#thread: patron goddess

[wonderingprince]

@divinecounsel

Ben has been in the library since it opened first thing this morning; a lifetime of rising with the dawn is a habit that's hard to break. He's tucked away in a corner, not far from the architecture section, at one end of a long desk. Other students are starting to trickle in now that the hour is more reasonable, hurrying through on their way to class or settling down for the day. Every now and then he takes a break from the book he's reading to just watch the ebb and flow of people, or to reply to a text, but for the most part he has his head down, working steadily.

Good grades don't materialise out of nowhere, no matter how smart you are.

He's leaning to the side to scribble a note into his pad, fingers carefully holding open the page in his book, and when he looks up again there's a figure sat across from him.

He didn't notice them sit down. Ben blinks, but doesn't think much of it, offering the newcomer a shy smile. He pulls his notepad a little closer to give them more space across the table. "Morning," he offers, assuming they sat here for company, as there are still plenty of empty tables in the library.

[rrcraft-and-lore]

In addition to my Monkey Man post from earlier, the always kind & sweet Aparna Verma (author of The Phoenix King, check it out) asked that I do a thread on Hijras, & more of the history around them, South Asia, mythology (because that's my thing), & the positive inclusion of them in Monkey Man which I brought up in my gushing review.

Hijra: They are the transgender, eunuch, or intersex people in India who are officially recognized as the third sex throughout most countries in the Indian subcontinent. The trans community and history in India goes back a long way as being documented and officially recognized - far back as 12th century under the Delhi Sultanate in government records, and further back in our stories in Hinduism. The word itself is a Hindi word that's been roughly translated into English as "eunuch" commonly but it's not exactly accurate.

Hijras have been considered the third sex back in our ancient stories, and by 2014 got official recognition to identify as the third gender (neither male or female) legally. Pakistan, Nepal, Bangladesh, and India have accepted: eunuch, trans, intersex people & granted them the proper identification options on passports and other government official documents.

But let's get into some of the history surrounding the Hijra community (which for the longest time has been nomadic, and a part of India's long, rich, and sometimes, sadly, troubled history of nomadic tribes/people who have suffered a lot over the ages. Hijras and intersex people are mentioned as far back as in the Kama Sutra, as well as in the early writings of Manu Smriti in the 1st century CE (Common Era), specifically said that a third sex can exist if possessing equal male and female seed.

This concept of balancing male/female energies, seed, and halves is seen in two places in South Asian mythos/culture and connected to the Hijra history.

First, we have Aravan/Iravan (romanized) - who is also the patron deity of the transgender community. He is most commonly seen as a minor/village deity and is depicted in the Indian epic Mahabharata. Aravan is portrayed as having a heroic in the story and his self-sacrifice to the goddess Kali earns him a boon.

He requests to be married before his death. But because he is doomed to die so shortly after marriage, no one wants to marry him.

No one except Krishna, who adopts his female form Mohini (one of the legendary temptresses in mythology I've written about before) and marries him. It is through this union of male, and male presenting as female in the female form of Mohini that the seed of the Hijras is said to begun, and why the transgender community often worships Aravan and, another name for the community is Aravani - of/from Aravan.

But that's not the only place where a gender non conforming divine representation can be seen. Ardhanarishvara is the half female form of lord Shiva, the destroyer god.

Shiva combines with his consort Parvarti and creates a form that represents the balancing/union between male/female energies and physically as a perfectly split down the middle half-male half-female being. This duality in nature has long been part of South Asian culture, spiritual and philosophical beliefs, and it must be noted the sexuality/gender has often been displayed as fluid in South Asian epics and the stories. It's nothing new.

Many celestial or cosmic level beings have expressed this, and defied modern western limiting beliefs on the ideas of these themes/possibilities/forms of existence.

Ardhanarishvara signifies "totality that lies beyond duality", "bi-unity of male and female in God" and "the bisexuality and therefore the non-duality" of the Supreme Being.

Back to the Hijra community.

They have a complex and long history. Throughout time, and as commented on in the movie, Monkey Man, the Hijra community has faced ostracization, but also been incorporated into mainstream society there. During the time of the Dehli Sultanate and then later the Mughal Empire, Hijras actually served in the military and as military commanders in some records, they were also servants for wealthy households, manual laborers, political guardians, and it was seen as wise to put women under the protection of Hijras -- they often specifically served as the bodyguards and overseers of harems. A princess might be appointed a Hijra warrior to guard her.

But by the time of British colonialism, anti-Hijra laws began to come in place folded into laws against the many nomadic tribes of India (also shown in part in Monkey Man with Kid (portrayed by Dev Patel) and his family, who are possibly

one of those nomadic tribes that participated in early theater - sadly by caste often treated horribly and relegated to only the performing arts to make money (this is a guess based on the village play they were performing as no other details were given about his family).

Hijras were criminalized in 1861 by the Indian Penal Code enforced by the British and were labeled specifically as "The Hijra Problem" -- leading to an anti-Hijra campaign across the subcontinent with following laws being enacted: punishing the practices of the Hijra community, and outlawing castration (something many Hijra did to themselves). Though, it should be noted many of the laws were rarely enforced by local Indian officials/officers. But, the British made a point to further the laws against them by later adding the Criminal Tribes Act in 1871, which targeted the Hijra community along with the other nomadic Indian tribes - it subjected them to registration, tracking/monitoring, stripping them of children, and their ability to sequester themselves in their nomadic lifestyle away from the British Colonial Rule.

Today, things have changed and Hijras are being seen once again in a more positive light (though not always and this is something Monkey Man balances by what's happened to the community in a few scenes, and the heroic return/scene with Dev and his warriors). All-hijra communities exist and sort of mirror the western concept of "found families" where they are safe haven/welcoming place trans folks and those identifying as intersex.

These communities also have their own secret language known as Hijra Farsi, which is loosely based on Hindi, but consists of a unique vocabulary of at least 1,000 words.

As noted above, in 2014, the trans community received more legal rights.

Specifically: In April 2014, Justice K. S. Radhakrishnan declared transgender to be the third gender in Indian law in National Legal Services Authority v. Union of India.

Hijras, Eunuchs, apart from binary gender, be treated as "third gender" for the purpose of safeguarding their rights under Part III of our Constitution and the laws made by the Parliament and the State Legislature. Transgender persons' right to decide their self-identified gender is also upheld and the Centre and State Governments are directed to grant legal recognition of their gender identity such as male, female or as third gender.

I've included some screenshots of (some, not all, and certainly not the only/definitive reads) books people can check out about SOME of the history. Not all again. This goes back ages and even our celestial beings/creatures have/do display gender non conforming ways.

There are also films that touch on Hijra history and life. But in regards to Monkey Man, which is what started this thread particularly and being asked to comment - it is a film that positively portrayed India's third sex and normalized it in its depiction. Kid the protagonist encounters a found family of Hijras at one point in the story (no spoilers for plot) and his interactions/acceptance, living with them is just normal. There's no explaining, justifying, anything to/for the audience. It simply is. And, it's a beautiful arc of the story of Kid finding himself in their care/company.

[runic-dreamer]

Epic the musical gonna consume me

Not me, choosing God Games as my first animatic of epic the musical. You know, the longest song? with the most characters?

No, never. It's not like I have to conserve energy for a dracula theatre production or anything. Nooo.

Anyway, here are some rough designs and some even rougher frames. I did storyboard the whole thing for the most part, but I still have so much to do, anyway:

Let's start with Athena:

I made her hair in rough wing shapes, and her cape is technically wings, but can turn into snakes. When she needs those.

I'm quite pleased with her spear design, since she is also the patron goddess of weavers, and spinning, I took inspiration from a distaff, which as far as my research goes is used to hold loose fibers to be spun into thread?

Next up is Apollo:

At first I wanted to go with a more plague heavy desing, since that is mostly what he did during the trojan war, which would be Odysseus's reference point, I guess. But that would not have fit so well with the lyrics, so he got a snek instead. And he has hyazinths as his laurel wreath. (and the last touch is his hair, which is inspired by Mortius on YouTube, through whom I properly discovered epic)

Next up: Heffefuff (Hephaestus)

I wanted to include the whole: "was thrown from olypus as a baby"-thing, so I gave him two prosthetics: his arm and lower leg. His arm is made from metal. Engraved is his fall/push from Olympus on his bizeps, and the legendary weapons he crafted on his lower arm (including but not limited to: Achilles Helmet and Spear). His lower leg is made up from fire and Magma/Lava.

He's also got an eyepatch, cause those are cool.

