#Based on: English Folklore

[ineachretelling]

As a wise, Australian bunny once said "Easter is new beginnings, new life..." and so to celebrate we discussed the Tumblr darling, Rise of the Guardians, in which Jack Frost, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and the Sandman formed a superhero team... and this movie is a lot better than that suggests. Join us in screaming about the gendery feelings Jack Frost brings many of us, about how the Sandman might be Jesus, and, in all seriousness, why we tell these stories to our kids as a culture. Merry Christmas, Happy Easter, and don't forget to floss.

[demonfox38]

So, this was the weird thing I had a poll about a few weeks back. I managed to find it cheaper than $40, though!

Like, I'd seen Michelangelo and Raphael's Universal Monster Movie variants at the local Wal-Mart, and I was baffled on who would buy them. And then I found out that Splinter's variant is based on Van Helsing. Pride obliterated.

Try not to think too hard about how this interpretation of Dracula would work. Although, I guess the comic version of Shredder is kind of undead already, if you count being resuscitated by a supernatural worm colony as necromancy.

[glacierruler]

Everyone should get $5000 for college each semester after all the fees have been paid. No matter what.

[ao3org]

Updates to AO3 "Mythology" Fandoms

Hi AO3 users! You may have noticed that recently, fandoms previously canonized as "Mythology" are being updated to "Religion & Lore". This renaming project is part of a wider ongoing process on AO3 about respectful treatment and naming of various religions, spiritual beliefs, faiths, and collections of folklores belonging to a particular religious or cultural tradition. This includes both major and minor religions, as well as reconstructionist, ancient, and modern religions.

In the coming months, the term "Mythology" is being phased out of canonical fandom names. This is because of its potential for use as a disparaging term, and the way in which it is used primarily for religions which are already under-represented. Since "mythology" has connotations of being fictional or inferior to the religious beliefs of the speaker or writer, and is unfortunately used in this way by some, the decision has been made to replace this term with something that the Wrangling Committee believes is more inclusive and less derogatory.

After extensive discussion between individuals from varying religious backgrounds and beliefs, including wranglers representing the various fandoms which were being covered, it was felt that "Religion & Lore" was an appropriate and neutral way to describe the bodies of faith, belief, knowledge, and tradition associated with many of these religions which were ancestrally imparted and regional in nature. It is also hoped that this will decrease ambiguous or confused use, allowing people to more accurately describe their works and find works in which they are interested moving forward.

The use of "Ancient" in many of these fandoms' names reflects that these countries still exist but now have different predominant religions or spiritual beliefs. For example, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore (as Greece is now a predominantly Christian country) or Ancient Egyptian Religion (as Egypt is now a predominantly Muslim country). Because "Norse" does not refer to an extant country, region, or culture, it is not necessary to specify that it is historical or ancient in nature.

The names of these fandoms will also have the native language piped, if the English-language demonym is significantly different from the native-language demonym or if there is a culturally specific term based on consultation with individuals who speak these languages as a first language. We hope to give representation to the language of the source culture by doing so.

Each of these changes has been and will continue to be carefully researched and discussed with traditional knowledge keepers and researchers from the cultures represented in the fandoms under discussion.

Many religions face the issue of texts being written long after their events occurred. Unfortunately this is something which is shared across many religious fandoms; AO3 seeks to treat these religious fandoms equally. Care has been taken in researching characters relating to these fandoms, and character tags will be canonized or made a synonym on a case-by-case basis. Fandom tags that are currently synned to the Ancient religious fandoms have been checked as thoroughly as possible to ensure that they are not referring to modern folk tales, and where possible such relatively modern folk tales are canonized as their own fandoms.

(From time to time, ao3org posts announcements of recent or upcoming wrangling changes on behalf of the Tag Wrangling Committee.)

[runawaycarouselhorse]

I don't want to act like a snob, but, y'all... really don't read old fairy tales or mythology, do you...? You only know the sanitized, bloodless Disney versions? People get cut to pieces (Cinderella/Ashputtel, The Red Shoes), women are abducted to be wives (an upsetting practice that continued until very recently, still practiced in some countries today—horrible, but part of life that found its way into stories, like The Seal's Skin), and magical talking animal husbands / wives (The Crane's Return of a Favour; East of the Sun, West of the Moon, etc.) abound in old mythology. Kids have been raised hearing these stories and not thinking about sex for centuries...

Humans marrying Pokemon in the ancient past was frankly stated in the Japanese version of DPPt. The English version rightly assumed English-speaking fans won't take it and reworded it from used to marry to used to eat at the same table (some euphemism!)

The Typhlosion story is no different from western stories like East of the Sun, West of the Moon (the way she was advised not to look at him reminded me of that) or The Seal's Skin (selkies cannot transform and return to the sea without their pelts—the abducted wife leaves her half-human child on land, escaping with her pelt when she finds it... the half-human, half-Pokemon children are bullied by their pelts being thrown on them to transform them against their will for cruel human amusement..)

The bloody myth about the boy with the sword is Veilstone's myth, but told in detail, right down to the Pokemon exacting a toll from him for how he maimed and slew them for amusement.

A man unknowingly marries a transformed-into-human form Froslass he met once before in Pokemon Legends: Arceus and she flees when he finds out what she was... it's based on a tale about the yuki-onna, the folkloric snow woman Froslass is based on.

[music]

[transbookoftheday]

Trans Horror Podcasts

My post about trans horror books last year was much more popular than I expected, and since I've recently fallen in love with fiction podcasts and audio dramas, I thought I'd make a post about trans horror podcasts as well.

If you like trans horror, please give these a try - especially if you enjoy listening to audiobooks!

Hello From The Hallowoods:

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, an eldritch narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

Hello From The Hallowoods is my absolute favorite podcast! If you only listen to one podcast from this list, please make it this one - it's so beautifully written and super queer! Also: season 4 starts today!

Trans main characters include:

our nonbinary eye-affiliated podcast host

a nonbinary "Frankenstein's creature"

a transmasc ghost

a genderfluid storm witch

a trans woman who can visit other people's dreams

multiple characters using neopronouns

Camp Here & There:

Good morning, campers! Camp Here & There is a weekly horror comedy podcast tuned in to the loudspeakers of a small midwestern sleepaway camp plagued by supernatural terrors and natural disasters. Sydney Sargent, resident camp nurse, cheerfully reports on all the terror we must face with a big smile. Let’s hope there’s nothing weird about that!

Sydney is a trans man.

Dos: After You:

Things have changed. Deck has fallen in love with someone who isn't human, and leaves a hungry house behind to see him again. Will he be waiting for you? The world has changed… but what about him? Dos: After You is a queer urban fantasy/horror audiodrama available in both English & Spanish

Deck is a trans man.

Jar of Rebuke:

Follow Dr. Jared Hel's journey as he works to re-discover his forgotten past and finds his place within the small Indiana farm town of Wichton and the cryptozoological organization he works for called 'The Enclosure'. These audio journals, and other recordings, dive deep into Midwestern US cryptids and folklore while also telling a mystery about identity, queerness, neurodivergence, and community.

Jared is nonbinary.

Spirit Box Radio:

Spirit Box Radio is an award winning, horror audio drama podcast about a radio show for enthusiasts of all things arcane. Follow Sam Enfield a former postboy with no experience in the arcane arts, who finds themselves forced to take over running the show, following the disappearance of the previous host. Sam soon discovers there are more than ghosts haunting the show, and finds himself amidst a mystery which threatens everything he knows about the world beyond his tiny basement broadcast studio, and maybe even himself.

Sam is a trans man.

The Silt Verses:

Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations amongst the reeds and the wetlands. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories. This is a world where divine intervention takes place through prayer-markings scratched into stumping-posts, and offerings are left squirming to die in the flats of the delta. This is a world of ritual, and hidden language, and sacrifice. This is folk horror, and fantasy, and a dark road trip into the depths of unusual faith.

Faulkner is a trans man and Paige is a trans woman.

The Magnus Protocol:

The Magnus Archives 2: The Magnus Protocol is the prequel/sequel/”sidequel” to the internationally renowned Magnus Archives podcast. The Magnus Institute was an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal, based out of Manchester, England. It burned to the ground in 1999. There were no survivors. Now, almost 25 years later, Alice and Sam, a pair of low-level civil service workers at the underfunded Office of Incident Assessment and Response, have stumbled across its legacy. A legacy that will put them in grave danger. If this intrigues you then it is our pleasure to welcome you to the Office of Incident, Assessment and Response. Make sure you pick up your badge at desk and report to your line manager before sitting down. Oh and stay away from I.T., seriously.

Alice is a trans woman.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi, so i writing a book based in the 1800s like the cowboy eras can you please tell me somethings I should keep in mind about the society and stuff also I need a little motivation I have been loosing it all please and thankyou <<<333

Writing Notes: Cowboys

Cowboy

In the western United States: a horseman skilled at handling cattle, an indispensable laborer in the cattle industry of the trans-Mississippi west, and a romantic figure in American folklore.

Pioneers from the United States encountered Mexican vaqueros (Spanish, literally, “cowboys”; English “buckaroos”) on ranches in Texas about 1820, and soon adopted their masterful skills and equipment—the use of lariat, saddle, spurs, and branding iron.

But cattle were only a small part of the economy of Texas until after the Civil War.

The development of a profitable market for beef in northern cities after 1865 prompted many Texans, including many formerly enslaved African Americans, to go into cattle raising. (Though they have been almost entirely excluded from the mythology of the American cowboy, it is estimated that Black cowboys accounted for nearly a quarter of all cattle workers in the nascent American West during the latter half of the 19th century.)

