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newagesurvivalist · 3 months

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The test of time

We are running out of time, in the sense that we are running against time: life doesn't provide any answers, and we are constantly completely flabbergasted, but there will be deliverance; in fact, the movement into the endless unknown will give us a kind of holy resolve, and this is verily the best we can make of the kind of things that suppress us in every regard, and make us feel significant. Nevertheless, we have to prove ourselves. The literacy we are seeking lies in the development of skills and the growth of our character - but these things never stop in there consistency, why, it is a continual struggle. We are running out of space. But we are situated in an infinite world with sublime borders, that expands in every direction. And in that sense, we have plenty of time, we just don't have any common sense, or rather, we don't recoil properly at the sight of tremendous abysses of revolution. The superb manliness of action is limited by the excesses of tropology, because we do not see the contours of the bigger world, which is just a noise in the chaos of life, but we see that a man can achieve stature and composure in his self-discipline. However, his ultimate objective is to set forth doctrines that have practical purposes, yet at the same time contain a figment of liminality in which the essence of logic lies - verily, he just needs to contain his vigour, and move elegantly from simple truths to complex discourses, which nevertheless are meaningful in their simple demonstration of the facts.

Maybe this is all absurd, but a man can certainly recover his manifold trajectory if he just fights against the psychological (demoralizing) influence of big cats who survive only in the darknesses of our minds and have no quarters in the ship of state, but it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what we ought to do.

Every man must play his part. If he acts, can he still meditate? Man must ever so often sacrifice his happiness for comfort; or, in a tight spot, admit that he knows nothing. These are the horrendous affects of his Earthly existence - and all he can do, to make do, is to put his hopes in animal instincts, even though that will mean wretchedness. A man can live life on his hacienda, looking here and there for Christ, but never really live: or, he can be the most fine and logical artist there ever was, yet no, at any point, achieve structured thought, become full-cast in the Lord. This is why we need language. The stateliness of language is such, that it can actually improve us even in the most isolated locales, and we'll marvel and worship the colossal miracles of sheer Godhood, yet persist in trying to go forth into Spanish country, where we hope to deliver ourselves from slavery and sin: this is excellence.

What we should actually refer to as, no existence, but actually the things, or rather, the affairs? Just referring to it as stuff seems wrong - for stuff is about matters, just like forms refer to ideas. We see it truly, as a constellation, a collection of wiry dots, but that is not a cognition, that is a metaphore. We see, that Schopenhauer's word objectity comes awfully close, but that can never transcend true objectivity, and is actually a weakness in his system. What then? Let's re-examine the old caesarian word entity: that which is. To think about the world in a truly philosophical way, we need this word, for entity is the borderline of cognition and metaphysics. I think, therefore I am. Imagination is more important than knowledge. We cannot see beyond what we believe, but true genius is possible in, indeed, learning the principle of an exercise and reflecting on the immortal Logos (and its little brother, jest). Einstein spoke of the joy of understanding; so likewise we may speak of the exhiliration of wisdom, because we truly become greater and great by getting by in the impossible world of entities.

Certainly, whatever we seek to see in this context is invisible, since in time and space there are certainly no correspondences to any higher truth, and natural processes of recovery (of sanity, of prudence) are inscrutable as well, and nobody really appreciates their vagueness.

In truth, the constellations of okayness are prepared in this constant sense, that people do what they do, but never achieve, the revolution of sense-meaning. Data, or the corroboration of facts, is informal, and the variety of spontaneous villainy is superb in this total sense, that we do not achieve peace of mind in this entire, swirling mass that we may refer to as resurrection. But happy nonsense is certainly not our aim. In every way, our purpose is above all to recover the meaning of life in some direct way, and remain on point somehow, to value syntagmatic revelations and rebirths in the watchfulness of debilitating figures of speech and conundrums, that we still find in combat and pottering, so that, in fact, our entire artistanry is based on developing wise skills and keeping up with the changes in life and space and time, but this is not the discrepancy we really need, why, it is a continuous crashing of capabilities that confirm our mysterious desire to be as happy as we can be - but there is truly no return to the way we were, it is a symbolic etymological journey that has no bearing on the contours of space and time that we find in physical and metaphysical speculations, but this is a constant sensibility and people will ultimately recover there happiness in this misery, which is just the gladness of mind that is found in rebellion and upstart reminicence in which we hide and hope to find capability. But verily, existence has a meaning in the last analysis, and this redundancy will not be eked out of the norms of yesteryear, in which there are still reverberations of the better kind: but our life is still stuck somehow in a stupidity that is actually just a very relaxed kind of confession, and we are sworn in in the courts of the magistrates who still hope to make ordinary life work for the best of us, who still work tirelessly to spread the Gospel and so on and so forth, even though the basis of kindness and life is always covered in a deep place somewhere away from the civility of life and time. So what we really see is that we are extense. The mobility of privacy is so that the deflated hopes of philosophy do still live outside of the academy, and our purpose is really to rally ourselves in, what should be called a new science. And this is perhaps the science of reason, but I daresay it is more like the science of replique.

#saint dominic #schopenhauer #einstein

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int3rnall · 7 months

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I want to talk about what I've never talked about before. It's about me. Me. Who am I? Why do I constantly avoid who I am? What am I? I shouldn't limit myself within the labels of typology types. I define myself.

I'm....why am I here? I used to want to be a God. The closest thing to a god is an author, so I decided to pursue writing as my life purpose. I am here to bring stories to life. I'm here to be everywhere, nowhere, anytime, under any circumstances..I'm.. I don't know..

Maybe I got so caught up with typology because it made me understand myself better. People confuse me. I always cry when I think too much. My thoughts scare me. They make me think I'm gonna end in a terrible life. They make me nihilistic, purposeless and empty. Small. I think too much. I see so much I have nothing in sight.

I never felt understood by anyone. I put on a facade. It's not like they try to understand. It doesn't matter anyway. They will always resent me once they know me. Everyone does. If I show a glimpse of who I really am, they will find me repulsive. I'm...I'm always running. I distract myself. I'm never serious. I'm such a shit person who did a lot of shit things and I don't treasure anyone or anything because what's the point of loving something with all you have when it'll end anyway? I'm greedy. I'm selfish. I'm an imposter.

It's not like its hard for me to make friends... it's really not. I like hanging out with people. I just don't get attached to them. I don't reveal my feelings. They tell me all they can about themselves and I always avoid the serious questions because what if I'm not what I make myself out to be?

I'm strange. This is similar to how Dazai feels. He doesn't feel inferior to others. I definitely don't. In fact I feel superior over them for some reason, perhaps because I see what they can't and know what they don't. Maybe I'm fooling myself. Maybe it's a trick. A coping mechanism. Who knows? Who cares? I don't compare myself to others and feel envy over what they have that I don't. I don't. Or at least I don't show it. I ignore it.

I don't know what to do. What do I do. How do I love. How do I live. I wanna be something. Do something valuable and meaningful. I wanna have a purpose. I wanna achieve greatness. I want to be extraordinary. I push myself to impress people. To make them owe me. I don't know myself. I want to be more than what I am. I'm so...bland. I'm like an empty bowl. How do I become greater? How do I find meaning? How do I make most out of my life?

I already gave up on being God. It was never gonna happen anyway, as much as I resent my flesh. My mortal cage of a body.

What an abysmal state.

I thought of being a detective. Maybe that'll be better. Way fun. A professor? Paperwork sounds boring. Why do I define who I am by what I do? Is my title and achievement all there is to me?

Ugh....

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leticia-helena · 11 months

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How do you find soul missions while you are in a twin journey?

I guess your question arises because you’ve always felt that you came to Earth with something meaningful to do. That you have a bigger purpose to fulfill than just a normal life seeking what 3D society considers as “success”…

This is because you, as a TF and therefore an old evolved soul, lightworker or starseed, came to Earth with important missions of aid in these crucial times. So before incarnating, you designed which divine missions you wanted to pursue here.

And maybe throughout your life you always had some clarity about it and have consciously been working on those missions or preparing for them.

Or maybe you weren't able to pinpoint what your purpose was, you just kind of knew you had one. This is what happened to me, I spent the greater part of my life having this vague sensation that there was something meaningful I needed to do, but until my twin flame journey took off I didn't know what it was. Now I know I have a few soul missions, some of which I am already undertaking, and some that will be revealed to me in the future when I'm ready for them. And this is how it goes for a lot of twin flames too.

Twins can have many different soul missions. For example, they can be healers. They can be healing and uplifting others through therapies like energy work, art (music, visual, dance, etc), meditation, psycho-spiritual therapy, different forms of medicine, etc.

They can be advocates for the planet, championing causes and sustainable businesses that help and respect Mother Nature. They can also be into animal protection, so that animals are treated with kindness and respect.

They can bring greatly needed innovation and improvement proposals for Earth’s systems, like in education and science. They can establish organizations with only positive aims.

They can be great leaders, inspiring others with their example and wisdom.

They can bring messages and guidance from higher dimensions, acting as a bridge so that people on Earth can benefit from higher-dimensional knowledge.

They can be teachers, coaches, guides, speakers or writers. Or any other type of content creators, sharing and educating about spirituality, awareness, energy topics, the Universe, etc. In my case, I discovered that being a twin flame writer and coach was one of my missions, I was much guided by my soul to do it.

And of course there are other missions that twins can have. And as a collective, we help uplift the vibration of the human collective and the whole planet.

Even without reaching Union, many twins are already working on their missions. Others are preparing for them, knowingly or unknowingly. But the best thing to do always, is to contact your Soul and spiritual guides, in order to know more about your missions and ways to accomplish them. They are more than willing to help you with this!

