#the constellation imagery as well i love--

[silverskye13]

Were there drugs in that cliffhanger?

Holy shit you work fast dude, oh my goshhh

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

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Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[khaire-traveler]

🌠 Subtle Nyx Worship 🌌

Go star-gazing, especially out in nature where you can see the stars more clearly

Learn about the different constellations as well as any Greek myths associated with them

Pay attention to the phases of the moon; learn what their meanings are

Try veiling

Get a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Wear silver jewelry

Keep a picture of her in your wallet

Have a stuffed animal horse or owl; have a stuffed animal of any nocturnal animal

Have imagery of the night sky, stars, space, horses (especially in a chariot), owls, nocturnal animals, or foggy nights around

Meditate at night; try to relax at night; sit in darkness silently for a bit

Get a telescope; use it to observe the stars

Leave a glass of water/salt water on your windowsill at night

Take a bath/shower with only the light of candles/dim lighting (SAFELY!!!!)

Support space-related organizations such as NASA

Learn more about space, stars, planets, etc.

Engage in relaxing activities or ones that you're passionate about

Have a bedtime/nighttime routine

Keep a dream journal; write down your dreams; try to interpret them

Drink black tea or coffee (or anything that relaxes you); add honey if you want

Drink red wine or red sparkling grape juice; raise a glass to her

Pick and save flowers still wet with evening dew; dry or press them; great if the colors are ones you personally associate with her

Feed neighborhood cats, dogs, birds, etc., especially at night (please make sure it's safe to leave food out in your area; do not attract predators!!!!)

Burn a relaxing incense at night; lavender, jasmine, patchouli, etc.

Write poetry about the night, stars, space, etc.; it doesn't have to explicitly name her

Try to practice meditation; practice mindfulness

Ground yourself regularly, especially at night

Make your space comfortable and relaxing for yourself; sleep with cozy blankets, decorate with dim fairy lights for nighttime, sleep with stuffed animals, etc.

Learn getting comfortable with change; go outside your comfort zone, do something spontaneous, cope with stress during an unpredictable situation, etc.

Let go of things that no longer serve you

Dance or sing at night; enjoy yourself at the end of your day

Play with pets before bed to tire them out so that they can sleep better c:

Watch movies or shows at night with loved ones; something you'd all enjoy

Light a bonfire or small fire at night; enjoy the peace of the night around you

Go camping; sleep under the stars

Keep a personal diary; write down positives and negatives; make it your own

Make a list of things you enjoyed and disliked about your day at the end of your day

Feel your feelings; cry if you need to, etc.

Practice listening and observing your surroundings/people around you; don't make yourself paranoid, just passively observe

Practice patience and compassion, especially towards yourself

Spend your evenings decompressing, whatever you need to do to unwind; drink a warm drink, eat something comforting for dinner, read a book, etc.

Try to cut down your screentime before bed

-

I'll likely add more later, but for now, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Nyx. I hope it's helpful, and take care! 💜

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[exactlycleverpirate]

(Over) Analyzing the Love and Deepspace Theme Song

“Some long for longevity

Before fading to dust

Some long for eternal sleep

And eulogy chanted by stars

Into that serenity

Their lost time forever buried

She rambled a thousand times

And million miles

Searching for her light

Free from the rule of death

Now seem so dull

Time goes by but memories rewind

Here she prays again

Back when things began

Where to go

Where they meet and grow old

Where no rivers would flow

No woods would grow

No life would never be ceased

Or somewhere they could start again

Where they would never be the same

Where rains everyday

Fain they would stay

Some forsake longevity

Then fading to dust

Some fall for eternal sleep

Their eulogies turn into gleaming stars

Will they meet in stars again

Or gone with the wind”

Spoilers under the cut.

Some long for longevity

Before fading to dust

I think this line could be a reference to the people of Philos, especially the ones on Earth. The Backtrackers are trying to find a way to prolong Philos and their lives with it. When Xavier cuts down the man in the alley, he dissolves into dust. The planet is dying and has no oceans. The whole planet is described as being dustier than Earth was. The imagery during the video for these lines is of the galaxy. 

The Wanderers also fade to dust when they are cut down. In fact, the first scene we see of Xavier in the game is him cutting down Wanderers and them dispersing into light.

Additionally, there are people on Earth who are trying to achieve immortality, particularly those who are using Lemurian blood to prolong their lives. Meanwhile, in Fragrant Dream, Rafayel dissolves into sea foam to save MC. (But this could be a bit of a stretch.)

Some long for eternal sleep

And eulogy chanted by stars

Eternal sleep is a common theme throughout this game. Zanye falls into eternal sleep in his myth. Rafayel will also fall into eternal sleep in his myth if something doesn't change. Meanwhile, Xavier is suspiciously tired all the time. 

Particularly telling is that these lines coincide with a silhouette of Xavier in the video, as well as a starry expanse. The implication seems to be that Xavier is longing for that eternal sleep. Which wouldn't be terribly surprising. He has been living and fighting and losing the person he loves over and over for a very long time.

A eulogy is something written or spoken to remember those who have died. In this case, the stars themselves are the ones speaking the memories. It makes me think of old mythology where great heroes and demi-gods would be immortalized in constellations when they died.

I think this segment is also connected to Wanderers, and Xavier's story is particularly tied to Wanderers. I think it is very possible that whatever humanity remains in the Wanderers wants to be at rest, finally. I think there is likely relief when Xavier (and Zayne in his 3rd Anecdote), set them free to finally rest in peace.

Into that serenity

Their lost time forever buried

Here, the video shows us a silhouette of Zayne, and behind him is Mt. Eternal. At the end of his myth, Zayne has slipped into the serenity of eternal sleep, buried under a snowy blizzard. Additionally, at the end of the Main Story chapter 8, we see Zayne interacting with something buried under ice.

Even before this, in Zayne's Myth, they lose time again and again as their memories are erased, and they are reset. Additionally, there is some time weirdness going on between Doctor Zayne and Dawnbreaker Zayne. 

She rambled a thousand times

And million miles

Searching for her light

The video shows planet Earth rotating and a sun rising over the horizon. This is clearly about MC, traveling worlds and times, resurrecting again and again, searching for her love(s), her freedom, her memories. Particularly poignant is Queen MC at the end of Xavier’s Myth, thinking about how her star is gone.

Free from the rule of death

Now seem so dull

Time goes by but memories rewind

This section is paired with Rafayel's silhouette in the video. It is hard to make out the background, but I think it is an underwater city, presumably Lemuria. Lemurians are naturally eternal/immortal. As far as we have seen so far, they are the only people in the game who come by this naturally (unless this is a result of that ancient Lemurian technology, but either way, immortality is literally in their blood).

Rafayel may die, but the implication through his content seems to be that when he does die, he will merge into the waters of the ocean and one day be reincarnated. He is free from the rule of death, but over and over in his stories and behavior, we see that he is bored. Life has become dull (particularly without MC). He talks of death as a blessing for Lemurians in Whalefall Lament.

Something that is an important reoccurring theme throughout Rafayel's content is memories. MC has forgotten him, which he is very frustrated about. In Fragrant Dream, she has forgotten him as well, and restoring her memories and humanity costs Rafayel his life. In his myth, Rafayel tries to erase her memories to protect her, but she remembers anyway, and tells him she is not someone who easily forgets (which seems a little ironic, given how much she has forgotten across times and tales). 

Rafayel also seems to have the potential to have the oldest memories with her. Where Xavier’s memories are primarily in the future, I think it likely that many of Rafayel's are in the past (though not the myth). If I were to have each man represent an aspect of time, I would say Xavier is future, Zayne is present, and Rafayel is past. And I think we see that connection here with memories rewinding.

I will add that MC has lost memories of all 3 men throughout her various stories, though I would argue that current day MC has primarily lost memories of Rafayel, as she only met Zayne after the Chronorift Catastrophe, and most of her story with Xavier is set in the future, but present day MC has only just met him (aside from a brief encounter during the Chronorift Catastrophe).

Here she prays again

Back when things began

The video at this part once more shows a galaxy/starry expanse. 

I'm inclined to say this is also connected to Rafayel's story, though I'm not sure. There are two different gods we see mentioned in Love and Deepspace, the God of the Sea (Rafayel) and Astra. Though this could refer to praying at the shrines and things of that nature just in general, praying for luck, well being, help, etc. 

But I do think it is interesting that in Rafayel’s myth, there is a suggestion that she is/was a follower/devotee/worshiper of the Sea God. Adding to that my thoughts that Rafayel has the oldest connection, and the “back when things began” is a good fit too. However, Xavier’s Anecdote 3 can also be seen as a beginning, particularly of the time-loop they seem to be trapped in now.

Where to go

On this line, the video flashes through the locations of each of the myths. First the city in the Golden Sands of Rafayel's myth, then the castle in Philos where Xavier is, and finally the Tower of Thorns where Zayne is trapped.

Where they meet and grow old

Where no rivers would flow

Here, we again see Rafayel in the video. Of my experience going through the content, Rafayel is the most blatant and consistent about wanting to spend his life with MC, and even refers to her as his bride in the myth. Thus we have connected with him the longing to grow old with MC. To have her beside him throughout his life. Indeed, I think he gave her his heart because he knew otherwise they would one day be separated by her truly dying, and he wanted to make her immortal like himself, so she could live on with him, over the course of their lives.

