#black family strength myth

[yinyuedijun]

bofurin trio in feudal japan | youkai au

inuyasha-esque au featuring the wbk characters as youkai and other feudal era figures. I watched too much inuyasha as a child and you can tell lol

kitsune!suo x fem!reader hcs here

sakura haruka | nekomata-possessed human

→ a nekomata possessed him while he was still in the womb. its memories are gone, but its powers remained. consequently, sakura was born as a human with nekomata features (including his black & white hair, superhuman strength, and a tendency to severely misbehave).

→ he can switch completely between forms. he cannot shift into the form of another human or radically change his human appearance, however.

→ he tends to prefer existing in his human form. (If he spends too long in his nekomata form, he becomes afraid that he'll forget how to be a human and permanently stay a monster.)

→ when he gets embarrassed or very emotional, his ears and two tails come out.

→ suo teases him a lot for this and will try to provoke it as much as possible lmao. he likes to offer sakura towels and ask him to dance whenever his tails are out. (the first time this happened, sakura tried to maul him lol)

→ growing up, sakura was referred to as a "demon child" and ostracized his whole life. after a demon attack on their village, sakura was blamed and his parents were killed for having given birth to him. he escaped to the mountains (where nekomata tend to hide) and lived mostly as a cat for some time before re-entering human society due to nirei.

→ this is why he's so poorly socialized and literally has feral cat energy btw lol

→ misses and longs for human connection, but is also afraid of it!

→ hates vegetables because he is a cat, likes meat because he is a cat, and likes eggs because his mom used to cook them a lot.

art by yoshitaka amano

nirei akihiro | human onmyouji

→ an onmyouji related by blood to the abe clan. originally a young and talented officer working at the bureau of onmyou, he became frustrated (frightened) with its politics and left for the private sector. he loses the court official hat, but he keeps the clothes because I think they're pretty 👍

→ his talents mainly lie in astronomy, divination, and calendar-making. very analytical stuff!

→ due to his family having been affected by disease spirits when he was younger, he has a strong wish to become skilled in exorcisms and always attempts to engage with evil spirits and demons to build experience.

→ chronicles his encounters with the supernatural, at first for his own learning, but now because he wants to put together a publication to help others interested in recognising supernatural phenomena and understanding common exorcism practices.

→ at some point, nirei was privately contracted to perform a purification ritual at a small mountain village. he heard stories about a boar demon that had been causing problems, so he went to go search for it, and it nearly killed him. sakura (living in his nekomata form) happened to be nearby at this time and saved him. he expected nirei to try to attack him or run at this point, but nirei instead tried to communicate with sakura, despite his monstrous appearance.

→ upon realising that sakura could actually adopt a human form, nirei convinced him to go back to the mountain village with him by offering to treat him to oyakodon.

→ the villagers were somewhat frightened by his appearance, but warmed up when nirei explained that sakura had killed the boar.

pictured above are japanese works depicting kitsune, which suo would be considered, but some of the below is influenced by lore regarding the related chinese myth of the huli jing

suo hayato | nine-tailed fox spirit

→ a nine-tailed fox spirit who was originally quite powerful; however, his hoshi no tama was stolen in a fight with a demon, which left him weak and nearly dead.

→ after these events, took refuge in a village with an inari shrine and acted as their guardian deity for some time as an act of gratitude.

→ having lost his hoshi no tama, suo's powers are now limited but still substantial. notably, he can still shapeshift freely between a number of forms—his original form of the common fox, different human appearances, etc.—but he cannot adopt his true form of a giant nine-tailed fox.

→ in his typical disguise, he is indistinguishable from regular humans. however, if you manage to catch his shadow in the light of a full moon, it reveals his true ears and nine tails. (based on this art!)

→ his disguises are otherwise so skilled that even other youkai and animals have difficulty recognising him. however, all dogs can sense fox spirits and are consequently terrified of suo. suo, himself, prefers not to interact with dogs.

→ while sakura did not immediately recognize suo as a youkai, he correctly identified him as a shitty person at his core (lol) and was later unsurprised to learn that suo was a kitsune. ("oh, the worst kind of demon.")

→ on the other hand, suo immediately recognized that sakura was a nekomata lol

→ being a fox spirit, suo is quite skilled in jujutsu and eventually trains nirei in exorcisms and/or demon extermination techniques.

→ sakura has a preference to travel and hunt demons at night, partly because there are fewer people around to make a spectacle of him, and partly because it's just his inclination as a cat. since nirei is a human and cannot see well in the dark (unlike his two youkai companions), suo lights up mountain pathways with kitsunebi to allow nirei to see.

→ in addition to enjoying tea and sweets, suo likes aburaage (since he is a fox spirit). if you offer aburaage to the kami at a shrine, there's a 9/10 chance that suo will come by and eat it before any of inari's actual messengers can visit.

[lura-valentine]

Answer to my survey:

It's just a concept image, but with every stroke on my graphics tablet, a story was put together in my head. It's totally mental and has nothing to do with Shigaraki per se, but I feel the need to share this fantasy with you.

Maybe when you look at the picture you have a completely different backstory. Write your thoughts in the comments or reblog✏️ to share your ideas like I’m doing now.

I for one am curious to hear what others think, so please don't be shy and join in 🤗

!!ヽ(ﾟдﾟヽ)(ﾉﾟдﾟ)ﾉ!!

The legend of Shigaraki, the cursed daimyō

Setting: Feudal Period (Medieval Japan)

This era is characterized by wars between samurai clans, shōgun rule, and Japan's isolation from the rest of the world.

Why this setting? Most myths and legends have their origins in the Middle Ages, which is why I chose this one.

Story

As a baby, Shimura Tenko was nothing more than a shadow in a dying empire - a child of a daimyō (Provincial ruler) with no future, rescued from the flames of war. An allied daimyō took in Tenko and his sister when their father fell to the blade of an enemy daimyō. They grew up in silk and honor, in a family that considered them their own, since the ruler's wife could not bear offspring. Shortly after his arrival, Shimura Tenko was given the name Shigaraki Tomura, heir to a fair clan, a ruling family that watched over their province with a firm hand but a kind heart.

However, his seventeenth summer brought not the rush of young power, but the bitter breath of death. A famine spread across the land like a heavy, invisible curse - fields withered, wells dried up, livestock died. The old prayed, the weak died, and in the dark nights people told stories about the cause of this torment: a Gashadokuro (Japanese demon (yōkai)) - a skeleton made from the bones of the starving, driven by an insatiable hatred for the living.

Tomura went into the forests with his father and his most loyal warriors to drive away the monster. The fight lasted an eternity, and when the daimyō seemed to have defeated the beast, the yōkai struck one last time - his bony claws digging into Tomura's chest and his curse flowing like black ink into his blood. With the last of his strength, the monster breathed out words colder than death itself:

"Wretched people... your kind will suffer as I have and decay will be your downfall."

Tomura survived, but the yōkai's dark poison now pulsed in his veins. The priests of his clan bound his curse with sacred seals, forcing the poisonous force back into the depths of his heart, but the seal was no cure - just a lock on the door to damnation.

When news of the cursed heir reached the Tennō (The official, divine ruler), the emperor was overcome with holy anger. He, a pious ruler, could not tolerate the existence of such tainted blood and ordered the shōgun to remove the scum.

But the Shōgun (the de facto true ruler of Japan) was a pragmatist - he didn't waste a second on supernatural fairy tales. No honorable samurai should risk his life for a superstition. Instead, he bought the services of a horde of Kusa-Musha, outlaw mercenaries who wiped out villages and anointed their blades with blood for a sack of coins.

⚠️🔞 And so they came in the night like wolves waiting for the wind. They set fire to the palace, killed samurai as well as servants and raped the women of the house - Tomura's mother, his sister... No one was spared. 🔞⚠️

In the ruins of the burning ancestral hall, as the icy night sky shook with the screams of the dying and Tomura's father was murdered before his eyes, it happened - the pain, the despair, the burning, inextinguishable hatred broke the chains and the seal broke.

A storm of pure darkness erupted in a single wave of destruction. Tomura's body tore apart with the birth of a new being - no longer human, no longer a mortal creature, but a walking curse. Flesh and bone gave way and the yōkai within him screamed, "Free at last!”

He destroyed everything and spared nothing, neither the murderers of his family nor the few survivors who had called him “Lord” that morning. A massacre that no one would sing about.

When Shigaraki woke up, he was lying on cold stone. His palace was nothing more than a skeleton of charred wood and molten bronze. The halls where his father once ruled are now rubble and dust. The streets - or what was left of them - were covered in ash that settled in his lungs as if it was taking away the last of his humanity.

He glanced at his hands and for a moment he thought they weren't his. Too long, too sharp, too strange. His nails were black, his skin looked like it was made of parchment and was streaked with fine, dark lines.

"The Hand of Decay" he thought, but before the thought was fully formed, a strange, deep voice interrupted him:

"Not the hand of decay... the wings of decay."

The voice was like thunder rumbling in his head, as if the sky itself was speaking to him - it was the yōkai within him.

Shigaraki froze. A shiver ran down his spine, so strange and yet familiar, as if something inside him had been sleeping for centuries and had now opened his eyes. His breathing was heavy, his heart was racing - or maybe it didn't beat at all anymore, maybe it had long since become something else.

Then he felt something, a tingling sensation in his shoulders, a tugging deep in his back - wings.

With a sound somewhere between a gasp and an unnatural crunch, he spread her. Thin, ghostly wings, veined like coarse parchment, as if they had lasted centuries before finding their true form at this moment.

The wind tugged at them as if to carry them away, but they held firm, trembling as a strange heat spread through his veins, making him drunk and burning the truth into his core.

He was no longer human, no longer a daimyō, no longer an heir to any name. He was a beast, a yōkai - a dragon of destruction.

And from that day on his name became a curse. Whispered on dark nights, murmured in prayers for mercy, a shadow over the land that had betrayed him:

Shigaraki, the cursed daimyō - the dragon with the wings of decay.

Basic idea of ​​my kite design

Western Dragon

I deliberately chose a Western dragon design because the Japanese dragon (Ryū - 龍 or 竜) is different from them in many ways. They are often associated with water, storms and divine wisdom, rather than fire and destruction. Their symbolism ranges from protection and prosperity to chaos and divine punishment.

So why did I choose a Western design when a Japanese dragon can also represent chaos and divine punishment? The reason is that I know very little about Japanese culture and am only equipped with Wikipedia knowledge. I don't want to tarnish this or any other culture, so I chose a dragon design that is clearly associated with destruction, chaos and revenge.

Moth: Symbol of transience and death

Moths have a subtle but profound symbolism in Japanese culture. They are less well known than butterflies, but their meaning is often associated with transience, destruction and obsession.

In contrast to butterflies, which often represent rebirth and the soul, moths are seen more as a sign of decay.

Since moths often live in the dark and are attracted to light, they symbolize the longing for something unattainable.

There is a Japanese proverb: 「飛んで火に入る夏の虫」(Tonde hi ni iru natsu no mushi), which meant: "Like a summer insect flying into the fire." It describes someone who brings his own ruin - just like a moth that is drawn to the flame and burns up.

Some Japanese folk beliefs say that the soul of a deceased person can return as a moth to watch over the living or to deliver a message.

In some ancient tales, the moth is associated with Yōkai's and evil spirits that lurk in the dark.

Their “dust”, which remains on the skin when touched, was once considered “poison” or “curse”. It was believed that moths flying into the house at night heralded bad luck or an impending disaster.

My moral supporters

@doumadono | @alexandhisstuff | @unhinged-bratty-boy | @jake-lockley-vengeance | @taco-bee | @grossograsso

I mention accounts that my works 💜️ and 🔁. If someone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please write it.

[szynkaaa]

Black Myth: Wukong OC Character Sheet

Stole this idea from @s0rr3l who put out THE MOST FUN AND CHARMING CHARACTER SHEET go check it out and give it a like and most importantly REBLOG

Name: ??? Nickname: "Oz" (奥兹, Àozī) Epiphet: Gourd girl; Travel Companion; The Bloodstained Constellation Age: mid-late 20s Height: 162cm / 5"3 ft

✦ Story ✦

An average (?) woman, who upon inheriting her great-grandfather's house, finds an ancient-looking pocket mirror in the attic. As it turns out, the pocket mirror is a gateway between two realms.

Upon being transported into another realm, she meets Yuan Shoucheng, who has foreseen her arrival centuries ago. The pocket mirror sports few cracks now and is not usable until it is fixed.

Oz also gets a crash course into her family history - she is a direct descendant of an immortal that served the Celestial Court as a [Bloodbender]. Her ancestor escaped her clan's massacre by using the pocket mirror to escape into another realm. As it turns out, Oz may have inherited more than just the unusual eyes and hair color from her ancestor.

In this world, there is no such thing as coincidences. Every event has been foretold in the stars. Fate and destinies have a funny way to catch up to you, and for Oz, it is time to fulfill a long-forgotten promise...

Oz is available as a permanent companion upon meeting Yuan Shoucheng on the Black Wind Mountain.

After Oz joins, her personal side quest << I Take the Long Way Home >> automatically unlocks. Several other hidden quests can be unlocked after meeting certain requirements.

✦ Skills, Stats and Abilities ✦

As you travel through the different lands, with each new chapter and optional side-quests completed, Oz stats can be upgraded, and new abilities can be unlocked. Oz acts as a support role in the Destined One's journey. Completing secret-quests and uncovering Oz's family history, it may unlock special abilities for the travel companion.

Role Being the Destined One's travel companion, Oz is in charge of documenting their journey and on gourd duty. This includes, but is not limited to:

Gourd refilling duty

Retrieving wills and yaoguai spirits

Testing brews and soaks [unlocks in upon rescuing Shen Monkey on Black Wind Mountain]

Foraging and gathering ingredients for pill making [unlocks upon meeting Xu Dog in Yellow Wind Ridge]

Gathering seeds and foraging [unlocks upon meeting Chen Loong in the New West]

Abilities

Strength (9) [ We're Getting Stronger Now ] Coming from a world where combat skills are not needed in order to survive, the Travel Companion would not last long in combat against enemies. Do not stray too far away from the Destined One. While climbing up high walls is not much of a challenge for Oz, she would not last long in a battle.

Dexterity (14) [ I'm Still On That Tightrope ] Well poised and balanced and crafty with her hands, the Travel Companion does not have much difficulty traversing through difficult terrains. Has a good aim at hitting stationary targets upon successfully sneaking up on enemies. Has a 30% chance of hitting moving targets too

Constituion (15) [ Drank My Poison All Alone ] [Bloodborne] Inherited abilities from her ancestor, the Travel Companion has immunity against most poison. Poison damage may sometimes temporary stagger her for a few seconds. Cannot get drunk from alcohol. Almost never gets sick. Injuries received heal at a much faster rate.

Intelligence (15) [ Trying to Solve the Puzzles In My Head ] Escape room and crime dinner enthusiast, Oz is able to understand new tasks and ideas quickly and is a fast learner. Fairy good at "Explain this to me like I'm five", a skill that has proven to be useful when explaining modern-world things to the Destined One. Learns from her own and other people's mistake.

Wisdom (15) [ All the Wisest Women Had to Do It This Way ] The Travel Companion is able to read people and situations well - a very useful skill when Oz is traveling with the Destined One. He may not talk, but Oz is able to determine his moods or what he wants to communicate by his body and tail language. It's the little things and hints to look out for.

Charisma (12) [ Oh, We're Invisible ] While more introverted, the Travel Companion is not a stranger to social cues and knows what to say to the right people or how to push someone's button. She stands out with her unnatural hair color, but has a knack to disappear in the background and go unnoticed.

Skill The following list are skills that Oz has from the start

Acrobatics [ Climbed Right Back Up That Cliff ] As an avid rock climber, the Travel Companion is able to scale dangerous high walls and cliffs without protective gears. By scaling up high areas and synchronizing with at focus areas, Oz is able to unlock area maps. Can be upgraded later to have higher chances of performing a perfect dodge.

Stealth [ We Snuck Into the Circus ] Light and fast on her feet despite the platform boots, the Travel Companion is able to sneak around undetected, or approach enemies from behind to lower their guard and enable the Destined One to land critical hits. Can be upgraded later to steal things from enemies or slip things into their pockets during combat.

Perception [ Had to Listen to All This Drama ] The embodiment of "I don't want to be part of this drama, I just want to know all the details", and coupled with her [Stealth] skills, the Travel Companion is a good asset in eavesdropping and listening into conversations from a good hiding spot. Sometimes lesser yaoguai may drop useful hints and information that may be helpful in completing our objective. Can be upgraded later to spot hidden spots, secret doorways or important objects that are quest relevant.

Spells Oz does not have a [Mana] bar, the spells usage are tied to her [ Health ] bar. [Health] bar can be refilled by giving her food.

Bloodbending [ Marked Me Like a Bloodstain ] An unnatural ability that laid dormant inside Oz until she started journeying with the Destined One as his Travel Companion. For more information on the ancestor's bloodbending, please refer to this post. Spell unlocks when finishing the hidden quest << Poison Blood From the Wound of the Pricked Hand >>

Can manipulate her own blood to use as weapons. Takes a % of her [Health] to turn into small sharp weapons and can throw it at enemies to take them out from the distance. The lower her [Health], the higher the corrosive nature of her blood, and can do more damage. Spell can be upgraded to turn wounded enemy's blood into weapons and use it.

Can control other living creatures blood and use them like puppets to do your bidding. Does not cost Health, however, leaves the Travel Companion vulnerable to be attacked by others. Only able to control smaller creatures at first. Can level up skills to be able to control bigger creatures.

Each time Oz bends blood that is not her own, it raises her [Bloodlust] level.

Stardust Tears [ Eyes Full of Stars ] Tears that resemble stars and stardust with incredible healing properties. It is said that drinking [Stardust Tears] can heal any illness patch up even the worst cuts and injuries in an instant. Highly sought out by immortals and yaoguai alike. Can be upgraded to being able to see through transformations.

After meeting Xu Dog, he can use [Stardust Tears] to craft elixirs for the Destined One that will boost his Health, Mana and Stamina by 25% for a long duration. The amount of elixirs he can craft depends on how many << Hidden Memories>> have been unlocked.

✦ Inventory ✦ Oz starts out with 5 inventory slots. Upon completing a special quest in the New West, the Travel Companion can obtain a special blue bag that seems to be bigger on the inside...