Next on the roster is Aphrodite:

From the beginning I knew I wanted to go for Aphrodite Areia, the Aphrodite which would have been worshipped in Sparta. The Armed Aprhodite in full armor, with weapons and shield. The first draft on the left, was just that: a first draft (though I am keeping the Spartan Shield). The second draft (which became the final one) Is what I'm gonna go with. I am givng her legs a seafoam patters, as the : formed out of seafoam -origin, is the funniest in my opinion.

In her hand, she is holding a rose, which kinda doubles as a weapon, not sure about the practicality on that.

Ares is up next:

Like Aphrodite Ares also has 2 drafts, the left one is more traditional or rather mainstream I think. I wanted to lean into the "breaker of walls" epithet which he holds. So I gave him a hammer and a matching shield to Aphrodite.

Fun fact another ephithet of Ares is (according to wikipedia), "Wearing the gore of men", or sth similar. So his clothing is made from blood. Ain't that neat?

For the final product I'm leaning more towards the brawler version on the right, with the big gauntlets. Just like him more. more antithetical to Athena in that way, me thinks.

Next up: Hera

The only one I really struggled with. There are so many cool designs for her out there, and I did not want to copy anyones. So I tried to do my own thing. First of: her sleeves are those of an 80's wedding dress. To match her vibe and domain as goddess of marriage. The veil is of a similar effect, being essentially one long peacock feather. This design also does not have her crown yet, whoops.

She is associated with cows, but I did not want to give her horns, so instead she got the legs. Another association with her is pomegranates, which is very interesting as those are usually associated with Persephone. But since both rulers of the Underworld are very absent in Epic the musical, I think Hera can have them. As a treat. Specifically, she's got a scepter with a pomegranate on top, which transforms into a microphone.

Now for Zeus.

He don't get a picture. Nor specific art. Buddy is gonna be a cumulus nimbus and be happy about it. Fuck him. Actually that would be a really dumb idea.

Anyway, here are some Apollo v. Athena frames:

[thechthonicherbalist]

Who is...

Lady Athena?

Lady Athena is a #Hellenic goddess worshiped in Ancient Greece and beyond. Like many of the Ancient Greek Gods, Heroes and Lore, the story of her birth is not quite average. Zeus, mighty ruler of Olympus had received a warning, that one of his sons would take his throne & strip him of his power, as he himself had done with his father Cronos. So like his father, Zeus decided that cannibalism will solve his problem and swallowed his first lover, Metis, a beautiful Okeanide (Daughters of Okeanos and Thetys), while she was pregnant. Instead of bearing him the promised son, a wise girl, with the attire of a warrior was born from Zeus' head. Hephaistos, the disabled god of fire, metallurgy, and crafts came to aid Zeus as a midwife, effectively splitting his head open with an axe, to make way for Zeus' most beloved daughter, Athene, who stepped forth, with eyes of steal and fully armoured. If this is a special benefit of having a divine blacksmith midwife or a side effect of cannibal birth through your father's head is unknown.

("The birth of Athena" - Vase painting from 555 - 550 B.C. by the Phrynos Painter - British Museum, London)

Little Athene however was soon sent to be raised and educated in the arts of war, by the God Triton, alongside of his daughter Pallas, who became her companion (read: potentially wlw lover). Training together, the two girls would fight against each other with sword and shield and both were so skilled in their doing, that Zeus started to worry about his daughter, interfering in their play. This startled Pallas so much that she missed to parry a thrust of Athena's sword and got lethally wounded. According to some interpretations Athena was so devastated about the death of her lover, that she took her name as her own, to immortalize her memory and henceforth was known as Pallas Athena, whereas other interpretations identify Athena as aromantic or asexual.

(1. Contemporary bronze figurine of Athena, taking the fierce stance of a warrior with her iconic Medusa shield, her helmet and spear.) (2. Alternative shield of Athene's sporting the owl emblem, a symbol of her wisdom and crest to the city of Athens.)

Pallas is also synonymous with the word "girl" which goes hand in hand with another epithet of Athene's: Parthenos, meaning "maiden". In other words, Athena was known as the "Girl Athena" or "Maiden Athena", implying that she was rather young. Despite her everlasting young age, Athena became known as the wisest and most skilled warrior. Unlike Ares, God of war, her skills lie particularly with wisdom, protection and defense as well as diplomacy and righteousness, with which she aided many Greek heroes like Hercules, Perseus, Achilles and Odysseus according to Hellenic lore. Being an INFP (MBTI type) myself, and therefore a diplomat, I always admired her for these particular traits and often seek her council, aid and guidance, in order to act thoughtful and not get carried away by heated emotions, especially in the face of conflict and problems. (I'm not always successful, but that's why we ask for help. 😂)

("Athena Protects the young Hero" - Berlin)

Furthermore she is the patron goddess of arts and crafts, specifically those that serve the creation of useful objects and tools, but especially of crafts connected to thread and fabric. Notably she is also known as the Patron of Greece's capital city Athens, who sports an owl emblem in it's crest in her honour. The people of Attica chose her as such, after she gifted them with the invention of the olive tree, rooting the discovery of olives and their products in the hands of Greece, according to their lore. Furthermore she is known as patroness of Sparta, founder of Thebes and in association with the city of Corinth. Later Athena was also associated with Hygieia (goddess of health, cleanliness and hygiene) and the Hippocratic oath, a pledge physicians make before various healing gods to practice medicine and healing in a honourful and ethical way. Therefore Athena is also sometimes depicted with a serpent-staff, like Asclepios.

(Athena as restored by Algardi - Museo nazionale romano di palazzo, Altemps)

Some animals & objects associated with Athene are:

The Owl and Serpent - symbols of wisdom

The Horse - symbol of equestrian skills

The olive tree - symbol of victory

Armour, Helmet, Shield and Spear - symbols of divine authority, protection, wisdom and strategy

Sphinx and Griffins - symbols of power, domestication and taming of the wild spirits, abundance

Well received offering for Athene are:

Food like bread, meat, milk, honey, cakes, barley meal, olive oil, fruit, wine and pure water

Olives and Olive Branches

Flowers, especially white roses

Spices, especially cinnamon

Burning or offering incense

Crystals, amongst others Sodalite, Marble, Shungite, Fluorite, Granite, Amethyst, Dumortierite, a number of quartzes, emeralds and opals

Dedicational work and worship can include:

Studying, reading and educating yourself

Promoting peace and seeking diplomatic solutions and conversations to resolve conflict

Arts and crafts, especially weaving, knitting, crocheting

Learn and practice martial arts

Educating or writing informational works

(Athena with Owl and Shield, Replica)

[100beesinatrenchcoat]

Good Omens/Bg3 crossover

Okay so I will eventually make art of this, but you gotta wait longer for that because im picky about the art I post HOWEVER COMMA I will supply you with my ideas for right now. Also! Feel free to send any asks about this little au im making, I'll totally answer any questions about it. Lets start with the stars of the show. GALE/AZIRAPHALE (who I will only be referring to as Gale for sake of ease right now. Maybe I'll think of something more interesting later) While Mystra is not the only god in this universe, she is the one that is most important to gale, as he is one of her personal angels. Something of a celestial being in official dnd terms. This is the after life he was given after a lifetime spent being a priest in Mystra's church. It is Gale's soul mission to do whatever he can to please his goddess, as she has promised him great things (the specifics of which are unknown to Gale) if he did her work down in the mortal plane of Faerun. This mostly involves solving magical imbalances and destroying forms of magic that are separate from Mystra's weave (the kind of things bg3 gale did as Mystra's chosen) The orb, in this case, Isn't a product of Gale's folly but rather a sort of shock collar that Mystra placed onto him. Most of the time, it lies dormant. An ever lasting reminder of Mystra's eyes on him. Should he ever deny Mystra's will, or fail to complete a task to the best of his abilities, the orb will cause an excruciating pain for him, that cannot be quelled unless he consumes artifacts or objects threaded with the weave. Reminding him that he is Mystra's pawn, she is the reason he exists as the celestial being he is now, rather than being cast down to the hells after death. ASTARION/CROWLEY (same thing about the name as with Gale.. I'll be more creative later) Astarion is a strange mixture of undead and infernal, caused by contract. While once a wealthy magistrate high elf, then turned vampire, he spent his time as a spawn praying to any god in the pantheon he thought might hear his plea for freedom or guidance, even the goblin god Maglubiyet, at some point. However not a single one heard his plea. His undead status enough to cut him off from the celestial plane, apparently. But not enough to cut him off from the hells. One night, when sneaking off under Cazador Szarr's orders, he was approached by a demon in disguise in the alleyways of baldurs gate. The demon had saw his suffering as Cazador's spawn, and his potential for lethality and general mischief, and offered a deal. He swore to Astarion that he would protect him from Cazador, and give him the ability to walk in the sun, if Astarion agreed to cause general havoc across Faerun and occasionally act as assassin for other clients of the infernal. Astarion, desperate for freedom from his vampiric master, reluctantly agreed. Most of the mischief he causes throughout Faerun are either direct "fuck you's" to the gods and the things they stand for, as the infernal generally have a good deal of beef with the celestial. (Which Astarion doesn't mind doing, as every god in the pantheon ignored his desperate cries for help,) and simple assassinations according to his infernal patron, deal breakers and pact defying warlocks mostly.

