor.

“Toshi...” The name feels heavy in your mouth as you speak. “Did you—“

A sob somehow manages to break free, and now you were crying.

Ushijima pulls you into his chest, guilt and despair filling his chest as he feels you sob and shake in his hold. He wishes he could make it all go away, but how could he when he was the reason you’re this way in the first place?

“Please tell me the truth…” You grip at his shirt, your forehead pressed onto his collarbone as you let the tears fall one after the other. “Did you… Did you ever love me?”

Ushijima answers with no hesitation. “I did.”

You cry harder into his chest as you mourn the lifetime that could’ve been yours. Images of a distant life fill your head: a home in the countryside, a young boy, a young girl, a loving husband. You allow yourself to bask in the illusion for a second before you pull yourself away. You were afraid that if you had stayed any longer, you’d never be able to walk away.

“We can make it work, Y/N.” Ushijima pleads one last time. “This is just something we have to work through. We’ll get past this and then we’ll live the rest of our lives together. We’ll go to the countryside when I retire, raise our kids there—“

You cut him off. “Stop.”

“You could write from there. It’s peaceful, no one will disturb—“

You cry harder into his chest, gripping tighter at his shirt. “Stop please, just stop already—“

“We can still make it work, Y/N. Just stay—“

“Just stop!” You pull away, daring to look into Ushijima’s eyes. “It’s never going to work. We would be living a lie if I agreed to all of that. It’s clear that you’re still in love with her, and you always will be!”

Ushijima’s shoulders slump down in defeat, and he lets you cry it all in front of him.

“And what if your first love is your true love?” Iwaizumi asks, his fists clenching as he looks down at the steps.

“Then you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning a lifetime that was never meant to be yours.”

Your own words haunt you.

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.

You realize it now, looking back.

Years of denying the poet only for you to agree with him in the end. It took you 3 years, but now, you were ready to admit that Shakespeare was right in all he said about love. Everything around you was just pointing in a different direction, you just didn’t realize it when you were still in the middle of it all.

It was a mess you no longer wanted to revisit, but you brave through it for your friend.

You watch the love of your life mourn a lifetime that could’ve been his.

Ushijima Wakatoshi watches as the love of his life goes down the aisle.

Sato Fuyumi smiles as she sees the love of her life waiting at the end of it.

Iwaizumi Hajime looks ahead one last time as the love of his life sits somewhere in the crowd.

And somewhere in the sky, Cupid laughs.

A/N: I feel like this should be classified under “Angst/No One Gets A Happy Ending”. Also, I finally gave Iwa some closure AHHHHH I hope you guys liked this one! Feel free to drop my by ask, I’m always up for a discussion, after all. 💖

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #genre.angst #cont.spoilers #tw heavy angst #tw swearing #tw separation