Moleskine Journal and Fountain Pen: Perhaps a fountain pen might not have been the best choice of writing utensil to document their travel, but for some reason it seems like the ink will not get wash away upon contact with water. Curious indeed.

Gourd: Yuan Shoucheng claims it belongs to her ancestor.

Broken Pocket Mirror: Very pretty exterior, the mirror itself is cracked and cannot be used to travel between worlds. Looking at the pocket mirror gives Oz a sense of deja-vu...

Sunglasses: The Destined One wishes he had shades like this. Perfect for traversing through the desert, or the snowy landscape.

✦ Endings ✦

Normal Ending: Completing << I Take the Long Way Home >> quest, the pocket mirror gets repaired, Oz goes home and goes on with her life, and gets to see Taylor Swift.

Secret Ending: Triggered by completing all Hidden Memories quests.

Bad Ending: Triggered after Oz's bloodlust status crosses a certain threshold.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Superman and Flamebird (Male!Reader x Clark Kent x Bucky Barnes)

General HCs for poly Clark Bucky and reader?

Bucky never thought he'd enjoy snow ever again.

But here he is, in the Fortress of Solitude, fully at ease.

"Hey, Kelex? Is the farmboy ready yet? We gotta hurry if we wanna pick up Y/N."

"He is finalizing his present, Bucky."

Bucky nodded. "Of course. He's such a sweetheart, eh?"

"I am not qualified to make that judgement."

"Go ahead and feel free to add "Sweetheart" to the list of designations you can refer to Kal-El as."

"Why do you always have to mess with my fancy Kryptonian robot?"

Bucky bursts into laughter.

In some ways, you have often felt unworthy of two such exceptional partners.

And those two exceptional souls agree that you are the most precious to them.

Bucky is a really great partner to Clark. He is someone who does not underestimate Clark's intelligence, capability, or capacity for compassion, but perhaps more importantly, never overestimates Clark's strength and ability to weather things.

Bucky is protective of the man Clark truly is - not the mild-mannered anxious and nervous reporter nor the confident alien savior, but the kindhearted and dorky and slightly unconfident man he really is.

Clark loves Bucky for his resilience, his good humor, and his protectiveness.

He is supportive of Bucky, and wants to care for him so much. Whatever he wants to be, however he wishes to go, Clark wants to help.

And Clark's support, Bucky's protection - the two of them provide you no less than they do to each other.

They are a communicative duo. Bucky doesn't like to let anyone in, but he is desperate for connection, so he is more than happy to bring you in to discuss things.

Clark's kindness and willingness to be himself allows Bucky to feel safe to talk.

Bucky refuses to let Clark bear burdens alone anymore - if Clark goes out as Superman, Bucky goes out as well, and Clark offers him a piece of his heritage. Dick Grayson took on the name of the old Kryptonian myth of the Nightwing, and he offers Bucky Barnes the mantle of the Flamebird, and Bucky takes it well.

Gadgets build for him allow him to glide across rooftops, to more easily climb and run and keep up with Superman, and he handily is well suited to taking care of the enemies that often give Clark trouble. Those overspecialized to Kryptonians, those of magic and bioengineering and Kryptonite.

With rubber bullets, with specially made weapons, he can dismantle and disarm and neutralize - his skills in assassination turned to the use of protection of something precious.

Together, they keep each other able to return to you.

Bucky and Clark each have their challenges - Clark sometimes suffers from sensory overload, and Bucky has trouble dealing with crowds when not on a mission.

But with each other and you, with support and family found with you all, they can endure and move on. You can all visit the Kents and find family. You can all talk solutions and problems, safely together, not fearing that you will be rejected or have your vulnerability used against you.

"I got the rings. What's so important you delayed so long?" Bucky chuckles, showing Clark the three black bands he had had made. Black as night, durable and smooth, with a small glossy ring in the center that shone with fragments of precious stone. In the right light, the three black bands shine as though an entire nebula of color is contained within them.

Clark holds out a crystal, and shining from it is his own face, as he calmly recites something, as all the other crystals with his biological mother and father do, of history and heritage and lineage.

Clark stands not in Kryptonian robes but in simple flannel and jeans. "Kal-El, Last Son of Krypton, who was also Clark Jerome Kent of Earth, married James Buchanan Barnes and Y/N, his truest loves, and kept them near his heart for all his days. And Krypton lived in within them all, for the truest legacy of Krypton is love."

Bucky smiles softly. "I think he'll love that. Gee, you sure know how to tug a man's heartstrings, farmboy."

Clark kisses him. "Will you come with me to propose to our sweetheart?"

"Nothing would please me more."

[dr9com9ge-ix]

And here’s the last of em unless I make another one with some backstory characters! The (kind of) Non-Sprunkis! More info below (This one is a doozy!) And I also wonder if there’d be any interest in an askblog with this AU- I’ve been thinking about it.

Black (Tenebrae)

[Has existed for as long as the world has.] He/It

- A primordial god who once engulfed the entirety of the sprunki world in a far distant past (aka The Sunless Era), his epithet is “The All-Consuming Darkness” as saying his true name was considered a horrible curse to bring upon fellow sprunkis.

- In this far past he was universally feared as he was virtually everywhere and feasted upon ancient sprunki which had caused their civilizations to fall into ruin and scatter. Advancements made by one community would become artifacts for others due to Black’s voracious appetite. Though he never fully wiped them out as his strength was supplied by their “sacrifice”

- He eventually grew bored of being able to simply show up and feast on whole communities of Sprunki, As the novelty of their fear and desperate ritual sacrifices wore off after all these many years.

- So at the end of one of his feasts he stopped a moment, looked at the last two survivors. Two sprunki children, one determined to protect the other and one who cowered behind their foolish protector. This defiance made Black choose them as his new adversaries, To give them more of a chance to fend him off as a little game to make his mealtimes more interesting.

- Though in Black’s arrogance he did not realize how powerful he’d made the pair, the child who stood in his way became Solatium or The Sun, His bright light would burn Black’s physical form and drive him back into the shadows. The child who hid behind The Sun became Imago or The moon who was much weaker than her counterpart- Only able to ward black at her fullest state which unfortunately allowed him to hunt during the night.

- As the centuries went on Black became weaker and weaker as The Sun had been determined to stop him at every chance he could from harming the sprunkis. Black in the eyes of the sprunkis became a mere myth- A boogeyman who had been long gone. His first physical body had long been destroyed by the Sun’s harsh rays.

- The only way he could manifest in the shadows to someone is if they learnt his true name, Tenebrae. Which had usually been obscured in texts and other artifacts due to fear of him coming back. Though these attempts to omit him were never thorough enough. He would be found again in some way.

- Those who learn his name are haunted by Black and he calls him his “Acolytes”. Usually these Acolytes seek his name in order to gain power and get revenge. But some are merely unfortunate sprunki who had heard an utterance of his name and are driven mad by the shadows speaking to them.

-To gain a physical form Black needs his acolyte to sacrifice one sprunki to him in order to create his body. Black usually takes the form of whatever he believes his current acolyte would want him to be in order to manipulate them further.

- With these acolytes he usually manages to wipe out and devour whomever they desired revenge against but past these he is unsuccessful in having them longer than that as most will carry on with their lives, which causes Black to eventually eat them or get them killed out of frustration. This usually means he lays dormant once again as most will keep his name a secret to keep their power to themselves.

- One of his more recent Acolytes is a young Jevin whom he had attached to after his previous acolyte, a researcher named Flapswell had decided after she slaughtered the sun monastery’s inhabitants that she’d become more dedicated to her actual work and stop killing on Black’s behalf due to the belief that his body being destroyed meant he was dead for good.

- Though Black was never able to get Jevin to kill anyone due to his want to never harm anyone especially after his family in the monastery had been brutally killed and generally how he is. Jevin is not aware that Black had caused this and only believed Flapswell was the sole culprit. Black compounded on this belief and made Jevin believe that Black saved him both from the massacre and his seemingly endless nightmares.

-Black’s first attempt to get Jevin to kill was years later when he had coincidentally lead Jevin to an elderly Flapswell’s cabin. Jevin could not get himself to kill a seemingly sweet old woman who offered him a place to stay and many books to read despite Black’s insistance. This stay had ended with Black driving Flapswell to “Do what Jevin was supposed to” to herself.

- Though Black was frustrated initially by Jevin’s refusal to hurt people even causing himself more trouble than necessary, Black had started to find it fascinating and endearing in a pitiful way. “How much suffering until this poor fool snaps?” he’d ponder. He’d prod and push on occasions to see if Jevin would ever but is mostly interested in watching him and having him. freak

- When Jevin had adopted Sky, He had told Sky that “Tenebrae is the kind god that saved me and keeps us safe” and thus made Sky an acolyte as well, Though Sky’s opinion on Black is very much different from Jevin’s being consistently annoyed by Black’s attempts to manipulate his father as Sky is very protective of him. Often taking a lantern to the shadow which disperses him. Black hates this kid so much but can’t get him killed due to not wanting to blow his “benevolent forgotten god” persona to Jevin.

- Does get incredibly jealous and huffy when Jevin and Tunner started to be closer and closer to each other and tries to guilt Jevin into avoiding Tunner. He’s so petty about it but cannot do much without a physical form. Probably swipes at Tunner to no avail.

- Can eat without a physical body which is how he takes the sacrifices, hilariously enough Jevin feeds him food he cooked himself as offerings but they are not enough for Black to make a body with as he needs Sprunki flesh. Though he does not reject this offerings, often wolfing them down as soon as its poured onto the shadow he inhabits.

- Non-Acolytes cannot see Black’s non-physical form or hear him. So if anyone saw Jevin feeding Black they would just see a guy spilling food on a shadow and it disappearing. Of course Jevin does not interact with Black when he’s in the company of others as this behavior has gotten him and Sky kicked out of villages they had previously stayed in

- Eventually gets Wenda as an acolyte and convinces her that the town only had bad people in it- People who hated her and didn’t appreciate anything she did, causing her to sacrifice Oren and give Black the chance to manifest physically and assist with slaying the rest of town.

Mr. Sun (Solatium)

[Slightly younger than Black but still way too old for me to comprehend a number] He/it

- Was once a sprunki child back in the Sunless Era who tried to protect his friend Imago who became the Moon from Black.

- His and his best friend’s ascension was not a painless one. As Black took their heads to eat as he granted them godhood. Their bodies only return partially when they go down to the ground, having their respective celestial body replacing their orignal heads.

- He is usually just appears as the sun in the sky, Though his friendly face distorts into a singular eye when distressed.

- Mr. Sun is determined to keep sprunki-kind safe and sound as it’s what he couldn’t do for his family all those years ago.

- He thought that sprunkis would immediately get along and all become friends once they were all safe from Black, was initially horrified to find out that wasn’t the case as wars and conflicts happened. Has kind of accepted that “Thats just how it is and it makes me sad.” but wanted to have a small utopia for them somehow. That is how The Town was made. Mr. Sun is the mayor of that town which is called “Sunshine Suburbs”

- Due to Mr. Sun’s want to protect the town from Black or anyone else, It is eternally daytime there which utilizes the Sun’s bright rays of light. The only times it gets even a bit darker is during “sunset” (The sun never truly goes down, causing a perpetual sunset sky until actual morning) and when it rains heavily.

- Is aware that some sprunki worship him and form religions based on him. He’s mostly flattered but is freaked out when they start doing things such as the Sun Cult Monastery did like carve his image into their flesh and sever their wings as “Humility”. Mr. Sun usually avoids cults like that as it reminds him of Black’s victims desperately sacrificing things to him.

- Does somewhat yearn being a normal sprunki kid living an actual childhood with Imago but is aware he can’t undo what Black gave him both because he doesn’t know how and his absence might just be Sunless Era part 2.

- Is quite childish due to never actually properly growing up. Loves bright colors and idyllic fairytales.

- Rarely comes down to the ground for fear of not being able to cast his light enough to protect people and scaring them. Or worst yet he comes down and there’s fanatics down there.

- Loves his two assistants Glowe and Therman very much like they’re his little blorbos who actually listen to him unlike most sun cultists. Though is concerned about Glowe’s ever increasing blindness due staring at him directly while they talk.

- Also loves his townspeople but never speaks directly to them for fear of freaking them out, Watches from way above and is merely happy that they’re living good lives.

-Pities Jevin the most out of them due to knowing whatever things happened to him before were because his family were devout sun cultists. Seeing Jevin’s odd state as his fault.

- Is utterly devastated when Black manages to have Wenda assist in killing most of the town, to the point were he cannot stand being there and leaves. He knows he shouldn’t but his utopia being shattered like that broke him. Thus this left the town in an unnatural darkness.

Ms. Moon (Imago)

[Same age as Mr. Sun] She/it

- The weakest of the god trio and knows this all too well. She thinks Black made her light much weaker as a sick joke. Never wanted to become a god but was made one anyways alongside her friend.

- Before her ascension she tried to bargain with Black to spare her and Solatium by offering one of her eyes. This was not enough for Black to do so but he took the eye anyways which is why she is missing an eye even in her godly state.

-She has premonitions and often tries to stop whatever she thinks will happen next.

- Though her light is weaker she uses her control over dreams to warn sprunkis of potential horrible future events and especially if Black is anywhere near. An unfortunate side of this is this often gives the sprunkis insomnia and there is no guarantee they will understand that the dreams are warnings.

- She had constantly tried to warn a younger Jevin through his nightmares for various events such as his wings being removed, having the sun’s imagery carved into him and eventually the monastery massacre. Her dream messages had since been intercepted by Black which caused her great distress.

- She is quite gloomy and often sulks, not wanting anyone to actually acknowledge her godhood or existence what so ever especially when she sees the cults dedicated to the sun. She feels powerless enough with her position.

- If someone does end up worshiping the moon she usually tries to keep them in check using their dreams. Deathly afraid of them committing terrible acts in her name. Might physically intervene if it ever comes to that.

- When she weeps it rains down during the night which is a less than rare occurrence as she mourns quite alot of things often.

- One of the things that do make her happy is watching the ocean and controlling its tides as it’s peaceful and does not remind her of the lives she’s seen snuffed out or even her own before her godhood.

- She barely sees Mr. Sun as their positions always oppose eachother though on the rare occasions they are both up they’re very happy to see each other again.

- Once Mr. Sun abandons the Sunshine Suburbs after Black and Wenda’s massacre, Ms. Moon attempts to step in and try to lead the survivors to safety but is scared of confronting Black.

- Her moonlight reanimates the dead in the town post-killing as she desperately wants to save them but unintentionally extends their suffering due to the damages they have sustained.

Mr. Tree

[At least older than 50, They don’t remember] They/He/it

- Was once a young man traveling with their family on a trail with some other sprunkis. Got lost and almost starved to death in the woods.

- Mr. Sun saved them by essentially turning them into a tree with a sprunki’s soul trapped within, This is because Mr. Tree talked to the sun like he was a friend rather than a deity (albeit possibly out of delirium.)

- Where Mr. Tree got turned into a tree is where Sunshine Surburb’s park is now located. Also them and Durple are neighbors- Durple kind of pretends he doesn’t know that his lake is next to a talking tree… Mostly so he can watch people get startled when they find out on their own.

- Is a bit lonely and will talk to anyone who sits underneath his their canopy- That freaks people out initially. He mostly talks to Vineria because she thinks a talking tree is cool and didn’t freak out at first (Though cautiously asking if they were some kind of tree-mimic or Ent which are ambush predators that resemble trees) And Sky as he hangs under there and tries his best to not look afraid and actually enjoys trading stories with Mr. Tree.

-Talks about his previous journeys when he can’t think of anything else to talk about. Misses his family.

- Does frequently mention how it’s cool that he never feels hungry anymore due to being able to photosynthesize.

- Has a stone that sort of functions as a grave marker for their old body buried below their own roots. The flowers near his roots had been planted a bit after the town was established.

- Sometimes birds move into his face holes and its unpleasant for him as he still tries to talk with a face full of bird. Nothing will stop his yapping really.

- To him a friend of Mr. Sun is his friend too- Regards Mr. Sun as their bestie.

- Gets decorated every time a holiday happens and loves having neat little baubles, gets sad when they have to be taken down.

- Wishes he still hand hands but can use his roots (albeit painfully slowly) to move around and wrap around objects to hold them.

[jttw-m0nkehs1mp]

Childhood Sillies

In which you reminisce the days of your youth. Innocent, playful and full of joy. And the occasional monkey that popped in once in a while...

Gn reader x Destined One from Black Myth Wukong

Trope: Fluff, slight angst

Warnings: None

Author's note: Was scanning through my gallery when I found an old video that I saved of someone who told about how they were younger and were catching fish in a pond. There was another child, a boy, who then bashfully caught all the fish he could and gave it to them. Ig u can see where this is going... Also, the story is set right before DO starts his journey.

The ending could be a bit rushed, I completed this at night and I am pretty tired rn. Grammar and spelling mistakes will be found too, English is nit my first language so pls be nice🙏

The evening breeze was nice and cool, a much needed refreshment after a long hot summer day. You were nestled under a large tree, it's shadow turned in the opposite direction of the sun as the bright ball of fire crept ever closer to kiss the distant horizon.

The grass felt soft under your fingertips and your nose picked up the scent of dusk. The very smell that you carried close to your heart, for it never failed to bring you back to simpler times, where your hands were smaller and your innocence much bigger.

You smiled as the warm thoughts cascaded through your mind once more and your gaze swept to the mountain not far from your humble abode.

Your family settled on this rich piece of land a few generations back and with time, became quite close to the locals of Mount Huaguo. The sound of the monkeys as they chattered and played about had become a constant part of your life. Not a day goes by without atleast one monkey that came to visit you.

Sometimes it would be a baby, small, curious and playful. Other times it would be an elder that bought calmness, wisdom and peace. The residents of Huaguo were diverse, with full monkeys to humanoid simians. All of them were smart and strong and very dear to you.

But there was one particular monkey that was exceptionally special. Ever since the first day you were both officially introduced, you knew you would like him.

He was quite shy at first, never uttered a word, yet despite his silent demeanor, his eyes held intelligence and understanding of everything around him. Ever sharp, ever observant and soon you learnt that no words were needed to communicate with him if you knew where to look.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your eyes drifted from the green strung peak to rest once more on the distant horizon. You heard that said dear friend of yours would leave. To where, you didn't know. You offered to join him but you were quickly shut down and told that it was a journey for him alone and that it would be extremely dangerous.