Rivers flowing is a plain reference to the city in the Golden Sands that is the source for 64 rivers, yet the land has no ocean. All water, at least in that area, flows from the city, which happens to be where MC is essentially imprisoned in order to protect the immortality of the people of Philos. The people of Philos, at least in the Golden Sands, hoard the water, MC, and immortality, all of which they have essentially stolen from Rafayel.

No woods would grow

No life would never be ceased

Here we go to Zayne. Honestly, I would have expected “no woods would grow” to be connected to Xavier and Starfall Forest. And while that may be a part of it, the video seems to make a direct link to the thorns in the Tower of Thorns instead.

“No life would never be ceased” is particularly interesting for Zayne. It works well as a connecting theme between Doctor Zayne, Dawnbreaker Zayne, and Myth Zayne. 

Doctor Zayne is haunted by every patient he loses, keeping a tally of them to remember. He is particularly haunted by the death of William on Mt. Eternal. And he is frantically researching to find a way to prevent MC’s life from ceasing as well. Additionally, Zayne has an underlying anxiety of protecting MC from himself, and he seems to be a ticking time bomb with whatever is going on with his Evol.

Dawnbreaker Zayne ends life after life rather than allowing these people to devolve into monsters. However, he longs for Doctor Zayne's life, where he could save others instead of simply putting them out of their misery.

Meanwhile, Myth Zayne has watched MC die again and again and again, failing to save her each time, until he finally breaks the loop, sacrificing his life for hers.

Or somewhere they could start again

Where they would never be the same

Here we come to Xavier. He and MC fell in love when they were young (comparatively), but it quickly ended in tragedy. When he is reunited with her in his myth, it looks at first like they might have a chance of being together this time. But then he learns the truth behind Philos, Wanderers, and MC’s connection to it all, and all his focus and energy goes into saving her, rather than their relationship. Indeed, even in Anecdote 3, Xavier sacrifices his precious remaining time with her in a desperate bid to find a way to save her life. 

This appears to be true in the Main Story as well. Rather than prioritizing a relationship with you, he is trying to find a way to save you, both current you and the Queen he left behind on Philos. If only there were a way to break from this cycle. To start from the beginning, without the fighting, heartache, and loss, and just be together. Where he didn't have to say goodbye to her in a desperate bid to keep her alive.

Where rains everyday

Fain they would stay

This takes us back to Rafayel. Rafayel loves the rain, forgoing umbrellas to enjoy being soaked. And deserts, such as the Golden Sands, desperately need rain. So where is a place where the rains would be glad to stay? Where water is abundant, life giving, and free, rather than hoarded, trapped, and closely guarded? Somewhere the Lemurians can live freely without being hunted or enslaved? Where MC is not trapped in a fancy cage to be used as a battery for a whole planet?

“Fain they would stay” also goes back to Zayne in the video. Where is somewhere that he and MC can stay together, where he doesn't feel the need to pull away to keep her safe? Where they aren't pulled apart by divine or cosmic forces?

Following this is an instrumental section where we see the Deepspace Tunnel, then Mt. Eternal (Zayne), the coast of Hat Island (Rafayel), and Tracback II (Xavier).

Some forsake longevity

Then fading to dust

Some fall for eternal sleep

Their eulogies turn into gleaming stars

During this segment, there is a galaxy in the background that slowly grows into the distinct shape of an eye. (Such as the eye MC sees outside her window, the eyes of the drones around the city, the red eyes of the raven in the forest, the eye of Astra given to Zayne so he could see through time.)

And now we come full circle. We started with those wanting longevity rather than becoming dust, but here we come to those willing to give up their longevity to fade to dust. Similarly, we started with those longing for eternal sleep and eulogies in the stars, and here we have those who fall into that eternal sleep, and their eulogies are in fact etched into the stars.

I think all of this is an indication of how all three of these men, Rafayel, Zayne, and Xavier, are willing to give to their lives, their longevity, their immortality, for MC. And their heroic sacrifices are of the sort that are etched into the very stars, like those mythological heroes of ancient times.

Will they meet in stars again

Or gone with the wind

We see Xavier interacting with what appears to be a wrecked Traceback II or similar machinery. We see Zayne at Mt. Eternal under an aurora, either freezing or excavating something (a protocore?) buried in the ice there. And we see Rafayel working on his painting that seems to depict a mermaid tale in an underwater city, then he vanishes, leaving the painting covered in a bloody red.

These are the final scenes for these characters at the end of chapter 8.

Meeting in the stars seems particularly connected to Xavier, as he has a consistent star theme throughout his stories. Connecting to the earlier idea of constellations and mythological heroes, there are a number of versions of loved ones who could not meet/reunite on Earth, but were able to find each other as stars (i.e. Gemini, Vega and Altair, Andromeda and Perseus (less tragic), and some others too, I think.)

What I find particularly interesting is the reference to the wind. In the prologue of the Main Story, the voice on the radio tells us the winds are at 5 km/hr. In the epilogue of Chapter 8, the radio voice says the winds are at 7 k/m. In both the epilogue and the song, the mention of wind coincides with wind blowing through Rafayel's house as he works on his painting and then vanishes. Gone with the wind. Leaving a bloody sea behind.

Give me your thoughts, corrections, additions, what-have-you in the comments or PM me!

[littleeyesofpallas]

So I guess this is a good time to do a recap of some old Ukitake posts: [1][2][3][4][5][6]

Ukitake[浮竹] Juushirou[十四郎] actually has one of my favorite names in the series as it feels like it says a lot about his core concept beyond what we're really given in canon. The family name reads uki-[浮]: "Floating" and take-[竹]: "Bamboo." That same "floating" is part of the word fuurou[浮浪]: "vagrant/vagabond" and a few other colloquial terms, a generally circling around a homeless person or a drifter. (In fact the other half of that compound word, [浪] is the "wave" in ronin[浪人]: "wave man/person" as in a masterless samurai.) Bamboo being a staple lumber in Japan of course but also notorious for its fast and rampant growth, as it is quick to spread and choke out other plants in an environment. The idea of "floating..." or "vagrant bamboo" gives an impression of being plentiful and common, even excessive.

The personal name, Juushirou[十四郎] just reads "14(th) Son" which always implied he came from a large family. A profile in the back of vol. 18 long ago confirmed he had brothers and sisters, but curiously all younger than him. The implication seemed clear that as a sickly person from a big family, he was poor and that there were 13 prior children who died before him, which is really the only reason you'd name a child the way they did. This feels like it works in tandem with the family name to again emphasize a family of many, but also almost expendable. The big family is also why he's got an affinity for children

That said it always felt to me like the backstory should have been more grim? Like rather than just praying to a god to save his life, it seemed more like he should have been a sacrifice made to ensure the family line continued. Like first 13 kids died, they were afraid he was their last chance, but he was sickly, so they sacrificed him to basically ensure the next ones would come out alright. Hence the kids younger than him surviving in spite of the ominous past implied by his name.

(Also the "shiro" phonetics in his name as a homonym with shiro[白]:white point to his hair. Kubo makes an explicit joke about this as Toshiro, also white haired, shares a similar wordplay, his name Toshirou[冬獅郎] meaning "Winter Lion Son.")

Then there's his shikai, Sougyo-no-Kotowari[双魚理] which reads "PairFish's Reason/Logic/Natural way of things." (sougyo-kyu[双魚宮] is the Japanese name of the constellation Pisces.) It appears to be an allusion to daoism/onmyodo, and the yin-yang diagram of balance, and this theme gets built upon by other contextual information like the zanpakutou arc's designs borrowing from onmyoji, and Ukitake's presence in conjunction with fish imagery and metaphor in the Jaws of Hell arc.

The little preamble to that chapter, about the two fish in balance until one dies and then the other grows bigger, is itself synonymous with sougyo-no-kotowari: The Natural Order of Two Fish.

The release command [波悉く我が盾となれ]: "All Waves be my shield," [雷悉く我が刃となれ]: "All LightningBolts be my blade" is fairly straight forward and just evokes the image of a stormy sea, which actually seems to have surprisingly little to do with the rest of the themes in play? I mean sure, waves and fish and floating, but when the floating and fish are less than literal the waves and lightning without any additional reading feel kind of out of place?

Of note: the onymoji was a prestigious class of sort of advisor in the japanese imperial court was at its peak in the Heian period, the long standing era of peace in ancient Japan that came just before the descent into the civil war of the Sengoku period. (Subsequently the onmyoji lost most of their power and clout during the waring states period as power shifted from the imperial court to the shogunate.) They were associated with and consulted for a wide range of things from medicine, to architecture, to city planning and meteorology, and divination, and perhaps most well loved by media, as exorcists. This ties into things like his beyond bankai form in Bleach Brave Souls where they opt for a more shinto purification theme, in either case making him fit something of a paragon role as Shinigami as ""cleansing"" hollows rather than destroying them.

Actually those shinto motifs all link to the recent addition of shinto themes in Mimihagi pretty directly, but I'll get to that in a bit...

It's worth noting that with Kyoraku's emphasis on a leisurely city life in the capital(Kyoto), and the onmyo mystic themes of Sougyo-no-kotowari, Kyoraku and Ukitake appear to both represent aspects of the Heian period, and thus cultures that predate the Sengoku period, and the rise of the samurai, lending to their role as two of the most senior members of the gotei 13.