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (11)

L for Luis (Rowan) - January 21st - February 17th

“Lady of the Mountains - Second month of the Celtic tree calendar”

Star: Sun; Gender: female; Gemstone: tourmaline; Patron: Brigantia, Brigid, St. Brigid; Symbols: living vigour + holy fervour, life force + spiritual power

Slender tree with smooth grey bark and graceful branches reaching towards the sky. In May, it produces an abundance of plump white flowers, which cluster together to form clusters the size of an adult palm. The flowers are very small, with five petals and sepals, and the ripe berries turn from green to red as autumn progresses. The rowan nut has a small pentagonal star shape on the opposite side of the base, and the pentagram has been known as a symbol of protection against evil since prehistoric times.

The rowan tree is dedicated to the ancient Britons' goddess Brigantia and the Irish goddess of liberal arts, Brigid who is associated with wisdom, poetry, healing, protection, blacksmithing and domesticated animals. Both Brigid and Brigantia have an aspect as patron goddesses of farmers and their livestock, promising the arrival of spring and a bountiful harvest. Together they are said to keep shooting flaming arrows made of rowan, which follow the sun all year round.

Since they are the goddesses who spin the thread and weave the cloth, it is they who continue to weave the everlasting fabric of life, guide the sun through the stars that occupy positions in the sky and keep the wheels of the seasons turning.

The Celtic festival of Imbolc takes place on 1 February and is dedicated to Brigid. This is because Brigid brings inspiration and visions to us and awakens the spirit of the year from its sleep. Imbolc is also the first 'Seasonal Purification Day' that comes around in the year, and on this day, the witches celebrate the Sabbath.

Rowan was once thought to be protected by this tree, as was the earth energy contained in ley lines (straight lines connecting ancient sacred sites and ruins) and menhirs (standing stones). Druids planted these trees at their ritual sites and used the smoke from burning rowan trees to invoke the spirits of the dead and warriors. The smoke from burning rowan trees was also often used to predict the course of a love affair.

For the Celts, the rowan was a symbol of nature's abode and vigorous life activity. Sacred, yet magically powerful, the rowan tree protects us from temptation and disease and was therefore discouraged from being cut down.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (11)

L は Luis (ﾅﾅｶﾏﾄﾞ) - 1月21日～2月17日

『山の淑女〜ケルトの木の暦の第2月』

星: 太陽、性: 女性; 宝石: トルマリン、守護神: ブリガンティア、ブリギッド、聖ブリギッド、シンボル: 生きる活力＋聖なる熱情、生命力＋霊力

なめらかな灰色の樹皮をもつ、すらりと細身の木で、��美な枝が天にむかって伸びている。5月になると白くふっくらとした花をふんだんに咲かせ、それらが群がって大人の手のひらほどの房を作る。花はとても小さく、5弁の花びらと萼ををもち、秋が深まるにつれ、熟した実は緑色から赤色に変色する。ナナカマドの実には柄の反対側に小さな五角形の星型がついているが、5線星型は太古の時代から魔除けのシンボルとして知られている。

ナナカマドの木は、古代ブリトン人たちの女神ブリガンティアや、アイルランドの学芸をつかさどる女神ブリギッドに捧げられている。彼女は知恵、詩、癒し、保護、鍛冶、家畜と関連している。ブリギッドもブリガンティアも、農牧の民とその家畜を守護する女神としての一面を持ち、春の到来を約束し、豊かな収穫をもたらすとされている。この二人は共にナナカマドでできた燃える矢を放ちつづけ、その矢は太陽の後を一年中追い続けるといわれている。糸を紡ぎ、布を織る女神であることから、とこしえに続く生命の布を織りつづけ、天空に位置を占める星の間を縫って太陽を導き、季節の歯車を回し続けるのもこの二人である。

ケルト人の祭りであるインボルクは2月1日に行われ、ブリギッドに捧げられる。ブリギッドが霊感や幻視を私たちにもたらし、一年の精霊を眠りから覚ましてくれるからである。インボルクは一年で最初にめぐってくる「季節祓いの日」にも当たり、この日、魔女たちはサバトを祝う。

かつてレイライン (古代の聖地や遺跡を結ぶ直線)やメンヒル (立石) に含まれる大地のエネルギーは、ナナカマドに守られていると信じられていた。ドルイドたちは祭壇の場にこの木を植え、ナナカマドを燃やした煙で死者の霊や戦士を呼び出していた。ナナカマドを燃やした煙はまた恋の行方を占う際にもよく使われた。

ケルト人にとって、ナナカマドは、自然が宿すシンボルであり、旺盛な生命活動の象徴でもあった。神聖で、しかも魔法の力をもつナナカマドは、誘惑や病気から私たちを守ってくれるので、伐採は慎むべきとされていた。

[3ver3mber]

"Just this once more..." Arya whispered under her sharply exhaled breath. She knew all too well the cost of casting such a spell, or rather, she understood there were dire consequences. She may have been in Mystra's favor, but even a goddess' grace had its limits.

" 'Only when absolutely necessary'..." She quoted her patron's warning as she calmed herself, already feeling the taut threads of the Weave around her quivering in anticipation for her next words.

"I wish-.." Arya began, her very voice imbued with magic. She hesitated but for a moment, considering if perhaps she was making a mistake.

No, of course not - after all, this entire endeavor was to further her progress on a mission Mystra herself assigned. A test of faith, perhaps...

With her nerves steeled for the time being, she continued, brow furrowed in determination.

"I wish to find Luthen's Library." The statement pulsed through the room with a violent thrum of energy, the rippling wave in the Weave carrying on for miles. Any spellcaster worth their salt was sure to have felt the disturbance, though not much more than an off tingle in the back of their mind. In an instant, though, the blast reversed with the same force, this time entirely channeled into Arya. The impact knocked the small sorcereress onto the floor, her body writhing in pain as rapid-fire visions assaulted her mind.

The vast expanse of sand and sun, a sight she had never laid eyes on. The vision stretched itself thin, reaching as far as it could toward the object of her desire before failing.

Something was shielding the location from even a mastery level spell.

Too quickly to even process, the spell changed direction, attempting to fulfill her wish another way. She was given the aerial view of a neighboring city she had flown over before, a peculiar looking violet tent, an inquisitive raven, and... stars?

Before she could make sense of it, the visions ceased, feeling to her almost as if the very air was drawn out of her lungs. She rolled over onto her front and retched, face twisted into a grimace as she waited for the pain to subside.

Finally, she rose to her feet, albeit shakily, panting in an attempt to catch her breath. She had no time to waste- not only was her goddess counting on her, but the use of such an illegal spell had surely garnered her some unwanted attention, and she wasn't one to simply wait for trouble to find her.

Slipping her necessary belongings into her pack, Arya ducked out into the night, heading for the stables. While she had never been particularly adept at stealth due to her heritage, she did not find a need for it this night. Her short jog to her steed's stall was uneventful, other than the waves of exhaustion and nausea that persisted in the aftermath of her spell.

"Icarus, come on-" she beckoned in a hushed command, clicking her tongue a few times. The large, flame-lapped griffin sauntered out of his pen, his beak extending in a wide yawn.

"I see you've maintained your sense of urgency, hm?" She chided him with sarcasm before exhaling a small chuckle.

"Come then, we've not much time before -" It was as if her unspoken words had manifested, prompting a frustrated hiss as a guard rounded the corner on patrol.

"Go, go, go!" She whisper-yelled, hopping onto the griffins back as it began its takeoff gallop. The thumping of it's footsteps alerted the guard, but as he called out to the pair, they were already in the air, soaring away from a place Arya had once dreamed of being. As she watched her post disappear into the distance, Arya couldn't help but reflect on how quickly a dream could change and how oft they turned out to be nothing more than a fantasy.

Even still, as the wind whipped her hair and all within her vision was sky, the buzz of cautious excitement was palpable. The thoughts of her position and the consequences of desertion were left behind with the barracks. All that remained to her now was the future and what it might hold.