And remember, the higher our vibration is, the better we can fulfill what we set out to do in this incarnation. The TF Journey prompts us to heal and uplift our vibration, so the more effective agents of Love and Light we become!

I wish you nothing but the best in achieving your divine purposes!

Answer by Ema Laurent on Quora

#twin flames

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soopissoopnotsoup · 2 years

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Always Running

My feet hit the floor, and I started running. I knew too much. Too much to stay alive. But fuck it, I would not go quietly. They could take me kicking and screaming. If i was lucky and made enough noise, i would be martyred, all I did wouldn’t be for nothing.

How did I even get here? I was never supposed to be a part of this, never supposed to be a hero. The truth is, I’m a coward. I was content sitting by. Of course, I knew it was all terrible, but it wasn’t affecting me. My family was safe. That was what mattered. And honestly? It all felt fake. Those girls, and what happened to them, it was a tragedy, but it was just a horror story to me. A warning tale. They were never real people.

But now I find myself in the same position. Risking my life. Not for a better future, not to help others, but for myself. It was always for myself. That's what they don’t tell you about heroes. We never set out to be. I am a selfish, entitled, coward. I don’t deserve to be put on a pedestal. But hell, part of me enjoys it. Part of me is filled with pride because, well, look at me. I’m doing something with my life. I actually have a purpose, and sure, I’m not doing this ‘for the greater good’, but how will anyone know? They won’t. I’ll go down as a hero. What more can I ask for?

I’m still running. What from? I no longer know. The danger is gone. We defeated them. We took back our life. Made the future ours. I know this is terrible for me to say, to even think, but I miss those days. When I had a purpose. When I was doing something good. I no longer know what I’m doing anymore. Back then, I felt powerful. Despite the constant fighting, the struggle to stay alive, I at least had control of my life. Now? I have nothing. Oh sure, it may look like I do. I may have this lavish house, a constant source of entertainment, and I should definitely be grateful but I can’t. After all, the second I fall out of the public's favor, this is all gone. I’ve seen it happen before, to all of my fellow fighters.

At first we celebrated, and I liked it. I had achieved what I wanted, but then they put us in charge. I never understood why. Isn’t this what we just freed ourselves from? Was all our sacrifice, all our pain, all the death, was it all just for this? I miss when I was no one, when I could rely blindly on others to take care of the situation. Now I am that other. And that is terrifying.

I am running again. Now, I run from the past. Hide myself behind a bottle. It was all my fault. Always my fault. I understand it all now. I wish I had abandoned ship when I had the chance. I wish I joined Zariah. She’s dead now. Hanged as a traitor to the New County. I would be too, if I hadn’t been so blind. She was our leader, the symbol for hope. Bet she knew what I now do. That’s why she turned. I wish I could, but still, I am a coward. And tired. I already toppled one government, and. Well. This new one benefits me. I may hate myself for the lies I tell, but I always did. Sure the reason changed, but the hatred has always been there. Burning fiercely, consuming me in every silent moment. At least now, I am comfortable. I have a nice house, and people who worship me as the New Deity. I may be alone, truly alone, but was there ever anyone who I could trust? Who would let me be me, just for a second? I don’t think so.

I’m so tired of running. But I still do it. I can not face myself, can’t look at all the blood i spilt, and walk away sane. One day, I will stop running, I tell myself. One day. I pray for that day to come. I could stop the system. Share what I know. But that wouldn’t change everything. Loris tried. He and I were the last of them. Now it’s only me. It’s always me. Always meant to be me. I wish I could die. I wish I never accepted the Crown. Maybe the deaths would still happen, maybe everything would still be hateful, and terrible, but at least it wouldn’t be my fault. I could be one of them, bitter and hating the system, instead of controlling it.

This is the price I pay. For selling every aspect of myself for my fifteen seconds of fame. I doubt anyone still remembers what happens. It’s been so long. I caught my reflection yesterday. Gone is the girl with short hair and a scar filled face. Now I am porcelain, every feature shifting to be beautiful. No one can know the pain I went through. There can not be a single crack. Orai cracked. Drowned by guilt. The porcelain melted.

My body runs.My soul has fallen out. My joy has left. I steal others. I am cold, I am bitter, I am the world. I hear talk of another rebellion. I hope it succeeds. I hope they win where I fail, but hope is a dull thing. The situation will repeat. Again, and Again. This is the only Future. The only Past. I wonder, who is the unlucky soul who will be me? Start out by accident. End up the only Original. Not by moral means, but because they are the most willing to surrender.

Who will be Zariah? So filled with hope, longing for a better future, and A passion to actually fulfill it, The first to realize the truth, and the first to die. Who will be Morin? The bravest, the coldest, most calculated. I was so sure he would last. He had the most determination, to be better. The second to leave. He ran away. At least he got out. Who will be Orai? So kind, so compassionate, so likely to have been the first, but lasted till the third, when she realized the truth. I think that’s why she survived so long. She was too naive to realize the truth until it was too late. And who will be Loris? Who only stayed as he had a hope that we could change, that we could be better. That blind faith could only carry him for so long. When he realized, he really did try, to help, to fix it. He disappeared before he could release it all. It's a shame. History always has to repeat.

I’ve stopped running. Finally, My feet have given out. I’m at the end of the road. And I could not be more glad. Oh, I have no doubt things will continue. Nothing will change. But it’s no longer my fault. I am not the cause, nor a passive bystander. The guilt will pass on to the next, and the next, and the next, but it will no longer be mine. She raises a sword to my throat. I smile, one full of pity. I am sorry she has to take my burden, but not enough to stop her. “Thank you,”I whisper.”for freeing me.” She looks so bright, like she believes she can bring change. I’m sure she does. But I’ve seen this happen before. And I was in her position. She is confused by my statement, naturally but does not hesitate to slice my throat. That ruthlessness, no question attitude will serve her well. Or prolong her suffering. Whichever way you view it. My body shakes, and I heave my final breath. “I’m sorry.”

#im sorry #this is so haphazard #but if I have an semblance of a plot I will fucking explode #I have to post this or else I'll get my 'writer' card revoked #fingers crossed I'll be able to post one thing per month #but alas #I suck

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herinsectreflection · 3 years

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I want to talk about this scene, from Bargaining when Willow kills the fawn. You might guess from my icon that I am a big fan of this scene. It's pretty short but it sets the stage for Willow's arc throughout S6 excellently.

It opens with her in this gorgeous riverside greenery, dressed in pure white, the very picture of fairytale innocence, bathed in bright sunlight. It's such an unusual shot for the show, which almost exclusively either has shots inside or at night (for obvious reasons of being a vampire show), and that immediately makes it quite memorable. Especially as the rest of the episode is almost entirely set at night, filled with demon bikers, dismemberment, fire, broken down towers and digging out of graves. It's like this little meditative moment of peace in between all that.

Or, it would be if it didn't include a teensy little animal sacrifice.

WILLOW: Adonai, Helomi, Pine. Adonai, Helomi, Pine. The gods do command thee from thy majesty. O Mappa Laman, Adonai, Helomi.

Willow says her words and summons forth a young fawn from the trees. The fawn is another symbol of innocence, like Willow's white dress. As she reaches out and and touches the animal gently, we're reminded of the soft innocent Willow of S1, who shied away from any conflict and seemed incapable of ever hurting a fly. She's like a disney princess, sitting in the woods singing to woodland animals. Only Snow White never stabbed Bambi in the heart.

The entire plot of the previous season revolved around the blood sacrifice of a child. This is what Glory was trying to achieve, and it's what Buffy has to stop. Buffy gives her life in order to stop it. And now, Willow recreates the same event, performing the blood sacrifice what is specifically an animal child. She steps into the role that the previous season's Big Bad performed, and so tells us that this season, she is stepping into the role of Big Bad. The fawn fills the role of Dawn - the situations rhyme as well as the names do.

Fun fact - the words that Willow uses are taken from The Book of Ceremonial Magic, a 1910 book that compiled various grimoires. In this passage, describing an invocation to request something from God, Adonai/Helomi/Pine are the names of angels - specifically the angels of the East, who appear in human form dressed in lily white according to this passage - another link to Willow's costume here. The invocation seems to involve requesting these angels to appear to the caster in an intelligible form.

ADONAI, HELOMI, PINE, Whom you obey, do invoke, conjure and entreat thee, N., that thou wilt appear forthwith. By the virtue and power of the same God I do command thee from thine order or place of abode to come unto me and skew thyself plainly here before me in thine own proper shape and glory, speaking in a voice intelligible to mine understanding.

In this case, Willow is symbolically killing an actual angel of heaven, which is probably pretty high up on the villainy scale. Just drives home the fundamental Wrongness of this scene. It's also good to remember that the idea of killing one to save other(s) is a theme returned to again and again throughout the show, and the first major example of that theme in action is a certain Angel.

(Credit to this user on BuffyBoards for finding the source of these words.)

So the fawn is Dawn, and the fawn is an angel. But most importantly of all - the fawn is Buffy. Willow, in her attempts to bring Buffy back to life, first has to kill "Buffy".

WILLOW: Come forward, Blessed one. Know your calling.

The fawn is described as having a "calling" that it must "know", just as Buffy has a calling of her own, which over the course of many seasons she learns to know and accept (and eventually revolutionise and reject). It is also described as "Blessed", which in some definitions is taken to mean "one who is with God in heaven". Buffy at this point is literally in heaven (or at least some kind of heaven dimension, the theology is gratefully vague). The structure of the phrase "Blessed one" also reminds of the more relevant phrase - "Chosen One", which again would be Buffy. The spell ingredient, which we know is the fawn's blood, is called "vino de madre" - wine of the mother, implying a feminine source of power, just like The Slayer.