By the late 1800s, the lucrative cattle industry had spread across the Great Plains from Texas to Canada and westward to the Rocky Mountains.

Vaqueros

In 1519, shortly after the Spanish arrived in the Americas, they began to build ranches to raise cattle and other livestock. Horses were imported from Spain and put to work on the ranches.

Mexico’s native cowboys were called vaqueros, which comes from the Spanish word vaca (cow). Vaqueros were hired by ranchers to tend to the livestock and were known for their superior roping, riding and herding skills.

By the early 1700s, ranching made its way to present-day Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and as far south as Argentina. When the California missions started in 1769, livestock practices were introduced to more areas in the West.

During the early 1800s, many English-speaking settlers migrated to the West and adopted aspects of the vaquero culture, including their clothing style and cattle-driving methods.

Cowboys came from diverse backgrounds and included African-Americans, Native Americans, Mexicans and settlers from the eastern United States and Europe.

Cowboy Life

Cowboys were mostly young men who needed cash. The average cowboy in the West made about $25 to $40 a month.

In addition to herding cattle, they also helped care for horses, repaired fences and buildings, worked cattle drives and in some cases helped establish frontier towns.

Cowboys occasionally developed a bad reputation for being lawless, and some were banned from certain establishments.

They typically wore large hats with wide brims to protect them from the sun, boots to help them ride horses and bandanas to guard them from dust. Some wore chaps on the outsides of their trousers to protect their legs from sharp cactus needles and rocky terrain.

When they lived on a ranch, they shared a bunkhouse with each other. For entertainment, some sang songs, played the guitar or harmonica & wrote poetry.

Cowboys were referred to as cowpokes, buckaroos, cowhands and cowpunchers.

The most experienced cowboy was called the Segundo (Spanish for “second”) and rode squarely with the trail boss.

Everyday work was difficult and laborious for cowboys. Workdays lasted about 15 hours, and much of that time was spent on a horse or doing other physical labor.

Rodeo Cowboys

Some cowboys tested their skills against one another by performing in rodeos—competitions that were based on the daily tasks of a cowboy.

Rodeo activities included bull riding, calf roping, steer wrestling, bareback bronco riding and barrel racing.

The first professional rodeo was held in Prescott, Arizona, in 1888. Since then, rodeos became—and continue to be—popular entertainment events in the United States, Mexico and elsewhere.

Joseph G. McCoy offered the wealthy cattleman's vision of the cowboy. He recorded a reasonably balanced, if slightly condescending, views in his 1874 treatise on the cattle trade.

He lives hard, works hard, has but few comforts and fewer necessities. He has but little, if any, taste for reading. He enjoys a coarse practical joke or a smutty story; loves danger but abhors labor of the common kind; never tires riding, never wants to walk, no matter how short the distance he desires to go. He would rather fight with pistols than pray; loves tobacco, liquor and women better than any other trinity. His life borders nearly upon that of an Indian. If he reads anything, it is in most cases a blood and thunder story of a sensational style. He enjoys his pipe, and relishes a practical joke on his comrades, or a corrupt tale, wherein abounds much vulgarity and animal propensity.

Black Cowboys

African American horsemen who wrangled cattle in the western United States in the late 1800s and beyond.

Though they were almost entirely excluded from the mythology of the American cowboy, it is estimated that Black men accounted for nearly a quarter of all cattle workers in the nascent American West during the latter half of the 19th century.

In the years following the Civil War (1861–65) and emancipation from slavery, a budding ranching industry promised freedom and prosperity unknown to most Black Americans, many of whom were formerly enslaved themselves or were the children of enslaved parents.

Texas became part of the United States in 1845, and, by 1860, enslaved people accounted for 30 percent of the state’s population. Among them were some of the first Black cowboys: skilled laborers with experience in breaking horses and herding stock. Many were given the autonomy to work unsupervised, and some even carried guns.

The cowboy lifestyle came into its own in Texas, which had been cattle country since it was colonized by Spain in the 1500s. But cattle farming did not become the bountiful economic and cultural phenomenon recognized today until the late 1800s, when millions of cattle grazed in Texas.

White Americans seeking cheap land—and sometimes evading debt in the United States—began moving to the Spanish (and, later, Mexican) territory of Texas during the first half of the 19th century.

Though the Mexican government opposed slavery, Americans brought slaves with them as they settled the frontier and established cotton farms and cattle ranches.

By 1825, slaves accounted for nearly 25 percent of the Texas settler population.

By 1860, fifteen years after it became part of the Union, that number had risen to over 30 percent—that year’s census reported 182,566 slaves living in Texas.

As an increasingly significant new slave state, Texas joined the Confederacy in 1861. Though the Civil War hardly reached Texas soil, many white Texans took up arms to fight alongside their brethren in the East.

While Texas ranchers fought in the war, they depended on their slaves to maintain their land and cattle herds.

In doing so, the slaves developed the skills of cattle tending (breaking horses, pulling calves out of mud and releasing longhorns caught in the brush, to name a few) that would render them invaluable to the Texas cattle industry in the post-war era. But with a combination of a lack of effective containment— barbed wire was not yet invented—and too few cowhands, the cattle population ran wild.

Ranchers returning from the war discovered that their herds were lost or out of control. They tried to round up the cattle and rebuild their herds with slave labor, but eventually the Emancipation Proclamation left them without the free workers on which they were so dependent.

Desperate for help rounding up maverick cattle, ranchers were compelled to hire now-free, skilled African-Americans as paid cowhands.

Freed blacks skilled in herding cattle found themselves in even greater demand when ranchers began selling their livestock in northern states, where beef was nearly ten times more valuable than it was in cattle-inundated Texas.

The lack of significant railroads in the state meant that enormous herds of cattle needed to be physically moved to shipping points in Kansas, Colorado and Missouri. Rounding up herds on horseback, cowboys traversed unforgiving trails fraught with harsh environmental conditions and attacks from Native Americans defending their lands.

African-American cowboys faced discrimination in the towns they passed through—they were barred from eating at certain restaurants or staying in certain hotels, for example—but within their crews, they found respect and a level of equality unknown to other African-Americans of the era.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Writing occasionally makes me feel like I'm losing it too! I find that taking a step back can be good. That time away from being a writer can be used to being the reader again, and to research your topic. And when your head's clear enough, you can go back & see if the story flows more freely, armed with information you collected to incorporate in your writing. Hope this helps <3

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

No offence, but the series may be a tad too advanced for you if you get to the end and still assume house elves are a metaphor for human enslavement...

it's been sixteen years and I still can't believe that Harry Potter's official final word on slavery was that it's fine as long as you treat them nicely. Like Harry's very last action in Deathly Hallows before the cut to the epilogue is to wonder if Kreacher, the SLAVE THAT HE OWNS, can bring him a sandwich. I need to lie down

[pejite]

1850s english countryside cottage - historically accurate

Here’s one of the builds I’ve made this summer for the langley legacy, an 1850s English countryside house with two bedrooms, one master and one for children. It also has a bathroom. The kitchen and living room are open plan, with a small dining area and a chicken coop outside.

The only way I really enjoy playing The Sims is with historical saves, but as a European, I often have trouble finding historically accurate European builds. It feels like everything I come across is an American house, which gets a bit frustrating.

So, I’ve ended up having to build most of the ones I use from scratch. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it to get the right look and feel for my game.

Lot details

50x40 (hshsh sorry)

§53,537 (cc's fault)

the build contains cc; the list is down below. But it's included in the download.

It will show that the build was created by plantsimgirl, but that’s because I used one of their lots as a base for the trees, so I didn’t have to find them in debug mode. I know, I’m very lazy.

Required cc

Lili's Palace all Folklore packs

Lili's Palace all Intarsia packs

VALIA Bakers Kitchen pack

Deniq Small Ice Box

Pierisim Woodland Ranch pack

Awingedllama Nostalgia Living pack

Awingedllama Grandma's Nursery pack

JS Parchment Computer

Lunamoth Rustic Nursery pack

Linzlu Frontier Dry Sink

Pocci Flowers

KHD Vintage cc packs

Felixandre ORJANIC pack

DaraSims Tablecloth pack

TheJim07 Rectangular Rug

Syb Country Kitchen pack

Simverses medieval stoves

download (FREE on Mediafire)

[amelee23]

Interpretation of messages and references in Railway

I would like to first say these are my interpretations and I could very well be wrong about these or read way too far into it

!! So take this with a grain of salt !!

TW: BLOOD, GORE AND DEATH TOPICS

1. The text in Romanian

Now, I have seen a few translations because this text is well, spelt wrong. (Idk if it was on purpose or not, maybe to throw us off?)

Special occasion info reveal, but I am Romanian.

My own interpretation is this:

"Castelul meu este un loc al intunericului." which translates to "My castle is a place of darkness."

This translation makes the most sense to me, but like I said, I have seen other translations by people which are a tiny bit different. (but nothing too game changing.)

Personally I like "My castle is a place of darkness" because I feel like it could reference something like a mind palace. So basically saying "my mind is a dark place."

2. Vampire concept

This vampire concept to me seemed to be inspired by Bram Stoker's Dracula at first, but then I realized it was more than that. I'm gonna bring a few arguments as to why I think that it might be a lot more well documented.

Dracula was based on the real Romanian Emperor Vlad the Impaler, a violent leader who used to stake people alive.

These creatures, to me, seem to be tied to these flags, and honestly this imagine immediately made me think of Vlad the Impaler's gruesome history. He was such a cruel man that the people back then used to think he was feeding off of the blood of people, and that's why he was so eager to kill.