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

After flying through the night, a familair sight sprawled out below- the city she had seen in her vision. With a sharp whistle, Arya directed Icarus downward, and the two began their descent. The blazing duo appeared to the few waking onlookers like a streaking comet against the dark cobalt sky, the sight certainly conspicuous.

Arya could not mind the stray looks any less, entirely honed on finding the blur of purple her vision had promised. It wasn't long until she spotted it, circling the area a few times before finally landing.

She slid from her steed's back with a practiced grace, heavy boots sounding with a thump against the dirt. She did not approach the tent, however, opting to simply stare at it. It was funny to her, the fact that she had just spent hours trying to find it, amd yet, now that she was here...

"...Hello? " Her mouth spoke before her brain gave it permission, and she instantly cringed at the choice of word.

'Hello? Really? A good hundred kilometers and all you could concoct in your addled mind is-' she thought to herself, though the stream of consciousness was again rudely interrupted by her far too eager mouth.

"Pardon the early intrusion, but might I speak with you?"

'Well... At the very least, that one was polite...'

{ @fortune-feather }

[weirdmageddon]

Cumpleaños chica, no hay que preocuparse

AO3 MIRROR

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Rating: T

Relationships: Link/Zelda, Link & Zelda

Summary: Now seventeen years old, Zelda is finally able to step foot on Mount Lanayru. Link keeps a close eye on her at the Spring of Wisdom, the final spring she has yet to visit to hope at awakening her sealing power. Once again, she is unsuccessful. Canon compliant imagining of events earlier in the day before Calamity Ganon awakens as seen in Memory 15. One-shot.

Tags: Canon Compliant,  Pre-Calamity,  Selectively Mute Link,  he talks a little bit but he’s mostly quiet and terse when he does,  Developing Relationship,  Hurt/Comfort,  Zelda Needs A Hug,  Non-Explicit Intimacy,  Cold Weather,  Huddling for Warmth,  Character Study,  POV Multiple

Author’s notes: Inspired by a conversation I had with a friend. It tickled my brain that Zelda wore her bare-skin ceremonial robes on a freezing mountain, not to mention in the freezing water. The expression and movement Link makes towards Zelda when the Calamity awakens in the memory gave me the impression that he was worried about her state earlier in the day as well. This fic arose tying the threads of what scenario was most likely to have reasonably happened earlier that day, as well as whatever caused them to be suddenly comfortable being so touchy-feely with each other that entire day as seen in the memories.

Beta read by another friend. I hope you enjoy. I don’t write a lot, but I like to think that I have a talent for grasping the “voice” of characters.

Title is most people’s interpretation of a nonsense lyric from Tears for Fears - Listen. Give it a listen if you haven’t. Give it a listen even if you already have.

Today is her birthday.

However, instead of celebrating her seventeenth over fruitcake with friends and family, she’s standing with her skin nearly bare in frigid waters. Her white robes blend in with the snowy landscape of Mount Lanayru. She has goosebumps all down her arms, partly from the below freezing temperatures, and partly from the premonition she feels in her bones.

Her silent but loyal guard stands at the entrance of the spring, his back turned away from her to give her privacy. She still doesn’t feel that she has much anyway, for she knows he’s listening to her. He always has, but doesn’t make it known.

Zelda stands small in front of the stone statue of Hylia, smiling down upon her in a way she feels is patronizing at this point.

“Hear me now,” Zelda articulates with a tone of resignation, “Goddess of Wisdom, Nayru. I come seeking your strength. The spirit of your sisters have not answered my plea. I fear that you may be my last chance... and I hope that it won’t be too late.”

As Link looks back down the mountain, his mind isn’t empty. It’s filled with thought he tries to push out to numb himself, but today he’s stirring on a few things.

Before their ascent to the Spring of Wisdom, Link offered Zelda her winter coat, but she refused. She said that she needed to fortify her spirit by braving the cold as a display of her devotion. He remembered what Zelda had said to him the day before:

“Lanayru’s decree is very specific. It says, ‘No one is allowed, under the age of seventeen, for only the wise are permitted a place upon the mountain.’”

Her decision to forego her coat did not seem very wise, but he knew better than to argue with her. He packed it with him just in case. He does not enjoy seeing Zelda push herself like this to what seems like self-enforced punishment. Her actions appear to be out of desperation at this point.

Link’s nose is running and he wipes it on his sleeve. His ears are warm and snugly tucked into his hood. He briefly glances over at Zelda’s ears and observes that they are pink and raw.

“Today is my seventeenth birthday. Father made me begin my training ten years ago to this day. And today is the first time I pray to you.“

She gives a gentle chuckle, but it’s not one that makes Link feel warm inside.

“Ten years...” she says. “Ten years of my childhood wasted to being ordered to do something as fruitless as this. The Calamity draws ever nearer. It could awaken at any moment, and yet...”

Zelda looks down at her hands and examines their lack. Her fingertips are pink and raw.

“Nothing...”

She’s silent for a moment. The wind blows steadily and the water laps as she puts her hands back down.

“I have great knowledge of the ancient Sheikah relics that legends say brought Calamity Ganon to its downfall ten thousand years ago. If only Father would let me learn more about them I could help... since I can’t seem to do anything else of any good. Surely it’s better than naught?

“If so,” Zelda fumes indignantly, “wouldn’t this be a wise thing of me to do, then?!”

Zelda’s frustration is understandable and justified. Link has seen it evolve every time she visits the springs to pray. He assumes that they could have started as prayers, but since the time he’s been tasked with accompanying her, she seems to end up talking her personal thoughts aloud and venting.

“At this point, I honestly don’t even know if you’re real or not, but please. Give me a sign... a hint. Illuminate my path.”

It’s year ten and Zelda is met by silence yet again.

She balls her fists and curses under her breath. Even with a new spring, she didn’t have her hopes up. Her color looks paler against the periphery of her skin being tinged red from broken capillaries. Zelda begins to sigh, but stops when the frigid air burns her airway.

“This was my last chance...” Her somber tone hangs heavy in the air.

“So, I failed then.”

The silence upon the mountain is broken when a powerful, freezing gale of wind from the north blows Link’s hood in front of his face and causes Zelda to halt in place, grabbing her own arms with her hands for warmth. Link whips his head around, the wind chill making him finally decide to make a break for it. He wades into the freezing water and grabs Zelda’s hand.

“Link,” she snivels, either from the cold or her misery, he wasn’t sure.

Link responds with a soft affirmative grunt and pulls her towards the stone landing, indicating that she get out of the water.

Zelda doesn’t even bother trying to fight against his urges to get her out of the cold water. She knew this effort was futile. She hates herself for being so useless to everyone. For, in all her wisdom, not figuring out a way to her power by now, ten years later. The heir to a throne of nothing.

The water insulated her legs from the air, but now that they are exposed, her legs are frozen in place. They’re mottled from poor circulation.

Zelda chatters, “I... I can’t move them.”

Link’s eyes widen and he lets go of her hand, and instead kneels down, reaching his arms behind her back and knees, and slowly lifts her with a grunt. Carrying Zelda, Link walks her down the steps of the landing and places her on the flat frozen grass. He takes his hood off and gives it to her.

Link then grips the hilt of his Master Sword and lifts it out of the sheath. He runs to the nearest tree and plows his sword into it as hard as he can, gathering wood bundles and bringing them back to Zelda.

The bag that he packed for the trek sits on the ground next to Zelda. He pulls out one of the towels that’s been kept warm by red chuchu jelly. The towel is white and the royal crest is embroidered in the corner with golden thread. He quickly takes it out and wraps it around her. He takes the other warm towel that was packed and places it on the ground for her to sit on, which she does.

Link takes the red chuchu jelly that was warming the towels and places it on top of the bundle of wood he set on the ground. He removes the bow from his back, takes an arrow from his quiver, and shoots at the substance. The arrow piercing the jelly creates a small explosion of heat that sets the wood alight. He looks back at Zelda expectantly, and the two move closer to the fire, sitting beside each other. He holds her hand. Her hand is so cold.

A rare occasion, Link gently voices his thoughts. “It’s dangerous to stay in your wet clothes in this weather.”

In any other situation, he would be bashful about insinuating she undress with him nearby, but he’s dead serious on making sure she doesn’t get hypothermia, if she hasn’t already. He glances at her with a pleading expression.

Zelda understands. “Please don’t look.”

Link’s expression shows exasperation, as if he wouldn’t even think of it. He turns and covers his eyes.

Out of his sight and by the warmth of the fire, Zelda undresses out of her wet gown. She quickly wraps herself back up in the warm white towel.

“Okay.” She sits next to him again, her arms and legs shaking.