After that exchange with the elder of the mountain, your heart could not help but wrench with worry for your sweet boy. Sure, he may have grown to a man, with strength that well preceeded your own, but he was still the shy little boy you met so many years ago...

————

The air was humid as you dawdled around on the forest floor. With it's bright rays, the sun did not bother to give you any mercy today. Your hands rubbed at your face, which only caused you to feel the wetness of sweat between your fingers.

Not too long ago, you finally won the battle with your mother to let you play on the mountain. With the promise that you would clean your room before you left of course.

She did not see your fingers crossed behind your back though, nor how you climbed out of the window in your room, just to stumble back outside.

Your home was quite small, with no stairs that led to a second story or anything. The true problem was that once you landed outside of your window, you were covered in dirt. Not that you minded, it was just that your mother would have a heart attack.

With a small huff, you dusted yourself off, but it was no use for your dirty hands just smeared the mud around. Once you finished 'fixing' yourself, you then turned to the forest before you and your little eyes shone with childish glee.

And that is how little you started your new adventure. Your small legs carried you as fast as they could as you scampered to the shaded trees that rested on the ancient summit.

A few hours had passed since then and you had grown quite tired of playing around in the leaves or having failed attempts of catching your shadow. It was lonely without your fellow monkey friends, your mind confused as to where they were.

Were they playing hide and seek? They did so before...

You shook your head. No, they would have came out by now.

Your eyes scanned the trees. The birds were filled with song, but there was no monkey in sight.

Out of nerves, your little fingers started to toy with the fabric of your sleeves, your gaze now more worried. Did a monster come and ate them all..?

Tears pricked your eyes once you realized you were all alone. Would the monster find you and eat you too?

Just as you were about to run back home, your ears picked up the faintest sound. Laughter. In fact, the laughter sounded quite familiar too.

It was one of your friends!

You quickly dried the tears on your face and sprinted to where you heard it from. It was quite the distance away, which left you out of breath by the time you arrived.

You huffed against a tree, your form even more sweaty than before. When you finally caught your breath you looked up and gasped.

The sheer amount of closeness of Mt Huaguo surprised you, you had to crane your neck up, up, up to see the very tip. You were never this deep in the forest, and the dense shrubbery faded away into a clearing in front of you.

From the top of the mountain, you could see a waterfall and various rocky ledges placed on different levels of height. Each ledge had a pool of water, which also fell down in smaller streams that soon led down to where you were. All of the watery amounts that came down formed a large reservoir of cool fresh water. A stream was also present, as it led downwards on the opposite side of the mountain, which undoubtedly created another series of waterfalls as well.

A multitude of monkeys surrounded the water sources, with the most of them being submerged in the water whilst the rest sat under the shaded trees the forest provided.

More laughter stole your attention and you saw your friends busy with trying to make one another more wet. They chased one another in circles with the smaller ones latched onto the tails of the bigger children.

A smile broke out on your face and with a little squeal, you bounded towards them.

From tag, to diving competitions, to climbing trees, to even attempting to make the adults wet, you did it all. The dirt from your body had long washed away with the stream. Your friends teased you and compared you to a wet rag with your soggy clothes. You retorded by pointing out that they looked no better with their fur that stuck out in all odd angles.

The argument soon turned to a challenge and you found yourself scouring the cool waters for fish. Whoever got the most fish would be crowned winner and get bragging rights for the next whole week. An entire week! There was no possible way you could ever pass that up.

With a water pouch in hand, your eyes scanned the waters.

There!

You lunged and consequently made large splashes and ripples in the pool around you, but even with such a powerful move, your hands came out empty. This was not the first time you received such unfruitful results.

A sigh escaped your lips and you turned to your companions to see if they were in the same predicament as you. Much to your dismay though, most of them were skilled in the art of capturing fish and they were leaving you behind in the ranks.

You huffed. This was no longer all that fun..

Just as you were about to mope further, a soft tap on your shoulder stripped you from your daze. With a quick turn to the source, you found a little boy no older than you. He was obviously not human, with his fuzzy face and little tail that clung to his leg.

You recognized him. He was a bit distant from the rest. Occasionally he would join in to play, but those times were quite rare. You mostly spotted him from the sidelines and for some reason his gaze was always on you. When you caught him in the action though, he would always hide behind something, whether it be an older monkey or a tree.

He was an odd guy, but he seemed nice.

And now he stood before you, his arm outstretched as his hand held a leather pouch for you to take. His eyes were to the side and you swore you could see red under his fur covered cheeks.

You took the bag from his hands and opened it. It was filled with water and fish. Lots and lots of fish. You let out a little gasp and looked up again. The boy's gaze was still away from you and his fingers toyed with the loose threads on his clothes.

"Why would you-?" You couldn't even finish your sentence when one of your friends spotted you and called you out for cheating.

You weren't even mad, instead you laughed, giddy and joyful. The competition no longer felt all that important to you, not with the boy that stood in front of you. He caught all this fish not for him, but for you and it made you feel special inside.

With more giggles that slipped from your mouth, you turned to look at the boy in front of you again, a big grin in your face. He returned your stare with wide starry eyes and mouth slightly parted.

You may not have won the competition that day, but it was fine. You got something far more special.

————

The sun had just dissapeared from the sky, but it's light was still ever present. It painted the clouds in soft warm hues and bathed the world in a warm golden glow, a goodbye to the day, but a promise for tomorrow.

Your eyes drifted to the pond near your family home where a bunch of fish swam. You remembered how you placed them there all those years ago and started a whole new fishy empire.

The crunch of footsteps mase a soft smile on your lips when you spotted a familiar monkey in the distance. He was always silent, but after many scares and spooks, he made sure you heard him coming. Most of the time.

"Good afternoon, Destined One." You teased which caused him to let out a small huff when he finally sat down next to you. The man never uttered a word the day you met him, and that streak was still present, even when he grew into an adult.

It showed you that sometimes, no words were needed, and that silence could be one of the best conversations to have.

You looked to the sky where the stars started to appear. "So tomorrow you will leave, right?" You asked, but you knew the answer. His gaze turned to the side and he started to fiddle with the grass below his fingers. A clear sign that you were right. More moments of silence passed before you opened your mouth once more.

"Isn't there a celebration for you back on the mountain? Shouldn't you be there?" You asked again. From what you heard, there was lots of food and drinks to share. You were invited, of course, but politely declined.

You made the excuse that you were quite tired and did not have any energy to stay up late. It was a lie though. You just didn't want to wish your friend goodbye in hopes that he would stay here. With you.

Yet here he was and now a goodbye was inevitable. You were worried for him, worried for his safety. Many before him went on this quest and none returned. Your mind could not help but wonder if he would never come back too.

Something brushed against you and you soon realized that it was the tail of your dear friend. You turned to his face and he looked at you with those eyes of his once more. They always shone so brightly when they rested on you. The spark never faded ever since you met, and dare you say it, it might have even grown brighter through the years.

You could never pinpoint what it was, but now that the time of your parting approached ever closer, you started to realize what it could possibly mean. And you knew that your own eyes reflected such warmth too.

His face told you everything you needed to know. He would rather spend time with you than dance and drink the distress for the future away. He wanted his last moments on Mount Huaguo to be with you in which you happily obliged.

The both of you spent the night away with idle chatter in each other's arms. Even when the evening breeze turned cold, you never felt more warm and safe.

Time flew by so quickly and before you knew it, the sun greeted the lands once more.

Once the last star left the sky, so did your shy monkey boy too. But not without a soft kiss and a sweet promise for a brighter future.

End note: eh, ain't sure about this one chief

[punksocks]

Black Moon Lilith: And Your Untamable Femininity

*based on my experiences, please take this with a grain of salt

Lilith herself is from Judeo mythology, she was Adam’s first wife but she saw herself as his equal and that didn’t work out too well so Lilith got banished and Eve replaced her. Because this comes from a traditionally patriarchal perspective, Lilith was too much of a seductress and an unfit woman so she literally was cast out and became a demon. (Side note: it’s so interesting that the stories all demonize Lilith but Eve had too much receiving feminine energy herself and received the devil’s instructions and ate from the forbidden tree. It’s a very damned if you’re too feminine and damned if you’re not feminine enough sort of myth)

Lilith aspecting your planets and your houses will often charge the native with almost Plutonian energy. Like imo Pluto and Neptune combined, because you’re charged with this dark feminine energy that’s the opposite of light/traditional feminine energy and on top of that people tend to project on to you based off of this energy. You bring a lot of people’s biases to light.

So Lilith charges the native with energy they need to “tame” in order to be considered proper feminine women. Lilith’s interpretations have expanded the more autonomy women have gained.

Nowadays being being a naturally sultry woman is less shameful right? Well no. Never mind how progressive they may act, many people will expose their real behavior to that sort of energy. It really weeds out those who are actually well intentioned from those who aren’t. Even if you say that you want progress for all types of women you may not have done the internal work to become the person that truly acts that way. Do you actually respect women that carry that sexual/untraditional energy or are you only advocating for a traditional/untouchable feminine person?

With friends, family, possible love interests, peers, and even strangers this question is act every time someone with heavy Lilith energy interacts with them. Because of how these relationships tend to go in a patriarchal society that encourages one kind of good femininity, Lilith natives often find themselves being “tamed” (i.e. shamed) for having this energy.

A lot of Lilith natives get ashamed growing up “not acting like proper women”. Because of that Lilith natives tend to try to force a version of themselves that fits this feminine mold. It often doesn’t work and just gives people the impression that you’re hiding something from them. Like you’re acting as a wolf in sheeps clothing when you’re just trying to exist the way they told you you have to and you cannot fully mute your energy to do so.

Most interpretations of BM Lilith are of women/femmes/people reclaiming the power and alternative femininity they tried to stamp down for ages and embracing the often revealing effects that Lilith has for the shadow sides of other people. I think it’s no coincidence that interpreting Lilith as a more complex figure comes with waves of feminism and discourse around what femininity means exactly.

The real trick is balancing Lilith’s energy- being proud of the advantages and strength that can be found in her energy without being consumed by dark aspects of how her energy may manifest.

Lilith in Aries/1st House: You’re fire and passionate incarnate. You stand out as a leader in any room you’re in with your confident aura. You were probably shamed for being head strong and impulsive. But your braveness and how you embrace yourself at your core is admirable. You need to tame your me first behavior, and to be careful not to bully and bulldoze others while still standing in your strength.

Lilith in Taurus/2nd House: You’re so sensual and tactile. You live for the pleasures of food and luxury, whatever your idea of luxury may be. You may have been shamed for being “lazy” but you can be very grounded and sensual. You have to tame your inner hedonist and make sure you don’t get too lost in worldly pleasures and that you don’t use others to achieve these ends. (Don’t swing to other extreme and deny yourself any pleasure either, you deserve to have a good life, just not to be consumed by having one.)

Lilith in Gemini/3rd House: You’re a charmer with wit to spare. You think about everything and analyze all of your thoughts on what is good and what is bad. You were probably shamed for how you spoke and what you spoke about in your youth. You have to tame your desire to be the smartest one in the room and the impulse to reject all learning. We all have to learn from some source that knew better before us, otherwise knowledge would be empty and cyclic. You’re not lesser if you do not know everything.

Lilith in Cancer/4th House: You have an in depth relationship with your femininity. You may have grown up in an chaotic environment with family scandals and secrets and intense emotional dysfunction. You need to tame your desire for total emotional control over people in your life. Through your fear of feeling lonely you may have poor boundaries with others by way of doing too much and intern expecting too much emotional devotion/sacrifice. If you don’t manipulate others to be emotionally tied to you, you’ll open yourself up to genuine emotional connections and healing.

Lilith in Leo/5th House: You’re so fun and seductive. You’re a star that turns heads and knows how to have a good time. You were probably shamed for enjoying attention and affection you received in your youth and you could’ve been shamed for having crushes and such before you even began dating. You have to tame your desire to be the center of attention at all times and to escape away from the problems of life into frivolous affairs. (This another case of balance, which I’m finding a lot with fixed Lilith placements. Don’t run away from attention and close yourself off from affection either. It’s okay to receive attention and to enjoy it, the same with dating and healing and finding emotionally fulfilling relationships)

Lilith in Virgo/6th House: You’re a hard worker and a very efficient one at that. You rarely get enough credit for how many problems you solve and how many people you’ve saved with your smarts. You may have been shamed for being too uptight in your youth when no one was giving you any support to actually be able to relax. You have to tame your inner overworker. It’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to make a mistake, you work very hard but you’re human at the end of the day. It’s okay to take care of yourself. (And to be honest about your s*xual desires) Also watch out, your co-workers may not be trustworthy.

Lilith in Libra/7th House: You’re a beauty and a radiant individual, and you probably have a lot of admirers. You may have suffered a lot of injustice/unfair experiences at certain stages of your life. You need to tame your desire for balancing everything. I’ll explain lol, you probably attract a lot of people that have extreme personalities and you pour a lot of energy into them in order to help balance them out. You may also become anxious or vindictive if you’re rejected romantically. It’s okay to understand where the line can be drawn and to understand that harmony cannot be brought to every person/situation, especially not through the efforts of one person alone. And that’s okay.

Lilith in Scorpio/8th House: You ooze s*x appeal and you probably have a mesmerizing presence. You have a very powerful energy. You were probably shamed for your interest in s*x/sensuality throughout your life. You need to tame your desire to escape from your emotions/trauma into your s*xuality. You also need to tame your tendencies to become obsessed with the taboo. (This needs to be balanced of course. You shouldn’t deny your s*xuality or your interest in the taboo. It takes a special type of person to explore these sorts of ideas. Just make sure it doesn’t consume your inner world.)

Lilith in Sagittarius/9th House: You’re a firecracker with a sense of adventure and a need for freedom on your own terms. You were probably shamed for being outspoken and questioning the institutions around you throughout your life (heavy emphasis on higher education and/or your family’s religion). You need to tame your need for freedom to a degree. If you have interest in traveling to certain places but a fear of becoming too attached to that place you should still go and have that experience. If you have an interest in a certain religion but you’re afraid of being trapped in that setting you should still learn about that religion. Institutions are old and carry their own hierarchies but they shouldn’t scare you away from exploration. (Be careful not to become obsessive either)

Lilith in Capricorn/10th House: You’re a powerful person. You have a certain air about you that gives off dominant/authoritative energy. People in power tend to listen to you. But you were often shamed for having such a domineering presence, whether you were exerting power over others or they were just intimidated by the weight you held. You need to tame this desire for status and power and any urges to become cutthroat in order to social climb. I believe this is why this position can be prone to having a scandalous reputation. It’s important not to lose yourself to gain power because you’ll lose respect. (Saturn lessons bby)

Lilith in Aquarius/11th House: You’re the definition of a free spirit, you’re really a one of kind person in how you express yourself and your tastes. You could’ve been outcasted socially from a young age, and you may have dealt with bullies/groups turning against you. You need to tame your urge to disconnect from the humane. (Again it’s a lesson of balance, embracing what makes you unique and gives you your ability to think outside of the box, but also not going out of your way to socially detach from all people to the point of embracing truly bizzaro behaviors just to feel that freedom.)

Lilith in Pisces/12th House: You are a person with a deeply ethereal sense about you. You tend to ride the line between the hidden and the mundane in all things you experience. It’s the hardest placement to pinpoint where you were shamed exactly, it probably has to deal with your receptive energy and your sensitivity to other energies outside of yourself, and due to your conscious or subconscious experiences you carry effects of this negativity. You must tame you natural inclination to drift, to detach and separate yourself in an effort to escape. You must balance your understanding and acceptance of the spiritual and the internal with your experiences in the world in order to not be lost to the tumultuousness of this placement. (also stay empathetic but prioritize taking care of your mental health)

[noxturnalmoth]

Literary Service

Summary: Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Warnings: Canon violence

Word Count: 2, 674

Masterlist: here

Prologue - A Parting Gift

There is peace in water, like it's holding you. The waters of your life had been calm, a peaceful tranquility cradling you as the sun warmed your soft body to keep it from getting cold. A peaceful commune, children and adults living in a casual, repetitive, yet gentle dance as days, seasons and years passed. There was something beautiful about the smiles on their faces as the older ones were hard to work, as the babes played, as the elders counted their stories full of wisdom…The beauty in the simplicity. You knew that perfection didn't exist, that it was a myth just like so many of the stories you heard whispered before bedtime in the dim lights. But even if it didn't exist, you knew that this small piece of the world you called home was as close to it as you could get.

Green hills in the spring, speckled with flowers of all colors and sizes. Turning golden from the wheat in the summer, a soft breeze rustling the maturing spikes. Sienna in the autumn as they were covered with burnt orange leaves, crumbling to petrichor when the rain came and feeding the earth. Barren dirt covered in a thick blanket of white snow in the winter, like a child tucked into bed lovingly by its parents. It was as if all of those stories of Heaven told by grandparents had taken form here, like Kindred had blessed you with a taste of the kingdom in the sky without ushering you into the afterlife.

But smiles and soft voices turned into horrified faces and haunting wails. The soft golden light of the sunset had been usurped by an angry, burning orange destroying all in its wake, leaving soot black, grey ash and blood red after its passage. The playful breeze was crumbling houses, marching, blades cutting through flesh. Family, friends, reduced to either a bloodbath, or a chained submissive mess. Soaked in the smell of burning corpses and in the sweat, tinted red from holding those who were stolen from you.

You had heard about Noxus. A nation of unyielding strength, ever growing from wrestling children out of their parents' arms, indoctrinating them into their cult of blood and violence. Adults were given a choice, albeit only in name. A refusal could only hasten one's death, the bells carried by the monsters invading peaceful homes. That day, you learned just how ruthless mother war was; for it was the day you became a cog in her machine. Chained and dragged forward, feet bloodied, knuckles raw, voice ripped from your throat by wails of pain and sorrow. A walk that went on for weeks, seldom were you given food nor water, and rest was but a fleeting moment that you could only stretch for so long until your decaying spirit was forced back on its morbid march to hell.

The second the great spiked walls of The Immortal Bastion came into view it was as if all the kindness Kindred had spared you all your life was ripped from you. The vision of home, your personal heaven, finally corrupted even in your fantasies. Long gone was the lamb, and as you passed the grand gates you knew you had just entered the wolf's maw. Filled with rows of sharp pointed teeth that grazed you teasingly, the stench of death permeating your senses, darkness eating away at your vision as the unbearable heat of the mouth had you squirming, the screams of the others before you resonating from within the wolf's stomach as the beast took its time chewing you alive. Painfully and agonizingly slow.