WILLOW: Accept our humble gratitude for your offering. In death ... you give life. May you find wings to the kingdom. In death, you give life. You might say that death... is your gift... yeah, so this really drives it home for me. Using death to give life is literally what Buffy has just done. It was core to her arc last season. And finally the "wings to the kingdom" line again plays into that heaven imagery. S6 loves this kind of imagery for Buffy, even giving her angel wings in one of the most delightfully on-the-nose shots in the show.

Buffy gave her life to give Dawn one, and with it gave a warning about the struggles of life - "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.". This is sad but lovely advice that Buffy herself must now spend S6 gradually learning to understand herself. She learns how to deal with the crushing despair of day-to-day existence. Willow, as the Big Bad of this season, doesn't understand this advice at all. For years now, Willow has used magic as a short-cut to avoid actually dealing with her emotions (see Lover's Walk, Something Blue, Tough Love). This goes into overdrive in S6, and it starts with her desperation to bring Buffy back to avoid really dealing with the reality of her death.

In fact it goes beyond magic - Willow is also the one who uses her tech knowledge to bring the Buffybot back online. She uses all her skills to desperately fill in the hole that Buffy has left behind. This is what Willow does, magic or no. And it's sympathetic - my heart breaks every time she talks about fearing where Buffy might have ended up - but it's not totally rational or healthy either. The main problem is that Willow, in doing this, is ignoring Buffy's final words, and misunderstanding the central theme.

As said earlier, by performing this blood sacrifice of a child, Willow is betraying the memory of Buffy, who died to stop one. (Symbolically of course. Morally there are light years between killing an animal and killing a teenager). Buffy gave her life to stop a blood sacrifice, and so Willow reverses the process - causing a blood sacrifice to give Buffy her life. And she betrays Buffy's final words with her refusal to accept the pain of life and live with it. And finally, she betrays Buffy spiritually.

Remember that Willow is Buffy's metaphorical Spirit, as shown in Primeval. It is a special kind of betrayal that Buffy's Spirit breaks her spiritually in this season. She literally rips her soul out of eternal bliss and contentment, causing an existential break within her. She beseeches the fawn/Buffy to find "wings to the kingdom", but in doing so robs Buffy of her wings.

Buffy suffers brutal depression this season, and describes it many times as feeling dead inside. This kind of emotional deadness is caused directly by her ressurection (though severely exacerbated by her unresolved trauma, grief over Joyce, and generally just living under capitalism). Willow has tried to give death to bring life, but because the action is a betrayal of Buffy on many levels, the act is tainted, and perverted, like a wish on a monkey's paw. She literally kills metaphorical Buffy, and so metaphorically kills literal Buffy. Buffy has life, but said life is causing a kind of death within her.

And what does Willow get for all this? Her pain isn't fixed by all this. She just gets blood on her hands (and later on her face). It sets off a chain of events that will end with far more blood on Willow's hands. She dips a toe into a darkness, but because she doesn't understand fully the emotions that have taken her there, she can't exert any control over it. She doesn't learn a lesson here that she shouldn't try to shape the world to deal with her emotions. Instead, she learns that she has power over life and death.

Willow is clearly deeply shaken by this, but it's not nearly enough to make her change her path. She ignores the very obvious foreshadowing here - her hands literally coated in blood - and carries on anyway. She takes the wrong lessons from this moment, which she clearly demonstrates in her argument with Giles in Flooded, where she ignores his anger over how she's warped the rules of nature, and instead focuses on how awesome she is ("The magicks I used are very powerful. I'm very powerful. And maybe it's not such a good idea for you to piss me off.")

This is a small scene, but it sets up so much for Willow. It shows how far she has come from the meek girl of S1. And it shows a glimpse of the future, how she has far to go but is now on a path to become the villain she is at the end of S6. She starts it by killing metaphorical Buffy in order to save her, and will end it by trying to kill actual Buffy in order to emotionally "save" her. At every point she can justify the blood on her hands as serving some greater purpose - but the blood is still there.

#willow rosenberg #meta #btvs #s6 #bargaining #symbolism

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masterweaverx · 3 years

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RWBY V8: On Sacrifice

So, having spent some time seeing a lot of discussion on how volume eight went down, I think it’s time to put my own view into the wild. Volume eight had a lot of themes, like many war stories, but one of the central themes--especially in the later half--was the exploration of the concept of sacrifice, its positive and its negative attributes, how it could be interpreted, reinterpreted, and misinterpreted. For the sake of discussion, let’s put up a basic definition of the word.

Sacrifice: The deliberate surrender or offering of one thing, physical or abstract, in order to achieve a set goal.

What’s being sacrificed doesn’t have to be much. It can be something as simple as ‘here, you’re hungry, take my sandwich.’ Or it could be a big sacrifice, like an entire platoon of soldiers. The point is that a sacrifice is meant to achieve a goal via the surrender of the sacrificed subject. Of course, exactly how people approach that especially when the subject is lives, can be very, very telling.

Sacrifice as Exchange

“I will sacrifice... whatever it takes... to stop her.” -James Ironwood

This view of sacrifice sees it as a numbers game. If you give up enough X, you’ll achieve Y. It’s a business proposition. A cost-benefit analysis. Which is fine when you’re talking about money, or resources, as long as those are yours to use. But if you’re talking about things that should belong to somebody else, resources that have been entrusted to you for one purpose which you intend to use for another...? That’s bad. And when you’re talking about lives, that’s worse.

This is also, ironically, the view that tends to play up the value of Sacrifice For Sacrifice’s Sake. It’s easier to say ‘I’m sacrificing for the Greater Good’ then it is to say ‘I am sending men to their deaths in an attempt to buy a goal which I require.’ It’s less honest, but easier. That’s why Ironwood ultimately fell into the villainous role he did. As a wise old witch once said: “Evil begins when you treat people as things.”

Exchange as Sacrifice

“Please, Winter, give us a chance to try to rescue him first! We… We could be your test run. You don’t know what’ll be waiting for you inside, right? So we can go ahead to check it out, and look for Oscar while we’re inside.” -Jaune Arc

Sacrifice as Exchange says “All sacrifices are exchanges.” Exchange as Sacrifice says “some exchanges are sacrifices.” This is a case not of set value, but as haggling, asking what you can get for what you have. Instead of merely saying “Doing X will achieve Y!”, you ask “Will X achieve Y? What if X only achieves Z? Would I be okay with that?” It examines the value of what is being given, and the value of what wants to be achieved, and judges before making the final decision.

Sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall--or, maybe, the capture by an immortal witch--to fight for every life. But knowing when it’s worth it, when to make that decision, can be hard. Jaune’s had to struggle with what he’s willing to sacrifice ever since Pyrrha died, but he’s always gauged it by what he can achieve for his team, his friends. It’s what led him to make some tough, and painful, decisions.

Sacrifice as Salvation

“ I can… if it means saving all my friends.” -Vine Zeki

“No greater love hath man then to lay down their life for another.” Sacrifice is, first and foremost, about achieving a goal, and if that goal is to save those who are important to you, then some people will be willing to sacrifice themselves. Heck, even if they aren’t people you know, you can take jobs that come with great personal risk to save lives--this is the point of firefighters, who don’t necessarily die, but who accept it as a possibility.

Did Vine have to stay on that ship with the bomb? Well, it was designed to blow up a whale, Ironwood threatened to blow up a city with it, and it did disintegrate that airship even while contained, so... maybe. I legitimately don’t know the calculations of force, if he could have hopped onto the other ship and flown away. In the end, though, he decided it would be safer for his friends if he took the hit. He chose his own demise to save others.

Salvation as Sacrifice

“ I've always got your back, sis.” -Yang Xiao Long

Then again, if your goal is to save lives--or even a life--it’s possible to take it too far. There’s a certain mindset that takes ‘Supporting others’ to the extreme of ‘at cost to myself’ consistently. This is usually a bad thing; people are not meant to be simply resources, they are meant to have their own wants and needs. It also means ignoring options that don’t require sacrifice in favor of instinctively charging in yourself.

Yang Xiao Long has often been noted as somebody who doesn’t really have wants of her own. Or, rather, she puts her wants aside for others--after that horrible incident with Ruby as a child, and how much she has supported Blake, and how she charged into that whale for Oscar, she just has a streak of helping others instead of herself. Being fair, that’s something all RWBY heroes seem to do to an extent, but with Yang being contrasted against her teammates it’s especially prominent for her... and it led to her taking a blow she didn’t need to and paying dearly for it.

Sacrifice as Suicide

“No more Gretchens, boy.” -Hazel Rainart

When it comes to ending lives, suicide and sacrifice approach the same end result from opposite directions. Suicide comes from a place of saying “My life doesn’t matter,” self-loathing and a genuine if twisted belief that nobody would miss you if you were gone. Sacrifice comes from a place of saying “Your life matters,” being filled with love and willing to do anything to make sure the other lives. This doesn’t mean that a sacrifice can’t be a suicide--especially if the one doing it holds both beliefs at once, or if the sacrifice involves dealing with a lethal danger of some sort.

Hazel, in the end, was a broken man, desperately trying to sublimate the pain and anger he felt at the world. He couldn’t take what his life had thrown at him, what Salem and Ozpin had done to his sister. But, despite it all, he still had some care for others. When the option to save them presented itself, even at great risk to his own life, he followed through on it... to his death. Even knowing that Emerald would witness it...