“...So that’s it,” she laments with a pause. “After all this time... it was a failure. I’m destined for nothing.”

Her thoughts guide her away from the present, remembering how cold she used to be towards Link because he executed his skills seemingly without flaw or issue. He was naturally talented at harnessing what he needed for his destiny from a young age. Even now knowing Link’s hidden struggles he confided in her, and knowing that he doesn’t despise her for her inability to harness the sealing powers of the Goddess, it doesn’t change the fact that she remains unskilled and aimless at unlocking them at seventeen. She thinks on how if this had happened back then, she would have rather frozen to death in her pretty white robes. Link is so warm, however. He always was, in hindsight. She was just plagued by her own shortcomings. Even if his expressions were cold, his heart was always warm.

Link brings her train of thought to a halt as if on cue, pulling her back to the present when he wraps his arms around her body and holds her close in the warmed towel. He doesn’t say a word, because he doesn’t feel the need to, but he also just doesn’t know what to say. He presses her icy arms close to him. His body is so warm.

Zelda breathes out, with a cloud of steam, “Link... I...”

Making a quiet questioning noise, Link pulls back slightly to meet her eyes.

“...Thank you. I’m sorry for my reckless behavior. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

Link doesn’t respond in words, but he blinks; his eyebrows lower, and he has a pensive look in his eyes. He then rests his chin over her shoulder as he holds her. Clearly, whatever apology she’s given, Link has already forgiven before she even stated it.

Link quickly grew to care about Zelda beyond the scope of his bare minimum duty to protect her as ordered by the king. Despite being fearless and formidable in the face of physical threats, Link was afraid of one thing: getting pulled into any drama or causing anything that could foster gossip of his relationship with the princess. A random swordsman born to a line of soldiers from Hateno entrusted with being not only the captain of a royal’s personal guard, but being the exclusive one chosen to accompany her on her escapades was enough to get him looks, so he kept his mouth shut and kept a few steps behind her. It pains him that he can’t show her the affection he feels towards her due to the hundreds of eyes boring into him every day. He’s never been close like this to her before.

But right now, the moment is only between him, her, and the Goddess.

Link still feels her muscles are stiff and quivering. The towel may not be enough. He pulls out of the embrace and puts his palm out to signal her to wait a moment. He stands up and starts performing bodyweight squat-jacks.

Zelda stares at him in disbelief.

“What... are you doing?”

Link is silent and focused on moving, engaging his entire body. He continues the squat-jacks until he feels himself begin to break a sweat, grunting during the last one, at which point he stops.

“Generating body heat,” he huffs.

He stumbles, taking a seat beside Zelda again and removes his coat, panting out puffs of steam. He takes off his belts and blue tunic, now only in his off-white long-sleeved undershirt. This should transfer heat better, he thinks. Over his undershirt, Link puts the coat back on and wraps the sides of it around both him and Zelda to form a seal with it so that the air is contained. Link again closes the distance with a gentle but firm embrace. She can feel his heart thumping in his chest from the exertion against her arms which makes her a tad lightheaded and giddy, but his idea is working. The sum of the fire, the insulation from the warm towels, the heat radiating off his body as well as his breath confined by the coat, is warming her.

“Oh. Of course...” Zelda responds sheepishly to the situation, internally justifying his actions with reason. “Yes, that makes sense.”

He tucks his face into the towel over her collarbone and exhales heavily.

Even with his back turned when she prayed, Link always kept an ear open to what Zelda would say. He had escorted her to the Spring of Courage just a few days prior; he vividly remembers hearing how her voice broke as she asked the Goddess what was wrong with her, and it made him deeply uncomfortable to hear her so miserable. He had turned to face her and gently counseled her to wrap it up for today, with his superficial reasoning being that it was getting late, but the deeper reason being that he didn’t want to listen to her hurting. He wanted to hold her tight at that moment but was still worried about professionalism and politeness. There wasn’t much he could do. But currently, Link is feeling catharsis for that missed opportunity.

The two stay like this for a half a minute before Zelda breaks their silence.

“Link. I need to tell you something,” she says gravely.

Link’s ears perk at her tone. He nods, softly grunting in acknowledgment. His breathing is still short.

“Two nights ago, the night after we returned from the Spring of Courage, I had an unsettling dream.” Zelda’s eyes become distant, moving up and to the left, as though she were recalling the scene. “In pitch darkness, there was a lone woman haloed by a blinding light. She was beautiful. I could sense she wasn’t of our world. Her lips spoke urgently, but I couldn’t hear what she said. Her words failed to reach me.”

She looks back down to the top of Link’s messy head and frowns.

“I woke up from it filled with a feeling of dread... dread like I hadn’t known before. Since that dream, I haven’t been able to shake this sense that something terrible is about to happen. And whatever it is, I’m not prepared.”

A lump forms in Zelda’s throat. “And I’m not sure why anyone would believe this sense of urgency coming to me. After all, what have I to prove successful communication with the Goddess? Nothing. And yet...”

“I believe you,” Link replies.

He is actually biting his nails internally, but he tries to numb himself to it and it doesn’t show. After accompanying her countless times, he knows how observational Zelda is and can’t help but trust her intuition.

“Are you afraid?” she asks waveringly.

Link bites his tongue, unsure what Zelda wants to hear. If he says he’s not afraid, will she feel like she’s being undermined and overreacting to a major threat? If he says he is afraid, will she lose confidence in his ability to protect the kingdom? The pressure is also on him to perform, just as it is for her. Hesitantly, Link confesses to his stress with a whispered humph. His arms are still wrapped firmly around Zelda’s body, and he rubs her back comfortingly, feeling the beads of the towel’s fabric under his hands. The sensation of his chest rising and falling makes her feel safer.

Zelda instead seems relieved at his response. That he knows how she feels.

“I just feel that—it feels that at any moment something awful could happen.”

Link pulls back to look her in the eyes, hands on her shoulders for coat insulation. He wants to tell her they’ll get through this together but he is unable to speak, or even know if what he’d say would be the truth. Zelda’s too penetratingly critical to believe it, and he’s not sure he truly believes a pointless platitude either, to be honest.

Zelda also looks into his eyes. After being accompanied by him countless times, she has learned to read her taciturn escort’s subtle expressions. His tight-lipped face communicates worry and pensiveness, which paradoxically feels reassuring to her. Her face heats up when she begins to feel her eyes involuntarily water. She’s always been a strong girl. She held herself with dignity when her mother died eleven years ago. She can’t remember the last time she felt hot tears stinging her eyes, at least not in front of anyone else.

At least the fluids in her body were warm again, she tells herself.

Link notices. He wipes her eyes with the towel. She takes the towel in her own hands and lowers her chin, hiding her face. He pats her back gently as she gives a hefty sniff from her runny nose.

“Let’s head back,” Link says softly. She nods, face red from both embarrassment and the cold.

Beckoning Zelda to her feet, he hands Zelda back her dress. Unfortunately, she has no dry change of clothes besides the coat by itself, and neither of them want her to present herself naked in a towel in front of the rest of the Champions.

“Put it back on,” Link gestures to her ceremonial gown. “I’ll keep you warm on the way.”

With Link’s back turned and eyes closed, Zelda dresses back into her white gown. It’s still damp, but it is not dripping wet. A good portion of the water has evaporated next to the heat of the fire and in part due to the type of fabric it is woven from. The smoky scent of embers still lingers in the cloth.

At the same time, Link puts his own clothes back on; he dresses back into his blue tunic and fastens the belt around his waist and chest. Once Zelda gives him the okay, he turns around, takes her dry winter coat out and slips it on over her gown. He takes his hood back, packs away the towels into their bag, and stamps out the fire.

He glances down at Zelda’s open-toed sandals, her poor toes red. “Can you walk back in those?” he asks. Even down the slope of the mountain, the Naydra Snowfield poses as an obstacle before the clearing to Lanayru’s East Gate where the Champions await their return.

“No,” Zelda simply states, shaking her head. She knows she won’t be able to. She was able to power through open-toed footwear in the snow earlier out of a sense of expectation that her devotion would be heard. But that thread of hope has gone nowhere, and she has since emerged from the Spring of Wisdom with a slightly more impoverished state of mind from their initial trek up the mountain. Her feet are also icicles.

Guilt hangs heavy in her chest for telling him that she isn’t able to walk in her sandals through the snow now, though she could earlier. Even when she had just told him she doesn’t want to trouble him, and even when he addressed her worry in his typical silent way. When will she just accept the seemingly endless lengths he’d go for her? It’s literally his job, she reasons to herself. Get a grip.