To Noxus you were unrefined metal. You were stripped of everything but your name; your dignity, your grief, your memories, your humanity and the feelings you clung onto. They melted you, body burning in the boiling showers, muscles straining from the excruciating training, strategies and politics burnt incessantly into your young mind , eyes forced to look at images one could only describe as war crimes if they needed to understate their gravity. They beat out your impurities, breaking your body down and forcing it back up time and time again until what was a hellish training became an easy routine. Until your mind had closed to love, to compassion, to sympathy. Although rifles were better to keep human losses to a minimum, Noxus had a different idea than the rest of the world and built their warfare around melee weapons. Spears, fists, blades of all types, all forged of the strongest alloy in Runeterra; held within the hands of the deadliest forces in the lands, forged as expertly as the weapons they mastered.

Your new masters had one rule: complete and total obedience. And while Noxian born soldiers were allowed to be treated as humans, people like you who were stolen from their homes and stuffed into their new mold were expected to be loyal to a fault. Mindless and bloodthirsty canon fodder that was at the front of all conflicts, shredding flesh before getting annihilated themselves. Of all of those of your hometown, only you were left. Nothing left to hang on to. But even if all you had was the body you were born with, your soul still dared deep down to hope for something better. So silently and dimly that sometimes you didn't even believe you still felt that spark, that weak flickering flame suffocating at the same time you did. But you were lucky you mastered the art of controlling yourself, keeping all the gentle kindness you still had protected and cradled in your heart, hiding the disgust you held for your captors, but most importantly you kept your rage under lock and key deep within the dark recesses of your mind.

What began as an all consuming, bubbling and violent rage, akin to a rumbling volcano; became something sinister, mixed with self hatred spurred on my the blood and guts you were forced to spill, that rage that used to be sputtering magma froze over. Obsidian planes a dark black while snow fluttered and covered it in a monochromatic hellish landscape. It was biting, it was burning, the wind felt like blades slicing through skin, flesh and bones; the burning hands and faces reaching from the lava now immortalized into morbidly groaning statues, their faces, pleas and wails forever ingrained in your mind, beneath your eyelids. And it was all hidden inside you while you tried desperately to keep the last sliver of your humanity alive, hoping to whatever God may listen that this hatred will never corrupt it.

Being a tool never just was about war in the nation of Noxus though. Sometimes you simply had to act as a bodyguard to a member of one of the most notorious families around, or stand guard at the gate. You had to listen to and transcribe the ramblings of blood crazed war chiefs and manipulative, elegant intellectuals that couldn't be bothered to write their notes so they could listen to their own voices. And albeit militia like you was prohibited from accessing knowledge other than warfare and politics, as you climbed the ranks and were allowed to listen to such ramblings you could learn more about the outside world. The technological advancements, the social events, the latest frivolous gossip…and specific informations about academics whether in specific subjects or about certain happenings like school fairs, new schools and scholarships.

No matter what it was you were forced to listen to and transcribe you always drunk the information in. You were no idiot, you were no genius either, but if there was one thing you could be proud of was your ability to retain information and to fill in the gaps, to create pertinent and coherent theories. So all that was uttered and written always ended up copied in your notebook with your latest thoughts and ideas, hidden in a cut made in your mattress as you feigned total obedience, hanging on, although barely by a thread, to the last shred of yourself you had. That day you heard about the Zaun Technical College, which had opened a handful of years prior, after the nation had finally gained sovereignty and separated itself from its gilded, more beloved sister Piltover. With Zaun's rise as a nation of its own it had changed for the better, the air quality was improved, the sun could finally shine down on it without the gigantic plants and buildings Piltover had placed there simply to hinder it, jobs were flowing, houses were built and rebuilt, fields and farms were popping up to produce locally, economics were booming and education was slowly democratized as were the arts. All due to a group of special operations soldiers that gave their lives for the cause of the nation, for their people. And in the center of all of this the ZCT was extending scholarships to students from near and afar, coaxing young curious minds into getting their education in the newly formed "Land of the Zealous".

So, with a heavy heart and waning hopes, you took a sheet of paper and wrote, wrote as if your life depended on it, because it did. You used the poise and poetry you learned from the pompous nobles, the determination that had you hanging onto your humanity by the skin of your teeth, the will that was forged into you by years spent as a weapon in the deadly hand of Noxus. You spoke of your ideas of seeing the world beyond the walls, of reading all the books in their grand library, of writing stories and poetry to inspire hope and determination into the hearts of the downtrodden, to express your desires and your emotions. You spoke about writing your soul into a frenzy, about learning to be but also finally living as a human and about how you would spend all your life studying literature if you had to, so you could soak up all of what could create the meaning of what "human" really means. Signing your name was the last and, if you must admit, hardest part. It was something of which the meaning had been trampled, corrupted and bloodied, but it was the name you were born with and you'll be damned if you don't reclaim it back, even if it's silently within the flickering flame of your soul.

You heard of some of the militia trying to escape, but they were always few and far between. If they succeeded it was always at a price, a steep price, because none could escape without getting found out. The walls had eyes and ears, and even as you discreetly placed the letter addressed to the Zaun Technical College board into the letterbox, you knew deep down that you could not let your guard down because something could and would go wrong and you had to be prepared. You put in your address as one of the scholars' you wrote notes for, knowing the self-centered man would never open the mail himself and have you do it instead. So weeks pass, another campaign is fought and new scars litter your body, but as you arrived at the gilded home and opened the letterbox you saw it, a letter addressed to you with a neat handwriting showcasing the sender as the ZTC. So, controlling your breath and body language you sneakily slipped that letter in your clothes under your skirt where the belt cinched above your plump stomach warm with softness and underlying hard built muscle, the extra padding serving to protect from harm and warm the body when temperatures fall; a warrior's body.

The day passes as you wrote down the ramblings of the extravagant man, and once you were settled back home you scribbled down in your journal all that you have absorbed before softly yet shakily opening up the letter.

Dear visionary,

the board was positively surprised to see a well read and poised person such as yourself hailing all the way from Noxus, a land that favors the strong of body yet seems to forgo the intricacies of the mind. You have intrigued us with your passion and deep emotional connection to the world that surrounds you, the humanity and energy that imbibed every word spoken by ink on paper. We felt sucked into your world, into your mind, as we read what could be one of the most beautiful letters we have been written. You are formerly extended the invitation to attend the Zaun Technical College as a literature major. Once you have arrived to Zaun and get to the administration of our college, present this invitation to be given the keys to your dorm and your schedule.

We welcome you into this new chapter of your life,

ZTC board.

Simple and concise, and as you read a small smile stretches on your face, growing bigger as you skim your eyes over the paper again and again. Folding the letter properly back into the envelope then enclosing this one within your handful of notebooks you pick a satchel, stuffing those in it as well as a few clothes and all of the money you've been saving up. You slip away, as silent as an owl's flight, making one with the shadows as you crack a guard's neck, sneaking past him into the passage. Shadows lunging at you, discarding your bag and muffling all your noises as hands hold you in place, comrades you've fought with mindlessly beating your body as they rant about how betrayal meant death in Noxus, about how you turned away from your own people. And as they kept on talking, attention waning as they thought they undermined you, you lunged forward and rolled carefully making sure you broke my captor's nape before you got up. A group of nine against one was surely not respectable, but you had to fight, you had to survive, because a new future awaited you.

So you dodged and took hits, bruises and cuts littering your body as you dished what you were dealt. Number could only do so much against a veteran, and they learned that the hard way, arms and legs broken in grips that were carved into your mind. Punches were dealt with the precision and lethality of a blood starved beast. Bodies were thrown, spines cracking by a strength honed over the years of carrying the mental and physical weight of hundreds of dead bodies. Even after a rock was smashed in your upper back, you fought, dropping to the ground and sweeping your legs before you smashed the man's head with the stone he used to break you. Someone using the distraction to wind around your left leg, breaking your tibia, and holding it out for another to smash with a brass knuckle at the ankle shattering the bone there. But no matter the pain, you turned yourself and the assailant holding your leg, sweeping under his comrade with your right leg, punching his face until their teeth were swallowed and their chest caved in one last shaking breath. Crawling towards the last militiaman, they crawl backwards. No matter how indoctrinated, you weren't in the wolf's maw anymore, it wasn't chewing you until nothing was left; no, at that moment you were the wolf, and as you enclosed a hand around their shuddering throat adrenaline helping you stand up on a shattered leg and lift the man in the air, he knew it. There was no stopping you, even half dead. He whispers an apology as his windpipe is crushed. You limp, heart rushing you forward as you grab your satchel and leave, as quickly and as far as you can afford.

Pained but lighter, you walk forward, no scream or complaint leaving your cracked lips. Your body burning, leg howling in pain, back screeching in discomfort, and cheeks stinging as a smile makes its way to your face. No matter if Noxus left you with a parting gift.

You were going to make it, and you were not going to falter.

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[littleeyesofpallas]

I dunno where I'm going with all this but let's just go down a little checklist of fairly distinct Chinese style elements present in Bleach that kind of don't get addressed in the big picture?

The first and most obvious one is that when Madarame Ikkaku first shows up with his bald head and bladed polearm, which is a kind of unorthodox mix of a Japanse naginata (as an extension of standard zanpakutou being katanas) and a Chinese spear, Qiāng[槍] particularly with the iconic red horsehair tassle, although weirdly kubo puts it on the wrong side? And this is further played upon when it's revealed to actually be a bladed Sānjié-gùn[三節棍], a three-section staff but aka Pánlóng-gùn[蟠龍棍]: "CoiledDragon Staff".

He has very clear shaolin monk vibes going for him. Although due to what I chalk up to more a limitation of Kubo's knowledge/art style, Ikkaku's fighting style doesn't actually resemble any recognizable wushu spear or staff forms that you might expect from either old martial arts movies or contemporary sport performances.

And that all is further supplemented by his eventual bankai reveal, which not only adds a few more vaguely wushu adjacent weapon shapes but also corrects the horsehair tassle problem, putting them on the right side of the weapon; under the blade. The oversized glaive-like blade in the context of Chinese martial arts theme points toward the iconic Guandao, a weapon said to have origianlly been custom made for the legendary general of the Three kingdoms era, Guan Yu[關羽], hence the name Guan-dao[關刀]: "Guan (broad)sword/sabre."

This original mythical weapon was named Qīnglóng Yǎnyuè-dāo[靑龍偃月刀], the "GreenDragon LyingDown-Moon (broad)Sword." The irony and perhaps mythic drama of the name being that it's not a broad sword at all, it's a polearm, implying a kind of mythical stature and/or strength of the historical Guan Yu that he could weild this massive two handed weapon as if it were a one handed sword. But also more literally it is just a dao broadsword on a polearm, unlike what would otherwise have been the much smaller head of any other contemporary polearm weapon.

The opposite end has what appears to be a more identifiably pulled from what's generally called a "monk's spade" in english, but the chinese name Yuèyá-chǎn[月牙鏟] literally means "CrescentMoon-Shovel."

Another pretty clear set of references are centered around Sui-feng. her names are all Chinese (Shāolíng[梢綾], Fēng[蜂], and Suìfēng[碎蜂]) And I went into an old kind of lopsided theory ages ago, but there used to be a pretty common practice in China of giving children, especially boys, a "milk name" when they were born --which would be a kind of place holder fulfilling some superstitious needs-- and then replaced as the child grew older. Bruce Lee's milk name was Xì Fèng[細鳳], which was a girl's name that, according to the superstitions around the practice, was meant to misdirect misfortune and evil spirits from targeting a family's first son. And the phonetics of Xì-Fèng and Suì-fēng, atleast in Japanese, are remarkably close. That all is in conjunction with her obvious kung fu theming and the fact that her hornet themed sword seems to also play off of the iconic yellow with black stripes jumpsuit that Bruce Lee wears in his final film, Game of Death.

In addition her two-strike "instant" kill power seems to be a nod to the old kungfu myth/cliche of a kind of hybrid martial arts-acupuncture technique(s) that can do things like block blood or energy flow, disable limbs, or stop the heart directly via exploitations of precise pressure points.

Honestly it's kind of weird that there's more, like, blondes running around than Chinese people in Soul Society... Oh, but speaking of...

It's definitely not the most direct reference, but Kira's Wabisuke has a unique hook shape that really only has one parallel in real world weapons, and that's the Chinese hook swords. But those are traditionally used in a pair, not alone, and have a more curved shape than Wabisuke's rigid right angles, so it's very probably just kind of coincidence.

On a similar note though, Hisagi's Kazeshini also resemble, at least superficially, a set of Chinese weapons called Jī zhuǎ lián[雞爪鐮]: "chicken claw sickles." A more obvious comparison might be made to kama, as they are small single hand scythes with more Okinawan origins and are commonly either used in pairs or attached to a chain(although not typically to a second scythe but to a counter weight/bullet), but notably the chicken claws do have a second blade on the back end as well as a spike, which are notably not present on any kama. Again though it's also possible that Kubo just wanted wacky fantasy scythes and there's only so many combinations of sharp things on a stick you can really make...

Moving right along there's actually a quite a few little nods to Chinese styles in the Arrancar. The first and most obvious was Shawlong Koufang[シャウロン・クーファン] who's got a clearly Chinese name, even though Kubo chose to give it some funky romanization. It's probably meant to evoke Xiǎolóng[小龍] meaning "little dragon" which might be meant to read as a kind of epithet for a long narrow bug like the earwig his sword is named after. His hair style is also clearly meant to evoke the cue hairstyle typical of qing dynasty period dramas. His straight back, hands behind the back posture, cool demeanor and neatly zipped up color and long coat tail is also very evocative of a certain character type in old kung fu films; the very calm and controlled master with very minimal movements casually sidestepping attacks and countering with sharp efficient snappy movements.

And while I don't know that I'd otherwise have pegged him as a specifically Chinese kind of caricature, something about the proximity to Shawlong does make me think Nakeem Grindina counts as well, even though his name is not nearly as evocative. We barely got to see anything form him, which doesn't help pinpoint him by way of characterization, but he does feel kind of reminiscent of a young Sammo Hung; famous martial arts actor who came up right along side the likes of Jackie Chan in the 70s and 80s. He's notably got a huskier body type not typically found in kung fu films.

There's also Choe Neng Poww[チーノン・ポウ] who, like Shawlong, has a weirdly romanized name but that retains a vaguely chinese phonetic quality to it; I frequently forget that the actual Japanized Chinese phonetics are "CHII NON' POU" which just isn't remotely reflected in the romanization, even within the fucked up bounds of how messy romanizing Chinese is. Anyway, he doesn't really appear to be based on anyone or anything in particular, but he is drawn with features very common in historical cases of Chinese men with medical gigantism, with the long face and square jaw, of whom there are several. Oh he does have a kind of chinese style outfit, complete with little Chinese slipper/kung fu shoe lookin things.

(I used a picture of Zhan Shichai largely just because he's an old enough case to have toured around the world as an oddity when there was still a pretty rigid different in ethnic fashions --like, half the other cases of gigantism in China are in the past 50 years so the photos of just of like a guy in a shirt and slacks.)

And then there's Ggio Vega, who, like Nakeem, definitely doesn't appear to have a Chinese name at all, yet his outfit and style are very distinctly kung fu film inspired. Like Shawlong he's got the cue braid, and that particular era of cheongshan that I don't really know how to place... It vanished after the communist revolution, but I don't know how far back it goes or when it was most recognizable? (I associate it with the Republic Era(early 1900s) in historical dramas, but I don't know if that's accurate?)

Anyway... Cyan Sung-sun also has a super China-girl sort of aesthetic going for her. A very classically petite and demure, elegant but kind of haughty look and feel. It's kind of adjacent to the Yamato-Nadeshiko or hime character types, but different? The long sleeves also feel very specific to something that I can't quite put my finger on.... Plus as I've mentioned before her resurreccion seems to be a direct nod to the classic Chinese myth of the "Madam White Snake."

Oh but circling back for Aaroniero, but technically Kaien, I forgot his Nejibana is actually a type of "double halberd" called a Shuāng jǐ[雙戟] but Kubo clearly wanted it to evoke a trident. Of note there are a variety of Chinese style tridents and pronged polearms, but this isn't one of them. The halberd specifically has a blade on one or both sides, rather than stabbing prongs. But what pegs it as a Chinese weapon is again the distinctive horsehair tassels.

And then of course we've got Cang Du[蒼都] who is actually the only other character that Kubo gave a proper Chinese name like he did Sui-Feng. Despite how Kubo romanized it, the Japanese phonetics are actually SHI-A-N' TU[シァン・トゥ]. He sports a much more pre-western style of old wushu attire but of course with the extra quincy flair, including a neat pair of metal tipped kung fu shoes.

He also has his one off little snake fang attack, despite not seeming to have any other snake motif... It doesn't have a specific style to it, but given the proximity to the whole wushu thing, it seems like a loose reference to 5-animal style kung fu's snake-style. Moreover, his Schrift being the Iron, in the context of his martial arts thing, seems to be a play on Iron Shirt kung fu, which is that one set of stunts you often see shaolin monks performing where they seemingly resist all damage to themselves under impossible looking circumstances.

Oddly of all the things going on with him, the wolverine claws aren't really any kind of a traditional Chinese martial arts weapon at all. They really seem to have more in common with Japanese ninja cliches, and the X-men character Wolverine than anything else...

Another one I've mentioned before is Yadomaru Risa, although hers is easily the weakest of these... She doesn't actually come across as specifically Chinese on the face of things, but there are a few odd little nods that seem to add up over the course of her appearances. Her shikai has very Chinese martial arts aesthetics about it(Personally I associate it with the same monks spade mentioned in relation to Ikkaku, if only because it's the only thing with anything close to that extremely wide blade, but it's definitely not a perfect fit...) and if barely fleeting she does appear to use Chun-li's spinning bird kick, from street fighter, and when the Visored are introduced they each seem to have a distinct outdated style about them, hers being hard to place, as the sailor-fuku has a pretty broad history, but it notably doesn't not include the period across the second sino-japanese to second world war, in which the Japanese occupation of China did see a lot of Chinese children sent to Japan for education and effectively indoctrination.