People often forget but technicaly Ukitake was the first captain we were introduced to, well before Byakuya showed up, the Captain title just wasn't present at the time. When Rukia has her flashback to a then uncertain event while Ichigo fights Grandfisher, it's Ukitake she's hearing speak and that we catch just a brief glimpse of the back of the head of. Like I said there were no captain ranks in the story a that point, so he just appears as long flowing white hair over an all black shihakusho. I think his hair was always meant to help him embody an element of balance between black and white, and thus the very series title: Bleach.

I think there was always an implicit siniste quality to the idea of "Balance" underlying the shinigami that Kubo tried to gesture towards with the general vibe of the Soul Society -v- Rukongai dynamics, the Shibas, that flicker of a twist in the Fullbringer arc that Ichigo just ignored, and even with a lot of the loose and ultimately unfulfilled themes he set up for the TYBW arc with Yhwach's plans for a new world and Juugram's Balance schrift.

Oh I forgot the whole MIMIHAGI bit, despite teh being the whole subject of this week's episode:

東流魂街七十六地区『逆骨』に伝わる単眼異形の土着神。

An indigenous God of Grotesque/Suspicious Single-eye passed down in East Rukongai 76(th) zone "Sakahone(Reverse Bone)"

太古の昔、天より瀞霊廷に落ちて来た霊王の右手を祀ったとされるもので、自らの持つ「眼」以外のすべてを捧げた者に加護をもたらすと言い伝えられている。

(In)Ancient Times, From Heaven to the Seireitei the fallen right hand of the Rei-Oh is said to have been enshrined.

浮竹の行った『神掛』は、体内に宿るミミハギ様の力を全身の臓腑へと広げる事で、全ての臓腑をミミハギ様に捧げ、その依り代になる儀式である。

Ukitake's performed "Kamikake(God debt)" was, the power of MIMIHAGI dwelling in the body spreading to the whole of the viscera/entrails, offer up all of your entrails to MIMIHAGI-sama, it is a ceremony/ritual to become a Yorishiro*

『神掛』を成功させた浮竹は、霊王の右腕そのものとなった。

Ukitake succeeded at/with "Kamikake", he had become the right hand of the Rei-Oh.

*i don't have a more concise way to translate this... the translation listed run something like "object representative of a divine spirit"/" object to which a spirit is drawn or summoned"/"object or animal occupied by a kami​" and it's specifically a shinto thing.

When you see big deified trees with the shimenawa ropes and shide paper talismans, those trees are yorishiro. or rather they're Shintai, because a Yorishiro is a thing capable of being host to a kami, the Shintai is after they've been deified. (And technically when you do that to a person it would be called Yorimashi, not Yorishiro. I don't know if that's meant to specifically dehumanize Ukitake or if its a broad enough term that it doesnt really make a difference.)

These little eye catch data cards really aren't giving us anything new huh?

[hehearse]

Man i just keep coming back to look at your art. I love alllll the little details and meaning you put in them, especially the composition of your pieces! Oh and also seeing your latest works i was wondering how the latest chapters of orv have been going for you? It has been fun seeing your interpretations of different scenes :]

AWW i'm so flattered!! it's always so incredible to know people spend time looking at them huh!!! sure feels nice leaving a handprint on your wa- hm.

and a live worm reaction from the last time i sat down to read. all is well as you can see ^^

(i have a lot of feelings about the outer gods and the small constellation. my poor heart.... augh)

black and white illustrations also going well..... if only orv wasn't as rich in imagery as to trick me intro drawing almost every chapter u_u truly unfortunate! (lie)

[futurequibblerjournalist]

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black names explained:

I’ve gotten a few asks about my thoughts on the Black family and specifically their names and the middle names I’ve assigned them so I figured I’d make a post and explain them all, along with how I see the meanings of their names translating to their personalities! I was originally going to do the Black sisters and brothers in this one too but it just got too long so you guys are getting Riddle era Black family until I return with the second installment vjnbjgnbj

tw: brief mention of rape in Lucretia's section

Walburga Irma Black:

Unlike most of her family members, Walburga is not named after a star. Her first name is an alternative spelling of Walpurga which comes from Saint Walpurga, a nun born in 710. Saint Walpurga was also given an annual feast day called Saint Walpurgis Night or Saint Walpurgis Eve. Ironically one of the things she was hailed for was battling witchcraft. She was said to repel witches and was known as a healer of illnesses and one of her only talents not fully related to her religion is noted to be very detailed embroidery. I like to pull things from things like this, especially when it comes to characters we know very little about, so what this tells me about Walburga is that she likely did not have a lot of (female) friends which fits with the fact that I generally think the Black family kept to themselves. She was a skilled healer, which is very interesting considering how she’s usually portrayed as a woman who ruins so much. Is she aware of this aspect of her personality and that’s why she decided to learn so much about healing? And at last, she’s talented at embroidery. This yet again fits with another headcanon of mine that the finer families in pureblood society showed their status through things such as embroidery or homemade lace, to show that the women in the family were so well taken care of that they could focus on nothing but raising a family and making said family look good. I would imagine Walburga was taught by her mother.

Speaking of her mother, Walburga gets her middle name from her mother, Irma Black (born Crabbe) which means she is once again not given a name with a connection to the stars. Irma means complete; entire and is derived from the Old High German word ‘irmin’ meaning ‘world’. One could argue that while Walburga does not have a star specific name she is named in a way that could be interpreted as someone’s whole world.

Alphard Pollux Black:

Alphard is named after the star of the same name, the brightest star in the constellation Hydra. Alphard comes from the Arabic al-fard which, if Wikipedia is to trust lol, means “the individual”. The star is also known both as “the backbone of the Serpent” and “the heart of the Serpent”. From this I like to pull a bit of personality. Alphard has a clear connection to his family, one with a noticeable connection to serpent imagery through the Black family’s consistent history of being sorted into Slytherin. He’s an individual, he’s got the backbone to stand out yet still in a way more acceptable to the family and he’s got the heart to still show love and kindness towards Sirius. I think, and I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion, that Alphard values his family a whole lot. Which is ironic, because in part that’s what gets him blasted off of the family tapestry. Another name for this star is Soheil Solitarius, which translates to the bright solitary one. I interpret this to think he’s got some sort of loneliness to him, even within a family with so many people. That is what being too much of an individual in the Black family gets you. You can only push it too much before you become an outsider and I think Alphard is living right on the cusp.

Just like Alphard, Pollux is yet another star that is the brightest in its constellation, this time it’s the Gemini constellation. Just like how Walburga got her middle name from her mother, Alphard got his from his father. The name Pollux, albeit also the name of a star comes from the twins Castor and Pollux in both Greek and Roman mythology.

As a fun little extra thing, I think Alphard’s fun older guy that he seduces whenever he feels like it (Arvid Thicket) calls him Hydrae and occasionally he calls him Hydra’s Heart because he’s a sap lol.

Cygnus Phineas Black:

Cygnus was the third Cygnus in the family, being named after his paternal grandfather. It's suspected that Cygnus I was likely Cygnus's great-great-grandfather which would be the father of the second man he's named after, former Hogwarts headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. Cygnus, the constellation derives its name from the Greek word for swan. Looking at the most common symbolism associated with swans, we can assume Cygnus has a certain amount of wisdom to him, which also works perfectly with the fact that he was named after a former headmaster at a respected institution.

Speaking of said former headmaster, Cygnus got his middle name from Phineas Nigellus Black, the most disliked headmaster of Hogwarts, at least believing the statement from Cygnus nephew, Sirius Black. The name Phineas does not come from a star but instead it is a name of Hebrew origin meaning “the mouth of a snake”/“serpent’s mouth”. From this we can pull that Cygnus not only shares the typical views of his family, but looking at a similar saying “having a serpent’s tongue” which means having a tendency to speak maliciously, we can assume that Cygnus might have been either particularly opinionated, a tendency to come off as harsh or negative or both. I would also like to note that Cygnus is specifically named after Phineas Nigellus and not Phineas Nigellus’s son of the same name (as he was disowned for supporting muggle rights).

Lucretia Elladora Black:

Upon first glance, one might think Lucretia is another Black not named after a star. That would technically be correct, though she is named after an asteroid known as 281 Lucretia, an asteroid belonging to the Flora family in the Main Belt. Lucretia also shares her first name with a noblewoman from Ancient Rome. Lucretia was raped by Sextus Tarquinius and subsequently committed suicide after confessing about the rape to her father and husband. It's said that this act was the/one of the first stepping stones in the rebellion that made the Roman government transition from a kingdom to a republic. While I won't go into details interpreting the fact that her namesake was raped, we can look into the fact that Lucretia was noted to be exceptionally devoted to her husband. I think this is especially interesting given how the Prewett family is connected to the Weasleys. They likely weren't at the time Lucretia married Ignatius but even if they were she probably walked the line of marrying someone too different from the Black family and yet she was so devoted to Ignatius that to her it hardly mattered.