Link doesn’t seem to give away what he feels about a situation. Directly knowing how people feel about states of affairs is how Zelda naturally feels at ease with others. Even now she still sometimes finds her imagination running wild at what his attitude is for any course of action or situation, wanting to make sure she doesn’t accidentally step on his toes if he truly dissents but never voices it. Since meeting Link, she’s had to learn to understand that he is actually a very simple person, much simpler than she had initially believed. He holds no strong opinions either way and seems fine, even functioning at his best, when sailing wherever the wind may take him. She’s amazed and even a little envious at how ‘okay’ he seems with things all the time, but her slight envy backpedals as she wonders if an existence like that ever feels aimless and numb.

Numb like her toes right now.

Shouldering the bag, Link kneels down next to her and slowly hoists Zelda up in his arms with a guttural grunt, holding her in the same bridal carry as before: his left arm supporting her back and his right arm behind her knees. When lifting her, he adroitly puts a slight twist on the fabric of the dress around the contour of her legs so that the cold air doesn’t have many opportunities to blow in from under.

Link’s stature is slightly shorter than Zelda’s by about ten centimeters, but he is still strong enough to carry her. She is repeatedly impressed by his physical strength for such a small, lean little Hylian.

“I hope I’m not too heavy,” Zelda coos, “I’m so sorry to make you do this, Link.” The guilt of burdening him with more labor just won’t quit no matter how much she knows he probably doesn’t care.

Link gives her a look, a mild but confident one accompanied by an almost imperceptible grin. More readily does Zelda identify his smiles from his eyes than his mouth—the way his bottom eyelid just ever so slightly moves upward. Seeing his expression brings her a faint sense of relief, showing her that he has it under control and isn’t struggling, and also that she needn’t worry about apologizing.

He kind of likes doing it, anyway.

After taking one last glance at the Spring of Wisdom, Link turns his back to it and begins to move down the mountain with Zelda in his arms. Zelda doesn’t look back.

                                                      • • •

The two continue their journey through the snow in silence. They’ve descended down Mount Lanayru from the Spring of Courage now. The late afternoon sky reflects off the snow-capped mountain behind them and the snowfield before them with a gorgeous pale orange glow, accompanied by contrasting blue-tinted shadows.

Link glances at Zelda, and notices her eyes are closed. He thinks about how exhausted she must be, yet so determined to get the answers she needs. He knows she will continue to push herself, and he is determined to keep up with and protect her. Under it all, his heart breaks for Zelda. It’s not fair. Time after time, she dedicates herself fully. Just like him. She puts just as much effort into her training as he does, yet gets nothing out of it but reminders of her inadequacy. Link was naturally born with a gravitation towards swordsmanship. He enjoys the thrill, making sense of and creating his own techniques, and seeing how he has improved. In this way, he thinks Zelda is even stronger than he is for having to put up with training she loathes and sees no progress out of for ten years. If she were able to freely chase her intellectual pursuits instead of being required to play her role as princess for the kingdom, Link is certain she’d have as much skill in her own niche as he does in his own, and would actually be satisfied with her own accomplishments. And doing this on her birthday no less? He wants nothing more than to cook something delicious for her today in comfort and safety. She deserves it. She deserves it so much. She pours hours into dedicating herself to the benefit of everyone. And for that, he feels himself bonded to her, and especially after today, a deeper sense of devotion and protectiveness towards her than he has ever felt before.

Without much thought, he holds her closer as he carries her through the afternoon-lit snowfield, hands squeezing her back and legs which causes her eyes to flutter open. The air is gradually getting warmer and the snow is thinning under his boots. He’s starting to tire a bit, but continues forward.

With grass now under their feet, Link puts Zelda down. The air is warmer here and Zelda is noticing she’s getting sweaty with anticipation. She takes off her coat and hands it to Link who promptly bags it.

Approaching the east gate, her expression becomes more and more pensive at the prospect of informing the Champions of her failure again and squashing their hope. They’ve given her so much encouragement. It’s only fair that they get something in return for the time and hope they’ve invested into her endeavors. She feels herself to be a hope sink. Not to mention, what is she going to tell her father back at the castle...? From behind her, Link sees her head bow slightly.

“Zelda,” Link speaks with that gentle breathy tone of his that he rarely uses. He knows Zelda doesn’t care for him addressing her with formalities such as Princess.

She stops and turns her head to him, knowing that it’s important enough for him to speak about. His expression is neutral but there’s an inhibited fondness behind it. “Yes?”

Link saunters until he’s caught up with Zelda, stopping next to her. He reaches from below and holds her hand, lacing his fingers between hers.

“Happy birthday.”

[dragon-discourse]

Chaoskampf: The Struggle Against Chaos

What is the Chaoskampf? Chaoskampf, German for Struggle with Chaos, was coined by Hermann Gunkel in 1895 and ascribed to the recurring motif of a God or Cultural Hero battling a Chaos Monster, usually a serpentine or draconic one personifying chaos or the ocean. The myth is then frequently followed by an act of creation. In this post, I’m going to introduce you to some examples of this recurring theme from across cultures.

Given how old this motif is, it’s believed to have existed in the Proto-Indo-European cultures, with this myth being reconstructed based on their descendants. A recurring thread in this myth is to have the dragon or serpent be associated with the waters, while the god is often associated with Storms and Lightning. As a result, it is the reconstructed PIE God of Weather Perkwunos  who is said to be the enemy of the PIE Serpent.

Tiamat

Tiamat is the Goddess of Salt Waters in Mesopotamian mythology, said to be the mother of the gods with her consort Apsu/Abzu, the God of Sweet (Fresh) Waters. When Abzu was slain by their children after they learned he was plotting to kill them, Tiamat few into a rage, birthing dragons and monsters to battle the gods. Marduk, the Patron Deity of Babylon, fought Tiamat with the four winds and with arrows, finally slaying her. After her death, her body was used to create the world.

Tiamat’s exact form is unknown, with some debating if she truly would have been something draconic. The description given of her grants a tail, an utter, and a thigh, to she may have been a partially bestial being.

Lotan

In Canaanite Mythology, Lotan is the servant or zoomorphic form of Yamm, the god of the sea. When Yam became the King of the Gods, Ba’al Hadad, a storm god, stood against him, seeking to be King instead. Hadad succeeds in his fight, and usurps Yamm’s place.

Leviathan

The Leviathan is an offshoot of the Chaoskampf motif, though perhaps one that is not readily apparent. God does not need to slay or tame the sea serpent to gain control over creation, it is something he already possesses. But the Leviathan still serves a role as the personification of chaos and the sea, and God’s creation and dominion over it (and eventual slaying of it) is used to represent the same theme that the Dragonslayer version does.

Leviathan’s name seems connected to Lotan, with both sharing similar roots and referring to a coiling, twisting creature.

Also found in Hebrew Mythology are Rahab and Tannin, who are sea monsters akin to the Leviathan, also said to be defeated by God.

Illuyanka

Illuyanka, found in Hittite Mythology, was the enemy of Tarḫunz, Hittite God of the Sky and Storms. There are two versions of this story. In the first, Illuyanka is tricked into getting drunk before being slain. In the second, a mortal assists the defeated storm god by seducing Illuyanka’s daughter, freeing the god so that he can fight and slay the dragon.

Apep

Found in Egyptian Mythology, Apep is the serpent of chaos who dwells in the Egyptian underworld, seeking to devour Ra as he traveled through the underworld at night. He was battled by numerous gods to prevent him from doing so, including Set, a chaotic force in his own right, though one associated with storms. Apep has multiple origins in myth, with some claiming him to be the umbilical cord of Ra, while others state he always inhabited the waters of chaos. 

Typhon

Typhon was the enemy of Zeus in Greek myth, being created by Gaia to defeat the gods. Interestingly, Typhon shares some things with two of the previous entries in this post. In many versions of his myth, he manages to defeat Zeus and steal pieces of his body, as Illuyanka did with Tarḫunz. As with that myth, a mortal assists Zeus.

Additionally, the Greeks equated Typhon with the Egyptian Set, the chaotic slayer of Apep.

Typhon himself was described as a monstrous humanoid, with wings and serpents for legs. He had hundreds of dragon heads, which let loose the cries of all sorts of wild beasts. He also did not have much water associations, but rather was considered more Chthonic and associated with storms.

He was created by Gaia to usurp Zeus’ role as King, which has him playing into the theme of defeating the dragon being an act of validation for the king of the gods.

Vritra

Vritra was serpentine personification of drought in Hinduism, In the Vedas, he was said to hold back the waters, causing a drought until he was slain by the storm god Indra. In the Puranas, the story has him defeating Indra, not unlike Typhon’s defeat of Zeus, before being slain in a subsequent battle.