But maybe most confusing is that her one off attacking fighting Gerard Valkyrie appears to reference the controversial conditions of surrender that Japan demanded of China during WWI that set the groundwork for the coming invasion of the continent and occupation of Manchuria in the coming decades??? Which is a bizarre deep cut on Kubo's part. In general her motifs don't seem to actually add up, unless they're just supposed to be a disparate array of cliche otaku girl things?? The school uniform, the smut, the videogame rather than chinese part of the chun li thing, the chinese history, the gundam mask, etc... Again, she is verymuch the weakest link here...

But like is there some kind of Chinese soul society these people are coming from?? is there some kind of old feudal Chinese celestial bureaucracy with cool kung fu encofrcers the way there's just weird dragons and witches kicking around reverse london?

Oh right so I guess part of where this train of thought was going was just that there's actually a lot of fun room for some sort of Bleach kung fu AU sorta deal; if only I was more capable of producing fan art to sort of anchor this all into something more tangible or coherent... And Kubo has kind of dabbled in this before; as have the BBS art team, in that one singular awkward "Orient Society" AU banner they ran and then never added any other characters to...

But there are plenty of characters that neatly fit into existing archetypes and styles.

Yamamoto, while exceedingly Japanese themed, was originally the spitting image of the old willow haired kung fu master, specifically with his long eyebrows.

Obviously Tousen fits the blind wiseman and master role, although the blind swordsman is more a Japanese, Zatoichi thing.

Kukaku and even Yamamoto fit the one armed boxer and/or one armed swordsman.

Kyoraku (and maybe Iba for lack of any other identifiable features?)slots into drunken boxing.

Ukitake into taichi-chuan with his implicit onmyo theme.

Chad and Ggio can easily be turned into Tiger style practitioners. (Maybe Yoruichi by virtue of cat and her raijin thunder does loop back to tiger print?)

Ganju and Abirama, Eagle style.

Kukaku and Byakuya, and the rest of the Kuchiki via their family crest, and i dunno... maybe Lille Barro? could all practice Crane style.

Grimmjow fits Leopard style, and I guess if we really want to stretch the leopard to panther to black cat connection Yoruichi and Yuushiro can fit in here too.

Hiyori, sort of Renji, and... uh, I guess The Roar(?) can use Monkey style.

Gin, Sung-sun, and kind of technically Renji again, and Cang Du of course, can all slot into Snake style.

Renji again again could fit dog boxing, ala his "stray dog" moniker in certain chapter titles focused on his past.(Oddly there's not really any kind of a wolf based kung fu archetype somehow, dunno what that means for Starrk and Komamura, but they are both kind of stryas in their own way...)

Hitsugaya, Ikkaku, and Tatsuki all get Dragon style. Gantenbein too actually...

But then Toshiro has "lion" in his name so maybe a lion dancer gimmick works too? Throw Mila Rose in there. Maybe Kon?

Nnoitra gets Mantis style to himself.

Loly actually can fit into the very specific fictional Centipede style, from the movie 5 Deadly Venoms --not sure what to do with the other 3 though.... they don't have obvious direct matches to Scorpion, Lizard, and Toad styles.(the 5th is just a fictional Snake style)

I feel like Sui-feng, Barragan, and Askin could all get some variation of instant death moves like the Dim Mak.

Actually I guess the whole 4th division could get acupuncture style gimmicks

I dunno it would just be really fun to do a big kung fu reskin of the cast and shuffle them into little schools together. Honestly if i had more patience I'd go tracking down a bunch of old movie fight scenes, and try to clip out exemplar bits for each style and make gifs of them for visual aide, but like... that's a lot of work. and i'm lazy

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Ten

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Chapter Ten: The Bonds That Tie

Word Count: 7,806

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella continues her journey of self-discovery, wrestling with the pressures of training and expectations in the Red Keep. Amidst the trials, she finds moments of connection—Aegon’s playful teasing, Aemond’s steady encouragement, and Helaena’s quiet wisdom—each contributing to her growing sense of belonging. Daemon’s stern yet supportive presence challenges her to rise to her potential, while the bonds with her cousins offer warmth and levity. Through struggles and shared secrets, Daella learns that her new life as a Targaryen is a blend of resilience, strength, and unexpected love.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

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A moon had passed since Daella’s arrival in King’s Landing, yet peace remained elusive. The Red Keep’s towering walls were not just stone but secrets that held her tight, reshaping her world into something both magnificent and terrifying. She was no longer just a bastard girl from a brothel. She was a Targaryen—her name now heavy with power, expectations, and responsibilities that felt far too large for her small shoulders. A castle that had once been a distant silhouette, looming over King’s Landing like a fortress in a child’s story, had become her home—a home that seemed intent on swallowing her whole.

Her cousins, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena, had woven themselves into her new life, each leaving an indelible mark. Aegon’s teasing, though relentless, carried an odd sense of comfort. His words were sharp but never cruel, like a mischievous game she hadn’t expected to enjoy. The way he taunted her was different from the jeers she had known growing up—a challenge rather than a slight, an invitation to push back rather than shrink away. Helaena, in contrast, was like a shadow, drifting in and out of Daella’s days with an ethereal presence. She whispered of dreams and strange sights, her eyes always distant, her words lingering in the air like the echoes of forgotten myths. Helaena spoke of things that made no sense, yet Daella couldn’t shake the feeling that there were truths buried within those strange phrases, truths that would one day mean something to her.

But it was Aemond whose absence gnawed at her most. In the beginning, they had shared moments of quiet understanding—hours spent in the dusty, forgotten corners of the castle, where they would trace their fingers over the old maps and dream of dragons. Lately, though, Aemond had grown distant. Where once there had been shared smiles and soft words, now there were only glances that avoided her own, his presence slipping away like the wind between the leaves. Daella couldn’t explain the hollow ache that his avoidance left in her, nor could she deny the sting of it. What had she done wrong?

And there was her father—Daemon. His gaze was always on her, watching, scrutinizing, filled with an expectation that was as heavy as the name she now bore. She could feel the heat of his disapproval when she lingered near her cousins, especially Aemond, as if he feared she would become soft, too attached. It was an unspoken barrier, a wall between them, built not of stone but of silence and the unfulfilled hopes she could feel every time his eyes met hers.

The warmth of the morning sun spread across the training yard, chasing the chill from the early hours, and casting long shadows over the stone. The clang of steel and barked orders echoed off the high walls, but Daella barely noticed, her focus locked on the wooden sword in her hands. Her fingers tightened around the hilt, the rough wood feeling too heavy, too awkward in her small grasp. Her legs quivered despite Daemon’s earlier command to relax. Her body remained tense, bracing for the inevitable critique, for the moment when her failures would be pointed out, exposed for all to see.

Her father stood a few paces away, his figure a sharp contrast to her own hesitant stance. He watched her with that calculating gaze she had come to know so well—sharp as Dark Sister, always seeking out her weaknesses. He held a wooden practice sword today, his stance relaxed, as if this was hardly worth his time. Everything about him spoke of ease, of confidence, while her nerves betrayed her every movement.

“You’re too tense,” Daemon said, his voice carrying that faint trace of amusement that somehow made everything worse, its edges pricking her pride. “Your sword isn’t a hammer, Daella. If you grip it like one, you’ll wear yourself out before the fight even starts. Relax your hands. Let the sword move with you, not against you.”

She nodded, her face flushed from exertion and the relentless heat of his gaze. Loosening her fingers felt unnatural, like she was losing control of the weapon. The sword wobbled in her grip, and her heart pounded as she quickly corrected her stance, afraid of dropping it, afraid of failing again. Frustration swelled inside her, a tide she couldn’t hold back.

Daemon’s expression softened, though his tone remained firm. “You’re fast, but right now you’re overthinking everything. Stop worrying about the sword. Focus on your feet.”

His words echoed in her mind, but they didn’t soothe the bubbling frustration in her chest. She wanted to please him, to prove she was worthy of his attention—worthy of being a Targaryen. But nothing felt right. Her legs felt heavy, her arms weak, and the sword… it felt like it was fighting her every step of the way, refusing to obey.

“Come at me,” Daemon instructed, stepping back, and raising his practice sword. His stance was open, almost daring her to attack. “Remember—speed, not strength.”

Daella hesitated, her grip instinctively tightening once more. She darted forward, her feet fumbling over the uneven stones beneath her. The sword seemed impossibly heavy in her small hands, dragging her down as she swung with all her might. Daemon sidestepped her easily, not even bothering to block, and she stumbled forward, barely catching herself before she fell.

“Too slow,” he said, though his voice held no malice, only patience. He stepped closer, tapping her shoulder lightly with the flat of his blade, a reminder of her vulnerability. “You’re trying to overpower it. You can’t force the sword to bend to your will. Let your body lead—your feet first, then the sword.”

Her frustration spiked, hot and sharp, a weight pressing against her chest. She wasn’t fast enough. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t enough.

She huffed, straightening with renewed determination. Her cheeks burned, the heat of embarrassment searing her skin, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to let it overwhelm her. She tightened her grip again, wanting—needing—to prove herself, to show him that she could do this. But it was harder than she had imagined. Every movement felt sluggish, every swing a failure.

“Again,” Daemon said, stepping back into position. “But this time, don’t rush. Study where I am, and aim for where I’m not.”

Daella’s breath hitched as her frustration ebbed, replaced by a fierce resolve. She couldn’t afford to give up. Not now. Not with his eyes on her—always watching, always judging. She adjusted her stance, mimicking the lightness of his posture. She could do this. She had to.

She darted to the side, her feet moving with more care. Her small size could be an advantage if only she could control it. But as she swung, her balance wavered, the sword wobbling once again. Daemon blocked effortlessly, his movements fluid, as though anticipating her every action. The impact of his block sent a shock through her arms, and she stumbled back, nearly losing her grip entirely.

“Better,” he said, his patience evident, his tone softer now, almost encouraging. “But you’re still leading with your arms. Watch my feet, not my sword.”

“I… I can’t!” she blurted, her voice edged with desperation. The sword felt like a burden, too heavy for her small frame, too clumsy in her hands. “It’s too heavy… and I’m too slow.”

Daemon’s gaze softened, and he knelt before her, bringing himself down to her level. His violet eyes met hers, their intensity softened by a gentleness that made her breath catch. “You’re not slow, Daella. You’re learning. The sword feels heavy because you’re fighting it, instead of letting it work with you.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her voice barely broke above a whisper. “But you’re not even trying, and I can’t even—” Her words trailed off, and she stared at the ground, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her failure, under the burden of being his daughter, of having to live up to his name.

Her father rested his hand on her shoulder, a rare moment of tenderness breaking through the usual stern exterior he presents during their training session. “Do you think I was born a swordsman?” he asked, his voice quiet, gentle in a way that cut through her frustration. “I was terrible when I first started. I stumbled. I fell. I bled. But I didn’t stop because it was hard. I kept going until my body learned how to move with the blade. You’ll do the same.”

A flicker of determination reignited within her. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t slow. She could be fast, just like he said. She would be.

“Now,” Daemon said, rising to his feet, his hand slipping away. “Forget the sword for a moment. Focus on your feet. Move. See where I am, and get to where I’m not.”

Daella took a deep breath, her hands still gripping the sword, though this time she tried to ease her hold, to let it flow with her movements rather than fighting against it. She studied Daemon’s stance, focusing on his feet rather than the blade.

She moved. Her feet were lighter, and quicker, though still awkward. She darted to the side, her heart pounding as she tried to remember not to think about the sword’s weight. Daemon turned, and before he could block, she slipped to the other side, her sword swinging wide. The strike was slow, and clumsy, but it connected—she tapped his arm with the flat of her blade.

Daella could hardly believe it. She had landed a hit. It had been awkward, a flicker of success amid countless mistakes, but it was something. Her heart pounded in her chest, and for the first time in days, she felt a surge of pride swell inside her. Daemon’s approval was subtle but clear—a slight nod, a ghost of a smile on his lips, a shift in his stance that told her she was finally on the right path.

“Not bad,” he said, warmth creeping into his voice. “You’re learning.”

She wanted to hold onto that feeling, to let it settle deep inside her where all the fear and uncertainty had taken root. She was learning. She was getting stronger. Slowly but surely, she was becoming the person her father believed she could be.

Just as Daella began to savour the small victory, the sound of familiar footsteps echoed across the training yard, shattering the fragile sense of accomplishment. She glanced over her shoulder, her breath still heavy from exertion. Aegon and Aemond strolled into the yard, both dressed in casual training attire, their presence a disruption that seemed almost inevitable.

“Well, well,” Aegon called out, his grin widening as he approached, “what do we have here? Daella Targaryen, the warrior? Or are you just playing at swords, trying to catch up to us?”

Aegon’s teasing had become familiar, and though his words could be biting, she found a strange comfort in them. It was almost like he was daring her to fight back, to prove herself. Daella bristled slightly, but her cheeks flushed more from the effort of her training than from his words.

Aemond, standing a bit behind his brother, was watching her closely. His gaze was sharper than Aegon’s, more observant, more intense. He didn’t speak at first, his purple eyes studying her form as she gripped the wooden sword tightly.

“She’s improving,” Aemond said, at last, his voice soft but certain. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

The simple acknowledgement sent a ripple through Daella, a small bloom of warmth in her chest. Aemond had been distant lately, more reserved than usual, but the weight of his words now stirred something inside her. Pride, perhaps. Or maybe it was something else—something she didn’t quite have the words for.

“I’m getting faster,” Daella said, though her voice was quieter now, almost unsure. “Father said so.”

Aegon laughed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated disbelief. “Oh, did he now? Well, let’s see about that! What do you think, Aemond? Should we test her?”

Aemond’s eyes flickered between Daella and Aegon, a slight tension in the air between the brothers, as there often was—Aegon always needing to prove himself, to be the best, and Aemond with his quiet intensity, his subtle defiance. Aegon’s teasing was lighthearted, but there was always an edge to it, especially when he felt challenged.

Before Daella could even respond, Daemon’s voice cut through the moment. “She’s not ready for whatever nonsense you’re planning, Aegon,” he said, his tone edged with warning. “And I’m not interested in cleaning up after you.”

Aegon pouted, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Oh, come on, Uncle! I wouldn’t hurt her—she’s my cousin.” He looked at Daella with a mischievous grin. “Besides, it’d be fun.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, and Aegon instantly sensed the seriousness behind them. “Leave her be,” Daemon said firmly, his voice low, protective.

Aegon shrugged, the playful smirk still plastered on his face as he turned back to Daella. “Maybe next time, then.”

Daella felt a mix of relief and frustration. She knew Aegon was only teasing, but part of her wanted to prove herself to him too, to show that she wasn’t just some little girl who couldn’t keep up. She clenched the practice sword tighter, her knuckles white with effort, but she said nothing, her eyes flicking briefly to Aemond.

Aemond, unlike his brother, hadn’t moved. He stepped forward slightly, his gaze still focused on her, his voice calm, lacking the teasing tone Aegon always carried. “You’re holding it too tight,” he said softly. “If you don’t loosen your grip, your arms will tire before you even get a good strike in.”

Daella blinked, looking down at her hands. She had heard the same advice from her father, but hearing it from Aemond, someone her own age, made it feel different—more real somehow. She tried to loosen her grip, though the sword still felt awkward and heavy.

“Good,” Aemond said with a small nod, noticing the change.

Aegon, meanwhile, leaned lazily against the stone wall, clearly growing bored of the exchange. “Oh, look at you, Aemond. Giving her advice now? You sound like an old man.”

Aemond shot his brother a sharp glance, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing in response. His eyes returned to Daella, and she felt the weight of his focus settle on her again. There was something about the way Aemond looked at her, that made her feel understood.

Her father’s hand suddenly came to rest on her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. “That’s enough for today, zaldrītsos,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with pride. “You’ve done well.”

Daella’s heart swelled at the familiar term of endearment—little dragon. She wanted to keep going, to prove she could be faster, stronger, but her arms ached, and her legs trembled with the effort of the morning’s training. She had done her best, but exhaustion was settling in fast.

“I’ll be faster next time,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination.

Her father smiled, his hand brushing through her dark silver hair. “I know you will. And soon enough, no one will be able to catch you.”

As her father stepped back, allowing Daella a moment to catch her breath, Aegon clapped his hands together, breaking the stillness. “Well then, if training’s over, who’s up for a game of dragon’s egg? I’ll even let Aemond try and keep up this time.”

Aemond shot him a withering look but said nothing, clearly uninterested in whatever game his older brother had in mind.

“I think I’ll pass,” Daella said, offering a small, tired smile. The weight of the sword still clung to her, and the thought of running around after Aegon made her limbs feel even heavier.

Aegon shrugged, unfazed. “Suit yourself, but don’t complain when we have all the fun.”

With that, Aegon bounded off toward the far end of the training yard, already calling out to one of the servants to fetch something for his game. Aemond lingered for a moment, his gaze still on Daella, before turning to follow his brother.

As she watched them disappear into the shadowed corridors of the Red Keep, Daella let out a long breath. She had survived another day of training, but something deeper lingered in her mind—a growing sense of uncertainty about her place in this world of dragons and swords. She was a Targaryen. And one day, she would prove it.

“I’ll be faster next time,” she whispered again, this time to herself.

The warmth of the midday sun had chased away the morning mist, but Daella still felt the chill lingering in her bones from the morning's training. She sat cross-legged in the shade of the stables, her legs stretched out in front of her as she watched Aegon and Aemond spar in the training yard. The rhythmic clack of their wooden swords echoed through the courtyard, each strike deliberate, like a beat in a song she was just beginning to learn. There was something magical about it, a promise of strength and skill she longed to grasp.

Aemond’s strikes were sharp and precise, each move calculated, while Aegon’s fighting style was reckless, his wild swings often catching his brother off guard. Aegon laughed when he knocked Aemond back, his joy contagious despite the sloppiness of his form. The playfulness of their sparring contrasted with the intense seriousness of her earlier lesson with her father. She could still feel the weight of the practice sword in her small hands, her palms tingling from the effort to hold it steady, her fathers voice echoing in her mind—firm, demanding, but never unkind.

Her gaze dropped to her own wooden sword, its worn hilt resting beside her on the ground. She traced the rough carvings with her fingers, feeling the ridges and remembering the struggle to follow her father’s instructions. Aegon and Aemond embodied everything she wanted to be—bold, fearless, and completely at ease with their swords. She couldn’t imagine herself like that. Not yet.