Lucretia's middle name Elladora comes from Elladora Black, the sister of Phineas Nigellus. Elladora was actually alive when Lucretia was born (she died six years later in 1931) so it wouldn't be far off to assume that the two possibly had some sort of relationship. Elladora is another name not derived from a star or anything similar, though it is speculated on Elladora Black's wiki page that the name comes from Elladora's mother possibly being named Ella and Callidora Black (the character known as Callidora Black is born after Elladora of course, being the daughter of one of Elladora's nephews, but knowing how the Black family liked to name their children after previous relatives it does not seem completely unbelievable that there was a Callidora Black born before Elladora that she could have gotten the second half of her name from). There are two takes on "Ella", that it comes from the Norman form of the Germanic "Alia" which means "other" or "Aella", a Greek name meaning "whirlwind". Either way, looking at Lucretia one could argue that they fit in regard to her marriage to someone who is from a family that is not necessarily the most respected and in later years is very much considered an "other" to the Black family. The second half, "Dora" is derived from the Greek word "doron" and means "gift". It kinda follows a similar pattern to Walburga's middle name. Just like Walburga is "someone's whole world" Lucretia is "gift/a gift". Considering the usual take on the Black family I think this is kind of sweet.

On the opposite end, to talk a bit more about Elladora. She is noted as the Black that introduces decapitating house elves and hanging their heads on plaques when they're no longer useful. I think Lucretia would share a similar sentiment to her namesake and a more aggressive/demanding way of handling the elves does not seem far off.

Orion Regulus Black:

Orion is a constellation known for featuring a number of bright stars. It is also known for being a good star to navigate from. Looking at this I think it fits with Orion being the head of his family but also the head of Black family in general based off of the fact that he and his family were the ones to live and grow up in 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black family. I’ve always found this very interesting with him being the youngest as well. In ancient Egypt the stars of Orion were regarded as a god and to me this tells me that this man holds himself in high regard, likely above others even his fellow Blacks. Ironically the bible mentions Orion three times, naming it “Kesil” which literally means fool. I think this perhaps speaks more to others perception of him rather than his own. I would suspect that perhaps due to his age there would be circumstances where he wouldn’t be taken as seriously, something that would surely infuriate a man who considers himself godlike. In Greek mythology he is described as unnaturally strong which one could pull from for a physical description though I don’t personally. What I find interesting is that he stood up to Gaia saying he could kill every animal on earth and was thus punished for it by Gaia sending a scorpion (the constellations of Scorpius) after him. He was later revived by Ophiuchus, the serpent bearer. He’s described as a hunter and a skilled one and while the best way I can think this translates to what we know of him in canon, it could be the way he protects his ancestral home with quite skilful magic. The fact that Orion is made up of so many stars, especially bright ones could also symbolise the Black family in general and how many not only came before him but also how tight knit the family is that he is literally made up of them. This could also be a nod to their incest tendencies, especially given how Orion is the only Black we actually know of (other than his wife of course) to marry another relative.

I am personally a big fan of Orion’s middle name being Regulus, no matter if it’s from a cis or trans Regulus standpoint. Either Orion named both his sons after himself which seems entirely on point with a man that likes himself so much, or Regulus looked enough up to his father and valued family naming traditions enough to name himself after the man. Obviously sharing a name with his son there's going to be some overlap when it comes to personality traits that you can pull from it. Regulus means "prince" and/or "little king" in Latin and this is another time where you see Orion with a name that means something of great importance/something that is generally speaking better than someone else. It is also known as "the king", "the great", "the mighty" and "the centre" as well as one of the royal stars in the Persian monarchy. Even if the whole "heart of the lion" does not fit with Orion in the same sense that some might think it fits Regulus, I'd argue that Orion values/possesses/wishes to possess a good amount of the things that a lion traditionally symbolise, such as courage, nobility, royalty, strength, stateliness and valour.

This ended up so much longer than originally planned which is why I'm saving Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa, Sirius and Regulus for another post lol. Hopefully someone enjoys this ramble vjnfjbngjb I've already made multiple people listen to it as it was being made.

This was inspired by an ask I got from @starchildlazaro so I figured I'd tag you since it turned into a post instead of just a normal answer,,,

[ithaquakisser]

Salvatore

Synopsis; You and Ithaqua have come to an agreement. In turn, you are to be the cure to his everlasting solitude.

CW; Explicit themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship, degradation, vague religious imagery

MINORS DNI. (18+)

WC; ≈2.4K

Note; I've been meaning to experiment with a completely different take on Ithaqua, so I decided to mess around with my take on Morningstar. I have not written NSFW in eons, so spare me! Most of this was written at like... 3AM with no proper proofreading whatsoever. So, in another words—not my proudest work yet! This piece also doesn't quite have a plot either, I just wrote whatever came to mind. Enjoy! 🙈 (I'm so embarrassed.)

You were the sun, his sun. The sun who orbits around the Earth, breathing life into those around you. You brought about warmth with your light. If he could, he would bask in your presence from dusk till dawn. You had never seen the moon, or its stars, nor the night. Yet you heard its voice once or twice through the roaring winds.

He yearned to preserve your light. Claim it as his own. How he longed to maintain it for his own wants. Your beaming smile, your eyes that glistened like the stars, your soft h/c locks that waltzed with the wind. Without you, the moon could not shine without your light. Without you, could he ever beam again?

Faint rays of moonlight illuminated the dim candlelit room. You rested upon a king-sized bed, the cool breeze brushing against your naked body. Your hands lie above your head, cold slender hands interlaced with yours. He traced constellations onto your bare skin. His hips straddled on top of yours, his cloak discarded onto the marble floor. Ithaqua drew the stars upon your waist, soft lips brushing against your neck. He was desperate, his actions expressed his longing for your touch.

Words were unspoken between the two of you, a contract unknown. Shall you be spared under all circumstances, and in turn, you become the cure to his eternal solitude. Godlike he was, each touch was a blessing. You were a mere sinner under his presence, and here you lie before him, confessing your sins. Letting all your secrets spill from each breath you take, he is who shall listen. He is who shall cleanse you of your sins. He who is your salvatore.

His warm tongue ran along your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He grazed his teeth upon your soft skin, his hot breath was enough to make you melt under his touch. “Relax, dear.” Ithaqua cooed, trailing his hand down to your pelvis. You couldn’t help but buck your hips up in anticipation, letting out a sharp exhale. “Needy are you, love?”

He pulled away from your neck and pressed his lips against yours, emitting a low moan as a hand began to rub your thigh gently. He mercilessly bit your lip, causing you to yelp in surprise. The hunter smiled into the kiss as he forced his way through your mouth. He softly stroked your plush thighs, occasionally squeezing them. His tongue explored your wet cavern whilst you held onto his hand, his free hand outlining the stars on your inner thigh. You whined, your hips squirming beneath him in desperation.

The young male pulled away, a thin trail of saliva connecting the two of you. “Is there something wrong, love?” Ithaqua whispered. “Don’t you tease me any longer…” You protested, Ithaqua couldn’t help but let out a chuckle in response. “Patience, Y/N.” He sighed and placed a hand on your bare chest, pressing you down against the mattress. His golden necklace dangling from his chest, hovering over you as his eyes fixed on yours.

“You think I’d willingly satisfy you without earning it? Don’t make me laugh, love.” Ithaqua rebuked. “How’s this? Please me first. If you do a good job, I’ll fuck you to your heart’s content. Sounds good?” He spoke, his lips curling into a smirk. You nodded your head eagerly. With a complacent expression, the two of you proceeded to switch positions. He laid back onto the array of pillows by the bedframe, his legs spread wide open. “Well? What’re you waiting for? You know what to do.”

“Talk about patience…” You muttered under your breath. “What’s that, darling?” Instigated the hunter as he leisurely removed his mask, his ebony-colored eyes meeting yours. “Nothing, dear…” You uttered as you lowered your gaze from his. With a scowl, he grabbed hold of your face, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t you forget who is in control here. I can delightfully revoke my conditions anytime. I wouldn’t be opposed to watching you squirm in desperation in hopes I’d touch you while I pleasure myself. Now, obey my orders won’t you?”

You swallowed before speaking breathily. “Yes, sir…” With a satisfied smile, he let you go. Without another word; you loosened his garters and unbuttoned his pants. He emitted a sigh of relief once his cock was freed from the confines of his pants, twitching upon release as droplets of precum dripped down the shaft. You spat onto your palm before taking him into your hands, beginning to pump him up and down.

The hunter threw his head back with a breathy moan as you stroked his dick, occasionally rubbing your thumb against his tip and causing him to twitch in response. You picked up the pace over time, observing his facial expressions as his chest heaved. You observed how desperately he attempted to restrain his moans behind the heavy breaths taken. His eyes were half-lidded as he huffed, his lips slightly parted as his face was tinted with a scarlet hue.

Ithaqua has never felt this way before. Such pleasure, such desire, a fire ignited within him the moment you laid your hands on him. He gazed upon your naked body as you eagerly stroked his cock with such a lustful expression on your face. You observed how his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, how his hands clasped the bedsheets and the way his thighs threatened to clamp shut on you as they trembled under your touch. You brought your lips close and ran your tongue alongside his shaft, causing him to shudder in response.

Ithaqua took hold of your h/c locks into his trembling hands as you took him into your warm mouth. You swirled your tongue upon his tip, tasting the bitterness in his precum as he twitched inside your mouth. You were relatively slow with your pace, causing the hunter to buck his hips up out of impatience. Caught off-guard, you gagged for a brief moment. “Don’t be a tease,” Ithaqua spoke, tightening his grip on your hair.

He began to thrust into your mouth slowly as he held onto you. You were taken aback by his sudden movements, groaning onto his cock as he screwed your mouth. You gripped his thighs, lightly squeezing them as tears formed at the corners of your eyes. “Hah… You’re taking me so well, dear…” Ithaqua cooed. His light eyes fixed on your every expression as he thrusts into you, his dick brutally assaulting the back of your throat.