However!! Before these concepts really set into the Romanian folklore, 'vampires' (the correct name is actually strigoi) were the souls of people (dead or alive) turned evil, that would come to haunt people.

"The evil dead committed always returns to the person who committed it"

Romanian folklore followed this rule as well, up to a certain point, as it was said that people who weren't allowed into Zalmoxis's (A god) kingdom after death would come back to haunt the earth. (So basically sinners.)

On top of that it was also said that strigoi used to crawl out of the earth during a full moon,

And perhaps the most interesting part of all of the references, to me, is the idea of duality. Because Vlad the Impaler as an Emperor, ruthless as he was, was an excellent warrior and army commander, and has led the country to victory (although it was through very gruesome methods). Therefore, historians have been torn in between calling him a tyrant or a hero.

All in all, as Chan is also a leader, I think it makes sense to somewhat represent the duality of a person in command, the tension between goodwill and the means of it, if you will.

3. Final thoughts

Personally I think the most general interpretation I can make out of all I have collected is that he killed the dark side of his mind. Or wants to, at least, in order to let the kind, good one take charge. I see the English quote as a reference to the weight of responsibility, and how one's actions can affect others. That's why I consider it important to translate the Romanian into "my castle is a place of darkness" because then it becomes obvious that the MV symbolizes an inner battle. So, as gory as the video is, I think Chan is saying that he'll always choose kindness, no matter how complicated his mind is. 😁

[draconesmundi]

Happy Dracones Monday! Firedrakes!

Happy Dracones Monday! This Monday we're looking at four dragon species at once, the firedrakes! Here they are, approximately to scale with eachother.

The glitterdrake is the smallest, the size of a large lizard or small cat. They live in laurel forests on Macaronesian Islands, in the Atlantic near Africa. Glitterdrakes aren't based on mythology; I put them on Macaronesia because I couldn't find Macaronesian dragon mythology but I am trying to put dragons EVERYWHERE on the map. Also, putting these dragons on an archipelago of islands means I can have a lot of island subspecies and colour morphs - glitterdrakes represent colourful fantasy dragons, so having them come in every colour (sapphire blue, ruby red, emerald green, royal purple, burning gold, shining silver etc.) was important to me.

The Welsh dragon is smaller than the other European firedrakes at 1.5 meters. They are no less fierce - there aren't any common firedrakes in Wales as a common firedrake cannot maintain a territory there for long. Originally I had the Welsh dragon as a subspecies of the common firedrake, but decided that this dragon had so much personality and folklore that it could get it's own chapter.

The common firedrake is found in Western Europe, 4m long. When designing these I noticed in a lot of heraldry dragons don't seem to have horns? Ears yes, but hornless? Also I noticed that dragons in heraldry tend to have the dorsal finlets from the back of the head to between their shoulders, but no further, which is something I have kept for all my firedrake species.

The viridian firedrake is the largest firedrake species, over 5m long. They are found in Eastern and Southern Europe, and in Russia. I based their appearance on old storybook illustrations to make them look very 'classic', which is why they have horns and cheek frills compared to the more heraldic and hornless common firedrake.

Rant about the term 'firedrake' under the cut! :)

In other creative works, these are called 'classic dragons', 'European dragons', 'true dragons' and 'Western dragons', but I am not a fan of these terms - 'true dragon' implies other dragons are untrue dragons, which is nonsense. 'Western dragon' or 'European dragon' is largely accurate (the 4 legged 2 winged dragon design is common in Europe and the West) but there are other Western and European dragons (wyrms and wyverns) and I find these terms confusing when other types of dragons are taken into account. Also, some Asian dragons also have 4 legs and 2 wings. 'Classic' dragons... serpentine and wyrmish dragons are more classic than 4 legged 2 winged firebreathers, etc.

I went with 'firedrake' as a term for these dragons because 'drake', 'drachen', 'ddraig', 'drac', 'drak' and 'dreki' are all words for dragons like this in European languages, and because firedrake is a word used in literature like some translations of Beowulf and, of course, Tolkien's Legendarium (firedrake comes from Old English fȳrdraca). I think it's a good word that easily conjures up fire breathing four legged, two winged dragons without making them more 'true' or 'classic' than other dragon types or tying them specifically to 'European' and 'Western' countries.

In Dracones Mundi I really try to get a huge diversity of dragons across to the readers. There are around 68 dragon species in this project, only 4 of which are firedrakes. I want to show readers there is more to dragon mythology than "here is a western dragon, they are evil and associated with fire, here is an eastern dragon, they are good and associated with water" - I want to dig deeper. I want people to know about azhdarha, about cuélebres, about coameh. So I'm shining the spotlight away from these firedrakes and trying to make them a small part of a much larger discussion. :)

[mc-cookies]

Golems and Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

I did a writeup about how a character based on the Jewish folkloric golem might work in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy! It includes a short essay about the thematic implications of the golem, and a set of custom rules for living dolls made of unfired clay.

If you don't know what Eureka is, it's the first tabletop RPG by @anim-ttrpgs, an up-and-coming indie studio making carefully designed and rigorously playtested tabletop games outside of the D&D 5e ecosystem. Eureka is a system for stories where amateur investigators look into intricate and (sometimes deadly) mysteries, trying to get to the bottom of whatever conspiracy is at hand. It also has robust rules for a variety of supernatural phenomena that may or may not exist, letting players explore the thematic and logistical implications of people who are vampires, man-eating alien shapeshifters, supernaturally animated dolls, or a variety of other strange creatures. It's one of the best RPGs I've ever played or read, so if you're interested in finely crafted tabletop games, mystery and detective stories, social commentary on the rights of "unsavory" marginalized people, or just supernatural creatures that eat people, I'd recommend checking it out.

My writing under the cut!

(I wouldn't normally post my own long-form writing here, but I felt good about this and also couldn't pass up an opportunity to talk about Eureka. This isn't very polished, so ignore any typos or awkward wording, but feel free to check it out and give your own thoughts. Enjoy!)

Thoughts on golems in Eureka (Essay – Rules below!)

Contrary to how the word is usually used in English-language fantasy media, a golem in its original context is not just a generic term for any supernaturally animated artificial creature. (If it were, then it would be more or less synonymous with Eureka’s use of the term “living doll” to begin with!) Rather, it refers to a specific creature in Jewish folklore: a facsimile of the human form made out of clay, animated by various words of power placed in or on its body, acting as a source of protection and power for the impoverished and oppressed communities which created it. It is a servant which exists to meet a need of its community, animated by the power of God as channeled through the expertise of a meticulous member of the Jewish community. (Arguably the most notable difference from the genre fiction definition is this inherently Jewish perspective. The creation of a golem is a closed-practice, specifically Jewish tradition, and also, the tradition of Jewish mysticism implies high degrees of specialized knowledge – some written down in studied texts, and others discovered by training under a mentor or interacting with other Jewish leaders. In this way, the golem implies a degree of studiousness and community engagement on the part of its creator, both of which are heavily emphasized values in Jewish spheres.)

My analysis of the thematic role played by the golem is probably best represented in the best-known folkloric golem, the golem of Prague. In this story, a 16th century rabbi of the Prague synagogue creates a humanoid form from clay with the purpose of protecting the ghetto (in this context, the dedicated Jewish quarter of the city) from pogroms and other antisemitic attacks, animating it into a golem by inscribing holy words on its head or placing a scroll of those words in its mouth. Things go wrong in ways which vary from telling to telling, with a common version of the story stating that the golem becomes too dangerous and destructive, and the rabbi removes the inscription of the holy name to render the golem dormant (although rather than destroying his creation, he preserves it in the synagogue’s attic to be reanimated if it’s ever needed). In a fun bit of wordplay, some tellings describe the holy inscription as being the Hebrew word “emet” (“truth”), which is only one letter away from the word “met” (“dead”), with the idea that the rabbi deactivates the golem by erasing a single letter. More traditional interpretations would describe a formula consisting of various divine epithets, either instead of or alongside the previous method. In the Jewish mystical tradition, names of God are thought to be emanations of God’s own glory, and invoking their power in specific ways is seen as a way of causing things beyond the bounds of normal reality.

A few thematic points jump out at me about the golem, both from the story of the Prague golem and from the broader characteristics of the golem. One is the fact that a golem is implicitly lacking in personal identity. Golems are almost never named, and they have very little agency in their own stories – in almost every version of the golem of Prague, for instance, it is deactivated because it has gained too much autonomy. It fights the wrong people, uses too much force defending its community, or even just falls in love, and so it is too dangerous to keep around. Even the terminology being used implies this lack of identity, as it etymologically derives from a Biblical Hebrew term, used only once in the Tanakh, which describes the unfinished form of a human before God breathes life into them. A golem is not perceived as a fully formed individual, but rather as an extension of its creator, built by someone else’s will and discarded whenever it isn’t needed. To me, this has a high degree of relevance to the themes associated with Eureka’s living dolls, who often also grapple with defining their own identity and purpose in the absence of their original context. Their unique struggles evoke concepts of alienation and depersonalization, and I think a golem without a master would have to deal with all of the same issues on that front as they navigate life as a newly independent person.