Suicide as Sacrifice

“What are you doing!? My life doesn't matter!” -Winter Schnee

Of course a lot of people don’t find suicide ‘socially acceptable’--not to talk about, or to do, or to consider. But for somebody who’s been emotionally abused, finding a position where death is expected--even if only in small amounts, but it’s part of the job description--might seem like a good option. It lets them put themselves in dangerous situations, inviting a more socially acceptable form of death without having to confront their own lack of self-worth.

It’s assumed that people who take risky jobs do it so that others don’t have to. They’re praised for being brave enough to handle dangerous situations, which leads to them taking on more and more responsibility. The weight of the situation is not on them as a person, but as a tool for a goal. If they expend themselves, well, that’s just a sacrifice, isn’t it? Their life doesn’t matter in a vacuum, but here their death might save what they care about. They can say ‘my life doesn’t matter’ without anybody batting an eye... unless they’re good friends, or close family members.

Wasted Sacrifice

“Mom took a risk the day she left, and I don’t think. I don’t think it went the way she wanted it to. But she’s still my hero.” -Yang Xiao Long

A sacrifice is a gamble. You’re giving up something, up to and including lives, to achieve a goal. And sometimes... you just don’t achieve it. Maybe there are some wild unforeseen circumstances. Maybe what you thought would happen because of your sacrifice... doesn’t happen. Maybe you just don’t have enough of the right thing to give. A wasted sacrifice, one spent with the best of intent that doesn’t achieve what it set out to, is painful to contemplate.

What could have been achieved if what was spent still remained? Who is left behind to mourn, without even the comfort of knowing that which was lost was given for a commendable goal? This agony alone brings many to question why they should sacrifice anything--not just lives, but time, and effort. Why bother, when what has been given so far isn’t enough? Why try, when all that is left behind is sorrow and fear?

Senseless Sacrifice

“You call this saving Atlas? Doing Salem’s job for her? I believed in you! I thought we could work towards something better. But now you’re throwing it all away.” -Marrow Amin

A wasted sacrifice is made with the best of intent, and fails to achieve its goal. A senseless sacrifice, on the other hand, is one that isn’t at all necessary. The goal could so easily be achieved some other way; or perhaps the goal is nonsensical in its entirety. The fact that senseless sacrifice exists begs the question... why? Why toss all those resources, all those lives, into the void of potential, for no good reason?

The answer, of course, is that not all reasons are good. Sometimes it’s just an attempt to keep control of a situation. Other times it’s to spite your enemies. And there are times where it’s just... habit. Why bother looking for alternate solutions when throwing soldiers at the enemy has always worked before? When all you have is a hammer, the world starts looking like a lot of annoying nails.

The Worship of Sacrifice

“It's the principle, Vine! It's about loyalty. Clover understood that. Clover would see this through.” -Harriet Bree

Recontextualizing ‘I choose to die’ into ‘I will give my life’ makes the risk of death more... palatable. If you’re just a cog in the machine, of course you don’t expect anybody to see you as a person. That’s why a lot of organizations which put people into tough positions like to play up the value of Honor and Loyalty. Being a part of something bigger than yourself does a lot to make giving up your life--not dying, giving your life up--into something you can value.

This, though, runs the risk of choosing sacrifice for the sake of sacrifice, and thereby ironically not making it a sacrifice at all. A sacrifice is the surrender of one thing to achieve a goal, but if that goal is sacrifice, then you’ve essentially set yourself up for a divide by zero error. Which is why loyalty to those above you is important in an organization; once that loyalty wavers, and soldiers ask themselves what they’re doing, suddenly the worship of sacrifice doesn’t give them any answers.

The Value of Sacrifice

“I thought of you… and here we are.” -Penny Polendina

So, sacrifice has a lot of negative elements... which begs the question, why are we still so fascinated with it? Why do we still put it on a pedestal? Because, at its heart, it’s about giving. Sometimes time, sometimes money, sometimes resources, sometimes lives. It’s about putting something out, in hopes of making the world a better place. It shouldn’t be done lightly, and it can be done poorly, and it often results in giving too much and leaving behind pain... but fundamentally, the intent of sacrifice is to help, not to hurt.

Everything about sacrifice--both positive and negative--wound up reflected in Penny’s decision in the volume eight finale. For better or worse, she was quite effectively raised in the environment of the Atlas Military, witnessing the concept from multiple angles and understanding it on a deep level. She valued her own life, and the freedom to make choices... and she valued other people’s lives, willing to do anything to save them.

I don’t think Penny’s story is over. I do think, however, that she’s gotten to see and experience the full breadth of sacrifice, its good and its bad, its nobility and its horror. There’s a lot more to her story than just sacrifice, of course, but volume eight gave her the chance to realize its full meaning. I suspect volume nine will have her impart that wisdom to those around her.

#RWBY #V8 #Analysis #Suicide #Trigger Warning: Suicide #Sacrifice #James Ironwood #Jaune Arc #Vine Zeki #Yang Xiao Long #Hazel Rainart #Winter Schnee #Summer Rose #Marrow Amin #Harriet Bree #Penny Polendina

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meimae · 4 years

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Language Learning Through Immersion: One Year Japanese Update

11/03/2021

I did it, you guys! I’ve successfully reached my very first year of Japanese language immersion! I honestly thought that I would have given up by now, but this really has been a fun and ultimately rewarding endeavor.

Studying the language has been at the back of my mind for years since elementary school, I just never really knew how to go about it before, and I always thought that I could learn it in a classroom setting someday. That someday for me was in two elective courses in university, and while those were fun as well, it did not give me the same gains that I have achieved in this past year.

It’s probably easier to quantify learning a language in a classroom setting, especially when going through a program to earn a language degree. Learning through immersion, however, I had to really consider what my goals should be on my own. Eventually, I stumbled upon an article saying that for an English speaker, Japanese was exceptionally difficult to learn and that at least 2,200 hours must be spent with the language to reach a certain level of proficiency. So I said to myself, “well okay internet, if you say so!”, and set that as my long term goal going forward.

Spoiler Alert: I did not hit that goal in my first year. I am not crazy and will never listen to Japanese in my sleep regardless of what Khatzumoto (the creator of All Japanese All the Time) says.

I did, however, hit a total 1,226.65 active immersion hours in my first year, so I guess I’m still a bit nuts. That is 874.96 hours of active listening and 351.69 reading hours. I also did 270.59 hours of passive listening, also known as the time in the very beginning of my immersion where I was using Japanese subtitles (therefore not really concentrating on listening alone). That’s a cumulative 1,497.24 hours spent with Japanese. That’s more than halfway towards my goal!

To further break that down for curious animanga fans out there, that’s 973 episodes from 109 anime, 765 episodes from 33 dramas, 7 movies, and 967 chapters from 107 volumes of manga (21 series). Here’s my anilist and mydramalist to see what I’ve read/watched.

During all this, I was also doing my daily Anki reps and now I have a 530 day SRS streak (includes the time prior starting immersion and only doing RTK and some vocabulary cards) and a total 8,857 sentence cards. I’ve been averaging 406 cards daily (because I’m trying to cure my leeches) and I spend about an hour per day doing reps and learning new cards. I don’t really track my time on Anki, but I do have a set timer that goes off after 1-1:30 hours.

What I haven’t touched upon at all is output. I have not gone out of my way to find a tutor or a language partner. There’s still plenty of input out there to immerse in before I even consider outputting.

Graphs, stats, and more thoughts:

Here's my current card count in my main deck (minus the cards in my new/learning queue and leeches I've been relearning which are in separate decks):

That one day in 2019 where I did not do my cards because I was seriously doubting whether I can actually stick with language learning this time around will forever haunt and inspire me to keep going everyday.

Workflow and Tips

You might be wondering, how do I have a lot of time? I started this whole endeavor in the middle of a pandemic, which eliminated the option of me going to a language school, and a slew of other things I were considering doing last year became impossible (and if anything, very scary to do in a pandemic). All I can say is that, things work out eventually if it is His will, and if I can learn a skill before everything properly settles back down again, then why not?

I wake up at 5 in the morning everyday to either do my Anki reps or read until the time when I need to get up and I listen to compressed audio throughout the day. The biggest tip is to switch the time you spend watching/reading in your native language to your target language instead. Listen to a podcast during your commute, watch an episode during lunch break, read before going to bed, do your Anki reps in the bathroom if you have to.

But, if you’re feeling burnt out, there is no reason for you to not take a break! I have been watching a lot of Among Us streams before bed, and I chat with my friends from time to time. Language learning is not a race.

More Stats

Here are a couple of grids of the kanji characters that I have encountered at least once in my immersion and how well I have answered them in my vocabulary/sentence cards.

It's interesting that after almost 9000 words, I have yet to encounter every single character from the Remembering the Kanji 1 (RTK 1) book by James Heisig, which teaches you the most common use characters that are part of the 常用漢字. Which brings me to the question, was writing down every single character being taught in RTK worth it every time it came up in my reviews for the first 3-ish months I was reviewing them? Maybe, maybe not. It certainly removed my anxiety whenever looking at blocks of text in Japanese, but the longer I think about it, the more I feel I should have switched to Recognition RTK earlier. Still, being able to write in proper stroke order is cool I guess, and it also helps me when looking things up in the dictionary.

Here’s the same grid but in JLPT order:

I clearly need to grind those N2 and N1 level cards! Speaking of which, I have apparently almost covered every single character that could possibly appear in the JLPT (except for the N1 which I have only covered half of) in just a year's time. If the JLPT word frequency lists I’m using are accurate, I have about 2,000 words more to go to to cover most vocabulary that could appear in the test. This makes the "10,000 sentences/words to fluency" argument a reasonable milestone to aim for for Japanese learners if said aim is only to pass the test. That said, 10,000 words is just that, a milestone. It's more akin to a comfortable level of comprehension, but not my own concept of fluency which is being able to read with ease, speak articulately, and write comfortably.