“I’m close…” He whispered between breaths, his thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. Within moments, he reached his high and released his hot seed into your mouth. He threw his head back with a rather loud moan, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his skull as you proceeded to pull away. Cum dripping from the corners of your mouth, the young man raised his head and tenderly wiped the droplets dripping down your chin with the pad of his thumb.

“Swallow all of it,” Ithaqua demanded, pressing his thumb against your lower lip. Reluctantly, you swallowed the bitter liquid and licked away the excess from his thumb. “You did so well for me, love…” He purred as he gently wiped away the tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Half-lidded almond eyes met yours, his lips curling into a cheeky grin as he palmed your chest. With a quick and sudden push, he pinned you down against the cushioned mattress like a predator catching its prey. You had let out a squeak upon impact whilst he hovered over you, a slender finger placed over your lips as he hushed you. You swallowed anxiously, a hand running down your bare waist as he carefully observed your expressions.

Oh, how he adored your expressions. The lovely face you’d make whenever he’d caress your bare skin. He adored your smile, and how the corners of your eyes wrinkled out of pure joy. He especially admired the look on your face when you’d beg on your knees for mercy as he readied his axe to strike. The way your e/c eyes widened in apprehension never ceased to send shivers down his spine and make him weak in the knees.

Loose strands of his silver hair tickled your ruby-tinted cheeks as he planted his lips against yours, prodding his tongue past your lips into your mouth. You elicited a moan as his tongue danced with yours, his icy hands trailing down your body. They traced miscellaneous symbols as he ravaged your mouth. His fingertips stopped at your sex, lightly brushing against it and causing you to shudder.

He pulled away from the kiss, his light-colored eyes meeting yours. “May I?” “Yes… Please.” Without another word, he inserted his fingers delicately into your heat. He was rather careful with his touch, being mindful of his sharp nails as he slowly rubbed your sensitive spot. You had let out a breathy moan, watching as he moved his fingers in and out of you with such precision.

Ithaqua was quite deft with his fingers, moving them at a steady pace whilst stroking your soft spot. You observed him, unnoticeably moving your hips as he stroked. “My, eager, aren’t you?” Ithaqua remarked. “Don’t be such a tease…” He could only chuckle in response, his eyes fixed on your sex as he pumped his fingers into your core.

Your breathing became labored as he continued to assault your sweet spot, uttering words of praise in between moans. You breathily spoke his name like an incantation, your hands clutching the bed sheets in ecstasy. “Look at you… You’re such a mess already…” He teased, witnessing your face flush a shade of crimson.

With a smirk, he curled his fingers and ruthlessly began to pump them inside of you at a brisk pace. You tensed around his fingers, becoming a moaning mess beneath him. Huffing and puffing upon his touch, you called out his name like a broken record. You gazed upon him with tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “Ithaqua… I’m…”

“Hold it,” Ithaqua demanded. “You can do that, can you not?” “Ithaqua… I… Please…” “Please what?” “Please… Let me come…” You pleaded, his eyes fixed on yours as he continued to strike at your sensitive spot. “Please, Ithaqua… just let me…” You bucked your hips forward, a complete mess you were.

You harshly bit down on your lower lip as your back arched slightly. The hunter purposely slowed his pace, occasionally coming to a halt with a sadistic grin on his face. You had let out a groan of desperation, hot tears streaming down your flushed face. With his opposite hand, he shoved his thumb into your mouth, his thumb lightly brushing against your warm tongue as you panted. You looked at him with half-lidded eyes as your chest began to heave, moaning into his hand as he ravaged your insides.

The young man had a grin on his face as you began to tremble beneath him, your walls tensing around his fingers. “Mmh…” You whimpered, as you began to feel a tight coil building up in your stomach. Your thighs trembling as you closed your eyes as you thrust your hips into his fingers, arching your back as the coil grew tighter with each passing moment. Ithaqua leaned forward, his hot breath against your ear as he whispered. “You’re doing so well… Just a bit longer, dear.”

You whined, your breathing became labored as you neared your high. You felt the coil threaten to burst with each stroke, your toes curling as droplets of tears rolled down your scarlet cheeks. You dug your nails into the mattress as you mewled. You let out a muffled gasp as you tensed once more, an overwhelming wave of pleasure washing over you as you arched your back. You could’ve sworn you had seen the stars as you moaned uncontrollably into his hand which muffled your sounds, your hot liquid spilling onto his fingers.

Hot tears spilled down your scarlet-tinted cheeks as you exhaled, your body quivering beneath him. With a sigh, he pulled his hands away from you. Examining your warm essence on his fingers as he spoke. “How disappointing… You did not last even a minute.” Running his tongue over his slender fingers, tasting the past minutes of your involvement. “Open.”

You opened your mouth agape, the young man leaning in and shoving his tongue past your lips. He explored your mouth once more, the bittersweet taste of your essence against your tongue. You closed your eyes, placing a hand on his warm cheek whilst his tongue ventured alongside yours. His hands were all over your bare skin, palming in circular motions. He invaded your mouth until he was done with you, saliva connecting both your moist lips.

“You taste terrible…” Ithaqua spoke, venom laced within his words. He knew he was speaking falsehoods, yet he could not bring himself to speak with sincerity. You could only mutter a pitiful apology under your breath as tears poured from your e/c eyes, he had a piercing gaze that made your heart skip a beat. “Spare the crocodile tears, love. We have no need for them. After all, you’ve got what you wanted. Did you not?”

The hunter rose from the bed, readjusting himself into his clothes. He retrieved his cloak from the marble floor, a miffed expression on his pale face. “Yes, but I…” “What is it?” You sighed, lowering your gaze. You couldn’t dare speak another word. The young man fetched your clothes which were scattered along the bedroom floor, tossing them by your side. “Get dressed. There’s a match at dusk. I cannot risk being reprimanded once again by the baron.”

“You’ll… stick to your word, correct?” You inquired, raising the bedsheets to your chest to sheathe your naked body. “Why would I not?” Said the hunter as he picked up his mask. Seemingly fixated on the broken mirror in front of him, he had a noticeable scowl on his face upon seeing his reflection. “A deal’s a deal, is it not? Don’t you fret, I’ll spare you and your friends the trouble. However…” Ithaqua turned on his heels to face you as he placed on his mask. “Do not expect me to be merciful this time around, understood?”

…

"Understood.”

[disastrousfeline]

i'm your man

(frames + notes under cut)

title card!

some credits. the constellations triangulum (representing TRIPLE-POINT) in circuit purple, canis major (representing CAUSTIC) in circuit green, lynx (representing alsciaukat, aka sou spacius lynk) in their particular shade of purple, as well as circuitry in the circuit's green-purple gradient

enjoy :)

a mirror (representing TRIPLE-POINT) displaying [dog teeth? cracks?] on its glass on the left; lynk with angelic imagery on the right. lyric displayed: you're an angel / i'm a dog

additional note: as implied, the lyrics are sung by an aspect of TRIPLE-POINT, one that speaks in lowercase and developed a reverse savior complex towards lynk. everyone else does not matter to them, including themselves, hence the crossouts

the mirror is now displaying a silhouette of a person holding a leash connected to lynk's prosocollar, now without angelic imagery. lyric displayed: or you're a dog / and i'm your man

SCHRODINGER'S LYNX, lynk's persona while in the Circuit, stands with some other Circuit members: T|GHTL||SH, Operamandible, Conductive Noose, Synaptic_Static, AVERSION COMPLEX, END.repeat(end);. lyric displayed: you believe me like a god

SCHRODINGER'S LYNX, now alone. its projected lynx head displays more glitches, and its X-eye melts, as if crying. the Spire can faintly be seen in the background. lyric displayed: i destroy you like i am

lynk kneeling on the ground, tearfully reaching out to TRIPLE-POINT's broken casket post Event Horizon. lyric displayed: i'm sorry i'm the one you love / no one will ever love me like you again

some glass shards in circuit purple. lyric displayed: so when you leave me, i should die

the Spire. lyric displayed: i deserve it, don't i?

BEAKS AND BEAKS AND BEAKS AND BEAKS AND BEAKS AND BEAKS AND okay i'll stop. it's her! the namesake of the campaign! lyric displayed: i can feel it getting near

WINGS AND WINGS AND WINGS AND okay yeah you get the point. more of her (simulated self in the CRYPT OF STARS) :] lyric displayed: like flashlights coming down the way

featureless door in the VORSEHUNGSMOTOR. lyric displayed: one day you'll figure me out

Event Horizon time. CAUSTIC looks at the viewer. TRIPLE-POINT, eidolized, is visible in the background. lyric displayed: i'll meet judgement by the hounds

some Circuit embers from before, smiling. less of them because i was getting tired. for what it's worth, these are the three who are the most fond of TRIPLE-POINT and CAUSTIC, not counting SCHRODINGER'S LYNX: Operamandible, AVERSION COMPLEX, Conductive Noose. lyric displayed: people always gave me love

blurrr. lyric displayed: others were never to blame after all

lynk reaches out to TRIPLE-POINT, like adam in michelangelo's the creation of adam. lyric displayed: you believe me like a god

TRIPLE-POINT vanishes, leaving lynk alone. i should note that TRIPLE-POINT did not die in our playthrough — this segment moreso represents the several times lynk abruptly woke up from the dreams in which they speak to TRIPLE-POINT. lyric displayed: i betray you like a man

the following segment is just lynk and TRIPLE-POINT's conversation after Event Horizon. this was honestly just a last-minute decision to fill in the ending instrumentals. also they were quickly patched by the team members with Patch beforehand dw

[jedineedlove]

Legend VS LMK Characters:

Kui Mulang (LMK):

[Kaui Mulang, Guard of the Celestial Court, Mansion of the White Tiger, Devourer of Earthly Souls]

Korean: Gyumokrang Mandarin: The Wood Wolf of Legs

Former Celestial Guard turned Yellow-Robed Demon.