In addition to his role as a drought monster, Vritra was the son of Danu, the goddess said to personify primordial waters.

Xiangliu

A venomous, nine headed snake said to bring floods, Xiangliu was the minister of Gonggong, another draconic being from Chinese Mythology, with both being blamed for the Great Flood. The slayer of Xiangliu varies, with some saying he was killed by Yu the Great, and other saying he and Gonggong were killed by the fire god Zhurong.

Yamata-no-Orochi

Hailing from Japan, Yamata-no-Orochi is the enemy of Susanoo, the Shinto Storm God and brother of Amaterasu. Depicted as an eight headed and tailed serpent or dragon, Yamata-no-Orochi would feed upon the daughters of a family every year, until only one daughter remained.

Yamata-no-Orochi was lured into drinking eight barrels of sake, and once drunk the dragon was sliced to pieces by Susanoo. The sword Grass Cutter was found within the serpent’s tail.

Cipactli

Traveling all the way to the Aztecs, we meet Cipactli. Cipactli was a crocodilian or toad-like monster, covered in mouths and said to live in the primordial waters. The gods, wishing to create the world, lured Cipactli in and slew her, creating the earth from her body.

Veles

Veles was a Slavic god of water, livestock, the underworld, and earth. Associated with bears and serpents, he was said to be the enemy of Perun, the Slavic Storm Deity.

Jormungandr

Jormungandr, the world serpent, is the child of Loki and a sea monster so large he can encircle the entire world. His enemy is Thor, the god of thunder, and when Ragnarok comes the two of them will slay one another.

[whatever-you-can-give-me]

oo hot takes !!! i think. i think fandom is rlly missing out on not exploring more of the less human aspects of vash, ww & livio & literally anyone who's been experimented on OR is biologically Other. like - yo, zazie the beast??? why are we not talking about them??? they are SO terrifying???? the Potential with how many gaps mr. nightow left..... also this whole ... softification ... of many characters resulting in people fr missing how absolutely horrifying vash can be to be around and how terrified wolfwood was of him for a whole while.

oh man, anon, you're definitely trying to get me in trouble. obligatory disclaimer: i don't judge anyone's lighthearted or shippy fanfics, or even have that much of a bone to pick with most popular fanon.

HOWEVER, SINCE YOU ASKED:

vash is so fucking weird. he's so weird. he has this very subtle habit of like, forgetting that humans can have free will and fully-formed opinions about things? like, he assumes he is the highest authority on The Concept Of Conflict because he Knows The Most (and he's Space Jesus Delivered From On High By The Goddess Rem). and it makes him act really weird and patronizing out of 0% malice and 100% mommy issues. (i'm not a japanese speaker so take this with a grain of salt, but he uses the you-pronoun "kimi", which makes him sound 1. old 2. really patronizing. other people who use "kimi" include legato and zazie, for reference)

i can't really speak for what fandom's missing out on, cause i'm having a great time writing wolfwood's ongoing health issues from getting fucked over by the eye of michael into my fics about him. there's a lot to pick at there! i don't begrudge anyone not wanting to get into the whole. child experimentation angle, but there's a lot of real estate there if you're looking.

ZAZIE. oh i had a whole conversation about zazie with some friends the other day. i'd have to do some more research before i post about it, but the tl;dr is that by making zazie conscious and sentient, they exist as a native people of no man's land. which has made me think very hard about the post-canon concept in fanwork of terraforming the planet, because, like, that's their HOUSE, did you ASK them? for the record, i don't think nightow thought about this At All, but i think studio orange definitely has. also i want to write about them but it would need to be very stylistic, because hivemind.

LET WOLFWOOD BE SCARED OF VASH IT'S VERY IMPORTANT. very much hoping s2 keeps the thread from trigun maximum that seeing vash's power in action scared the fucking shit out of wolfwood and he doesn't really get past it for most of the manga. again people can write their fluff i don't begrudge it but i do think wolfwood's character is very informed by the fact that he is very in over his head and very scared.

[alexagirlie]

We Daren't Go A-Hunting for Fear of Little Men - Chapter One

(Masterlist)

Fandom: Dune

Ship: Paul x OMC, Paul x Duncan

Summary: There were 48 000 gods in their mythologies and not one appeared to him except for HER. She was beautiful, even under the blood and gore which coated her from head to foot. Her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow, her hair soft and silver like starlight spun to thread.

Warnings: Magic au. Fantasy au. Battle. Injury. Blood. Near death experience. Old Gods.

Taglist: @succnfuccubus

There were 48 000 gods in their mythology, Goddesses to watch over lovers who had been lost at sea, to temper the waves and guide sailors home. Gods whose job it was to water the earth with their blood, making it fertile. Gods who pulled life from that fertile land and made the flowers bloom in the spring. Gods and Goddesses of war, death and destruction that lead the dead to the promised land. To lead a fallen soldier to rest and peace.

Every little facet of living life had a patron god for humanity to kneel at the foot of and pray pray pray. And yet…. And yet…

There were 48 000 gods in their mythology and Duncan was praying to every single one. Praying to DANDRA for courage, praying to AILA for strength, praying to NURAND for the will to stand and continue fighting. To ignore the wound in his gut and his life seeping away drip by bloody drip. To let him fulfill his honoured duty to House Atreides, to his Duke and to the boy turned young man who he was most loyal to.

There were 48 000 gods in their mythology and Duncan called upon every one known to share their blessings with those who know death is calling. Dying from a thousand cuts, dying from bright red blood spilt on cold stone, dying from a sword to the core. God whose symbols have been worn by warring tribes for centuries. Through sweeping victories and devastating defeats, cultures and societies waxing and waning. Whose symbols he himself wears, drawn on armour in white chalk. 

There were 48 000 gods in their mythologies and not one appeared to him until the very end. Duncan was laying on the cold, wet stone, rain falling warm on his face. He could no longer find the will to stand and fight, his body depleted and weak. He only hoped that he had done enough to protect those he swore to protect. That the House of Atreides would prove victorious in this battle.

There were 48 000 gods in their mythologies and not one appeared to him except for HER. She was beautiful, even under the blood and gore which coated her from head to foot. Her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow, her hair soft and silver like starlight spun to thread. SCATHACH was a Goddess of Death, one who only appeared to those fallen in battle and ready to breathe their last. So Duncan knew his time was up and he was ready for her hand in his, leading the way.

Laying on the wet stone Duncan's eyes fell closed, he had seen the face of the goddess of death and he had made peace with the thought. The world was fading away, the pain in his side, the rain falling on his face, all that remained was the memory of Paul. The memory of his boy, laughing and vibrant and alive. Duncan hoped that his efforts had turned the tide of the battle and the Atreides forces would come out the victor.

Suddenly he heard a voice call for him in the darkness.

“DUNCAN!"

The voice was familiar and otherworldly, pulling him back from the brink. It was full of anguish but underneath was an edge of determination, as strong as steel. He felt hands on his face, burning hot against his ice cold skin. Duncan forced his eyes open, his eyelids felt like lead, but he needed to see, need to know. He saw again the shining face of SCATHACH, before she faded away and in her stead there was Paul, his Paul.

Paul's black curls were soaking wet and clinging to his face and neck in messy clumps. There was a cut along his hairline and a line of blood was dripping down the side of his face, the red stark against his pale skin. Duncan couldn't help but think the colour really brought out the green in his eyes, making them glow like veridian. The chalk glyphs on his armour were only the faintest of smudged lines, their power and protections faded.

'STAY AWAKE' the command was dripping with power, with the weirding magiks of The Voice. 'LIVE'

So Duncan had no choice, his boy, the lord of his heart had commanded it and so it was to be. He found the strength to hold on while the healers arrived. While they patched him up enough to transport him back to the castle. Paul refused to leave his side the whole time, face wrecked with barely disguised pain and line with exhaustion. 

Duncan lost consciousness as they were settling him in the infirmary but it was the sleep of healing not death. While he slept he dreamt of Paul. Of when he had first come to work for the House of Atreides, when Paul was barely a teen. Voice cracking and all awkward limbs. He dreamt of the first time Paul won a match against one of his instructors, his joy and laughter ringing through the halls. 

He dreamt of Paul, at a Gala hosted by the House a few months back, of the beautiful tunic his mother had commissioned for him to wear. He had stolen the gaze of everyone present, Duncan included. Although he had tried to deny it, to keep his thoughts and feelings towards the young princeling pure. He failed.