Golems as a whole, and especially the story of the Prague ghetto, also raise another problem that can create thematic conflict for a character: in their attempts to defend vulnerable people in their community, they can end up making situations more dangerous, rather than helping to defuse them. When the golem of Prague rampages, in many tellings, it doesn’t fully stem the tide of antisemitic antagonism. Instead, it destroys more of the ghetto and allows the gentile population to create a post-hoc justification for their hatred of the Jewish community. In the context of Eureka, I think that this can be a powerful metaphor for how the fear of oppression can lead people to become paranoid, closed off, and destructive to themselves and others. A golem whose purpose is to protect and serve the people around them might want to do just that, but if they find themselves in a situation where superhuman strength and stamina can’t solve a problem, they may be in way over their depth, and they might accidentally harm other people when they try to navigate that. (My use of the phrase “protect and serve” here is no accident – one of many inspirations for this thematic element is people who call for increased police presence in their neighborhoods, even when those communities are more harmed by over-policing than they are by crime. Being afraid and wanting to support their community spurs them to action, but it also blinds them to approaches that don’t use force.) For example, one golem character I’ve come up with has had to flee her home and change her name because she saw someone being harassed, didn’t know her own strength, and intervened in the first way she could think of: violently. She was lucky not to be arrested.

To get a little bit more specific, this theme is most specifically inspired by my own experiences in discussions among members of the Jewish community, as the scars from millennia of marginalization, expulsion, and murder don’t fade quickly. Paranoia is a veritable norm even within our households and places of worship. In our homes, many of us keep passports readily available if there’s a need to escape or show identification, and during any prayer service at a synagogue, there will likely be armed security guards standing at the door. Many of us laugh about it, but there’s a degree of genuine fear that we can’t shake. Often, that fear is harmless, but it can get exhausting to live with, to say little of how it affects other people or how it can be weaponized by bad actors. One look at how the Israeli government seeks to justify its violence in propaganda makes clear that the generational trauma of Jewish communities can be exploited and warped as a means to justify some pretty awful things. The figure of the golem is, in a sense our communal power fantasy – it’s comforting to think that with a bit of ingenuity and some elbow grease we can design our own hero to protect us and help us thrive – but even that fantasy is not free of the reality that, like a superhero, a golem’s innate abilities just aren’t always enough to save everyone. (Indeed, this tension is part of what inspired the Jewish creators of Superman: he has superhuman abilities that he uses to protect vulnerable people, but not every problem can be solved by punching it, and with all his strength he has to be very careful not to destroy everything he loves. This has been noticed by a lot of people, and I’m far from the first to bring it up, but in particular I’d say this observation is borrowed from the excellent video essay “The Golem and the Jewish Superhero” by Jacob Geller on YouTube.) A golem being fleshed out as a character can really lean into that tension.

One more theme I want to bring up is not something I’ve come to any particular conclusions about – it’s really just a few spare thoughts I’ve had rattling around, and an invitation to look into this concept more. It comes out of my research on the development of the word “golem” in Hebrew and Yiddish, as the term has developed beyond just the connotation of a humanoid clay form. It can be a pejorative term like “fool”, but more interesting to me is its use in reference to embryos and pupas. This made me consider the transitory nature of the golem as a representative of change, which I haven’t seen explored very much in any stories out there. Not only has the word gained those connotations, but also, looking at the characteristics of the golem as a creature gives some more fuel to that fire. The fact that it’s generally made out of specifically unfired clay gives it the sense of being unfinished. Its nature of being created in its adult form from the very beginning means that it can display a childish outlook as a seeming adult learning about the world outside of its creator’s life. The story of the golem of Prague even has an ending hook entirely centered around the idea of the golem being temporarily disabled but capable of being reanimated if need be. This idea of a golem as a character with a unique capacity to adapt and change hasn’t been explored very much, but I think it could be interesting to consider.

The last thing I’ll leave here is thoughts on character creation beyond themes. In this document, I’ve included a custom set of rules to play a living doll made of unfired clay, which is the traditional material for a golem. This isn’t playtested in any way, but since Eureka doesn’t try too hard to be balanced around physical attributes, I think it should probably work fine – it’s more thematic than anything. To make a golem, the doll’s purpose should be external in some way, pushing them to help and support other people in their community, especially the most disadvantaged of them. In terms of backstory, the details of a golem’s past can be left fairly foggy if you’d like, but the one thing that can’t be skipped is that they were intentionally created by a Jewish creator invoking Jewish traditions. It’s fine to make a living doll that was animated in some other way, but the character would not be a golem in that case. It’s similar to how Eureka vampires must have some association with Christianity, not because non-Christian undead monsters can’t exist, but because outside of that context, the specific vampire mythos lacks any meaning. (Honestly, also, if you don’t have background information about Jewish life and culture, I would recommend asking someone who does to help with your portrayal.) Finally, in terms of giving a golem a hook to investigate a mystery, it could of course be anything, but there’s one aspect in particular that I would consider: in some versions of the Prague golem’s story, it protected the ghetto by looking into cases where Jews were accused of murder and finding the true culprits, thus clearing the names of the accused. Which is to say, there’s genuine historical precedent for golems investigating mysteries, and it often happens as a means of helping people who are falsely accused of a crime. That’s not mandatory, but it could be fun to keep in mind. Have fun, and if anyone ends up playing a golem investigator using these guidelines, please let me know!

Wet Clay Living Doll – Rules

A living doll made from earthenware materials that have not been hardened by firing. This variant was originally designed to represent the golem of Jewish mythology, but it could also be used to portray, for example, an unfinished art project or a proof of concept for another piece. Depending on their construction and the flexibility of the clay they are made from, they may be treated as jointed or unjointed.

Wet clay living dolls weigh more than twice as much as an average person of their size would. They cannot swim or float, and will sink to the bottom of any body of water immediately.

These living dolls take half damage from all weapons while they have at least 1 point of Superficial HP remaining. Damage from falling is unaffected. Wet clay living dolls are immune to electrical damage.

When a wet clay living doll encounters fire or high heat (in excess of about 500 ºC), their outer layer of clay is fired and becomes hard and brittle. When this happens, this living doll should be mechanically treated as an unjointed living stone statue. If another character has access to tools to chip away the outer layer and a large supply of wet clay to replace it, they can reverse this process with a Full Success on a Technology roll. Regardless of the result, this process will take 1 Tick of time and cause 1 Superficial Damage to the living doll.

Wet clay living dolls are easier to repair. Do not apply the -3 Technology penalty when restoring Penetrative HP.

Wet clay living dolls generally possess superhuman strength, but when they are hurt, they may lose chunks of clay that would otherwise generate weight and power. They have a +5 Contextual Bonus to Athletics and Close Combat, but for each point of sustained Penetrative Damage, this bonus is reduced by 1 point.

Given 1 Tick of time, appropriate tools, and a supply of clay, a wet clay living doll can alter their physical appearance and proportions. They cannot precisely change specific details such as facial features, but can make themselves larger or smaller, change their perceived distribution of fat and muscle, and change the shape of their body enough to be recognizably different. When a wet clay living doll attempts to alter their body, roll Technology.

Full Success: The living doll successfully alters their body to exact specifications. They are able to completely alter their facial features and/or specify a new height and body type, and even on close scrutiny they will not appear out of the ordinary.

Partial Success: The living doll mostly succeeds in altering their body, but they get sloppy. They take 1 Superficial Damage, and close inspection reveals that parts of their skin have abnormal marks and blemishes, but they are still able to make the changes that they hoped for.

Failure: The living doll struggles with even the most basic alterations, doing a messy and imprecise job. They take 1 Superficial Damage, and cuts and blemishes are visible across their skin. They also don't convincingly make the correct changes to their bodies, doing either too much or too little to differentiate themselves from their previous form.

[cool-thymus]

idk how to tell you this but japanese people don't speak English. "obitover" isn't a thing when they aren't speaking english...? 💀

Anon is referring to this awesome comic by @dottixml to which i shamelessly contributed one tiny panel.

Hey anon! I had to consult a friend of mine @maireyart who does speak Japanese, and as it turns out, "obitover" IS possible in Japanese, isn't it great? 😁

Japanese has a lot of English loan words, including the word “over” (oobaa) which has the same meaning in expressions like ゲームオーバー (英: game over) etc. So in the Japanese version of this comic the pun could be:

オビトーバ ー!!!!!

Which is オビト + オーバー (obito + oobaa)

Obito’s name is a fav pun base in both English and Japanese fandoms 😎😋 Also, Naruto characters live in an original fictional world that is indeed heavily influenced by the Japanese folklore and culture; however, it is not real Japan. So we can fantasize and headcanon anything we want. Let's just be open-minded and supportive of each other's creative flow :3

P.S. "Fixobito-no-jutsu" from my panel could ALSO be translated into Jp as a pun! But we would need to ask @maireyart about that 👀📝

P.S.S. and who says Obito couldn't be studying English in his free time to look cool in front of his teammates? Kakashi would be jealous af, and Rin would be so impressed with Obito just dishing out puns IN ENGLISH here and there 🤭right?

[j0kers-light]

Hey Chaos! I have a headcanon idea, I think you do accept those and what you have are the closed oneshots??? Correct me if I'm wrong and feel completely free to ignore this ask

How do you feel about Joker x Mermaid! reader, maybe before he was the Joker, being Jack, or maybe his previous form, a malformed and strange mix of the man he was before and the one he will become in the future, a tormented soul who in the middle of the war he is fighting, trying to find a meaning to his life, hears a sweet song that draws him to the sea

It is then that she sees Reader, a mermaid wounded by some bullet, bomb, debris that has fallen into the sea, and she sees the goodness in him, and for a second he believes that he can be good, but upon seeing the monster hiding behind that man's eyes, Reader decides to leave forever.

What do you think about writing something like this?? Maybe headcanons pre during and post relationship (without hinting much at J's past, we love our mysterious King!)

Thank you!!🩷

His Lighthouse: Surface Level (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Surface Level - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE!

Hey hi my sweet anon!!