After Falling in Love with Jade Maiden and having their love rejected by the Celestial Realm. He gave up their immortality and he awaited for her to reincarnate. As he waits to make sure he will be there to see her he consumes mortal lives to longavit his own.

The 28 Mansions mentioned by him are part of the Chinese constellation system as to why there is so much star imagery is in his castle.

Kui Mulang (Ledgend):

Kui Mulang originated from the ancient Chinese worship of the constellations, a spiritual practice that combines Chinese mythology and astronomy. He is considered to be one of the 28 Mansions, which are Chinese constellations. These are the same as those studied in Western astrology. He appears in Chinese mythology literate notably the JTTW & Fengshen Yanyi.

He is linked to a historical figure called Ma Wu, a general who hailed from the town of Huyang in Tanghe, located in the Henan province.

Kui Mulang is associated with the constellation Andromeda, which appears in the sky in the middle of November. In this constellation is Kui Xiu, described as the "four-legged fish palace" of Heshansu (和善宿) because its shape is similar to a fish. Another constellation, the White Tiger, is also associated with this cluster of stars.

According to the novel Investiture of the Gods (Fengshen Yanyi), Kui Mulang was originally named Li Xiong. After he died in the Battle of the Ten Thousand Immortals, Jiang Ziya deified him as the Wood Wolf of Legs, one of the twenty-eight stars.

In JTTW

Kui Mulang appears as a demon named Yellow Robe Demon . He lives the Moon Waves Cave on Bowl Mountain in the Kingdom of Baoxiang. In his past, the Yellow Robe Demon falls in love with the Jade Maiden in Heaven and decides to elope with her. He becomes a demon lord and the maiden is reincarnated from a goddess to a human who is named Baihuaxiu . She is the third princess of the Kingdom of Baoxiang. The demon then kidnaps the princess, though she has no memory of her existence as a Jade Maiden. He marries her and the couple has two children. Sun Wukong manages to defeat the demon, which mysteriously vanishes after his defeat. Wukong then seeks help from Heaven to track down the demon and learn his true identity. The Jade Emperor discovers that one of the 28 Mansions is missing, so he orders the remaining 27 to subdue the demon. The demon is revealed to be a disguised as Revatī, the Wood Wolf of Legs, a star deity in the heavenly court, and one of the 28 Mansions. The Wood Wolf is then subdued and brought back to Heaven. As punishment, he is ordered to become a furnace keeper under Taishang Laojun.

Jade Maiden:

Considering she is a huge part of Kui Mulang's life I thought maybe also some info about her as well.

[ Yunü / Jade Girl or Jade Maiden]

Yunü is a common designation for a beautiful woman or, in Daoism, for a fairy or immortal

A Taoist deity or goddess in Chinese mythology and Chinese traditional religion who, along with her male counterpart Jintong (Golden Boy), are favored servants of the Jade Emperor and Zhenwudadi. 

They are also believed to serve as guides in the underworld and the protectors of houses and temples. Some of the Golden Boy and Jade Girl pair could be found on some graves at Bukit Brown Cemetery as they are believed to serve as guides in the Spirit World or the Underworld.

During the spring festival, pictures featuring the two can be found on the doors of many households.

This couple helps virtuous souls over a golden bridge to paradise and helps souls whose good deeds outweighed the bad, over a silver bridge to paradise. Therefore by erecting the Golden Boy and Jade Maiden by the grave of the deceased, living family members hope that the deceased will not venture into the courts of hell but instead lead their afterlife in paradise. Yunü and Jintong have appeared in several stories since the Song and Yuan dynasties and have become important figures in Chinese mythology.

There are several mountain peaks bearing her name.

In Journey to the West, Yunü is a servant maid of the Jade Emperor in Heaven. She falls in love with a star god called Kui Mulang and decides to elope with him. However, she doesn't want to ruin Heaven's pureness, so she decides to reincarnate as a human. She enters the human world as Baihuaxiu, the third princess of the Kingdom of Baoxiang.

In Other Literature:

Specific examples are the southern opera version of the legend, Jintong and Yunü, In this context, Yunü is called Longnü and Jintong is called Shancai Tongzi. According to the Shenyijing, Yunü and her companions loved to play touhu, a Chinese game in which arrows or darts are thrown into a vase. In the Avatamsaka Sutra, she and Jintong seek enlightenment and are acolytes of Guan Yin. In this context, Yunü is called Longnü and Jintong is called Shancai Tongzi. Some folktales say that Xue Dingshan and Fan Lihua were originally the Golden Boy and Jade Girl. The Jade Emperor was furious with them and wanted to punish them for breaking the celestial utensils. Fortunately, the Old Man of the South Pole begged for their mercy and was demoted to the mortal world. In the Hanyi ji play, the protagonists Qi Liang and Meng Jiang are reincarnations of Jintong and Yunü. In most popular versions of The Butterfly Lovers, the protagonists Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai are human reincarnations of Jintong and Yunü who are expelled from Heaven Court by Guanyin or the Jade Emperor for their sin and forced to live as a thwarted couple for three or seven generations before being reunited and restored to their original status.

Thoughts:

Yunü has a lot of love and being kicked/leaving heaven tales.

But did love she was more than just known for this story alone.

The JTTW and LMK versions of Kui Mulang are not too different. However, in the retelling of their love tale he only mentioned himself ridding them of their immortality it almost sounded like in that tale she might have had second thoughts and he did it by force. But I hope not but we can never know because the LMK changed a lot of the characters and tweaked some backstories.

I think the real change in the LMK is that Kui Mulang captured Ao Lie before the JTTW. From the way he talked about the Jade Maiden, she had not been reincarnated or at least he had not captured her yet. For Ao Lie It had to be after his banishment of course because he talked about his powers causing damage he felt bad for aka when he burned his dad's stuff.

Well, I hope you, readers enjoyed:)

[blood-orange-juice]

I started searching for one-eyed beings in mythology and got reminded of Graeae from the Perseus myth. The three lovely ladies who shared one eye and one tooth, taking turns in using those.

They were daughters of Phorcys (a primordial sea god) and Ceto (better known as Cetus). The Chinese name for Cetus constellation is the same as the one used for Childe's Narwhal constellation, 鯨天座 (but not for the Narwhal itself, 吞星之鯨).

The moon sisters don't seem to be connected to the The Primordial One's four shades, so they have some other origin. A tryst with an interstellar whale sounds about right.

The Welkin Moon Blessing seems to be referring to one of the sisters, and primogems are coloured in the same way as everything related to memories/dreams in Hoyo games, including HSR Fuli followers/Garden of Recollection (people whose goal description match a certain interstellar whale's loot drop a little too well)

Also a ritual mentioned in Perinheri leads to title character seeing this:

Perhaps it was the fear brought on by the darkness combined with hunger and exhaustion, but Perinheri did indeed see an illusion. The crimson moon, hanging high in the pitch-dark night sky, suddenly turned around, revealing itself to be a titanic, horrified eye.

Perhaps moon sisters taking turns in the sky is not that different from sisters taking turns in using a single eye.

Oh, and Ceto's cult loved sacrificing maidens to sea monsters apparently (Andromeda says hi).

Also both Childe's TCG cards have moon imagery.

Also you know what the concept of three one-eyed sisters reminds me of? This painting in Inazuma (a land where they also befriended whales).

Crack/tinfoil addition:

Graeae are usually depicted as old women, however, in "Prometeus Bound" Aeschylus described them as siren-shaped monsters with the head and arms of old women and the bodies of swans.

Do you remember who also has both moon and swan symbolism? Our dear Arle. Also they dropped that book on us the patch before Arle for a reason.

I'm not saying she is one of the Moon Sisters but surely if Khaenri'ahns found one of their corpses they would absolutely use it for nefarious purposes. I know they would.

[khaire-traveler]

🦚 Subtle Hera Worship 🐄

Star-gazing and cloud-watching

Making flower crowns

Wearing outfits that make you feel confident

Have a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Keeping a picture of her in your wallet

Wearing jewelry that reminds you of her

Wearing perfumes with bold yet sweet scents

Have a cow, peacock, or lioness stuffed animal

Having imagery of stars or lotus flowers around

Giving yourself compliments each day; pointing out one thing you like or love about yourself

Support women's rights or domestic abuse survivor organizations

Spend time with loved ones

Be kind to children; play them if offered

If you have a partner, send them a kind message or do something romantic together

Practice standing up for yourself; speak your mind and assert your personal boundaries

Do household chores; upkeep your living space

Take care of yourself emotionally and physically

Show support for any mothers in your life, especially new ones; help out when/if you can

Keep a self-love/self-care journal

Make yourself feel pretty/handsome/attractive; wear makeup, paint your nails, style your hair, wear your favorite outfits, etc.