"Thinking about this morning, aren’t you?" a soft voice spoke from behind, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She turned, blinking up at Ser Harwin, who smiled down at her. His large shadow fell over her, shielding her from the glare of the sun. She hadn’t heard him approach, but his presence brought a warmth that made the knots of doubt in her chest loosen, at least for a moment.

“I... I wasn’t fast enough,” Daella admitted, looking away, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “And I still can’t hold the sword right.”

Harwin chuckled, lowering himself to sit beside her. The wooden bench creaked under his weight, and he leaned back, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched Aegon and Aemond. “It was your first real lesson, little flame,” he said, his voice gentle and steady. “You can’t expect to be as skilled as them overnight. It takes time. Practice.”

Daella chewed her lip, her eyes drifting back toward her cousins. Aegon had just knocked Aemond’s sword from his hand, laughing as Aemond’s face turned a shade of red, his eyes narrowing with irritation. Aemond picked up his sword and swung at Aegon with renewed determination. He was smaller and slighter than his brother, but there was a fierceness in his eyes, a burning desire to prove himself that Daella couldn’t help but admire.

“I want to be faster,” she said softly, her voice nearly drowned out by the clamour of the courtyard. She gripped her practice sword tighter, her fingers pressing into the wood until her knuckles turned white. “I want to be as good as them. As good as Father. As good as you.”

Harwin smiled, his gaze softening as he turned his attention to her. He reached over, stroking her hair—much like Daemon had earlier that day. “And you will be. In time,” he said. “Don’t rush yourself, Daella. You’ve already made more progress than you realise.”

Daella looked up at him, her violet eyes wide and hopeful. She wanted so much to believe him—that one day she could be as strong as her father, as fearless as her cousins. “I’ll practice every day,” she said, her voice firmer now, filled with quiet resolve. “I want to be great.”

Harwin’s laughter was rich and warm, like the crackling of a hearth on a cold night. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, his eyes glinting with pride. “You’ve always been stubborn, Daella.” He gave her a playful smirk.

She giggled, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder, her tiny fist hardly making a dent. Harwin barely moved, his body like a wall of muscle, but her laughter made her feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted from her chest. Perhaps it was because of Harwin’s words, or the small progress she’d made that morning with Daemon, but for the first time that day, Daella felt a little bit more confident, a little more sure of her place here.

Aegon and Aemond’s sparring session was winding down, Aemond scowling as Aegon ruffled his hair in triumph. Daella stood, brushing the dirt from her tunic. “I’ll be faster tomorrow,” she murmured, more to herself than to Ser Harwin. There was a fire in her voice that hadn’t been there before, a quiet determination that made Harwin smile.

With that fire in her heart, she turned away from the training yard and headed towards the Keep. The corridors were busy, filled with a frantic energy that hinted at something special. She quickly realised it was the preparations for Princess Rhaenyra’s upcoming wedding—banners of House Targaryen and House Velaryon being hung along the walls, the vibrant reds, blacks, and blues adding splashes of colour to the muted stone. The scent of freshly baked bread and blooming flowers filled the air, mingling with the ever-present smoke from the kitchens.

As she passed by a large window, Daella paused, leaning against the cool stone ledge as she gazed out over King’s Landing. The sight of the bustling streets below, the smallfolk going about their day, made her think of her old life—the brothel, Rosalie, the warmth of the women who had cared for her. Did they know where she was now? Did they think of her as often as she thought of them? Part of her missed that simplicity, that feeling of being protected, but another part of her knew there was no going back. Not now. She was Daemon’s daughter—a Targaryen. It was a heavy mantle, but one she was determined to bear.

"Daella?" a soft voice called, breaking her thoughts.

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Princess Helaena. The young girl, only a few years older than Daella, stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her lips curved into a shy smile. Helaena’s gaze was distant, as though her mind was in a world all her own, but her eyes were gentle, a warmth that made Daella feel at ease.

“Princess Helaena,” Daella said, curtsying awkwardly, her fingers bunching the fabric of her tunic.

Helaena’s smile grew, her voice soft as a breeze. “You don’t need to call me that. We’re cousins now, aren’t we?” She said the word "cousins" as if it held a special kind of magic, as though the bond of family was something precious. Her gaze drifted past Daella to the training yard beyond the window. “I saw you watching Aegon and Aemond. Do you like swords?”

Daella nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “I want to be good with one. Like Father. Like Ser Harwin.”

Helaena tilted her head, her pale silver hair shifting around her shoulders like a veil. “Swords are sharp. They can cut both ways, you know,” she whispered, her voice almost distant. Her gaze flicked back to Daella, her eyes wide and filled with something otherworldly. “But there are other ways to be strong. Not just with steel.”

Daella blinked, her brows furrowing slightly. She never quite understood Helaena’s words, but there was always a sense of truth in them. “What other ways?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a breath.

Helaena’s eyes lit up, her lips curling into an excited smile as if Daella had asked the perfect question. “Knowledge, kindness, understanding,” she said, her fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the windowsill. “And dragons. Dragons make us strong too.”

A shiver ran down Daella’s spine at the mention of dragons. She thought of Caraxes, of the way her father had spoken of her one day having her own. It felt like a dream—something too grand, too impossible. But hearing Helaena speak of it, so calmly, so confidently, made it seem a little more real, a little more possible.

“You have a dragon, don’t you?” Daella asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. She had heard whispers about Helaena’s dragon, Dreamfyre, but hadn’t dared ask before.

Helaena’s gaze softened, her distant expression melting into something warmer. “Dreamfyre,” she said reverently. “She’s beautiful—like the sky at dawn, all blues and silvers. She’s old, but kind. She sings to me sometimes, when I visit her.”

“Does she listen to you?” Daella whispered, awestruck. She could hardly imagine commanding a creature so powerful.

Helaena nodded, her eyes drifting, as if she were seeing something beyond the walls of the Keep. “She does. Not in words, but in feelings. When I’m near her, I feel... safe. Like nothing can hurt me.” She paused, her gaze meeting Daella’s. “One day, you’ll have a dragon too. And you’ll understand.”

Daella’s heart skipped a beat. The idea of having a dragon—a creature as majestic as Caraxes or Dreamfyre—felt almost impossible. But Helaena’s quiet confidence made her believe that perhaps, one day, it could happen. That she could be as strong as her father, not just with a sword, but with a dragon by her side.

Suddenly, Helaena’s eyes brightened, as though she had thought of something wonderful. She took a step forward and, to Daella’s surprise, took her hand. Daella’s eyes widened at the unexpected gesture, her heart giving a small jump. Helaena’s touch was light, almost fragile, but there was a determination behind it.

“Come,” Helaena said, her voice filled with a childlike excitement. “I want to show you something.”

Daella hesitated, glancing down the bustling corridor. She wasn’t sure she should wander off, not with all the preparations for Rhaenyra’s wedding, but there was something in Helaena’s eyes—a warmth, a promise of something special. She nodded, allowing Helaena to lead her through the winding corridors.

Their footsteps echoed in the quieter parts of the Keep, the noise of the bustling servants fading behind them as they ventured deeper into its older, more forgotten corners. The halls grew narrower, the air cooler, and finally, Helaena stopped before an old wooden door. She pushed it open, revealing a small chamber filled with shelves of jars, books, and curious trinkets.

“What is this place?” Daella whispered, her eyes widening. It felt like she had stepped into another world.

“It’s my collection,” Helaena said with quiet pride. She led Daella inside, her fingers brushing over a table cluttered with glass jars. Each jar held a different insect—beetles, moths, butterflies, even a few spiders—all carefully labelled with neat tags. It was like a library of tiny creatures, each one perfectly preserved.

Helaena picked up a jar containing a large beetle with iridescent wings that shimmered in the dim light. “This one’s called a Jewel Beetle. They say its colours come from the fire of dragons.” She smiled. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Daella nodded, her eyes wide with wonder. The beetle’s wings were like tiny pieces of stained glass, shimmering with hues of green and blue. It was strange, beautiful—delicate, yet full of something magical.

“Each of them has a story,” Helaena continued, her gaze drifting over her collection. “They teach us things if we watch closely—patience, resilience. This one,” she pointed to a jar with a spider spinning a delicate web, “teaches us how to build, even in the dark, even when everything seems hopeless.”

Daella stared at the spider, her mind wandering to her own journey here—to finding her place in a world that often felt too big and overwhelming. “They’re like us,” she said softly, her eyes still on the spider. “Trying to find their place.”

Helaena smiled at her, a soft, understanding smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “Exactly. We’re all trying to find our place. And sometimes, we need a little help.”

She set the jar down gently, turning to a shelf of worn books. She pulled one from the stack, the leather cover cracked and faded. “This book has drawings of all the insects I’ve found,” she said, handing it to Daella. “It’s helped me understand them better. Maybe it will help you too.”

Daella took the book, her fingers brushing over the cover. It felt heavy, and important, like it held secrets she was meant to uncover. “Thank you, Helaena,” she whispered, her voice full of sincerity.

“You’re welcome, Daella. You can come here anytime you want. The insects don’t mind visitors. And neither do I.”

Daella found herself completely entranced in Helaena’s world—her gentle explanations, her fascination with the small, fragile lives captured in glass. Time seemed to slip away unnoticed, and Daella listened as Helaena spoke, her voice weaving a spell as intricate as the webs the spiders spun in their jars. It made Daella feel as though she were part of something larger, like the beetles and the butterflies, each of them small but meaningful.

Helaena’s words shifted to stories of Dreamfyre, her dragon. She spoke of the sky, the feeling of soaring above the world, the wind in her hair, the powerful rush of the earth falling away beneath her. Her descriptions were so vivid, Daella could almost feel it herself—the sting of cold air, the thunderous beat of wings. For a moment, she imagined herself there—beside Helaena, flying over the city, the world stretching out endlessly below. It was a dream that filled her chest with warmth, a hope she held tightly.

As the light in the room began to fade, Helaena paused, her eyes flicking to the window. “It’s getting late,” she murmured, her gaze drifting back to Daella, her smile warm. “You should go before they come looking for you.”

Daella nodded, slowly rising to her feet, reluctant to leave the warmth of this quiet sanctuary. She held out the book, but Helaena shook her head. “Keep it,” she said softly. “There’s still much for you to learn. And when you’re ready, we’ll add your dragon to it.”

Daella’s heart swelled, her eyes wide with wonder and gratitude. “Thank you, Helaena,” she whispered, clutching the book tightly to her chest.

Helaena’s smile widened, her eyes glimmering. “Until next time, cousin,” she said, her voice barely louder than the soft flutter of wings in the jars around them.

As Daella left the room, she glanced back once, seeing Helaena already lost in her world again, her fingers brushing over her collection. The walk back to her chambers felt different now—more purposeful, like she was carrying something precious with her. She held the book close, her fingers tracing its worn cover as she navigated the Red Keep’s winding corridors. The halls were quieter, the day slowly giving way to night. When she finally reached her chambers, she felt the weight of the book in her hands—a promise, a piece of belonging she hadn’t known she was missing.

The door creaked slightly as Daella pushed it open, stepping into the room that had been prepared for her. The first thing that struck her was the sheer size—it was larger than anything she had ever known, far different from the cramped, shadowed quarters of the brothel or the stark, stone chambers of the servants in King's Landing. Here, the space breathed warmth and comfort, with the evening light filtering through tall, narrow windows, casting long, dancing shadows across the polished stone floor.

A heavy wooden bed stood against one wall, its frame intricately carved with dragons and Valyrian symbols that she still struggled to decipher. The bed was piled high with thick furs and soft linens dyed in the deep, rich reds and blacks of House Targaryen. It looked like something from the stories Ser Harwin had told her on cold, lonely nights—a bed fit for a princess. Yet, the thought made her uneasy. She still had trouble thinking of herself as anything other than a common street rat—a child of ash and shadows, not of grandeur.

Across the room, a small desk sat near one of the windows, a collection of parchment and ink neatly arranged on top, everything too pristine to touch. The fireplace, though currently empty, sat along the far wall, its mantel adorned with silver candlesticks, their gleam soft in the fading light. The shadows they cast reminded her of something alive, something that might slip away into the corners if she looked too closely. A wardrobe carved from dark wood stood in the corner, the dresses within an array of unfamiliar silks and velvets—garments far removed from the rough-spun cloth that had defined her past life. She hesitated to even open it, the clothes inside whispering of expectations she wasn’t sure she could ever fulfil.

Moving toward the window, she looked out at the sprawling city below, rooftops basked in the golden glow of the setting sun. The cool air slipped in through the slightly cracked panes, brushing against her face, carrying with it the scent of the distant sea, mingled with the faint perfume of the gardens below. It was peaceful, and quiet—a far cry from the bawdy laughter of the brothel or the bustling market noise that had always filled her ears. A place she barely recognised, yet slowly felt drawn to.

With a sigh, she turned back toward the bed, placing Helaena’s book gently on the desk beside her High Valyrian texts and the worn journal of Queen Visenya. Her fingers traced the cover of Visenya's journal, the intricate, fading embossing hinting at its age and its secrets. The journal intrigued her—tales written by a queen of fire and blood, pages heavy with triumphs and sacrifices that Daella couldn’t yet comprehend. Every time she believed she had understood the meaning behind the words, another layer seemed to slip from her grasp, elusive as smoke.

She climbed onto the bed, curling into the soft weight of the furs, the texture a strange comfort beneath her fingertips. She pulled her knees to her chest, the world narrowing around the flicker of the candlelight and the journal’s pages. As she opened the book to a familiar entry, her voice broke the silence, a quiet murmur as she read aloud. The stories spoke of a queen’s strength, her unyielding will, and the burden of wielding power so great it shaped kingdoms. Daella felt a mixture of awe and distance—Visenya’s courage and strength were admirable, but they felt like things far beyond her reach.

She paused at a passage detailing Visenya’s bond with her dragon, Vhagar. It wasn’t just about power; it was about something much deeper—a connection that seemed almost sacred. Daella’s fingers skimmed across the words, her heart heavy with yearning. She could almost see it, feel it—the thrill and the weight of responsibility that came with commanding such a creature. She wondered if she could ever share such a bond. Could she ever be like Visenya, fierce and unyielding, with her own place in the world?

As she read, Daella found herself slipping deeper into the stories. There was a strange comfort in these tales, even if she couldn’t fully grasp their meaning. The words painted vivid images in her mind—images of dragons and fire, of queens who refused to bend. They were images that made her chest ache with both hope and uncertainty. Could she ever be that strong? Could she ever claim her place among them?

She imagined herself older, standing beside her own dragon as her father did with Caraxes. The thought filled her with equal parts excitement and doubt. She was beginning to feel a sense of belonging here, among the Targaryens, but the reality of that life still felt overwhelming. Was she really a part of all this, or was she just a child lost in someone else's story?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door—a sharp sound that startled her, breaking the silence. She quickly closed the journal, her heart pounding from the unexpected noise. The knock came again, more insistent this time. She slipped off the bed, her bare feet cold against the stone floor as she made her way to the door.

Hesitation gripped her for a moment before she pulled the door open, her eyes widening as she found Aegon leaning against the doorframe, his silver hair tousled and a lazy grin on his face. He looked like he had wandered aimlessly, his expression caught somewhere between boredom and curiosity.

“Well, if it isn’t my little Ella,” Aegon drawled, his tone dripping with mock theatrics. He looked her over, his eyebrows raising in amusement. “Tucked away in your dusty books again? Don’t you know there’s more to life than staring at words all night?”

Daella frowned, tilting her head. “It’s late, Aegon. I thought everyone was asleep,” she said quietly, a slight defensiveness in her voice. She wasn’t quite sure why he had come looking for her.

Aegon gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as if deeply disappointed. “Everyone else is asleep or arguing. Frankly, it’s boring as hell.” He flashed her a grin. “Supper’s long over, and you missed the excitement. I thought I’d rescue you from whatever riveting history scroll you’ve been reading and show you what the Red Keep looks like after dark. It’s much more interesting when no one’s looking over your shoulder.”

Daella blinked, hesitation and curiosity flickering across her face. She glanced back into her room, her gaze lingering on the journal resting atop her bed. She had missed supper entirely, losing herself in Queen Visenya’s words and the weight of her legacy. And now here was Aegon, with that impish look that made her feel a little less alone—like maybe she didn’t need to carry everything so heavily all the time. She nodded slowly, closing the door behind her softly as she stepped out into the hallway. “All right,” she murmured, her voice still soft, but a hint of curiosity there.

Aegon’s grin widened, his eyes glinting mischievously. “That’s the spirit!” He gestured for her to follow, and they began walking down the dimly lit corridor. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the stone walls, the quiet of the castle surrounding them. He moved with easy confidence, almost a swagger, his footsteps echoing softly. Daella followed close behind, her eyes widening at the unfamiliarity of the empty halls and the way the keep seemed to transform at night.

“So,” Aegon started after a while, glancing back at her. “You’ve been hiding away in that room of yours a lot lately. What’s got you so fascinated? Old dusty dragon tales?” His tone was laced with teasing, a crooked smile on his lips.

“There’s a lot I need to learn,” Daella replied, her tone growing defensive. “About dragons, about our family… about what it means to be here.”

Aegon snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, please. You’re starting to sound like a Maester.” He gave her a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You know, Ella, there’s more to life than just studying old books. What you need is a little fun. That’s what the Red Keep after dark is for.”

She looked up at him, her expression unsure. Fun wasn’t something she’d had much of since arriving at the Red Keep. Everything here mattered too much—every glance, every word, every lesson felt like something that would determine her future. But Aegon’s carefree words were like a breeze blowing through her mind, loosening some of that heaviness.

He turned sharply, guiding them down a narrow, steep staircase. The air grew cooler, the shadows lengthening as they moved deeper into a part of the keep she’d never seen before. He glanced over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve got a secret spot. Somewhere to get away from all the ‘important’ stuff,” he said, mimicking her serious tone. “I think you could use it.”

Finally, they emerged into a small courtyard, hidden away behind ivy-covered walls. The moonlight poured down, casting a silvery glow on the stone benches and the old tree that stood in the centre, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. Flowers still bloomed, their fragrance mingling with the cool night air. Aegon flopped down onto one of the benches, stretching his legs out comfortably.

“See?” he said, looking at her expectantly. “Not everything has to be about dragons and lessons. Sometimes, it’s just about sitting under the stars and remembering there’s a world beyond all that.”