Now I thought I was gonna let this be a head canon.... then I got to typing and here we are. It turned into a oneshot! Your idea got my brain a flowing and I was unable to stop. I had TOO much fun with this one and it shows. Thank you so much for your patience and I do hope you enjoy. 🥰🥰

As always, if you wish to be apart of the His Lighthouse official taglist, do let me know via comment, ask, or a quick direct message! 🖤✨

P.S. if anyone is interested in the first siren call you sing listen to this 👇🏾for inspiration.

Captain said not to wander the beach late at night. Several men were already declared missing for not heeding the warnings. 

The local elders of the island also warned the men not to invoke her wrath. Their foreign chants sounded like rubbish to Jack’s ears yet he felt something strange befall him after one of the women flicked seawater infused with tropical herbs on his face. He was then forced to drink something putrid all to strengthen his bond with the sea.  

They wanted to ‘protect the Americans’ and held a ceremony to bless the squadron when another solider was declared missing.  

In short, Jack was ready to leave this hell hole. The endless sea and squawking seagulls were driving him insane. Jack longed to be deployed in active duty, in the heat of battle; not keeping the peace with the natives who were blissfully unaware of the raging war surrounding them.  

None of their rituals and charms mattered and that was the mindset that led him to sneak out his barracks with a pack of cigs and a bottle of rum.  

No one would notice him gone. He was not well liked within his squadron, a loose cannon ready to blow, they described him. The others were content being stationed in the civilian zone. Not Jack. His fingers itched for war but for now he was stuck here.  

He kicked off his boots the second he arrived at the white sandy beach.  

It was beautiful out with the moon high in the sky. It casted a glow on everything and highlighted Jack lighting a cigarette. He blew the smoke into the night sky without a care.  

He didn’t care about anything as he took swigs from his bottle. Was this all he was good for? Getting drunk night after night guarding an island? 

There were times that Jack thought of drowning himself at sea just to get away from the absolute nothingness this place brought.  

His friends back home were lucky. Hal was stationed right on the front lines and Ethan had already died fighting for his country. It just wasn’t fair they got to prove themselves whereas Jack was stuck on some military base in the middle of nowhere.  

The island was so remote, half of the occupants didn’t speak English, and almost all of the children had never seen ‘Americans” before. It was ridiculous and don’t get him started on the local folklore.  

If he had to hear one more prayer to their make-believe deity, he would puke.  

“Stay away from the sea when Y/n calls!” A translated omen was told. “She preys on tormented souls, like you brave men! Do not fall to her song!” 

No one gave proof that she existed except for tales and fables and constant headaches with all this mythical nonsense.  

Did they really believe a woman, half fish, half goddess could lure men out to sea with just her voice? It sounded straight out of a children’s bedtime story.  

Jack rolled his eyes every time an elder pleaded with him as he prepped for a nighttime patrol. If this was a siren who drowned men in the sea, why were they purifying him with seawater?  

Yeah, he would be real careful while out on duty.  

He had a better chance of being shot than lured to sea by some fish. The night dragged on as Jack downed his bottle and pondered life while overlooking the ocean.  

It was still as beautiful as it been the first night he arrived several months ago. The waves were foamy, crashing onto the dark rocks lining the shore. All was quiet and before long, Jack’s eyelids started to fall.  

Until he heard something.  

It was the saddest melody he ever heard.  

Without thinking, he turned course and shuffled over to the more treacherous stretch of the island. Here jagged rocks outlined the shoreline for half a mile. The water was colder and darker, holding the secrets the locals so desperately tried to ward away.  

Funny how they worshipped and feared the sea. Or rather what lurked within.  

Jack had no conscious thought as the waves tickled his calves, inciting him to wade in deeper. He couldn’t feel the numbing cold, yet he felt the anguish and helplessness being sung so beautifully.  

The call echoed loudly over the waves until it stopped like a record scratch. It was enough to snap Jack out of his fog and realize he was standing waist deep in the ocean. 

“The f__k?” he wasn’t that drunk. How did he get in the water? 

Jack was preparing to return to shore when he heard a splash followed by a strangled moan. His instincts demanded he investigate.  

He fought the tides to reach a denser cluster of boulders. He froze when he peeked behind them.  

The Legends did not do you justice. Jack had never seen anything as gorgeous as you.  

You looked every bit a goddess until he made eye contact with you. Your eyes were milky white with no pupils and to make matters worse, a row of pointed teeth was baring at him in a show of aggression.  

You were beauty and the beast, yet he wasn’t afraid.  

His eyes were drawn to the big gaping wound on your hip—or where your hip should’ve been if you were human. A mermaid tail took the place of human legs. Regardless of your anatomy, you were wounded given how you weakly clung to the jagged rocks.  

Jack slowly crouched down to inspect you further when you flicked your tail, dousing him with a powerful spray of water.  

He almost went under if he didn’t grab ahold of your tail. You yelped in pain and tried to shake the male off, but he was strong.  

He swallowed seawater in the struggle as you threatened to bash his head against the rocks. Jack fought back and pulled himself up on a flat boulder to catch his breath. “I’m tryna to help ya and ya try n’ drown me?!”  

He pointed at your abdomen. “That. Me. Help. Do you under-stand?” He acted out each word like did with the locals.  

You eyed this man warily. He was not the human you wished to lure tonight.  

You needed food to help heal yourself after swimming too close to naval ships fighting each other. Humans and their pointless wars. One of their weapons exploded too close and sent shrapnel flying into your tail.  

You couldn’t move your hips to propel yourself through the water— although you tried. The searing pain made it impossible to return home and you were already afar off to begin with.  

The island you were stranded on was inhabited by mortals who worshipped you and your ancestors, so you tried to call a believer for aid. 

None came and you were growing weaker by the minute. A wave pushed you more inland and subsequently, beached you on a low tide. The shallow pool was knee deep for a human but useless for your means of survival. It was a glorified kiddie pool and soon to be grave.  

The last human you expecting to hear your sweet song was this man. You could sense the turmoil and darkness lurking in his soul. How could he help you when he needed help himself? 

You did not wish to be bothered with him, but he was the only mortal who heard your cry for help.  

The pain was getting worse, and it took everything in you to sing at all. You lived for centuries; you refused to be bested by a torpedo and low tide.  

Jack was getting impatient awaiting a response. He assumed you didn’t understand English (he was surrounded by idiots these days), but you shocked him when you reached out and touched his arm.  

Like a bolt of lightning, he felt your words. ‘Yes mortal, I understand.’ 

Your fingers slipped away, and Jack saw how they left a tribal like marking on his pale skin. “What the.... What did you do?”  

He rubbed at the f/c lines and dots in panic. He glanced up when he heard a series of sharp clicks. Were you laughing?  

Apparently, he was wrong.  

You sacrificed your position in the shallow water to reach out and touch him and now you were too weak to submerge your gills again. He was hearing you choke.  

How did he come to that conclusion; he didn’t want to know.  

Jack acted fast and shoved your head underwater. He was expecting bubbles, a normal human reaction, but you were anything but. 

You gladly opened your mouth and sucked in precious water you needed to survive. It made for quite the provocative sight, although Jack wasn’t complaining. You were very easy on the eyes and currently nude by human standards.  

His eyes wandered down your chest where an octopus was attached. Its tentacles wrapped around you like a shawl and (for the time being) it covered your modesty. He knew he was drunk, but it still blew his mind.  

‘You are staring.’ 

Jack was startled back to the present when your pseudo voice scratched his brain. It was an odd sensation; one he was getting used to.  

“Well, you’re a f__king mermaid, yeah I’m gonna stare.” He backed off when you resurfaced with a pained grimace.  

Your skin was still touching his so you spoke again, ‘Mermaid?’ 

“Ah yeah, its uh.. what we call your kind I guess.” Jack’s hands naturally moved towards your injury to access the damage.  

It was oozing a gelatinous black substance, and it didn’t look good even by his standards. “I don’t know how to treat this. Ya know, since you ain’t human.” He added.  

You rolled your vacant eyes and looked at the stars. Jack noticed your gills moving at the base of your neck and at the tiny seashells that seemed to be embedded into your skin. You looked every bit a mermaid, straight out of a storybook.  

It still wasn’t clicking in his mind that you were real. 

You tapped his skin. ‘Just north of here there is a deeper alcove. Take me there.’ You telepathically said.  

“What?” Jack sputtered. How did you expect him to transport a wounded mermaid up the beach? His facial expression gave away to his thoughts.  

You squeezed his wrist, ‘You are capable.’ 

“And you look heavy!” He scoffed. Although he did drills like lifting heavy loads of gear, you were a mythical creature. You sent him tumbling with a mere flick of your tail and that was you wounded. He gave you a once over. How was he gonna go about this? 

The same odd clicks you made earlier escaped your throat but in a lower decibel. Jack panicked still not knowing what it meant. “What’s wrong.” 

‘Hurts.’ you closed your eyes and sighed. He had nothing to lose helping you, so he quickly made up his mind. It beat drinking the night away.  

“You said north, right? In some cave or whatever? Take a deep breath... err gulp? Whatever you do to survive.” He waited until you took on more water before picking you up bridal style.  

You weren’t prepared and wrapped your arms around his neck, ever mindful of your talon like nails. He lifted you with ease.  

Yves, your pet octopus moved a few tentacles to cover your wound as Jack navigated through the low tide in a northerly direction. He honestly didn’t know how to get to the cove you mentioned.  

He just let his feet guide him until he saw a small gap in the rock formation that looked right. Your people carved it out over a millennia ago and the humans that settled here declared it hallowed ground ever since.  

