#ignore the wild variation in whether I feel like capitalizing names

[aramais]

OKAY so the whole aesthetic of the event was based around the hermit tarot card right. ena and kanade were the upright hermit (representing introspection and self discovery) while mafuyu and mizuki were reversed hermit (representing isolation and avoidance), as seen in the lower mv. card-wise, mizuki was specifically given the title of reverse hermit since the whole event focused on their reluctance to tell their secret to the rest of the band while ena was the hermit searcher as the one to reach out to mizuki and let them know they’re supported.

applying this framework to the riptide pirates, imo jay and gillion are represented by the reverse hermit while chip is upright. jay & gill spend much of riptide withdrawn and secretive while held back by the burdens of their past, oftentimes hiding from them like with jay being unable to tell her grandmother about her status as a pirate. chip, meanwhile, is the person that reached out to them and sees through the front they put up (i.e “I don’t believe that” in the block).

Therefore:

• In a jrwi version of prosekai, this would be a Jay and Chip centric event.

• Jay would have Mizuki’s card, paralleling the whole “big secret” + Jay is currently the most burdened by her big character conflict. They’re also both transfem ^-^

• Chip would have Ena’s card, being the one to offer Jay unconditional support while giving her the space to self reflect like Ena does with Mizuki in the event.

• Gillion would have Mafuyu’s card as the fellow reverse hermit.

• Bonus, I think it’d be fun if Niklaus had Meiko’s card (called scales of justice) bc I think the scales are fun symbolism

I have deranged thoughts about riptide pirates versions of the nightcord cards from the lower one’s eyes event does anyone want to hear them (rhetorical question you will hear them)

[starbornlioness]

@galrannoodle / @generalpitchiner / @mythorie

An ‘epilogue’ of sorts to another au- the princess mononoke drabble fill I made… years ago. I wanted a ‘what happened to those fuckers’ afterward sort of thing and well. Here we are. There was going to be some plot about settling into the modern world and some such thing, but as with many of my projects, it sort of petered out. This world was a mix of your standard human with some aliens that were there for like, ever. Because magic.

_____________________________________________

Believe in yourself         For you are an ancient, absent god  Discussed only rarely by literary scholars              So if you don’t believe

                              No one will. 

_______________________________________

They moved to this distant village years ago. It was at the time when it would be too noticeable, too unusual for him to remain living in the hollowed trees of the forest or the bird-like nests the lion built. He has watched the village grow from sleepy grouping of huts to a lonely backwater to a surprisingly popular tourist destination. 

The main draw is the resort-like inns, but there is an old temple to the north where those that still believe in the old gods can go to pray. Not as many people come for the temple anymore. It’s high on the mountain and hard to get to, even with all the modern conveniences available. 

The inn closest to the temple is the one he works at currently. It’s owned by an old couple and he helps them take care of the rooms and the hot spring out back and the ponds down the path, where there’s a small waterfall. They believe. They believe and so they do not mind when the cat arrives, slipping into the inn like she owns the place, much like any other domesticated cat would. 

She found him watching the rain as it fell, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s the fourth he’s had today, but he still doesn’t feel like sharing, moving it out of reach of the cat as she approaches. She huffs, annoyed.

{Selfish.} 

She’s looking at his coffee, trying her best to look as endearing as a domestic cat could. He does not look surprised at her words, nor does he respond to them verbally. He simply maintains eye contact and drains his mug in a long, slow gulp. She snorts but takes a seat next to him. The air around her shimmers, the illusion caught between keeping the deception up or simply letting it go, consequences be damned. It settles back, the air growing calm as the housecat shape sticks a little closer to her, rendering her as unremarkable as the rest of the town cats. The townspeople only see a black and white cat, larger than most and twice as friendly, but still just a cat. 

The rain began falling harder, the wind blowing some of it onto the porch. One of his ears twitched, but otherwise, he did nothing. She seems far more disgruntled than he is by the worsening weather. 

{There was talk of you in town.} The cat says as if this were important. 

“Yana, they always do.” Both the locals and the tourists seem incapable of minding their own business, although the locals are a bit more respectful. They know more than the tourists, however. He reached forward, setting his cup into the path of rain and letting the weather wash the ceramic for him. 

{That’s not the ‘you’ I am speaking of.} She replied, pointedly cryptic and annoyingly prim. {There is a person speaking of you. Asking questions. He is taking notes and he arrived two days ago.}

Before he can ask for more details, the cat is up and the last he sees of her is a flick of her tail as she disappears around the corner of the house. 

_______________________

“Any news from the village?” He asks the old woman over dinner that night. She laughs, her ears swiveling forward at his comment, interested in his sudden, well, interest. 