READING IMMERSION GRAPHS

My biggest motivation for tracking my stats is for the purpose of seeing whether my reading speed is improving over time. Reading speed is also easier to measure than listening comprehension which is kind of subjective, so I had a lot of fun making these. What I found is that for the first volume or chapter of whatever it is I’m reading, I always take the time to get used to the writing style of the author. My speed really improves whenever I keep reading the same topic over and over again. On the other hand and quite obviously, looking up many new words in a row and trying to parse sentences slows me down.

Manga: Reading Speed Progression per Volume

I clearly love ちはやふる and I am not ashamed to admit it.

I need to start reading longer manga. When I do, I’ll probably split this graph into less than and greater than 20 volumes. Imagine if I start reading something ridiculously long as 名探偵コナン or ワンピース, these graphs will start breaching the bounds of time and space.

Novels: Time Spent Reading per Chapter

#neverforget the time I read chapter six of Norwegian Wood for 9 hours when it took me less than half that time in English RIP. Also, my interest in Kitchen plummeted LOL. Still planning to finish it don’t worry.

I also need to start branching away from manga and start reading more novels and light novels, too just so I can make more pretty graphs.

Visual Novels: Time Spent Reading and Daily Word Count

Also known as images that clearly show that I’ve already spent several days only reading the prologue of Island. I’m not sweating. 切那 needs to stop using words I don’t know in succession. More thoughts on this VN far into the future.

Thoughts on Immersion

I can’t really say anything else other that that it works for me, and needless to say if you’re considering this method, remember that the SRS is your friend but immersion should be your one true love.

Prior to all this, I couldn’t even read a sample paragraph from Genki without being confused to my very soul. Yes, I know, it’s embarrassing, but that’s the truth. I was way more scared of failing my Japanese classes than my actual thesis for my bachelors degree, I kid you not. I would quite literally spend all my free time in university trying to understand grammar, memorize vocabulary, and answer my workbook exercises with little to no success.

I tried so hard to get all the grammar “formulas” into my head for 1.5 years and it only brought me more confusion. I’m never going back to traditional classroom study for language learning, but I will still refer to grammar books when I need to, and not because I feel like I need to answer 4783342 different workbook exercises like my life depended on it.

I still can’t believe it, but with immersion this statement is actually true to a point, don’t try shadowing anime/or calling your boss anime language slurs, use your common sense:

study anime to understand Japanese > study Japanese to understand anime

Future Goals/Plans

2,200 immersion hours was my initial goal, but honestly I feel like that number could be much higher. There’s still a lot of stuff I don’t understand (news, politics, sciences, etc.), so I’ll make attempts to cover more of those things in my immersion.

I’ll continue reading more, because that’s a natural SRS in itself. Try to read longer manga, more novels, visual novels, and light novels, and maybe news articles.

I’ll try to mine as much “JLPT vocab” as I can before making any attempts at taking the JLPT. I noticed that a lot of the words I know don’t appear in the JLPT word lists as much, even though they appear a lot in media/daily conversation.

Continue mining all words I don’t know because all words are useful anyway. There is no such thing as useless words. I never really understood mining only “interesting words” or words that “pop up” in your immersion. As I said in my previous blog post, 美人局 is an interesting word and I certainly caught it being said in my immersion, but in the three languages I know, I wouldn’t know when I would be able to use such a word, as compared to something like ジャガイモ which is a significantly less interesting word, but is certainly useful to know.

I have managed to talk up a storm, but if you have any questions regarding my process or recommendations for new immersion material, please feel free to send an ask/reply to this post. I love hearing about other people’s language learning/immersion journeys.

See you on my next post!

#language learning #japanese language #language acquisition #study blog #langblr #studyblr #graphs #language immersion #japanese #visual novels #manga #novels #anime #dramas #movies #youtube #podcasts

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fakecrfan · 3 years

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If Jon was not the eyes special little boy, what entity do you think he would connect to the most?

This is a very interesting ask because I am of the opinion that 1) the Fears are parasitic by nature in that they will always cause suffering 2) Jon’s relationship with the Beholding is harmful to himself and fucks with his ability to make rational choices and 3) it causes him to harm others around him, so it would be better for him Not to be connected to any power.

And yet seeing the words “if Jon was not the eyes special little boy” have me going

🥺

What do you MEAN he’s not the special little boy??? The Eye wouldn’t ABANDON him! The Eye sees Jon as its own self so it would be like someone cutting off a finger or

Anyway, my irrational reaction beside, I think that Jon is uniquely Eye, with more of a natural affinity tho it than anything else. He seeks out knowledge masochistically and is impulsive, obsessive, etc. Not all of this is the Eye messing with his wants, a lot of it is that his personality was naturally inclined toward it the way one might be genetically predisposed to alcohol.

Still! Natural tendency isn’t everything. Just look at how Martin not becoming Web. And on that note, here is my pick for second-most-likely power for Jon:

The Web.

Which is weird to say. Jon spends most of the narrative out of control of... well, if not his actions, then the results of those actions. He gets to make choices but all of them reverberate in ways he doesn’t anticipate and cause him to lose what he was actually trying to achieve. Jon sometimes has agency, but he never, ever has control.

So, how on earth could he be Web?

Well, that’s the thing--technically speaking, none of the Web avatars are in control of their situation, either!

You think Raymond Fielding wanted to get burned to death by Agnes? Whatever planning he was doing, that definitely wasn’t in it. No, instead Raymond was at the center of his own little web, in control of it all--but only to a point. In the end, he was as much a puppet to something greater than himself as the poor children he entrapped.

So I posit: Jon would not have to be in control of everything to become a Web avatar. He wouldn’t have to become a better long term planner. He would just need to want to finally be in control of his life hard enough.

And it would really be a reasonable desire on his part, wouldn’t it? He has trauma of his agency being forcibly taken away by Mr. Spider when he was 8. Now he has agency, the ability to make choices, but he never has enough context or control to guide things into the direction that he wants.

He just wants to finally get a grip on everything. Maybe even for partially altruistic purposes. Maybe he genuinely thinks it’s not just for his own sense of control, but he wants to make things better for his friends--or even the world.

The Web already likes him. All Jon has to do is give in.

Any control he got would be entirely illusory of course. But he would, for a time, at least feel like he finally had a chance.

For a time.

#should I put this one in the tags?#I think I should put this one in the tags #the magnus archives #the web #jonathan sims #web!jon #Anonymous

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whoistheasshole · 3 years

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How do I get out of this unsatisfying life I’m living?

Anonymous asks: So the thing is that I feel incredibly stuck - I have all the basics of life which I'm grateful for but also that was my BIG dream as a kid, to get tf out of my parents' house - but now I have that and idk what to do for the rest of my life. Like, if I try those "visualize your future" things I'm just like, "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer" & it feels like I don't really WANT anything so I can't plan, you know? Just flailing here honestly. Pretty tired of it.

I wrote back: I got your question. To pinpoint my answer a little better, can you tell me about your current situation, like how long has it been since you moved out? Which are the things you have in order to your satisfaction? Some vague idea of your age range would also be helpful, but I can work without it too if you’d rather not share.

Anonymous answered: Ah, sorry. I was trying to fit in the character limit & also whenever I think about this my mind just goes flbbbbth. It's been about 5 years? That's about the only thing I'm truly HAPPY about, I'm not thrilled with my social/love life, career, etc & have pretty much been just coasting tbh. I'm almost 30. Thanks for entertaining this.

Alright, thanks for adding some background. I will come at this from different angles and you can pretty much pick and choose what sounds helpful and leave the rest, okay?

First, while there are people who have it all figured out, methodically planning their next career step or fully certain that there is no greater joy than raising a child, there are tons of other people who just, to quote, go „ flbbbbth“ when asked about their next steps or, god forbid, their life plan. I would say I fall in the latter camp, but I don’t mind because I think there is nothing wrong with that. I let myself be guided by the things I need to be happy (more on that later) and by current necessities – if my job becomes shit, I need to find a new job. If a friendship goes sour, I need to end it respectfully. But I couldn’t tell you specific career or personal goals, except...

... let’s talk about the „later“ now.

I’m an organizer, maybe even a worrier, and therefore I like lists. And for that reason I made a list a while ago that I still have and expect to keep for a long time. It is a list of everything that I need to be satisfied with my life. It consists of 29 entries and has three of them checked, though several others could be counted as half-checked. I wrote down everything that came to mind, paying no attention whether it was reasonable or feasible to want. That wasn’t the question.

It covers stuff like a clean flat (not checked), restful sleep (not checked), friends that I see regularly (checked) or a job with purpose (not checked). This list is my guide. Well, generally my needs are my guide, but it can be hard to be aware of your needs sometimes, so I got this list. And if I wonder what I need or want to focus on, I can turn to it and choose one of the entries and see what I can do about it. I can also look over the list every few years and see if things have developed in the right direction. Little progress is no reason to chastise myself, but helpful information to see whether I need to re-direct my focus.

Please note that I wrote „satisfied“, not „happy“. Being happy is a passing emotional state. It is completely normal and okay not to be happy all the time. But quiet satisfaction with where you are or where you are going, that is pretty achievable. It certainly is a process, but an enjoyable one.

This list is not a race and it is not really a to-do list because most of the things I wrote down aren’t easy to accomplish with a single action. They take months and years and, for some items, I can only try and hope it works out some day (see anybody who ever purposely looked for a partner).