Daella tilted her head back, her gaze lifting to the vast sky dotted with stars. The cool air brushed against her skin, and for a moment, she felt some of the weight on her shoulders ease. She sighed softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. Maybe Aegon was right—maybe there was more to life than just trying to belong.

Aegon glanced at her, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Then, with a quick movement, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small book. He held it out to her, his usual mischievous look returning. “Here,” he said, almost as if it was an afterthought, though his eyes held a hint of intention. “It’s different from what you’re used to—no dragons, no grand battles. Just some old tales. Figured you could use a break from all the seriousness.”

Daella blinked, surprised. She took the book, her fingers running over its worn leather cover. It felt lighter than the weighty tomes she had been studying—more inviting. She looked up at him, her eyes softening. “Thank you, Egg,” she said quietly, a genuine smile forming.

Aegon grinned, leaning back with an air of exaggerated self-satisfaction. “Don’t mention it, Ella. Just don’t go getting all sentimental on me, all right? I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” He nudged her with his elbow, his grin widening. “Besides, I can’t let you turn into some stuffy Maester. Life’s too short for that.”

Daella laughed softly, the tension in her chest loosening. “I promise I won’t. As long as you promise not to get us into too much trouble.”

Aegon snickered, his grin turning into a smirk. “Trouble? Me?” He placed a hand over his heart with mock innocence. “I’d never dream of it.” He winked at her. “But, you know, trouble has a funny way of finding me anyway.”

They sat there in silence for a while, a sense of comfort settling between them. The courtyard felt like their own secret space—a place untouched by the heaviness of her new life. Daella traced the edges of the book, her heart feeling a little lighter, the weight of expectations not as crushing here beneath the stars.

Eventually, Aegon’s voice broke the quiet, his tone still playful but holding a note of something deeper. “You know, Mother told us to stay away from you.”

Daella’s head turned sharply, her eyes widening. “She did?” she asked, her voice quiet, hurt flickering in her gaze.

Aegon nodded, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Yep. Said you were Daemon’s problem, not ours. Told us not to ‘get involved.’” He paused, his eyes glinting with something rebellious. “But you didn’t seem like much of a problem to me. Besides, I’m not exactly known for following rules.” He smirked, adding, “Especially hers.”

Daella looked down at her hands, her fingers brushing against the book. The words stung, settling heavily in her chest. She had felt the distance from the others, but hearing it confirmed made it sharper, more painful. “Why did you come, then?” she asked softly.

Aegon shrugged, a more genuine smile appearing on his lips. “Maybe I was curious. Maybe I thought you could use some excitement.” He nudged her again, his grin softening. “Turns out I was right. You needed a little trouble, and who better to deliver it?”

Daella smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. For tonight, she wasn’t just the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, trying to prove herself. She was simply a girl, sitting beneath the stars, with a cousin who had reached out despite everything.

“Thanks, Egg,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Aegon laughed, the sound carefree, his eyes sparkling. “Anytime, Ella. Just don’t make it a habit, yeah? I’ve got to keep up my ‘reckless prince’ image.” He stood, stretching his arms lazily before offering her his hand. “Come on, it’s late. If Mother finds us out here, she’ll probably have both our heads—and not in a fun way.”

Daella took his hand, letting him pull her up. The courtyard’s magic lingered, a promise of moments yet to come—moments of warmth, connection, and the small rebellions that made all the heaviness a little easier to bear. As they walked back, she held the book close to her chest, her heart a little lighter, her smile a little brighter, knowing she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.

After Aegon escorted her back to her chambers, Daella lingered at the door, watching as he gave her one last grin and sauntered down the hallway. She let out a small sigh and turned, her heart still light from their time beneath the stars. As she stepped into her chambers, she paused, noticing the flicker of firelight casting shadows against the walls.

A soft rustle caught her attention, and her breath stilled when she noticed Aemond sitting by the hearth, his small form almost swallowed by the large armchair, his eyes locked on the dancing flames. Seeing him there in her room sent her heart into a little jump—surprise mixing with a prickle of hope. It had been weeks since they’d spent time together. His absence had been sharp, like the pages of a book missing chapters.

“Aemond?” she called softly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a feather brushing against stone. She took a careful step closer, her expression balancing between uncertainty and hope.

Aemond’s gaze flicked up to hers for a second before dropping again, and Daella noticed the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped absently on the armrest. He didn’t respond, his eyes returning to the flames, as if trying to draw something from their warmth.

She closed the door behind her, the sound of it quiet but definitive. There was a thick tension in the air, like a storm hovering over the sea, waiting to break. She stepped closer, her bare feet almost soundless against the cold stone floor.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice barely louder than the whisper of the fire.

He looked back to the hearth, his expression unreadable. His fingers tapped a few more times before going still. When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant, almost lost in the crackle of the flames. “I wanted to see you.”

Daella’s heart twisted at the uncertainty in his voice. She took another step, closer now, her eyes fixed on his face. “But you’ve been avoiding me,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with hurt. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”

Aemond’s eyes met hers briefly, a flash of guilt before they fell away again. He took a deep breath, his shoulders tense, as if bracing himself. “You didn’t do anything,” he murmured. “It’s… Mother.”

Daella’s brows drew together, confusion coloring her features. “Your mother?” she repeated, her voice dipping with a mixture of confusion and worry.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on the floor now. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, the words escaping as though they pained him. “She told me to stay away from you,” he admitted, his voice tight. “She said you were… trouble. That you were Daemon’s problem, not ours.”

Daella’s chest tightened, her breath hitching. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled despite her best effort. “So you listened?” She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the sting in her eyes. “You just… left me?”

Aemond’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers, frustration sparking in the depths of his gaze. “I didn’t want to!” he said, louder now, the words almost tumbling over each other in his desperation. “I didn’t want to, Daella. But… she’s my mother. She told me it was for the best.”

Daella swallowed, feeling her heart ache at his words. She took another step forward, closing the distance between them, her eyes searching his face, trying to understand. “I thought you were my friend,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I thought you understood me.”

Aemond’s expression softened, the frustration fading as something else—something raw and uncertain—took its place. He stood up slowly, moving toward her, the firelight painting shifting shadows across his face. “I am your friend, Daella,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now, like he was scared the words would shatter if he spoke too loudly. “More than anyone.”

Daella looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why did you leave?” she asked, her voice so small it almost broke his heart.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm, hesitant and almost afraid to touch her. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “Mother said you were trouble, like your father—that being close to you would only bring problems. I didn’t want to believe her, but… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Daella’s heart twisted painfully at his words, but she could see the fear in his eyes—the fear of disappointing his mother, the fear of making a wrong choice. She took a deep breath, her small hand moving to rest on top of his, her fingers curling around his. “I don’t want to be trouble, Aemond,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I just want to be your friend.”

Aemond’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his gaze was that of a scared little boy, not a prince. He squeezed her hand gently, his own voice barely audible. “You are my friend, Daella. And I don’t care what Mother says anymore. I won’t avoid you again.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she took another small step forward, her free hand moving to rest on his shoulder. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. “Promise me no matter what anyone says, we’ll be there for each other.”

He looked into her eyes, and she could see something fierce and unwavering within them—a spark of the Aemond she knew, the one who wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I promise,” he said. “No matter what.”

Her heart felt lighter, the weight that had pressed on her for days finally easing. She nodded, her fingers tightening around his. “I promise too.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the firelight flickering around them, casting their shadows across the room. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic vow, but for Daella, it was enough. It was a promise, and it meant everything.

Daella finally stepped back, her hand slipping from his, though she still felt the warmth between them, the bond they’d just renewed. “We should get some sleep,” she said softly, a gentle warmth still in her voice. “It’s been a long day.”

Aemond nodded, his eyes meeting hers again, softer now, the tension that had coiled in his shoulders finally loosening. He hesitated, then offered a small, shy smile. “Goodnight, Daella,” he said, his voice gentle.

“Goodnight, Aemond,” she replied, her heart lighter than it had been in days.

He turned and made his way to the door, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. Daella watched him until he was out of sight, a faint smile still tugging at her lips. She turned back to the hearth, stepping closer and staring into the flickering flames, feeling the warmth seep into her skin.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt the warmth wasn’t just from the fire. It was from the promise they’d made—one forged not by duty or commands, but by something far more precious.

↞ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↠

[deathlessathanasia]

Aeschylus further developed this idea of an association between Ares and intra-familial strife in his Oresteia. In the Agamemnon, Cassandra compares Clytemnestra, about to murder her husband, with Scylla, who betrayed her father and city, and, describes her as a raging mother from Hades, breathing a truceless Ares against her dear ones. Cassandra explicitly portrays Clytemnestra’s future violence against her husband as analogous to, but separate from warfare, describing her crying out ὥσπερ, ‘as if’ turning an enemy to flight in battle. In this passage, Ares is presented as crossing the boundary between warfare and violence within the family. The Agamemnon’s chorus of Argive elders also associate the god, here more strongly personified, with the strife taking place within their royal family, telling how ‘black’ Ares forces his way, with further streams of kindred blood. In the second play of the trilogy, the Libation Bearers, violence within the family is again associated with Ares. As Orestes and Pylades force Clytemnestra into the palace, and, once out of sight, kill her, the Chorus announces that a twofold Ares has come to the house of Agamemnon. While this may refer to the avenging pairing of Orestes and Pylades, who may well be those referred to as a ‘twofold lion,’ it might also allude to the fact that this is the second round of familial violence to strike the household. It is possible that this is what Orestes means when, earlier in the play, he says that, ‘Ares will clash with Ares’. Note that in associating Ares with Orestes’ matricide, Aeschylus either echoes or is echoed by Pindar. This may derive from the direct influence of one poet upon the other, or a common source which may also feature Ares. Orestes, Pylades, Electra, and their violence are also identified with Ares in Sophocles’ later retelling of the story, which was certainly influenced by that of Aeschylus. Given that Ares is used quite infrequently by all three poets, this shared association of the god with the story of Orestes cannot be coincidental. Either the role of the god was thought to be integral to the myth, or the later poets are deliberately echoing their predecessors. It is in the Eumenides, the concluding part of Aeschylus’ Oresteia, however, that this idea of Ares as strife within the family receives its clearest formulation, when the chorus of Erinyes describe how, whenever Ares, “being domestic [τιθασός], takes away a dear one” they hunt him down. The hypothetical killer is here identified with Ares, as Orestes and Pylades are in the Libation Bearers. This direct identification of the perpetrators of violence with Ares applies to the individual acting within the household, an idea that Aeschylus first appears to have developed to express the destructive warrior-strength of the Persian and Ionian armies in the Persians. The use of the adjective τιθασός to qualify Ares shows that it is a highly specific incarnation of the god who is involved in these episodes of intra-familial violence. - War and the Warrior: Functions of Ares in Literature and Cult by Alexander T. Millington

[undeadmagick]

Jörmungandr Guide

I've been posting a bit about the World Serpent and figured I should make a whole guide on him. Jörmungandr was the second deity that I began working with. And as he is a being with little information, despite having a major role in Norse myth, I find it difficult to easily devote myself to him so here's some advice for others! (Note: Most of the offerings and associations are UPG. This is what I have learned from my experience with Jörmungandr.)

Name: Jörmungandr (Yor-Mun-Gan-Dur). "jǫrmun" means "vast" or "immense". "gandr" is a little uncertain in definition but generally understood to mean "magic", "wand", or "beast".

Other Names: "Miðgarðsormr" meaning "World Serpent" or "Midgard Serpent". In Skaldic poetry, he can be seen as being referred to with some variation of "Reistr Jarðar" meaning "earth-twist" or "earth-curl".

Family:

Father: Loki, The Trickster God

Mother: Angrboða, Mother of Monsters

Brother: Fenrir, He Who Dwells in the Marshes

Sister: Hel, Goddess of Death

Main Myths: Thor lifting Jörmungandr disguised as a cat, Thor's fishing trip, Ragnarök

Common Misconception: Jörmungandr is neither evil nor the cause of Ragnarök. Jörmungandr is a neutral being who is the personification of rebirth and change. He is a warning of Ragnarök beginning, not the reason. Ragnarök is a fated event, always meant to happen. It's important to note that Ragnarök is not the END but the end of the world that WE know. In the myths, there are deities, like both Odin and Thor's children, who survive and begin anew in the new world which will be repopulated. Rebirth is core to Jörmungandr and it should be noted in his myths, besides Ragnarök, it is Thor who finds Jörmungandr. Jörmungandr is described to be an ouroboros who remains wrapped around Midgard, minding his own.

Past this will be UPG(Unverified Personal Gnosis) unless marked with an *, in which case, these symbols are mentioned in his myths.

Personality: Personally, in my presence, Jörmungandr is a very intimidating being. Not because he is purposely trying to scare those who interact with him, but because he is very firm and can be distant in his words. Very forward in his wants for you, he provides advice and doesn't demand anything in turn. Jörmungandr is not one who holds your hand to guide you. He is very much a being who wants to see you take charge in life. He cares less for physical offerings and more devotional acts that are beneficial to yourself. He wants your pursuit of change, your ambitions to thrive, your pursuit of life in general. While other deities may provide a familial bond with those who work with them, Jörmungandr is very much a stoic mentor who is waiting for you to show your efforts.

What you may learn with Jörmungandr: How to set and enforce boundaries, how to be comfortable with change, how to accept change and move on, self-confidence, self-care, how to take charge of your life, learn shadow work, learn ocean magick, learn runes, healing past traumas

Colors:

Black

Silver

Blue

White

Green

Animals:

Snakes*

Oxen*

Cats*

Fish

Wolves*

Elements:

Water*

Earth*

Fire

Crystals:

Clear Quartz

Black Obsidian

Black Tourmaline

Amazonite

Aquamarine

Moonstone

Tarot:

Wheel of Fortune

Death

The World

Six of Swords

Physical Offerings:

Seashells

Sand or rocks from the Beach

Sea Water

Storm Water

Snake-Related Imagery

World/Earth-Related* Imagery

Eggs

Snake Skin

Runes (Jera, Algiz, Laguz)

Lotus Scents

Water Lily Imagery

Ouroboros* Imagery

Devotional Acts:

Meditate to Ocean sounds

Light Incense

Pursue your goals

Shadow Work

Clean your local beach

Donate to ocean preservation charities

Donate to climate change prevention charities

Build emotional and mental strength

Honor his family (Loki, Hel, Fenrir, Angrboda)

Practicing protection and cleansing magick

Wear snake jewelry

Adopt and care for a snake/reptile

Share your meals with him

[szynkaaa]

BMW Journal Entries: The Three Tigers

Let's talk about the lore surrounding the three tigers from chapter 2! Bit of a sad story

Part 1 is about the monkeys from Mount HuaguoPart 2 is about Sun Wukong's armor pieces (and insight on his personality)

In chapter 2 of Black Myth Wukong, you can fight in total of three tigers, and what dya know their lore is connected too!

"Tiger Vanguard"

Unlocked by finding the Secret Location in chapter 2. He is the father of both Mad Tiger and Tiger Vanguard

He shows up in the original JTTW novel, and is the Yellow Wind Sage's vanguard.

His two sons are not mentioned in the original novel, but mentioned in the BMW journal entries

The guard rushed in to report. Out came two tiger cubs who hailed the vanguard as their father and made their courtesies. The older cub asked, "Where did you find this pale-faced monk?" The vanguard laughed. "A stroke of luck! I was patrolling the mountain and chanced upon him." The younger cub, overjoyed, said: "Well done, Father! Teach me how you did it someday." [...] The two young tigers followed their father out. The elder muttered, "Master has always devoured mortals without a second thought. There should be something he left unsaid." The younger added: "He seems almost… afraid of that mortal." Their father snapped: "You know nothing of the powers of our master! Long seasons have I served him. How could he shrink before any other?" The brothers exchanged glances but said no more. Scarcely half a day had passed when the master sent for them again. It was Sun Wukong challenging upon their gate. The Tiger Vanguard requested to face him, but the master demurred, "I fear you cannot prevail against him. You may well be wounded, and you must not then impute blame unto me." The vanguard's sons urged him to reconsider, but he paid them no heed. "Rest assured, you! Wait only until I return!"

Spoiler alert, he never returned cause Zhu Bajie killed him

In the secret location, we do not "kill" him after the battle, he accepts your strength and then allows you to go see the his master, the Yellow Wind Sage

Tiger Vanguard

the elder of the two tiger cubs. His father was the "Tiger Vanguard"

had to fend for themselves after their father died

Were in charge of other lesser yaoguai and looked out for them, their father taught them how to survive

managed to govern the yaoguai, things looked good. The mortals were happy about it and built a temple worshipping the tigers, the Crouching Tiger Temple

Younger brother - Mad Tiger - jealous as the mortal only worshipped the elder tiger

Yellow Wind Sage returns with a bunch of yao guais in tow, Mad Tiger blames the Sage for their father's death.

Both brother try to fight the Yellow Wind Sage and his minions, the elder going after the rat guais and the younger going after the Yellow Wind Sage himself

Yellow Wind Sage uses the severed head he carries (that has SWK artifact inside) to beat Mad Tiger. He is wounded badly.

Tiger Vanguard kneels down and begs for mercy to spare his brother's life

Yellow Wind Sage is like "ayo I know you two and I don't hold grudges. Have the title your father previously had and serve me". Eldest tiger became the new Tiger Vanguard for Yellow Wind Sage

Mad Tiger woke up, is not happy that his brother is the Tiger Vanguard and serving the yaoguai he deemed responsible for their father's death. Leaves and cuts off any family ties they had. sad.