The healing water in the alcove would speed up your recovery but not fast enough. You just needed enough strength to swim home. You did not like dwelling above surface level for prolonged periods of time.  

You only emerged to hunt the sailors disrespecting your waters and to lure nonbelievers to their death.  

Interacting with a human for this long was a rarity that you did not prefer. Though this man in particular wasn’t so bad. He smelled faintly of your favorite kelp. 

You lulled in and out of consciousness as Jack struggled to carry you to the cove. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but you were heavy. Your tail made moving difficult as you couldn’t help flicking it, offsetting his balance as he walked.  

It was beautiful, you were too. Simply indescribable.  

From your dark skin tone to your curly hair tangled with seashells and fine gold thread, Jack now believed the locals when they declared you a goddess.  

A string of fresh pearls hung from the crown of your head that framed your face. He assumed you were royalty, given that a rare blue diamond hung from the knot of pearls at the center of your forehead. How it stayed fastened had to be magic.  

He had an urge to steal it if not for the two crabs clipping your hair out of your face weren’t watching him attentively.  

Precious jewels, octopus, and crabs weren’t your only abnormal accessory.  

More sea life seemed to cling to you, as if it were an honor to adorn your body. Jack tried to not freak out when he noticed the scales of your tail move as if they were alive themselves. He could even see barnacles growing at the joints of your elbows and lower tail. 

Everything about you was fascinating.  

He finally made it to the cove with you in tow. He took one step inside and shivered sensing something in the air. 

“I’m getting tired of this magic s__t.” Jack grumbled.  

He grunted as he lowered you into the water that glowed with bioluminescence fish. You chirped as you sank down, at last, fully submerged. Your hands played with the plankton coming to your aid until you noticed Jack awkwardly standing at the mouth of the cove.  

His fatigues were soaked through, and you admired him more closely now that the moon poured through the carved ceiling above. He was a model solider, all muscles and fine stature. His redeeming qualities however were surface level. Only you could see the darkness in his heart.  

And yet, you sensed a glimmer of light in him too. There was still hope for this mortal. For now. 

You curled a finger beckoning him closer. 

Now he understood the elders' warnings. With just a finger, you had him stepping into the sea. This alcove was deeper than the public beach back yonder. Jack couldn’t see the bottom and that made him wary. Was it wise to swim in a bottomless grotto with a mythical monster? 

No, nevertheless, he knew you wouldn’t drown him. You still needed him. You visibly struggled to stay afloat and Joker swam out to help you. It felt silly helping a fish to swim; it was the least he could do. 

Speaking of, he was at a loss here. Jack hesitated before asking. “What now?”  

You huffed as you floated on your back. A swarm of plankton hovered over your wound, but they wouldn’t be enough. At this rate, your recovery would take ages.  

Jack swam nearby, his hand darting out when you tipped your head back. He kept forgetting that was normal for you. You weren’t drowning. Neither you nor Jack seemed to mind that his fingers played with your hair. He loved the curly texture of it and how it defied the laws of physics. It felt dry to the touch despite being soaking wet.  

He kept the required physical contact needed to speak to him so you allowed it.  

‘Can you fish?’ you asked him. You were starving.  

Jack thought back to the many fishing trips his father dragged him along on when he was younger. ‘Bonding time with his old man.’ What good that did. He hated the man he was forced to call father.  

But you didn’t want to hear a pointless core memory of his, you wanted an answer. Jack nodded, “Yeah. I don’t got a line though.”  

Oh. You forgot humans hunted differently. He required equipment it seemed. You pouted, sounding like a rattlesnake hissing. ‘Useless.’  

Before Jack could protest, you gestured for him to cover his ears. He slapped his wet hands over them and waited.  

You used the last of your energy to lure a fish into the cove. Jack heard bits and pieces of your melody (his human ears weren’t able to pick up most of the notes) although he did feel a pull. Something primal in his brain ordered him to follow and he kicked his legs until he was practically glued to your side.  

Perhaps that was the reason you urged him to cover his ears. He was falling victim to your call. A shame he was already where he wanted to be.  

Screw patrols. He didn’t care if his Captain discharged him for abandoning his post. Swimming with an ancient mermaid was the most entertainment Jack had in months even if all this swimming was giving him a workout.  

You gave him the all clear to remove his hands. Jack did while watching a swordfish answer your call. 

It swam from the dark waters below and circled the two of you. Much to his horror, you plucked it from the water and proceeded to consume it raw.  

It was morbid and secretly hot to witness you in your element. You ate your fill with a flare of elegance and spat out the bones.  

He was captivated. You licked your lips clean once you were finished and checked under your nails for any debris. Some things were still human in nature. Your milky eyes grew heavy as sleep threatened to take hold. Jack noticed you slowly sinking into the water and got your attention by tugging your hair.  

“Someone’s sleepy. Will the big bad fish be alright on her own?” He had to get out of this cold water and return to base. He was losing feeling in his fingers.  

A violin sounding chord signaled your yawn. Your hand cupped Jack’s cheek affectionately to speak. 

‘Fret not, I will remain here. You need to get out the water.’ Yves pointed towards a forgotten trail leading out of the grotto with a slimy tentacle. ‘That leads to land.’ 

At least now he wouldn’t be left stumbling through the dark.  

Sneaking back while soaking wet was gonna be tough. His sergeant was gonna killl him should he found out. Even with all his responsibility, Jack hesitated to leave you here alone. “I’ll uhh check on ya tomorrow?  

‘Go.’ You urged. You swatted the water, creating a sizable wave to carry him back to shore. Jack stumbled to his feet after spending so much time in the water. By the time he looked back, the ocean was still, and you were nowhere in sight.  

Jack hoped he didn’t dream last night up.  

No one noticed him gone and he managed to creep back into his bunk (freshly changed of course) before morning call. The next day was done in the same monotonous schedule he kept for months now.  

Roll call, patrols, mess hall, guard change, and repeat. He begrudgingly did it all, bidding his time until the sun set. He made full usage of his breaks to visit the market in town and stock up on supplies. On his list was a first-aid kit, wool blankets, and lots of fresh fish. The fish monger raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry.  

The soldiers that invaded ahem.. protected the island were a curious lot. Jack was no different. He was planning to spend the evening with a mermaid. Jack tipped his helmet before leaving.  

If he stayed a moment longer, he would have seen the old man croak over after catching a glimpse of the mark you left on Jack’s arm.  

He stashed his purchases in the pathway near the hidden grotto before dressing down into something more lightweight. His fatigues were practical but not ideal for prolonged periods in the cove’s mineral based water.  

He was teeming with excitement to see you. Would you be feeling better? Would you like the fish he brought? Would you be happy to see him?  

“Get a hold of yourself, she’s just a fish. A big, ancient, gorgeous, deadly fish...” Jack uttered to himself as he made the dangerous trek down to the cove.  

The setting sun guided him well until he ducked into the natural cave. Inside, it was dimly lit by the walls blocking the sun until he entered the main alcove where supernatural light flourished. 

Jack didn’t know what to expect. What if something happened last night while you slept? Could someone have found you during your moment of weakness? Did you up and leave?  

A thousand questions swirled inside his head as he walked to the water’s edge.  

It was calm, too calm—now that he knew about the dangers it contained. He saw the way you ate that swordfish last night. You were confident in your strength and there was an air of ancient wisdom that shrouding you. You been around for a while. The things you had seen in your lifetime... 

“Uh hello? Y/n?” Jack called out only to snort to himself.  

The human was calling the siren. He kicked the water to create ripples, hoping that would work. Just how deep was the pool? A deep sea fish swam here so rather deep. He dipped his legs in and popped open a bottle of rum as he waited.  

He forgot that you were injured, that probably delayed your trip to the surface. He nibbled on the bread and cheese he bought from the market. He wondered how long you would stay here until you were healed. Not like he cared or anything—he just enjoyed having something to do.  

That is, if you were coming back anytime soon. “This blows.” Jack sighed.  

He shivered at a sudden cold breeze and turned to fetch the wool blanket from his bag. While his back was turned, your head rose from the water.  

You sensed his presence when he created ripples in the water but struggled to surface with your limited energy. The swordfish you caught last night helped fight against your hunger, however; you were still ravenous. You tried swimming into deeper waters to call for help but you became exhausted fairly quickly.  

This wound had you stuck in your ancestral grotto. Which was fine if this man helped you recover.  

You watched him take out a long piece of textile to wrap himself with. He must be cold, you thought curiously. He locked eyes with you and jumped back.  

“Gahh! F__k!” How long had you been watching him in silence? You really were a predator. 

All he could see was your face from the nose up. The water was calm around you, not a ripple to be found. “You scared me.” Jack panted.  

You didn’t move and he idly kicked his feet back and forth in the water. Talk about a 180 from your mood yesterday, you just stared at him. “I uh brought you fish.” He took out the packages the fish monger wrapped for him.  

That got you to come forward, yet he was quick to notice your movements were sluggish. You didn’t glide through the water like last night. Something was wrong.  

“Hey... you okay? Oh! Ohh uhh..” Jack froze when you flopped your head onto his lap. He didn’t move (as if he could, you were heavy) as your hand squeezed his calf muscles.  

Even your voice felt off. ‘Thank you.’ You preferred your fish alive, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. You appreciated the thought. You glanced up into green eyes, clicking lowly in distress. 

“I know that sound. What’s wrong, ya don’t too good. Here.” Jack unpacked a whole mackerel, (your favorite) and held it to your lips. The implication was not lost on you.  

‘Feeding a monster? Aren’t you a brave solider?’ you mocked.  