So maybe this kind of list could be an exercise for you. Maybe it provides you with some insight, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not the right point in your life. But if you sit down and the only thing you can come up with is „cry forever“ or „sleep forever“ then, you know, that’s a sign.

Which brings me to my next point: Journaling or automatic writing. This method is especially helpful for those „I feel some kind of way and I couldn’t even tell you how“ moments – so maybe exactly where you are right now. Captain Akward has introduced me to a website called „750 words“ and I’ve used the principle of „morning pages“, though not the website, since then whenever I felt like some emotions were starting to boil over.

I sit down, ideally in the morning, and just barf it all on the (digital) page. There are only two rules: 1) Don’t edit or judge yourself, write everything as it comes to mind (that’s the automatic writing part) and 2) Don’t stop before you’ve reached 750 words. You are not looking to write anything readable or clever or lyrical, you’re looking to get all the weirdness out so you can move on. Repeat this as many days as you feel queasy or weird or confused or angry or sad. Each day, as soon as you’ve reached the 750 words, you can walk away. Heck, you could even delete/burn the document if that feels right. It’s just about giving your thoughts the room they need so you can continue with your day, hopefully feeling somewhat relieved.

While we’re at writing, I also have a question for you: Where is the pressure coming from to „do something with your life“? Is it truly coming from inside you or are there outside factors? Are people in your life asking you when you’ll have kids? Do you live in a culture where it’s expected that everybody does something of note, works certain prestigious jobs? Do you compare yourself to the people around you and feel like you’re „late“?

Maybe mull this over on a leisurely walk or write about it, using the method above. No matter where it’s coming from, the feeling of pressure won’t go away just by knowing its origin, but the knowledge can help you keep it under control. And if you find it is truly your own wish, you will have tools to shape your life according to your needs.

So, next, sleep: Maybe do that?

You wrote "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer". I understand this was half a joke, but also … it was probably more than a joke.

How are your energy levels? How does life feel? Are you trying to jog through jello most of these days?

If we’ve been overachievers or had a tough home life or needed to take care of ourselves pretty early, we can become accustomed to everything being difficult. This feeling and behavior can become a way of life, even when circumstances change and we have a chance to act differently.

Do you feel rested? Do you have regular moments of quiet in your life that let you breathe? If not, this is where I would start. Forget about lists, though morning pages might be a helpful accompanying tool (if they don’t become a task to punish yourself with if you don’t find the energy).

Take some weeks or months, maybe even a year to make rest your priority. You will have to find a way that works for you. Yes there is a lot of clinically proven stuff out there, but you will not see me do yoga or meditate. Though feel free if that’s up your alley. If you love cycling or taking photos or drawing or just plain lying on your bed and staring at the wall, see where you can add more of that to your day. Whatever brings you closer to yourself and makes you feel like you can exhale and stand still for a moment, that’s the way to go. Do this as long as sleeping seems like a fine choice. And for good measure maybe a month longer. You are ready to stop when you cannot wait to do something else goddamnit I’m bored!!! (you might say)

If you are in this picture, please start here. Any kind of life plan, next steps, strategizing, solving of riddles would set you back and perpetuate your exhaustion. Rest is not time wasted, rest is how you get your life back.

If you are in this picture, you will likely find that if you really pull through, if you truly rest, as long and boring or even scary as it may be, the other questions will probably have an intuitive answer afterwards. Not like „this is my 20-year career plan“, but „I feel like doing x this week“. And that is enough. Because you won’t need to strain to hear your needs through the fog of exhaustion anymore.

Finally, some practical information and links for when you do have the energy and inclination to tackle your job and social life. I am not saying you need to change anything if that’s not what you want to focus on. These are just some tips, in case they become relevant.

For your social life, I recommend what others have recommended before me: Pick an activity that you do with other people and stick with it long enough to become a familiar face, see also here and here (yes, meeting gay people is similar to meeting other people). If you try out new stuff, go there at least 5 or 6 times before you decide it’s not for you – of course assuming nothing bad is coming up like racist or abusive people in the group. Shop around if the first group/activity doesn’t work for you until you find something that you’d like to do permanently. Maybe you’ll gain some friends, maybe you’ll find a romantic opportunity. In any case, if it’s something fun that you like to do anyway, you will have found an outlet with a social group attached. It is absolutely not as easy right now, with Covid and all, but if nothing outdoors-y comes to mind, you could also use this time to brainstorm what sounds like fun for when things are safer again.

Of course you can also look at opportunities online, like Discord servers, online interest groups etc but I do understand if that’s just not appealing right now. I am certainly over sitting in front of a screen.

To round this up, don’t sneeze at contacts that you already have. Are there acquaintances, friends of friends, colleagues, family members who you would like to get to know better? Then go do that! Suggest a time and place to meet up and see how they react. Say yes to the potential friends.

Speaking of which...

The Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes might also be interesting. Sure, it’s a little pop culture positive thinking kinda stuff, but I did like the impulse it gave me to consider when I say no to opportunities out of anxiety or worry. It made me accept some social invitations from colleagues (… in the before times) that I would not have otherwise considered. I did not gain life-long friends, but I did learn another valuable info: That my FOMO wasn’t justified for these events ;)

It also lead me to the decision to do one new thing every month – visit a new place or try a new activity or cook a new food. If the concept sounds appealing, just think about what sounds interesting and achievable to you.

And finally, the advice blog recommendations that I’ll always have. For social life, love life, and general life planning turmoil: Captain Awkward. For everything job-related, including how to write a good cover letter or interview well and, of course, how to get out of the dreaded current job you have: Ask A Manager.

To sum it up:

1) Figure out if you even have the energy to tackle any of this right now.

2) Figure out your pillars for a satisfying life – nothing big and shiny, just … basic needs, wishes, social needs.

3) When you feel like it, pick what you want to tackle next and see where it leads you.

4) Stay flexible. This is your life and it’s okay to go where it takes you, even if it doesn’t look „cool“ or „impressive“ from the outside. All you need is to make it your own.

And if you want to, let me know how it goes some time. :)

#post #questions #advice #WHO IS THE ASSHOLE #life advice #rest #recovery

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notyetbulletproof · 3 years

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I do think there is a greater conversation to be had in regards to Kaz about forgiveness (of himself) and allowing himself to get the softer, lovelier, kinder things in life. I do think guilt plagues his life and has been a fixture since he survived and was “reborn” (let’s face it a large part of him had to die for him to come back) in that saintsforsaken Harbour. I think he never really confronted his grief — 1) he had no time, 2) was completely abandoned and left to die by a system where the only value one had was monetary and one’s ability to make more and 3) how could he?

Grief masquerades as many things before we admit to ourselves what it is. Anger. Vengeance. Fear. Those 3 things? They’re often way more motivating. They add purpose and give us something to work towards.

He had to build up his life brick by brick on the promise to himself and Jordie that he would destroy those who destroyed him and his. No distractions from the goal. That he doesn’t notice when love slips through the cracks - Inej, Jesper, Nina, Wylan, Matthias. He doesn’t realise until he lets himself realise. Kaz is honourable. The deal is the deal. He protects his own. Yes. But it’s the fact that these people become incredibly important to him so much so that he names his victories (emerald palace becoming silver six) after them. A monument to who they were and who they’ll always be—- his crows.

"Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don't forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for." — CK

Then, we have Inej. The girl he loves. The one person that is able to slip under his amour. More importantly, the one person he’s willing to try to disarm for. The one person the softer emotions become more obvious around. He wants her. He needs her. She’s essential to him. The one person he admits he’d drop every plan for revenge (legit his purpose for YEARS) he ever had if it meant she was safe. Then it’s the conversation of —- Can Kaz let himself be loved? Can he let himself find joy amidst the grief? Will he allow himself solace and reprieve? Will he allow himself to have what he desires or will his past keep dragging him back?

I keep thinking about these quotes:

“ We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”- CK

“And that’s what destroyed you in the end, the longing for something you could never have” — SOC

"I've taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town. This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it's that you can always bleed a little more." — CK

"Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste."— CK

Don’t get me wrong— I am very clear that Kaz’s touch aversion and phobias exist because of the terrible traumatic event he experienced at 9 (wtf!) years old. I am just saying that I do think it’s the psychological torture and barriers he’s put up that plays a part too. When he talks about psychologically torturing Pekka being a way better outcome —- the boy would know. How long has he done that to himself?? When Kaz is in a fight, a violent bloody, lots of people touching and kicking and just ALOT—- violence seems to help (he’s said as much). It gives him something to focus on and the pain dulls the fact that people are touching him. Being hurt, having touch be followed by pain and grief is something he is accustomed to. A learned coping strategy. Not necessarily effective but hey— it’s worked.

And then Inej. Someone, I think we can all agree kaz is so much softer for. His tell. His one weakness. And he tries to reconcile that with his harder coping strategies by rejecting any reality where it could happen for them but they keep coming back to each other. He can’t maintain the ruse with her. He can’t be Dirtyhands all the time around her. She deserves more than that.

Then it’s their desire for intimacy. For physical touch. He wants to be physically intimate with Inej. Maybe not all the way right away, let’s be fair to them both, that’s not happening yet. But he wants to touch her (if she wants that and she does). He wants to hold her and know she’s alive and present and here with him. We know that physical contact triggers the trauma response. Yep. However his want to best it to be better than this “weakness” (it’s not weakness sweets but okay) motivates him to keep trying. To be what they both want. And while Inej might not know everything about his pain, she has her own issues with touch and when he says that if she can be brave to speak those words aloud, he can be brave and move past the fear—- it’s monumental. It’s acknowledging that it’s difficult for them both but they want this and they’ll try try try.