In the Tiger Vanguard's eyes, that yellow-furred rat had twice destroyed his family and left them broken and scattered. He hated him for that, but he was no fool. As long as the rat had protection from the higher ones, what more could a tiger do beyond venting his rage by devouring a few lesser rats each day?

btw, the rat yaoguai were former humans. there's a lot to unpack there too so let's just throw the entire luggage away

Tiger's Acolyte

Not a tiger, but plays an important role to the Mad Tiger's story

Wandering swordsmand, who fell in love, settled down and they have a child

Wife and child both became ill, wife died, child is gravely ill. Sickness is caused by the wind from the Yellow Wind Sage

Hears about a Bodhisattva that can cure the illness, sets out with his sick son to find them

hears a tiger roar coming down from a well in a village, and like every horror movie protagonist ever, climbs down the well to check it out

finds a wounded tiger, our Mad Tiger

Mad Tiger pretends to be his brother, says he is revered by the village, he has a temple, but he was ambushed by lesser yaoguai and is now hiding and recovering

Swordsmand has his doubts, asks around, they say it's true, he goes back and begs for help

Mad Tiger has a magical gourd, gives the child a sip and child gets better

Mad Tiger says if he brings him human sacrifices to eat, he can recover and beat the Yellow Wind Sage and then heal the child completely

Swordsman wasn't sure at first, but saw his kid getting better each day, playing with the village child, so he agrees and starts leading villager down the well, thinking this will help the tiger recover and thus also helping his son fully recover

Villager found out what he did, and beat his son to death

The man was consumed by regret and drew the sword he had sealed away for years. He fell upon the villagers, and one by one, he cut them down, until the streets ran red with blood. Then, alone, he set out into the shifting sandstorm, lost in the ever-howling wind.

Mad Tiger

Mad Tiger got the magical gourd from his brother

Human child he saved is very polite and earnestly thanked the Mad Tiger for his help. Mad Tiger realizes it feels nice to be thanked and praised

Tells them to come back every day to take a sip otherwise the kid would get sick again

Kid calls Mad Tiger "Tiger God and shares his food, toys and stories from his life

Gave the gourd to the father and son duo, and kids health improved more and more each day

Stopped getting visits, thought they might have run off with his gourd so he left his well to go look for them

Walks into a horror scene, there is blood everywhere. Find the boy's body in a little coffin, the gourd still hanging around his neck

Tiger Brother carried the coffin back to the bottom of the well. He decided to wait until he was strong enough. One day, he would stop that cursed wind and sand…

Here is the cutscene of the ghost of the little boy leading SWK down the well and the intro the Mad Tiger boss battle

When you beath him, he says "I have yet to avenge my father..."

After you beat him, there is a single coffin in the cave. It plays a special cutscene, where you see the Destined One hesitating, before opening it - most likely because he knew what was inside. I can't find a video of the DO opening the coffing, but here is a video of what is inside the coffin: a human skeleton.

EDIT: here is a video of DO opening the coffing, massive thanks to @cosmic-fantasizer for providing the link

My thoughts/interpretation/word vomit:

From the tiger's story, it is clear that the Yellow Wind Sage ruined both families.

I didn't feel very strongly for the Tiger Vanguard (the elder tiger brother) because it took me fucking forever to beat his ass and at that point it was just personal and I really thought he was a dick eating humans all day long at his temple lol. But man now I just feel so sorry for all of them (even though they are all doing horrible things)

The Tiger Vanguard only surrendered to save his brother's life, and in turn also lost the only family he had left. But he was also eating on the rat yaoguai that used to be humans.

The Mad Tiger, who also lost his brother, and "found" a new one in the little kid, that praised and adored him, and played with him and shared his every day life stories with him. I think it's easy to say that he only did it so the child's father would bring humans to feast on (and I think the Tiger's Acolyte saw this all as transactional too), buuuut I think he truly came to care for the kid. He gave the kid the gourd, knowing there is risk they could just book it, and then carried the entire coffin back to his well after he found out he was beaten to death. I think that at first, his goal was to get stronger and beat the Yellow Wind Sage to avenge his father (which is what he says when he dies), but based on the journal entry, I think that it was also to avenge the little kid that became his friend.

Sure, the Mad Tiger was trying to get stronger to avenge his father, maybe the kid, BUT he was still eating the villagers to get stronger everyday.

Same goes for the Acolytes, yes he was doing it all for his kid, BUT he was still leading innocent people down to their death. And in turn, the villagers beat up his son to death, and then he also massacred the whole village.

I think as a player, it's easy for us to just go in and boink some enemies several times because they are in our way, and well we need the EXP to level up asap to get through the game. After deep diving into each character and reading their entires, I do appreciat that none of the characters are sorted into the good and bad archetype - rather there are different shades of greys. Overall the tiger's story are on of my favorite side stories in the game

To close up this post, here is a photo of the tigers after I am through with them:

[matbenetti17]

General Name: Medyna Blurr Name Meaning: Medyna's name cames from the city of Medina and has an assonance with the greek myth of "Medea" Age: 85 (she looks younger because she uses lots of Concealment Stones) Gender: Female Species: Witch Occupation: Producer of TV programs (on crystal balls) Coven: Illusion Sexuality: Heterosexual Residence: Boiling Isles Magic/Abilities Like all witches, her connection to magic comes from a sac of magic bile attached to her heart.

As a member of the Illussion Coven Medyna can cast spells that allow her to create illusions. Appearance Medyna has short ash blonde and white hair. She has a gold tooth and long painted nails.

She has grayish green eyes and wears lots of makeup.

Although she always wears two Concealment Stones, her black pearl earrings that practically make her look sixty-five, she also has enchanted the mirror that she wears on her chest to always show her an image of when she was young.

Even though she seems young, Medyna still needs to lean on a walking stick with (what seems to be) a very precious spherical Galdorstone set in it. In reality it is her disguised with an illusion palisman Eyeris, despite her closeness to the Emperor's Coven she has not been able to part with it. The wood of her staff contains some gold dust, making it a very valuable object despite being antiquated.

Medyna usually wears a light blue chemise, dark turquoise bell-bottom trousers with a golden trim and black ankle boots. To hide the wrinkles on her neck and hands she always wears a blue scarf and white gloves, adorned with golden rings.

Even her belt has gold details, a little gift she gave herself when her husband Aurelius died. Personality (WIP) Likes: Mirrors, gold, jewels, feeling and looking younger, having affairs with young men Dislikes: Being treated (and called) as a grandma Relationships (WIP) Stats Strength: 4 Speed: 4 Agility: 3 Stealth: 5 Wisdom: 8 Magic: 8 Speech: 10 Extra Family: Aurelius Goldflee (husband), Argos Goldflee (son), Nephele Weaver (daughter-in-law), Frezier, Gia and Zyler Goldflee (grandchildren), Tempest Kelley, Rose Goldflee and Orion (great grandchildren)

Allies: Emperor's Coven, Adrian Graye Vernworth, Tommy (boyfriend)

Pet: Eyeris, the spider-eye palisman

[exitoath]

What kind of DND characters would the RDR2 cast have?

Let's take a focus on the cowboys because as much as we may love Molly or Mary-Beth, if I include them it means having to assign characters like Pearson or Strauss, and as much as I would, I won't. (spoilers ahead ofc)

Sean Maguire: Sean loves being the center of attention, and as much as he may annoy the gang, he's still a lovable part of them. He's going to focus on having fun and a good time throughout the whole game, and definitely frustrating whoever has the displeasure of being the DM. Sean's energy fits that of a gnome, more focused on pleasure-seeking and going on adventures. His class being Rogue, archetype: Arcane Trickster.

Lenny Summers: Lenny is your average adventurer, he's not Bill who is so focused on making sure that everyone knows he's the toughest guy around (even though he's constantly made fun of for being not) or Sean who is focused on pleasures, he's just focused on doing what he can to survive, and that kind of simplicity in the life of the outlaw I think is a perfect fit for the Human Variant Fighter, Champion subclass.

Hosea Matthews: Hosea hates conflict, in-fighting, and is ultimately focused on living a comfortable life understanding that he doesn't have much time due to his age, reflecting Arthur's own journey of wanting to do good before his passing. However, still wishing to help the gang out, his focus is on illusions, trickery, and snake-oiling. Human Variant Bard, college of eloquence.

Bill Williamson: Bill is made fun of constantly, constantly angry and trying to act like a tough guy despite his intense insecurity. Emphasis on strength instead of intelligence, he'd ask to play as a full Orc Barbarian, Path of Berserker.

Javier Escuella: Javier is a great gunslinger, doesn't have the focus of brute like Bill, and knows when to have fun in life, as well as a great musician to cheer up the spirits of his allies. Human Variant, Bard College of Glamour.

Micah Bell: Bell wants to focus on Brute as much as Bill does. I wouldn't be surprised if Micah picked Paladin and breaks his oath within the first hour of the game. Perfect again for Barbarian path of the berserker, however unlike Bill he's a lot more self-assured, and has a more self-centered built philosophy by comparison. However! I definitely could see Micah playing Paladin Oath of Conquest. Due to his more established mindset compared to Bill who is too focused on his problems and angry to try and build on. I bet he'd pick Tiefling for the devilish look.

Charles Smith: I LOVE Charles so much. Tied between two identities, being black and being Native American, but with no roots, no real upbringing, his biggest problems are not understanding who he is as an individual. However, despite that and his frustrations, he's the most morally focused out of all the outlaws in the gang. He does not care if helping some people is annoying or could distract them from their goals, he will do what he believes is right despite all of that. Because of this character, I'm thinking half-elf, Paladin Oath of Devotion.

Sadie Adler: 💋 I love her maybe more than I do Charles, I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't include her. She is much MUCH more focused on vengeance, opposing the journey of Arthur and reflecting more of that of John's choice at the end. Sadie at two points in the game is referred to this relationship with death. From Arthur: "You and me? We're more ghosts than people." and telling John directly "I want to die." Sadie picks the Oath of Vengeance, not because she actually cares about making things right, but because she's trying to cope with the immense suffering that she has endured, and she hopes that during one of her many battles, that her own life ends.

Dutch Van Der Linde: The man, the myth, the legend. Dutch is in the same boat as Hosea. Though, while Hosea is more in the field of being a conartist, Dutch inspires his allies to stay together, that they're all one family and how they all can endure. Asking them to have faith, trust him. His biggest flaw is believing the same things he's selling, just as susceptible to manipulation as he manipulates others. Not to overlook his brutality and power, but his biggest focus would be perfect for the Bard of Lore.

Arthur Morgan: I mean.. Look it's in no way to seem redundant or obvious, but let's be real, Arthur Morgan fits into the Oath of Redemption. (I mean it's in the title) A man makes a million mistakes, one causes him to develop the illness that will end his life, so now doing all he can to make sure he does good before he passes.

John Marston: By no means is Marston a saint, or as good of a man that Arthur was, and I feel like that's the point of his character. John *is* a good man, but unlike Arthur, he's lived so sad of a life that it's created the uncaring character we see in RDR1. Losing all of what he called family, killing men because they looked at him funny, and even after settling down, he loses a daughter. The suffering the world has given him has caused him to only focus on living a simple life, protecting his family under any circumstances, and justifying every means to get his rightful goals. Paladin, Oath of Treachery.

[greatkittydream]

Rwby slasher AU

The fall of becon

Everything was on fire, body's Coverd the ground and jaune is runing as fast as he can.

His heart was pounding. He was rushing past corpses, giving them passery glances to see if they're at his teammates or Acquaintances.

"Dame it, why did this happen now! My team and rwby's were about to head out on a joint mission together, four "bonding".

Despite his cheery persona, jaune can not care less about the people he met. Indifference and annoyance was all he felt to others outside of his family.

Even that was a miracle onto itself, for jaune was a slasher. According to myth, when humanity rebelled, the gods cursed humanity with not only the grimm but slashers, immortal supernatural beings with a bloodlust to kill their fellow man. Unfeeling for others.

Wether that was true. He did not know what he did know was that he was one of these fabled slasher's.

The protocol for a slasher being born is to be killed if possible if not given up to atlas, to be put into a high security prison. He heard stories of what happened in there, spikes stabbed into joints to stop movement, mind numbing sensations, and forced sleep. The list just goes on and on.

Spotting a blonde corpse, he quickly ran to it, moving the hair out of the face before saying it wasn't yang. breath. He didn't know he was holding was released.

His breathing was erratic. And his chest hurt with how much it ached, and he didn't know why. He was not Hurt. There is no stable, no gunshot, nothing to harm him. And yet every corpse he found that looked vaguely like team rwby or his Caused him a pulse of pain. Or what he thought was pain. He'd never experienced any pain like this, though.

Pain was not something slashers experienced like regular people. There were all types. Biteng pains, aching pains, shocking pains, quick pains, and long pains. But not once did one linger after it went away. This one, though it hurt more than any of those. It was almost unbearable. He grit his teeth.

The only dame reason he went to this school was to take heat off his family. Wearing contacts to change his eye color from Purple to blue. An expensive illegality. His family burdened themselves with for his expenses. Just because some damed bandits decided to try and rob his home. He ended up butchering them, taking joy in their suffering.

One of the easiest ways to identify slashers, their eyes, a deep purple, almost black. Some of the stronger ones could change their eye color naturally, but most couldn't at a certain point. They stopped caring as well.

An explosion rocked the school. By this point, he was at a full sprint. He remembered that the cafeteria was a meeting place in case of a grimm horde attack, he hoped the other were there.

Memories flash through his mind Bringing a sense of ease to the pain he was feeling. Weiss would probably argue with Ruby about how they should stay in the cafeteria. Whereas Ruby would wanna go out and help the people.

And then he thought of why he was even here. He could just as easily leave. This was a perfect excuse to leave. Traumatized by the fall, heading back to his family would make perfect sense.

But some part of him argued that he didn't want. It would also be unlike his persona, kind and cheery and selfless. He was smashing open the cafeteria doors. He did not see every room full of students but blake Yang and two white Fang mongrols.

She launched forward. Her lilac eyes turned red. Mane of hair caught on fire.

Slice...

Yang fell into the road, besides blake screaming out in a pain as her arm fell to the floor.

"You see this blake, this is what happens when you betray your family. I'm going to give you one chance to make this right, kill her" Adams said as emotioned towards yang on the floor.

Jaune did not know what happened Adam made him annoyed, really annoyed. Jaune doesn't think there's been a time. He's been more annoyed in his entire life. His teeth cracked under his own jaw strength.

Everything in the world became defined to him. The only thing he could hear was a ringing. Shadow stepping behind Adam form the far end of the cafeteria directly behind him.

Blake had been trying to hold the recent wound not only hers but yang as well. Adam was definitely a tall imposing man 6'2. She had begged him to let her friend go. She'd do anything, just not kill her friends.

All it took was a blink, and then suddenly jaune was behind him. She took a sharp deep breath. Jaune is 6'6 Standing directly behind Adam. She didn't even know how he got hit there. But that's not what caught her breath. It was the DEAP purple eyes. he had Shards of glass that could be seen sticking out of his eyelids. He had clenched them so hard that he shattered his contacts, stabbing him into his eyes and eyelids. He didn't seem to care or notice. Maby both.

Jaune Grabed Adam by his hair and threw him into a pillar. The sound it made was deafening. A large crater formed as the boom was heard all around the cafeteria.

The other white fang member Whipped her whip out around jaune's throat, digging needles deep into it, injecting poisons that would paralyze a normal man.

Jaune was not a normal He marched over to Adam, he did not revel In his suffering, he was to "Annoyed" llia Was being dragged Her legs were firmly pointed in place. but she was still being dragged across the floor. Pulling with all her might, eventually the needle sunk into his neck further with a sickening squilch.

This didn't stop him. Blood run down his chest, and she twisted her hips even harder to try and stop him. The neck flesh around The neck gave way as the entire jugular and throat was ripped out. You could visibly see his spine. And yet, just like all slashers had healed. Muscle shot out like a web connecting and weaving itself back together. skin covered it up like some sort of sick tarp.

Adam had gotten back up to his knees and assessed the situation. Leaping to the side quickly to get out of the way of a hand pain for his throat. Only for a second one be caught around his dominant harm.

For all his natural strength, jaune was not skilled at all in fighting. Adam grabbed onto his sword and Sabed join the throat. Barely missing his spine due to luck.

Jaune Clinched his arm firmly wrapped around the elbow crunched. It it made a sickening sound like that of cereal being stomped on. In a blink, adam had cut off jaune's arm connected to his ruined limb. Next, he sliced open his eyes, leaving a four inch deep gash across his face and finally Spun and stabbed into his back directly into the spine, paralyzing jaune for short, while. Jonas slammed into the ground while adam quickly retreated llia hot on his tail.

Wounds, that would be impossible to recover from for a normal man. Were shrugged off mir seconds later all that damage and skill bought him thirty seconds. A normal slasher would have hunted him down. Fortunately for him, jaune had other concerns.

Step..step..step.

Blake Turned around and instinctual, fear have popped up. Purplize set off alarms and her brain after generations of being hunted by them, instinct took over. Shielding yang's body with her own.She was tense, waiting for something that happene.

Jaune crouched down "are you okay" Blake did not know how to respond "no but yang is worse...please help her." Tears build up in her eyes, Weeping them away. She was not going to show weakness in front of a slasher of all things.

She turned to confront her... associate. Jaune face was stone and very stern he had not moved even an eyebrow after his initial "annoyance". You would be forgiven for thinking he was completely emotionless to the suffering in front of him or even taking enjoyment in it. If it weren't for the tears, rolling down his face, blake really couldn't understand what was happening, right nore wanted to yang had long since passed out from blood loss.

Taking a deep breath and taking off his ruined shirt, he tied a tourniquet around what was left of her arm "there is a medkit in the hall I came from use it to stop the bleeding" He said in a low gruff voice Unlike his usual happy one or what she guessed, he faked.

"Were are you going?" "to find my team"

---------------------------------------------

Jaune finally made it to the top of the stairs. pyrrha is laing on the floor along with another woman. Jaune was about to run over before a large stinger place. Itself on his shoulder.

A maniac giggling could be hear.

"Hold on just one moment pale"

Turning around, he met deep, purple eyes of a scorpion fanuse. He wanted to put his fist through that face.

"Before we get all punchy, stabby on each other haha I'd like to clarify.I did you a little ah.. Favor your little girlfriend over there is just fine.A little paralyzed but, Ah..., well, you can probably take a guess from what." The man's tail swung in front of his own face.

"What do you want"

"Nothing nothing. Is there something wrong to wanting to help out a Fellow bless one"

"Tell me what you want, Or i'm going to Use your guts as a rope to hang you"

"HA That one's a classic, but you're not wrong. Our goddess, Could always use more And when I laid my eyes on you, I knew exactly what you were, but we Can save your initiation for later for now.I have to take this Very angry witch back to our goddess".

Jaune watched as the man grabbed the black haired woman and jumped off the side of the building. An never more carrying them off to gods knows where. The only thing he could think of is how he got into this situation.

---------------------------------------------

Well, there's part one of a potential series, our lovable jaune is basically autistic version of jason voorhees.

Watch as the precious little murder himBo. Discovers emotions such as anger, possibly, even hatred and love.