Jack didn’t let your words affect him, “Open wide.” He watched your vacant eyes roll before you unhinged your jaw, slowing off the razor-sharp teeth and an unnaturally colored tongue. He slowly lowered the fish into your mouth and let go when your teeth grazed his palm.  

He couldn’t believe he was in some secret grotto feeding a mythical being. It would make for a wild bar conversation.  

It definitely wasn’t what he signed up for when he enlisted. You plucked the spine from your mouth with a sigh. ‘Do you have any more?’ You asked.  

Jack took pity seeing your sad eyes. He knew that look too well. You were weak from hunger. “Y-Yeah.. I uh bought a lot for ya.”  

And that’s how he spent the next half hour, hand feeding you in between bites of his own bread and cheese spread.  

His twisted mind saw it as a date. Yeah, a date with a gigantic fish. Jack huffed, jolting your head resting in his lap. You whined, voicing your displeasure.  

“Sorry uhh.” It was then Jack realized he didn’t know your name.  

The locals called you Y/n sure, but you did not know the term mermaid until yesterday. He found himself wondering what your actual name was. 

‘What ails you?’ You spoke after seeing a faraway look take over his features. He fed you well and now you were content resting your head on his lap. He was warm unlike the harsh coldness of the sea. You… kinda liked it.  

“I had a moment, I guess. I uhh.. I don’t know your name.” He confessed. It donned on you that you didn’t know his either.  

You tried avoiding the question with one of your own. ‘What do other humans call you?’ 

“Oh, now ya wanna know my name?” Jack laughed. All this time the two of you had yet to exchange formalities.  

He felt so embarrassed. His mama raised him better! You were a lady and deserved some respect. Jack straightened up while clearing his throat.  

“Private Jack White reportin’ for duty.” He fake saluted and laughed at your confused head tilt. He’d explain later. “The locals call you Y/n, the revered sea deity, but what should I call ya oh great one?” 

You rose to grab Jack’s face and pull him down so you could rub your nose with his. You spoke your given name into his head and watched him try out the pronunciation. 

“Did I say that right?” Jack teased.  

‘No. Humans do not have enough vocal cords. You are unable to replicate the vowels.’  

Another thing that separated you from him. Now he was told his speech was too primitive. “Whatever, it sounds hot in my head. Y/n it is then.”  

He assumed rubbing noses was your people's version of a kiss, so he repeated the gesture back. He chuckled when you jerked back with a shrill like chirp. Your tail flicked up from the water, hitting him with ice cold droplets. “So cute..” he mumbled.  

Although the temperature drop was his signal to go. “It's getting late. You gonna be alright by yourself again?”  

You refused to touch him to speak after he caressed your nose.  

“Aww, did I make the Great Y/n all flustered?” He dodged you trying to claw at his ankles. “I think sooo. Get some rest, Y/n.” 

You regained enough energy to send him off with a farewell melody. He was still humming the tune to himself when he reached his barracks.  

Jack cherished the days he spent visiting you in the alcove.  

Some of his fellow soldiers poked fun at his sudden change in mood. “Oh, Jack caught the eye of a local!” They weren’t wrong.  

He was more friendlier on base all thanks to you. He looked forward to the nights spent with you; feeding you fish, sharing stories, and slowly but surely getting to know one another.  

It was inspiring to remember how you had originally feared Jack when he found you beached in the low tide. Now you practically dragged him under to be near him.  

“Easy, Y/n. Don’t drown me!” He let you pull him into the dark water to nuzzle his nose in greeting. He still didn’t know what the gesture meant but it made you happy.  

He loved hearing the purring sound of your delight. He did anything he could to hear it.  

He promised to spot your attempt to swim outside the grotto tonight. The line of rocks was an obstacle he could help you overcome. Your wound was steadily healing with the plethora of fatty fish Jack provided along with the kind plankton who blessed you. Neither of you wanted you to fully heal.  

The moment you were healthy meant you would leave, and Jack was growing rather fond of you. He unfortunately did not know how you felt about him.  

He would be a fool to believe you actually enjoyed a human’s company. He was prey, not a companion. You had Yves for that and Jack envied the sentient octopus that clung to your bosom.  

He tried to shake off his feelings to no avail.  

You were otherworldly in terms of beauty and keenly aware of your charms. Even if the match was virtually impossible, he liked where things were going with you. He would cherish each day he had left.  

“Good job, now... come here.” Jack said to urge you back.  

This was your fourth time swimming laps from the ocean entrance of the alcove back to his arms. He could tell you were pushing yourself, judging by your hooded eyelids and agitated tail swishes.  

It was exercise to promote core strength back to your tail.  

You made it back to Jack and collided with him due to your exhaustion. He fell onto shore with you in his arms. “H-Hey, Y/n, you good?”  

The massive blue diamond on your forehead swayed as you nodded. Jack was speechless watching a beam of moonlight overhead highlight your beauty. Your lips parted and he was reminded how close the two of you were when it brushed his lower lip.  

This was wrong. You weren’t even human! but that didn’t stop Jack. He audibly swallowed as the moment drew tense.  

“F__k it.” He shortened the distance and captured your lips with his. You bristled at the contact until Jack tangled a hand in your hair and guided you through the motions.  

He rolled you over so the incoming wave could rehydrate your gills. He on the other hand needed air and pulled away with a smile. “Even better than I imagined.” Jack said listlessly.  

‘What.. what was that?’ You asked him. You brought a finger up to inspect your lips. They were tingling.  

“I ah.. that was a kiss. Kinda like how you rub my nose. That’s um.. it’s the equivalent of that for humans.” He explained.  

‘I don’t understand. You respect me enough to kiss me?’ 

“Wait what?” Jack was confused now. “What does,” he leaned down to nuzzle his nose with yours, “this mean?” 

‘You value or you respect me greatly. It is the highest form of gratitude for my kind.’ You confessed. Your eyes shifted away as your ears turned red.  

Oh. Not what he was expecting but still rather important. You were showing your gratitude, and he thought… 

Jack brushed a curl away from your face, “So… does your kind kiss like we just did?” 

He burst out laughing at you covering your face. Jack could tell you wanted to slip underwater in embarrassment. He wouldn’t let you.  

He pried your hands away so he could see you. “Cmon Y/n!” 

You were about to show him when a loud alarm sounded over the island. You growled and without hesitation, dragged you and Jack into the safety of the ocean. He quickly broke the surface to breathe.  

“Y/n! F__k, warn me next time! S__t, we might be under attack.” He tried to swim away to leave, but your nails dug into his wrist. “Y/n let go.”  

Then the first canon echoed off in the distance. You cried out, gaining Jack’s attention. He never seen you look so terrified.  

He snatched you up into his arms, tucking your head into his chest. “They won’t hurt you again. I promise.” He leaned back just enough to kiss you softly. “Stay outta sight, I’ll be back.”  

‘Jack…’  

If gunfire was heard this far away, you could only imagine the reality of it on land. You didn’t want him to go.  

“I’ll be back. Yeah?” He caressed your face as he drifted closer to the shore. You still didn’t let go so he got desperate.  

He locked eyes with Yves on your shoulder. “Take care of my girl.” He glanced at you again, “I’ll be back Y/n.” He wrestled himself out of your arms and swam to the grotto shore.  

There was little time to grab his things. Gunfire meant contact with the enemy. He needed to find a weapon and report to his sergeant for orders. 

Yet Jack hesitated.  

He looked back towards the ocean and saw your head poking out. You were centuries old but terrified of man and their weapons. It made him sick to his stomach.  

He didn’t know if mermaids could cry although you looked close to tears.  

Jack groaned as he took off his dog tags and wrapped them around your neck. You were about to ask him what it was when he stole your train of thought with a passionate kiss.  

It felt like a goodbye.  

Jack pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. “Wait for me, hm?” 

You nodded once and watched him disappear up the trail. The small glimmer of light you saw in Jack faded away as he left. You knew he wouldn’t return but you still blindly waited.  

You waited all night for the fighting to cease. You waited till the morning after when more ships arrived and departed in droves. You waited even as the waters changed warmth with the new season. You waited and waited and waited until it was obvious.  

Jack was gone.  

Years passed and he was a changed man.  

He’d seen enough war and the pointlessness it created to rebel from authority. It changed him and not for the better. You would not be pleased with the hatred festering in his heart, not like he cared.  

He didn’t care about anything.  

He saw the world with new eyes— he wasn’t the restless private stuck on an island anymore. Oh, but he missed those days terribly. His wrist itched every full moon, reminding him of a time he felt free. 

Free to be himself and to be understood by another. You were the only person who willingly listened to his ramblings. You didn’t interrupt or belittle his opinions, you let him speak freely and encouraged him to be open minded. He looked back on those months fondly.  

But that was the past. Now he wanted to destroy the future.  

“Ay Boss. Boss..? Yo J!” Frost had enough and yelled out to Joker.  

He almost didn’t respond. Joker. He went by The Joker now not..  

“There’s nothing here, Joker and it’s getting dark soon.” Frost kicked a nearby rock into the water. “We’re ready to leave when you are.” 

Joker nodded and returned his gaze out to the sea.  

He felt stupid coming all the way here after so many years away. The military base was now a museum, and the locals had been completely overrun by tourism from the growing resort industry nearby.  

Things were vastly different, but your grotto remained untouched.  

It was still tucked away on the northern shoreline with jagged rocks making it impossible to boat to. Mankind could not reach you and Joker preferred it that way.  

Years later, he still slipped a bit descending down the hidden trail. Was it always so dangerous or did love motivate him forward? He lost that feeling ages ago so a few scrapped knees and hands was the price to pay.  