“Oh, yes. A late-season tourist. From the capital. Very friendly, and… very handsome.” She says, tone teasing. Her husband hides his own amusement in his teacup. She cackles. 

“We normally don’t get that many from the capital, and it’s far too late for the summer festivals that most scholars come to view at the temple.” The old woman nods at his comment. 

“Yes, very astute, but regardless, he says he’s a scholar. From the university. In the capital.” 

Her words sound almost impressed. Throk raises a brow, ears flattened. He takes a pointed, judgemental sip of his tea. ‘And your point is?’ 

The old woman doesn’t take offense to his unspoken words, but she does roll her eyes, muttering about how both he and Pelron- her husband, are so difficult to impress. 

“He says he’s doing research on the old gods and how they relate to the modern world.” Pelron says, ladling up another bowl of stew. “I think he mentioned the Skinny Man and that one grinning woman. He was asking all the elderly about stories they remembered. Kai volunteered me to tell some of the stories my grandfather told me, so I think he might be visiting towards the end of the month.” 

Throk blinked slowly, setting his bowl aside and slinking from the room. He was grateful for the warning, but did not think much of this new tourist- his interest waning the more he heard about the man. 

____________________

“You came down from the mountain to warn me of a…. Mortal scholar?” He stood before the altar of the fierce lion-dragon statues. It was one of the many smaller altars, the ones that were in the courtyard and open to the elements. It was still grand, despite the weather-worn exterior. Kalyana sat between its paws, basking on the sun-warmed stone. She always was a vain creature. She grinned at him, gold eyes practically glowing in the shadow of the statues. 

{If you asked more, you would have-}

He picked her up by the scruff. In the distance, one of the temple-volunteers gasped and took a step forward, no doubt to scold him. One of the older temple workers stopped them- ushering him away from Throk and Yana. She hung there, unconcerned by the man-handling. 

“Yes, I know, Yana. I am neither lazy nor stupid. He’s asking questions about the Night Walker. I still see no reason to be concerned.” This happened with scholars sometimes. Ten years ago, there had even been a group of them, brought to the mountains because of a movie that was popular. It was the same movie that had irritated Yana to no end- offended by how the B-rated horror movie portrayed her old self. 

{That is different. I was a well-known god. For hundreds of years. There were books on me, Throk. I am tied to the very land, to the concept of it.} 

He started walking towards one of the temple alcoves, the ones the priests would use for meditating. He passed a few on his way- one woman cracking an eye and smiling at him. She was one of the few humans here- most were like him or were mixed or some variation of it. Others they passed bowed; whether it was to him or the cat, he wasn’t sure and he didn’t care. 

Once they were settled out of view and comfortably in the shade, his lap was suddenly filled with a large lion, practically trapping him under her bulk. She chirped at him, and he dug his claws in, scratching at her ears and softening. 

“What is actually bothering you, you silly cat?” 

She purred as he pet and scratched, letting out a contented sigh as he reached a particularly good spot. 

{The nightwalker is dead, Throk. His concept is dead. The thing you embody is nothing like what Zed was. The use of his name to describe you bother me.} 

“It’s just a name.” 

{Names have power- why do you think it took me so long until I spoke to you about mine? We can be shaped by names, little one, molded and stretched to fit the words, and you are so very young in the scheme of things. It is much better to hide in the power of obscurity. To grow into yourself before belief can corrupt you into something you’d rather not be.}

He tugged on one of her whiskers, smiling as she snapped at the finger before aggressively grooming it. 

“It doesn’t seem to both you.” 

{My name came after I settled, and everything after was something I could guide and mold into what I wanted. You are still quite young.}

“I don’t see the danger of this scholar still. You said yourself- I am nothing like the Night Walker. Let him ask his questions. They will simply reveal what we already know; the old gods are dead and dying. Nothing more.” Were they at his house and were she in her smaller form, he would have dumped her off his lap for the repeated insistence that he was young and ignorant. Instead, he flicked her nose. 

She wrinkled her nose, tongue flicking out to lick over it. 

_______________________

Later that night he nursed a cup of coffee, watching the cat as she slunk back into the forest to do whatever it was that the old and wild gods did and mused over his own state of being. He had come to terms with it years ago, learning to cope with the unchanging aspect of himself and the quickly passing world around him. He learned to manage the hunger, the boredom. 

He thought Yana had come to terms with it as well. Despite her reluctance for using names, she had dubbed him several variations of ‘abyss-strider’. He had heard others, most being amusing references to the shade and shadows and the dreamlike time between day and night.