Take a self-care bath or shower

Learn about astronomy; learn about the different myths behind constellations

Show compassion towards others, especially those who are hurting or in need

Showing compassion towards yourself, the same as you do for others

Prioritize your own well-being

Feed the local birds with bird seeds; bird-watching

Keep framed photos of loved ones; put photos of them on your wall, etc.

Eat pomegranate seeds

Have cow print items; own peacock feathers (been told these can be really cheap, actually!)

Give a kind gesture to a loved one; buying a gift, cooking a meal, baking pastries, etc.

Collect gold-colored items; golden ram horns are also a great symbol (maybe draw or paint this, since it's pretty niche)

Buy a bouquet of white flowers, whether for yourself or a loved one

Add honey to your tea, coffee, or other drink; a good drink to try is warm milk with honey and cinnamon mixed in (better than it sounds)

Start a skin/body care routine

-

I may add more down the line! For now, here's my list of discreet ways to worship Hera. Hope it helps, and take care! 🩵

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[knightofhylia]

After getting the energy reading from pearlescent-princess I decided to pull some cards to figure out what the symbolism meant. Since the spirit they contacted was very clearly Hylia, I asked her! Particularly I was interested in what the constellations were meant to represent. Very image and text heavy!

The Rearing Equine

The Gleaming Shortsword

The Apple

Application to IRL, Time frame?

Next Step

At first I thought that the constellations meant that something was going to happen (looking to the stars to predict the future) but I think it may be more focused on historical constellations, mainly that they are figures of myth who were ascended to the heavens after a specific deed the gods deemed worthy. With this in mind I looked at cards thinking of prior accomplishments. The Rearing Equine: The Tower being ultimate upheavel and Strength being inner strength paired with the imagery of a rearing horse brought me to the conclusion that this symbolizes my recovery from BPD. Trying to tame my BPD was like taming a wild horse. I was thrown off so many times in the beginning I didn't want to continue. If I wanted to go one way my BPD pulled the other way. Any stability was short lived and often had a catastrophic breakdown when I couldn't hold onto the reigns anymore. None of this came easy or without support, but in the end I was able to pull myself out have been in recovery for over a year! The Gleaming Shortsword: Two of Swords in this deck is a lot more positive than it's usual RWS companion. Instead of being at a standstill and stalemate, this is about cutting through the obstacles by working together. Paired with the Death card, there's a lot of duality and change represneted here. I believe this symbolizes my loyalty and boundaries. I grew up convinced I was unlovable because I was a transgender freak and I would die a unmarried virgin and never date anyone. I've been married for 5 years now so obviously that didn't go as planned, I wasn't counting on other transgender freaks being out there LOL. I gave a large knife to my husband as part of our vows which is why I believe the two of swords is a reference to our marriage. Our wedding was truly a test of who was on our side and who was not. The sword I swear my loyalty to my husband with is the same that cuts away the family and friends who wanted to see us crash and burn. The marriage was the catalyst for us to get our names changed which was a huge goal in my gender transition. I am both the princess and the warrior, perpetually dying and changing. I am not longer the miserable cisgender monogamous sex repulsed unstable person I was in my youth but I have not forgotton what I learned from her. The Apple: Temperance is probably one of my most pulled cards lol. I believe the apple symbolizes my kind,nurturing qualities as well as enjoying the fruits of my labours. Although all my life I have loved animals and nature, only within the last few years have I actually stepped up and learned what I need to make a difference. I'm now the main animal caretaker at my store and also have been working on gardening and growing our own food and taking care of the enviourment. Beforehand I was honestly afraid of most animals and felt everything I touched plant or animal wise I would kill. It took a lot of patience and learning to see that we all have the capability to nurture and grow something. The Timeframe and NExt Step card were just kind of as wrap up cards but i feel they reiterate the points. Ten of Wands being a cycle I will always be in, there will always be ups and downs, always mental hoops to jump through. There is no timeframe as it's always happening! Queen of Bottles to me is a reminder to keep doing what I'm doing. I am deeply connected with the animals and plants that I steward and despite feeling like the only person who cares sometimes, it is always worth it to care! I have worked very hard to be where I am now and the Divine is familiar and supports me!

[activatebutterflyshield]

Time to be long-winded about music again featuring the Four Winds albums by the Oh Hellos. I desperately hope this one will be shorter given how bloody long the thing about Coyote Stories ended up being so to somewhat ensure that this will be split up into four separate posts, one for each album. I’m going in chronological order of release. Come one, come all, but especially @writer-of-random-things, to see me put more effort into tumblr posts than my english essays.

Part 1: Notos (you are here!)

Part 2: Eurus

Part 3: Boreas

Part 4: Zephyrus

Before even getting into the songs, let’s look at the album art. A cicada, the hallmark of summer, buzzing in chorus for a few days before dying. They are a horde, second only to their cousins the bees, wasps, and locusts, but a horde nonetheless. The cicada blindly sits underground for most of its life, growing in solitude and waiting for its cue to escape to the sunlit world, mate, and die. A cicada does not question it’s place in the universe. A cicada harbors no thoughts of doubt in its mission, and holds no grudge when it dies under the sky. But humans are not cicadas.

The first song of the album is “On the Mountain Tall”, a relatively quiet start. It’s very biblical in its symbolism and imagery, but perhaps the most important lines are when the singer calls out, “Still the wild wind blows / Up our of the grave of an angry ghost / Firing bricks from broken canon and prose / To build a wall so high it reaches the heavens in the sky”. The spelling of “canon” is not that of the instrument of warfare on the high seas, but that of generally accepted truth when it comes to creative works, as well as religions. But it is used to describe an action much more befitting the weapon, as the “wild wind” is “Firing bricks from broken canon and prose”, a metaphor for using hypocritical or untrue logic and facts to defend itself. Whomever the singer is singing to, they want the singer to fear them and love them in equal measure, but the singer doesn’t. This nebulous thing is described as being “Quiet as a candle and bright as the / morning sun”, not unlike some angelic thing from on high, and yet whoever they are, they are not “He”, who is “not within them, the clatter of / brass and drums”.

“Torches” soon follows, a quicker paced tune of a back-and-forth between two singers. Each alludes to the other, “Father Ignorance” and “Mother Fortuna”, matching up with the leading male and female vocals. Both figures are referred to by the others as making either “Brothers of us all” or “Sisters of us all” through their actions, though neither seem to be very virtuous people. “Father Ignorance” seems to feed people’s anger and fear, setting “our torch aflame” and burning someone at the stake, no matter their innocence. “Mother Fortuna” turns “shadows into shapes”, stoking paranoia and encouraging violence despite the fact that “the faces in her wake / Look more like our own than the / effigies we immolate”. Neither singer seems to be the one from “On the Mountain Tall”, as the previous song was about someone resisting the carrots and sticks offered by someone quite similar to both Ignorance and Fortuna. And yet these two beings still have power, as they sing together, “We keep that old wheel turning / Over and over, again”, maintaining the endless cycle of fear, paranoia, anger, and destruction.

The next song is an instrumental interlude, “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”. It’s a gentle tune that slowly builds into the next song, “Constellations”, but the name alone indicates that whatever stars exist far above are not real things, but rather facsimiles. Pretty things, sure, but nothing like the real, burning, blazing balls of gas that dot the night sky.

“Constellations” begins slowly, as the singer describes the sensation of speaking something that takes their voice away and feels upon their tongue like “Brick and mortar, thick as scripture / Drawing lines in the sand and laying / borders as tall as towers / I babble on until my voice is gone”. The clear and more cloudy references to the Tower of Babel and the Empire of Babylon show how the singer has been confounded and confused by that thick and choking scripture. Everything good in their life, everything good done by them and to them are “like constellations, a million years away”, no more real than those “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”. What few pieces of joy they have are no more real than the lines drawn to create “Constellations”. But by the end of the song, those good stars are “imploding in the night / Everything is turning, everything is turning / The shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light / Everything you thought you knew / Will fall apart, but you’ll be alright”. The singer has realized how much they have been smothered by thick scripture, how little they know about the world, how much they want to be free, and how they have been denied their freedom by the world they grew up with, by Father Ignorance and Mother Fortuna.

The titular “Notos” is next, starting with the singer describing the world in the moments before the clouds break and a storm crashes down. The world is holding its breath, waiting for “A thunderous disturbance”, the inevitable response to what the singer has done to those “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”. But whatever the world is expecting is not what happens, as the rush that comes “will take you away / Like you’re caught in the undertow / And you will drown in the wake / Of the things you lost to the winds of Notos”. Everything the singer has lost to the thick scripture, all that the spent in hopes that the “Constellations” of good intentions would become real, is now being repaid tenfold over. Their realization is as strong as a hurricane, as untamable as the sea, and more furious than a thunderstorm in this moment. They’re drowning Fortuna and Ignorance in “the wake / Of the things you said that you can’t take back”. It’s a beautifully poetic description of the pure, flaming anger felt by someone in the moment they realized their betrayal, but as the final line of the song says, “You gotta let go”.

The second instrumental interlude of the album is “Mandatory Evac / Counting Cars”. Finishing the wordless cry that began in “Notos”, the song is a slow, gradual build up from gentle guitar strums to the beautiful melody that has haunted the background of the rest of the album, a promising echo that reminds the listener that they’ve come quite far since the beginning of this 20-minute journey, and that they’ve still got plenty of road left to travel.