What did he expect to find? You patiently waiting in the water, flicking your tail in anticipation? He hated himself for believing that you would.  

Frost was right. There was nothing here.  

He had to stop dwelling on the past. Promises were made to be broken. Joker had moved on and deep down, he hoped that you did the same.  

He sighed as he stood up to leave (for good this time) when he heard something. He froze, thinking he was finally losing his mind but no. It was faint, but it was heard loudly in his heart.  

Jack heard your call.  

[loanecore]

my tears ricochet - negan x reader

sorry for any mistakes english isn’t my first language<3

SUMMARY: one shot based on “my tears ricochet” because folklore is my fav album.

WARNING: angst and fluff?? (i’m so nervous i never read angst or only when it’s a happy ending, call me a pussy if you want idgaf, I'm already depressed, no need to make it worse.) flashbacks???? semi happy ending? IDK LEAVE ME ALONE. and this is bad🌚

masterlist🎀

“cause i loved you, i swear i loved you, ‘til my dying day.”

we left alexandria with maggie and gabriel, and of course they had the good idea of taking negan with us. I couldn't really blame them, they asked me if I agreed and I stupidly said yes, thinking it would be okay, that I'd forgotten everything, that I'd forgotten my feelings and him, but no...

we were in a house that wasn't very big but was big enough for the four of us, we had to explore outside to find food and secure the house but we couldn't trust negan alone... so someone had to play babysitter. while negan was in his cell in alexandria, gabriel was always visiting negan so i can tell you that gabi is traumatized and for maggie it’s impossible… so of course i decided to be his fucking babysitter.

negan and I sat in the living room in silence, the silence heavy and awkward, neither of us saying anything, afraid of saying too much or not enough, afraid of bringing back memories, feelings... The realization hit me when we were both sitting next to each other on the sofa, I could feel the warmth of his body, that lack of warmth I'd been feeling was even deeper now, the need to feel his touch on me, i was craving his touch... I'd needed him all my life but I'd just buried my feelings deep in my heart and didn't want the others to know…

i dont know how but we ended up arguing, I don't know how or why it started but it all went to hell. my heart was aching, so much, it was my only interaction with him after so long. i needed to be honest with myself, i missed him. i couldn't do anything about it and i decided that blaming him for everything was the solution.

it was his fault that everything had gone wrong, it was his fault for taking me to the sanctuary, it was his fault for treating me better than everyone else. it was his fault for making me fall in love so hard.

i hit his torso with all my strength as he held me firmly. i felt tired, weak and confused, i had no strength left to fight. i let him pull me slowly towards his muscular chest until all my weight was on him, the sensation was so familiar and the feeling of regret resurfaced. the way i betrayed him, he had given me everything, all his love and trust and i broke him into a million pieces thinking that i would feel less guilty for feeling everything i felt and feel for him after what he had done to glenn, abraham and all my family

but it was even worse, I felt even worse, because I'd betrayed him but I'd also betrayed myself.

“I'm sorry... so sorry...” I couldn't breathe, my cheeks were burning with tears that flowed freely, all my emotions were mixed, all my memories came back...

•••••••

“no! loki will always be better than thor”

“pardon??? you can’t be serious right now?” he sits up dramatically on the bed with a look of shock on his face, turning his head slightly to look at me as I grinned from ear to ear.

I smiled even wider, his reaction was so funny. “i’m 100% serious, it’s not my fault if you can’t understand that old man”

he smiles and runs his tongue over his lips before biting his lip lightly. “excuse me young lady? I don't think I heard you correctly” he lies down leaning on his arm to be on top of me

“are you deaf? i said old. man. i mean it’s a common sign in the elderly..” I smiled a little more at every word, I wanted to burst out laughing because of his face.

suddenly, he was on top of me, trapping me between his legs and tickling me. i couldn’t breathe anymore.

“s-s-stop!! omg! please negan…” I couldn't stop laughing, he knew I was extremely ticklish. “that’s illegal… please!!!” I knew he was proud of himself because of his smile.

“say you’re sorry and i’m the funniest, strongest, bravest and sexiest man in the world” his cocky smile plastered on his face, he knew very well that I would give in.

“okay okay! stop! wait.” he stopped for a second

“it’s not hard knowing that almost everyone is dead-” he looked at me with shock in his eyes and was about to tickle me again. “NO WAIT! ok ok… you won…” I took a deep breath. “negan?”

“yes sweetheart?”

“you are the funniest, strongest, bravest and sexiest man in the world?” he looked at me with that arrogant smile I loved more than I cared to admit. “thank you my beautiful girl” he leaned in lightly to place a gentle kiss on my lips, one of his hands remaining on my waist and the other resting on my cheek. my hand rested naturally on his neck to intensify the kiss, i smiled softly, the kiss was so soft and full of promise. we gently separated from each other to breathe and these 3 words came out of my mouth. “i love you” his eyes softened and he placed a kiss on my forehead “i love you too princess, more than anything.”

•••••••

I was lying on his chest as he was drawing shapes on my naked hip, it was about 3 a.m.. it was dark outside and the only source of light was the beautiful full moon in the sky that passed through the thin curtains of negan's room. I was worried about everything... Alexandria, my family and Negan, he's so important to me and I wanted to protect him...

“what’s on your mind sweetheart?” he read me like an open book, and I could hardly ever lie to him. he always felt it deep in his heart.

“i’m… i’m worried about the war, i don’t want you to get hurt and i don’t want my family to get hurt… negan why does it always need to be so hard” I whispered softly, worried and sad because I knew that nothing was going to happen as planned. “i just don’t want to lose you negan, i can’t lose you.”

“everything will be fine baby, i promise”

oh, if he had known that the woman who was lying on his chest expressing her fear of losing him was going to lead to his defeat against Alexandria and get him locked up in a cell for 6 years, if only he had known... she was his soulmate… but was he hers?

••••••••

“i’m so sorry negan…”

“i know sweetheart, i know…” he hugged her as tightly as he could, as if she were going to disappear at any moment... he knew that even if she had betrayed him, she didn't mean him any harm and after all, he would never stop loving her.

[demonslayedher]

Nerdy cultural details about the word "Hashira"

Some details can be hard to pick up without context or in translation. I recently went over a few details about the Hashira's names, Breaths, or symbols, but today I want to focus on the word "Hashira."

To get this out of the way, I use "Pillar" all over this blog because I thought that's what they were called. I was astounded that phrase was not translated, as it is a (somewhat rare) case of a one-to-one translation equivalent. They are the pillars that support the Demon Slayer Corp, after all. The kanji for it (柱) very literally means "pillar" in any modern day Japanese to English dictionary. But since you all know the word "Hashira," let's climb up and see where it takes us! First, the kanji itself (brought over from China and given the Japanese pronunciation "hashira," based on the existing spoken Japanese language), is composed of 木 for "tree" and 主 for "master" or "main/principal," among other semi-literal or more widely applicable possible meanings in modern kanji dictionaries. However, Prof. Owada Tetsuo, a retired university professor who published an unofficial book of his own Kimetsu no Yaiba interpretations based on Japanese demon slaying folklore, points out that 主 can also be interpreted as a still flame atop a candlestick, and that 柱 (hashira) is a tree that cannot be moved. (I'll continue to use a lot of Prof. Owada's details in this explanation, as well as details I have picked up in other research.) That makes 柱 closely associated with holy trees found in, or treated as, Shinto shrines throughout Japan. As Shinto is a nature-based belief system, trees are often something that a kami (deity) will inhabit. Keep Shinto in mind, because we're going to focus on that a lot.

Before that, let's finish up with the kanji 柱. According to the first official fanbook, there is an upper limit of nine Hashira because there are nine strokes in the 柱 kanji. (See this dictionary entry for a breakdown of those nine strokes.)

Now that the easy official tidbit is out of the way, back to the Shinto fun stuff and conjecture! We need to dive a bit more into the spoken Japanese language, from which a lot of Shinto terms derive. For starters, the Japanese language uses counter words for when you say a certain number of beings or objects. You could think of this as "a sheet of paper" or "three rolls of tape." It is an annoying part of starting out your study of the language because there are a lot to memorize based on sizes, shapes, types of animals, etc. Deities also have their own counter word: 柱 (hashira). This goes to show how the Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corp are something more than human, what with how much power they possess.

Now if we think about the pronunciation of the spoken Japanese word from long before a Chinese written character was assigned to it, the "hashi" of "hashira" is a "bridge." Clever ones among you might know that "hashi" also means "chopsticks." But even chopsticks have the same effect as a bridge! They serve as a connection, bridging the gap between you and what was another living thing, that which will become a part of you as your sustenance. "Hashira," as pillars, are likewise something that serve as a connection, in this case, a vertical one. They are that which connect us with the heavens, or in the case of the Demon Slayer Corp, they bridge the gap between the limits of human strength and the inhuman strength of demons.

As another Shinto tie, one of the connections that Prof. Owada and I both made was that there are nine pillars that support the main sanctuary in shrine architecture like that of Izumo Taisha Grand Shrine. Or rather, in the case of at least one of the historical iterations of Izumo Taisha, there were nine groups of three massive tree trunks each, resulting in a shrine over 48 meters in height (see here for photos of how big the remains of those pillars are and how exciting the archaeology is). These pillars give you a sense of awe for just how powerful pillars can be, especially when you have a spread of nine to distribute the weight. Now, there's more that Prof. Owada and I would both say about how Izumo Taisha also ties in with the "Ubuyashiki" surname or the "yakata" title by which the Hashira address him, but that's a dose of nerdery for some other time.