Let’s also think about when he thinks about Inej. Beyond all that. When he talks about himself being broken and “bad” but knowing he could pull himself into a semblance of a man for her. Feeling broken and less than and then by CK knowing that he could do right by her and showing more than telling just how much he loves her.

And most of all (because this was the point I am thinking about)—- starting to really consider forgiveness. For Jordie. For himself. Starting to really review what it is he’s truly broken about. What ending Pekka will not solve. It will give him a reprieve but he needs to make the effort to break down his walls. Him holding Inej’s hand signifying a promise to her, to himself, to them, to a new future.

A promise to try. To break down the amour and to forgive himself for not “knowing better, for being a child and trusting in the kindness of people (that line always fucked me up). To break down the barriers that keep him from happiness. That keep him from letting himself be loved. From keeping everyone at a distance because even when you do that? You still lose people and in the words of other characters in other books in the universe — “you’ll mourn (us) them anyway”. Or in Kaz’s own words “And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it's that you can always bleed a little more." — CK

All this to say that I feel that as much as Kaz Brekker’s amour exists as a response to the horrors of his past. Exists as a shield to the world. Exists to protect him and his from the horrors that currently persist. I do think it also exists to prevent him from dealing with his grief. From forgiving himself and Jordie. For forgiving himself because in doing so he would have to confront certain things about his experiences that he couldn’t focus on before.

If he’s all about destruction then he doesn’t have to feel the other things that come with all he has experienced. (Honestly him thinking about Jordie and what he says to him about Jordie’s decisions leading up to their terrible loss— I was a mess).

“Was there never another dream?”—- CK.

Is the amour protection from that? What happens when vengeance is achieved?

Build something. Watch it burn?

Make a promise to support a new purpose?

Is forgiveness a huge part of taking off his amour? Yes. I believe so. And it starts with him (forgiving himself).

You were both kids. You were all kids.

#kaz brekker #my love #he’s making the steps towards healing

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orsuliya · 3 years

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This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #and unto us a child is born #although the aftermath must wait #this was getting a bit too long and me a bit too weepy #I am an absolute disgrace of a human being #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELEINEENGLAND #also I might have read a book about childbirth in ancient China #it was full of dead babies but on the whole very interesting

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astromechs · 3 years

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keep whatever it is (that's compelling you on)

HERE IT IS, my matrix resurrections spec fic, completed and in under the wire before the trailer! i think i'm ready to quit fussing over this, and i'm really excited to get it out into the world!

also here on ao3!

01.

Every single morning, Thomas A. Anderson is jolted awake at approximately 8:15 AM by the shrill of the same alarm, shovels in the same shitty cereal before stumbling into one of the same five shitty suits that he has to remember to get dry-cleaned, takes the same seat on the subway on the way to work — where he sits in the same chair for eight hours straight with minimal breaks, staring at his computer screen (or, more often, out into nothing) until it’s time to take the same subway back to his shitty apartment, order from the same rotation of shitty takeout, and find some mindless, banal distraction while he ignores texts that don’t even matter anyway before he falls asleep to eventually wake up and do it all over again.

It’s nothing special — just the average life of an average mid-grade programmer at the average tech conglomerate. Comfortable, sure, and a dream many would kill to achieve; he knows this, knows this every time he passes the poor old woman who’s feeding pigeons in her ratty coat from the battered metal bench on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He slips her whatever spare change he has on him — a $20 bill, on the days he’s lucky, but often less than that — and, without fail, she always accepts, with a warm smile and kind eyes that seem to stare right into his soul, seeing the deepest parts of it.

Like she knows him. And that’s what’s weird.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, because, honestly, he tries not to put too much thought into anything at all; he’s found that to be the most effective way to navigate the machine that systematically runs his rhythmic, mundane life.

But even so, there are things that he knows he can’t shake.

One afternoon in late February, when the cut of the wind had not remotely suggested that spring would just be a month away, he’d passed the woman on the bench as always, but he could’ve sworn that the whole flock of pigeons scattered on the sidewalk at her feet had frozen for a split second. Like they’d been… glitching. In a blink, everything had returned to normal, and he’d spent about three days (and three sleepless nights) trying to convince himself he’d been seeing things, that he’d just been spending too much time actually working on his assigned program for once and that maybe he should take some of his accumulated vacation days? And the following week, he had, but….

No time off to try to clear his head would ever change the fact that this hadn’t been an isolated incident.

Because sometimes — he swears he sees pieces of code fall through his field of vision; a blink and then they’re gone, but it happens too often not to be a pattern, and no matter how much he might want to for the sake of his own sanity, he can’t just brush that aside. Sometimes, flashes come to his mind like barely-remembered dreams, in idle moments and just on the edge of the line that separates sleep from waking consciousness, so real that he knows they’re memories. Dark tunnels that haven’t seen the sun for centuries. Cold, so cold that no amount of warmth, human or otherwise, can really combat. Running, desperately bounding up the fire escape to the third floor of a rundown motel, three men in sunglasses and perfectly-tailored suits in close pursuit, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he can barely hear the phone ring from Room 303, the place he has to get to, because everything depends on it. A barrage of bullets in his chest, one right after the other, back slumping against the wall as his heart gives out, vision fading to grey and then to black, but a voice, reaching through it all to call him, tether him….

Neo.

There are things that he knows he can’t shake, and sometimes, he thinks he had another life. Another name.

Another purpose.

He’s haunted by the ghost of it.

It’s the second of April — at least, that’s what the screen of his phone tells him, because otherwise he wouldn’t know, or care to know. A Friday, and all the faceless commuters are packed like sardines into this subway car, headed home for weekends that are sure to be as inconsequential as his own. Today, he has to stand holding the rail for the ride home; a woman trying to juggle both a baby and two bags of groceries had just barely managed to stumble onto the train before the doors had closed, and he’d sprung up, more than glad to give up his seat to someone in greater need.

She tries to thank him, profusely and repeatedly, but with where he’s standing, he would have to twist to keep facing her, so, with a nod and the barest hint of a smile, he turns away to spend the trip the way he always does: in solitude.

The route back to the station just down the block from his apartment building is never smooth, by any stretch of the imagination, but today, it’s bumpier than usual; the train car jerks and jostles, until, eventually, it sends him colliding into back of the passenger standing next to him.

He’s just about to stammer out some automatic, awkward apology, but then —

Blue eyes meet his, clear, crisp blue, and a jolt strikes him right to the core.

He thinks — no, he knows, he knows — he’s seen these eyes.

Neo. In the darkest corners of his mind, the voice whispers again.

Time freezes, glitches, around him, around him and this stranger with familiar blue eyes. He sees the light leave them, and then come right back. He sees warmth, what something is telling him had once been the only thing able to keep the cold of the real away; that warmth spreads through now, to the tips of him, and he has a sense, one he doesn’t entirely understand, that something has just clicked into place.

Behind sunglasses, another pair of eyes watches them from across the car.

“You all right?” Neo.

He sees brows knit in concern, and for the first time, he pays attention to the face that the eyes belong to. Probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in… more than one life, he’d have to guess, is now in front of him; he isn’t so detached and disconnected that he doesn’t notice that. Her short dark hair is cut into a severe bob, and she’s dressed in black from head to toe — from her coat and gloves, to her boots. It suits her, somehow.

After a beat, he finally remembers to speak. “Yeah. I — sorry.” The subway jerks to a halt; he glances up, and adds quickly, after clearing his throat, “This is… my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.”

Pushing past her, pushing past everyone in his way, he disembarks to the station, and when his feet touch solid pavement, he takes off at a sprint. Up the stairs (third floor… Room 303….), down the sidewalk (agents, just behind… he can beat them, if he just runs faster than he ever has…), not stopping until the mundane certainty of his shitty apartment building is within his sights.

Just before he makes it safely inside, he catches a glimpse of the old woman on the bench watching him, her smile wider than he’s ever seen it. Maybe, even, almost inhumanly wide.

10.

Her name is Natalie.

That’s what he learns about a week later, when he bumps into her again in front of the grocery store on the corner down from the subway station, the one he always chooses out of convenience. Quite literally; he’s distracted, disconnected, and before he even knows what’s happening, he’s collided with another body, contents of the two bags under his arms spilling out onto the sidewalk. His apologies are hurried and stammered, but her hands are gentle as she moves to help, brushing his more than once. Her smile is soft when their eyes meet.

Over the next several months, he learns a lot of other things, too.

He learns that she takes her coffee with cream and no sugar, and that she always leaves the barista a generous tip. He learns that she’s a genius with tech, better than him and his two computer science degrees and half-cushy corporate job could ever hope to be, and has his whole apartment practically rewired in an hour one day. He learns that if he’s quiet and still, her black cat has no qualms with being his friend. He learns that her lips curve up in just a certain way and her eyes crinkle when she’s just about to laugh.

And he learns that kissing her feels like coming home, as familiar and peaceful as it is new and strange. He learns that with her, coming together, becoming one with another person, is like nothing else.

For the first time in what he can remember, he knows what it feels like to be alive.

(Only it isn’t… is it? The first time. Somehow, just like he knows that he sees the same person walk past him twice, like he knows that those glitches start happening on a near-daily basis, like he knows that the old woman on the bench is smiling at him more broadly than ever….

Their lives have collided, and given each other meaning, purpose, before.)

11.

In his dreams, he sees a city entirely built from light. Spires touch the sky like fireworks, blindingly bright, and with every step, flames ripple out from his feet, making the next one all too clear.