The final song of Notos is “New River”. The singer’s tune is one of gradual change, of how “though the eons may pass as slow as the sands of an hour glass / Every grain that we’ve counted / Claims that even the mountains can change”. This promise that even the most permanent parts of the landscape can slowly but surely change, that the very land itself can bend to the power of a “New River”, is a powerful metaphor for the prospective journey of the singer. They yearn to carve out a new path, to rise with the tide and bask in the “rain for forty days and nights”, to embrace the change so abhorred by the “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”, to erode away where they had once stood “On the Mountain Tall”, to extinguish the “Torches” and prove the “Constellations” to be naught but lines drawn in the sky. Within this wind of “Notos” will they rise and remake themselves anew, casting off the thick scripture and ignoring the roaring fire and wind. The fiery Southern Wind of Summer has risen and raged, tearing apart the walls of “broken canon and prose”, and as stormy Notos leaves, Eurus of Autumn and the Eastern Wind will blow in from the horizon where the sun rises, bringing cooler times and heralding yet more change as migrations begin and more questions are asked.

[itselriel]

orpheus and eurydice anon, i asked my friend to send me her theory and she said she copied and pasted the plot from wiki and added her thoughts to how it pertains to acotar in the parentheses so this is what she sent me-

Apollo (Helion has similar imagery to Apollo and put the wards on the Harp) gave Orpheus a lyre and taught him how to play. It had been said that "nothing could resist Orpheus's beautiful melodies, neither enemies nor beasts." (Bryaxis hasn’t been caught) Orpheus fell in love with Eurydice, a woman of beauty and grace, whom he married and lived with happily for a short time. (Az carried Elain bridal style into the townhouse) However, when Hymen was called to bless the marriage, he predicted that their perfection was not meant to last. (Elain could predict that about her and Az in the next book) A short time after this prophecy, Eurydice was wandering in the forest with the Nymphs. (Elain hasn’t met Gwyn) In some versions of the story, the shepherd Aristaeus saw her, (Could be Lucien because Arstaeus is considered a “pastoral Apollo”) and beguiled by her beauty, made advances towards her and began to chase her. Other versions of the story relate that Eurydice was merely dancing with the Nymphs. While fleeing or dancing, she was bitten by a snake and died instantly. (Koschei might be able to shapeshift into a snake and bite Elain or shift someone else) Orpheus sang his grief with his lyre and managed to move everything, living or not, in the world; both humans and gods learnt about his sorrow and grief. At some point, Orpheus decided to descend to Hades by music to see his wife. Any other mortal would have died, but Orpheus, being protected by the gods, went to Hades and arrived at the Stygian realm. He also managed to attract Cerberus with a liking for his music. He presented himself in front of the god of the Greek underworld, Hades and his wife. Orpheus played with his lyre a song so heartbreaking that even Hades himself was moved to compassion. The god told Orpheus that he could take Eurydice back with him, but under one condition: she would have to follow behind him while walking out from the caves of the underworld, and he could not turn back to look at her as they walked. (Bryce thinks Prythian is Hel and we were introduced to the cave system under/in the night court) Thinking it a simple task for a patient man like himself, Orpheus was delighted; he thanked Hades and left to ascend back into the living world. Unable to hear Eurydice's footsteps, however, he began to fear the gods had fooled him. Eurydice might have been behind him, but as a shade, having to come back into the light to become a full woman again. Only a few feet away from the exit, Orpheus lost his faith and turned to see Eurydice behind him, sending her back to be trapped in Hades' reign forever. (Let’s say Sarah lets Az get Elain back or maybe he fails getting her back and that sets up the three sisters taking down Koschei in the final book I also ignored the real ending the myth because Orpheus dies but Nesta did find the harp in a room with constellations like what happened to the lyre after Orpheus’s death)

This is really well thought out. However, we have to remember that SJM doesn’t do full retellings. She will take some / a little inspiration here and there from different retellings, but it won’t be a carbon copy of the full thing. There definitely could be some inspiration here for Elain, Azriel and Koschei though.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Blossoms of Love (Chapter 9)

(not so) campfire stories

Pairing: soap/ghost

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, hanahaki

A03 link || Chapter 1 || Chapter 8

Progress was… slow, sluggish, stagnant; soap was sure there was a better word for it but he’s an artist not a poet. The sun creeped closer and closer towards the tree line, an image he’d have loved to sketch had he not had a job to be doing. It quickly became apparent that they would not be finishing before night hit, confirmed by price’s command to set up camp in the mostly intact body of the plane.

Ghost had been scarce since the initial crash, the night was beginning to set in and he wasn’t with the others yet. Soap found him a few paces into the trees. Why would Ghost be all the way out here, there was no reason to be, at least not as far as he could tell. He was crouched down, back to him, he seemed… off. Well more off than he had been lately.

He called out to the man, who straightened up and whirled around quickly, as if caught off guard. Odd, he wasn’t being particularly quiet, and even if he was Ghost ordinarily would have picked up on it anyways. He worked to hide an interrogative look, not wanting to push any boundaries, not today at least.

“Sergeant.” he cleared his throat.

“Uh Price set up watch. Ah said ah could take first, but he said you wouldnae mind. So…” he trailed off at the end, not sure where he was going with that sentence.

“Aye, I don’t mind.” they set off back toward their makeshift camp.

Everyone was already mostly settled and were heading towards the edge of sleep by the time they were back. Ghost settled on his bedding and soap grabbed his sketchbook before sitting beside Ghost. To which he got a shoulder nudge and an inquisitive look.

“What?”

“What’re you doin’, Johnny?”

“Wha’d’ya mean ‘wha mah doin?’ ah thought it was pretty obvious am sittin’ doon.”

“I know that, ya ass. I mean shouldn’t you be goin’ to sleep, not doodlein’ in your book?” ghost rolled his eyes.

“Eh, not tired, ‘Sides ah w’s g’nna come take yer place anyway. ‘Ts easier to j’st stay up fer a few more hoors.” that truth was easier to say than the ones that lay beneath it. The one that said that Ghost was acting just a little bit too off. the one that said he knew exactly what kind of thing grew in loveless areas. The one that said that something about Ghost made him want to both run away and get even closer at the same time. Ghost hummed roughly with what Soap could only describe as skepticism, as if he knew Soap hadn’t told him the real reason, granted he hadn’t but Ghost didn’t know that.

It was maybe half an hour later, they hadn’t said anything to each other since they settled down, instead opting for a… something silence. He couldn’t really explain how it felt. Soap still had yet to actually draw, he’d just been slowly filing his pencil down into a sharp point on the paper, watching it darken with each pass of graphite. It’s not like he was even going to do anything with the blackened paper, he’d never been good at negative drawings, it was really just something to keep him occupied. Ghost shifted beside him, but he didn’t really pay much attention to it, he didn’t mind being watched. Not if it was Ghost anyway.

“There’s Orion's belt, just over there.” soap startled slightly at the quiet voice beside him. He looked over to see the man pointing to something in the sky. He followed the finger, but he’ll admit he never had a knack for picking out stars and constellations. He offered up an interested hum, Ghost took that as his cue to continue.

“That cluster over there I’ve heard goes by many names, only know some of the stories though. My favorite is Aphrodite's carriage.” soap nodded, pretending to follow along as Ghost launched into whatever tale stars he had queued up in his brain. Soap couldn’t tell if Ghost was doing it for his benefit or if that was just how he told stories, but his imagery gave Soap intense urges to sketch it out.

That’s how they spent the next hour, with Ghost telling stories and Soap quietly sketching them out, it was an odd sort of role reversal. Soap would be lying if he tried to claim to have learned any of Ghost’s constellations, but he did listen to them.

“How’d’ya ken so much aboot th’ stars, L.T.?” soap garnered his curiosity between a lapse in Ghost's storytelling.

“I don’t.” he said it so simply, so matter-of-factly that it took soap a moment to process what he said.

“Bu- wha’d’ya mean? You were literally just telling me about- er what’d ya call it? ‘Jupiter’s Bowl’?”

“I made it up. The only constellation I know is Orion’s belt. Hell, I don't even know if I pointed to the right stars on that one.” again it was that matter-of-fact tone, as if it was obvious. It confused Soap to no end, he’d spoken with such… confidence? Self-assuredness? That soap didn’t even question him.

“So.. ye just got thoose stories locked and loaded? Or do ya improv ‘em?”

“Had some of ‘em for a while, other’s I made up.” There was a slight inflection in his voice that gave soap the feeling that they were creeping up on uncomfortable territory, so he flipped aspects.

“Tell meh ‘nother?” a smile quirked at the edges of his lips.

“Depends, it gonna put you to sleep?” the tone was light again, if not a tiny bit scratchy.

“Me? Nah, ah’d neve’” Ghost took it with a nod and launched them into another story. It was something flashy and eye-catching, but not memorable, simply for entertainment. At some point Ghost scooched over to watch soap draw, who leaned back just slightly to give a better view. That’s how they spent the rest of Ghost’s and the first half of Soap’s watch, with Ghost taking them on mini adventures, and soap documenting them. Eventually though soap nudged Ghost over to his bedroll next to Nik, knowing the man hadn’t gotten much sleep lately. Ghost rolled his eyes and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘mother hen’, but complied nonetheless.

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@checkerscharlie @halb-nichts @heyitsropi @trekkie-in-space @lavenderstem