Inevitable.

This is where his path had always led.

In his dreams, he can’t see her face. He can only hear struggling gasps for breath, and a voice that only grows shakier. He can only feel the metal that pierces her stomach, the blood that pools on her shirt. The faint heartbeat he can do nothing to restart.

Inevitable.

(You were right, Smith. You are always right.)

He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat (as cold as their last kiss), gasping for breath. Next to him on the bed, Natalie stirs and shifts closer; when he reaches out a tentative hand, lets his fingers graze over her stomach, she’s warm.

His eyes scrunch tightly shut. Code falls behind his lids like the rain that patters against the windows outside.

100.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on this day in early fall. A breeze rustles the trees as they walk hand in hand through the park, and provides the first hint that cooler weather is on the way. Children’s laughter from the nearby playground fills the air. Dogs chase each other on the grass. Natalie sips her coffee, cream with no sugar; they enjoy the contented silence that falls between them, only punctuated by her soft smile.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary — except for everything that is.

They meet each other’s eyes, her blue to his brown, and in an instant, everything changes.

It’s hard to tell who sees it first, but — the flash of recognition envelops both of them. Vague memories, the ones that have floated over him like a constant cloud, just out of reach, are in his hands, in his brain, in his heart. He’d had another life once, another name. And it’d been —

“Neo.”

She whispers it on an awed breath, tears forming in her eyes. The coffee cup slips from her grasp, long since forgotten; she lifts that hand to his face, fingers tracing the rise of his cheekbone.

Tears swim in his vision, too, tears and strands of code, falling. Falling. Nothing makes sense and yet everything makes sense, no more so than when the name falls out of his mouth, the last piece of a particularly jumbled puzzle: “Trinity.”

But a thousand words he doesn’t know how to say don’t even begin to get a chance to form. He feels the eyes watching them more than he sees them; both hands drop to his sides, and he tenses, ready to fight.

He’s barely aware that the old woman who’s usually on the bench near his apartment building approaches on the sidewalk. She looks between them, nods, and:

“They’re coming, kiddo,” she tells him, voice severe, with none of her usual warmth, as she grips his arm. “You need to run.”

101.

At sunset, a man in a white suit, tall and imposing, joins the old woman on a park bench near the playground, but says nothing; from all appearances, it looks as though he barely acknowledges her at all. They remain, just like this, as people filter out one by one under the steadily darkening sky, returning to their lives.

They always remain through every iteration, the Mother and Father of the Matrix.

Preoccupied with purpose and the inefficiency of wasting time, as is his programming, the Father is the first to break the silence.

"I informed you it was a dangerous game.”

The Oracle says nothing in response.

She merely smiles.

#neo x trinity #the matrix #the matrix resurrections #neo #trinity #* fic #song title is from cascades by metric #which for some reason just feels like a ship song for them #anyway i'm so hyped for tomorrow!

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corpsentry · 4 years

Text

WHEN THE WAR IS OVER AND I AM LYING AMONGST ANGELS, WAITING FOR YOU TO FIND ME: a spoiler-filled addendum

because i buttfucked the timeline harder than nintendo and That’s Mildly Concerning ao3 link

q: what the fuck is this a: this fic is the answer to the question, ‘how can i reconcile the events of breath of the wild and age of calamity into a coherent narrative?’.

q: what the fuck happened a: age of calamity was a dream zelda had while partying in ganon’s apartment for a hundred years.

q: [you point a nerf gun at my head and smash my knees in with a hammer concurrently] what the Fuck happened a: link has a line near the end of chapter one which goes something like ‘my mother used to say dreams are the memories of people from another world’. this is the core concept of the story. while age of calamity is a dream to botw zelda, who saw it unfold over the course of a hundred year nap, it’s also real. in my incredibly fucked up version of things, it happened- just not in the same universe as botw. when botw zelda settled in to drink cheap beer with ganon for a hundred years, her consciousness drifted across time and space to the age of calamity timeline, where she proceeded to live out someone else’s life for a few months. are the other characters in aoc aware of this? link is. at the end of chapter two, when he pleads with zelda to ‘rebuild the old world with [him]’, he falls out of character. he betrays the real purpose of this timeline and his place in it, which is to salvage what botw could not.

q: what the fuck is up with the space-time continuum thing a: inspired by the multiverse theory (note that i know nothing about multiverse theory apart from the fact that there are multiple verses), i decided it would be fun if i added a third dimension to the botw/aoc pair. the inhabitants of this third universe are aware of the existence of multiple worlds. they are also aware of the prophecy of calamity ganon’s return, but for the purpose of this essay it does not matter if calamity ganon will rise in their world. the primary concern of zelda in this third dimension is whether she can engineer a universe where link does not die. as she says in chapter two, there are a thousand possible outcomes, but only two fulfill her requirement: the outcomes that constitute botw and aoc. we can assume she went to enormous lengths to uncover these universes, as described by impa, who says with some disbelief ‘you destroyed the space-time continuum for a boy?’. zelda destroys the space-time continuum. she moves through timeline after timeline, tweaking dialogue and moving the hour-hand ever backwards, and at the end of it all, for all her suffering, what does she actually achieve?

q: okay so what the fuck is up with the scene where link kisses zelda and is like i had a dream where i died and then nothing happens a: first of all, you’ll find this scene near the end of chapter two if you’d like to take a second look at it. as for who exactly this zelda and this link are, it’s unclear. maybe after botw zelda woke up, the original aoc zelda and aoc link lived happily after the war. maybe the zelda in the third dimension missed a positive outcome in her thousand-bullet-pointed list. maybe this, too, is a dream someone had, while lying in a field of flowers somewhere. your call.

q: rabbit???????? a: the story about the rabbit is a framing device. first introduced at the end of chapter one when link tells zelda a story on the bridge at night, it eventually comes to parallel botw zelda’s experiences, but in reverse. the rabbit is happy in her reality. she has a dream where everyone she loves is gone, becomes immersed in it, and is eventually saved by the voice of some-god-or-another. zelda is not particularly happy in her reality (botw). she has a dream where everyone she loves survives, becomes immersed in it, and is pulled out of the dream by some-god-or-another. the important thing to note here is the second rule the rabbit lays out in the story, which is that you, as the dreamer, can’t tell anyone that you’re dreaming. self-awareness is a sin in these lands, but the greater and far worse sin is to attempt to share that self-awareness with someone else. this is why link is so adamant that zelda not finish speaking at the end of chapter two, when ganon is defeated and they are standing on the balcony. he wants her to stay. he’s in love with her. he doesn’t want her dream to end because in a way her dream is his dream too; they want the same things (peace, living champions and family, each other). unfortunately for him, zelda has to leave the aoc world behind, because even a hundred year nap has to end, and so she says what she has to say, she says it feels like she’s dreaming, and she wakes up.

q: please explain, in plain english, whatever the hell goes down in chapter 2. a: chapter one is a relatively straightforward retelling of the first four story chapters in hwaoc. chapter three returns the reader directly to the botw timeline, where link shoots a glowing arrow at ganon’s ass, killing him instantly. chapter two is the glorious fuck that lies in between. in short, it splices the events of aoc and botw together with overlays and meta commentary from the third universe mentioned above, where zelda is trying to engineer a happy ending, and the ambiguous fourth one where link is the one who sees the dream. i made use of several batshit devices here, but the most prominent one is, i hope, the encore. the [ENCORE] is initially used to signal that a scene will be set in the botw timeline. it makes its first appearance before botw zelda and botw link’s journey down from mount lanayru, which, as we know, does not take place in aoc. this is played straight up until the halfway mark or so, at which point i swap out ENCORE for encore and finally ****** (still says encore though). this distinction is lost altogether once impa begins dragging link’s body up to the great plateau. up until now, ENCORE and [these brackets] have been used to distinguish the botw timeline from the aoc one, which is not an encore and is not in [these brackets]. the next segment, concerning the battle on the great plateau, flips them. now impa and co’s funeral procession is ‘real’ and the charge zelda leads to the temple of time is ‘fake’. i wonder why.

q: ‘the lights are BLUE or YELLOW or PINK’. explain. a: what’s a play? a pretense. what does it take to pretend? actors. what is zelda doing? dreaming.

q: fourth wall breaks. explain. a: the interview segments are an homage to the seven thousand articles about age of calamity i read before playing age of calamity because this game was effectively my reason to live for the months of october and november. sooga talks about google maps because he’s dead (possibly dlc?) and dead people have the right to say fuck-all. every device in this story was implemented for a vaguely coherent reason. and then i fucked it up for fun.

q: what is the state of zelda and link’s relationship? a: in the botw timeline i imagine they’re involved with each other even before calamity strikes. in the aoc timeline i imagine they’re working their way towards something, but several important trigger events in botw don’t take place in the aoc timeline and the stakes overall feel significantly lower, so i’d hesitate to say their relationship develops to the same degree it does in the botw timeline. this is all personal conjecture, so you’re free to disagree.

q: why does the last line sound like a hannibal lecter line? a: [dab] god’s plan

q: why does zelda say there are a thousand possible outcomes, and only one where link lived in chapter 3? a: the first rule of time travel: don’t.

this is everything i can think of off the top of my head that might have confused people, but i did unfortunately write this thing so if there’s something else that made you go ‘the fuck?’ please don’t hesitate to drop me an ask or a line in the replies, i’d be happy to help. also, if it isn’t clear as day, i have a lot of fucking feelings about both of these games, so if you want to talk lore, theories, or just miscellaneous zelink fuckery, hit me up. i’ll go sleep now. take care everyone.

#fic blogging #my stuff

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