Header by me

Divider by firefly-graphics

[vernorexiiia]

｡˚⊱ꕤ⊰˚｡ vernorexiiia : indie . semi-selective . goddess of spring from d.isney's silly symphony short . worshipped by jam .

springtime as a patron to : the divine feminine , eternal maidenhood , flowers , twitterpation , good persevering despite evil , && a promise to return .

links : carrd . blogroll .

Rules :

patience is a virtue . Please forgive me if I’m slow or if a thread slips my mind . don’t be shy to speak up about it after a day or three as long as you’re polite ! I am a student , and that takes a lot of time irl .

semi-selective and oc / multimuse / multiship / multiverse friendly! Personals feel free to follow and send in asks , just please don’t reblog headcanons and threads . ( I’m greatly flattered that you enjoy my writing ! it’s just not the place for that ^^ )

we follow the golden rule of do no harm , take no nonsense . no taboos such as pedophilia , incest , hatred towards any group of people , disrespect of religion , & so forth . Please be kind to one another .

mun is 21+ && would prefer to write with others that are over 18 . content warnings include religious imagery / cartoon depictions of the devil , kidnapping, && forced marriage - amongst other things . no smut will be written here .

i'm pretty picky with romantic shipping tbh , both as i write the goddess as ... not being very interested in romance for herself as a patron to eternal maidenhood - as well as being literally married to the devil . that being said , i do not autoship her with any dark masters of the underworld ( or otherwise ) !! but am willing to plot relationships if one is interested ! personally, i'm a sucker for slow-burn and bonds that go beyond romantic attraction , so please ask !!

while inspired by the kidnapping of persephone myth , this iteration is written as combining greek && christian elements . for this reason , the goddess is not solely "persephone," rather the combined collective of the personification of spring- often depicting a young maiden . ( i felt like it would be better to treat this story as it's own thing considering how divergent it is from the original greek myth )

legal disclaimer that the original short is property of the big mouse- however , this is a very canon divergent interpretation ( borderline being an original character content . cringe culture is dead ♡ ) , so please give the character page a read ! i greatly appreciate it . ^^

[luck-and-larceny]

LFRP - MALIKA (MAL) BAJIHRI

Malika is easy-going, flirtatious, and up for any challenge where a risk or gamble is involved. She’s also incredibly reckless, impulsively throwing herself into one bad idea after another just for the thrill of seeing how Nymeia will ultimately spin her fate.

THE BASICS –––

Name: Malika (Mal) Bajihri

Age: 27

Nameday: Mal doesn’t actually know her own Nameday and, if she did, she wouldn’t give it out; she’d make a new one up every time she was asked. Her actual Nameday is: 17th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon (October 17th)

Race: Keeper of the Moon, Miqo’te

Gender: Female

Alignment: Joyfully dancing in the rain on that fuzzy line between Chaotic Neutral and Chaotic Good and never committing to either

Relationship Status: Polyamorous; she has surprisingly committed, serious romantic relationships with Evander Winsome and Kestrel Vylbrand . Given her general aversion to commitments, the longevity of these relationships is impressive!

Server: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Black as night, though she often adds colorful highlights to it. She will dye her hair for jobs she needs to disguise herself for.

Eyes: They’re so dark blue they’re nearly black

Height: 62.4 inches (5′2″)

Build: Unlike many of the adventurers and otherwise hard-working individuals that she associates herself with, Malika is certainly not a muscular goddess carved from stone and steel. In fact, while she is extremely dexterous, she’s a bit softer than her allies. Combat is not her strong suit; She prefers to talk, sneak, or run her way out of conflict. While she stays fit, her body betrays that fighting and hunting are not her pastimes of choice.

Common Accessories: At least one weapon that she hopes not to use (typically daggers), an instrument (usually a wood flute), lockpicks, gambling items (a bit of gil for wagers, playing cards, several sets of dice), a deck of arcanum cards, a hardsilver needle and some thread, a silver pinky ring that spins, a silver swan necklace, and a few small trinkets of sentimental value (not all of them her own).

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Malika would say that she doesn’t have one. She does street performances as a musician and acrobat and engages in high risk wagers at the Gold Saucer. Realistically, Malika… doesn’t have one. She is a thief (pickpocket and infiltration) and con-artist.

Hobbies: Getting into trouble, running headlong into trouble, leaping straight into the arms of trouble. Also: sewing, music performances (flute, harp, lute, singing), fortune telling (sometimes legitimately!; usually as a grift), acrobatics/gymnastics, drinking, getting places she should not be, taking things she should not take, games of chance, flirting, running away, collecting stuffed animals, mercilessly pranking and humiliating the rich and powerful

Residence: Malika does not have one place that she stays and that is by design. But the place most like a permanent home, where she returns to time and again, is a daycare/healing resort in the Mist housing ward.

Birthplace: She doesn’t know. She assumes The Shroud. That’s where she was stolen away as a child anyway.

Patron Deity: Nymeia, the Spinner. And she’s surprisingly devout regarding the goddess’ more fickle aspects: chance, luck, and wagers.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: Nope. The only way this will ever happen is if it is for a con or for a joke.

Children: Nope. Nopety nope nope. Nada. Nope. Never.

Parents: She has no idea who her parents are. Similarly, she has little knowledge of Keeper culture in general as she was not raised in a tribe. She was found by a wandering performance caravan when she was a toddler.

Siblings: If she has actual siblings, she doesn’t know. But she has “adopted” a kid sister, a hyur named Maeryn. And she would kill for Maeryn if she had to.

Other Relatives: Shrug.

Pets: Oh no. Malika is not responsible enough to take care of pets. Don’t give her any.

TRAITS –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––

Smoking Habit: Not usually, she might do it socially every now and then, but it has no particular draw for her otherwise.

Drugs: Not all drugs and not regularly– but, yes.

Alcohol: Oh,yes. Definitely yes. She loves drinking and often does not have the willpower to stop herself.

RP HOOKS –––

Thief: Has someone told you that they have something “unstealable” in an “impenetrable” location? That person definitely wants someone to steal that thing or get into that place. Malika is willing to help with that. Despite being a thief, she dislikes gil and will often do jobs for the promise of mementos rather than money. She specifically wants to do jobs that stick it to those who wield their wealth disparity as a means to exert power over others. Want to do crime? Let's do crime together!

Gambler: Malika believes in Fate, but she also believes that she can gain favor with Nymeia by “keeping her spinning.” She thinks of gambling, dares, taking risks, and the like as a means to court luck and favor with Nymeia by keeping the goddess from getting too bored. It keeps Malika from being bored too! She will accept almost any offer of a good gamble or game of chance. Want to gamble? Let's gamble together!

Con-artist: If you want to interact with Mal, look like an easy mark. From fake fortunes and prophecies, to crafting situations where she can just pickpocket something off your character, Malika is a troublemaker. If she introduces herself by any other name that her actual one, she's scheming. **OOC note: I have her do this so that RP is fun; Malika wants to take advantage of the kindness of strangers, but I don't. This is also the OOC reason why she replaces stolen items with different items. You can tell me if you don't want to deal with this (in fact, please do!)

Never met a bridge she didn't want to burn:  Malika is an unreliable, chaotic, impulsive mess of a Miqo'te. She has stolen from a lot of people. She has conned a lot of people. She has left destruction in her wake. She is also not particularly cautious. If you want to RP someone she stole from, whose place she broke into, or anything like that, I'd be happy to!

Ask for help: She doesn’t really want to get involved in other people’s business. She’ll ignore a problem if she can. But if you ask her for help she will usually begrudgingly be that help. She will definitely help you if you need to escape from authority. She thinks her inability to say ‘no’ to someone in need is a weakness; it might actually be her one redeeming quality.

Talk to her at all: Malika is the cliche curious cat. She finds people fascinating. She enthusiastically throws herself into learning about others and is happy to chat up exactly, oh, let me check my notes… that’s right… everybody.

CONTACT INFORMATION  –––

Contacting me here on tumblr or finding me in game is the best bet. If you see Mal out in the world, please say hello! I’d love her to make more friends (or rivals, depending on what you think would be fun!)

I do have a Discord and I do RP on it. I don’t give that information out right away though. I’d like to interact in game or through tumblr a few times before I feel comfortable giving that information out.

I work a lot so I'm not always around. Sorry!

Other Notes –––

I love doing crime RP, but Malika isn't especially violent and does not particularly want to be involved in violent crimes (Read as: She's so very self-interested that she is especially interested in her self not being injured). If she accidentally gets in over her head, that's fun! But, primarily, she prefers mischievous, petty crime and she's not going to willingly get involved in violent/torture crime stuff. We don't need to have intricate plots for me to have fun. We can just sit around on top of roofs or inside of restaurants having our characters just chat too. I find that just as fun. I'm really easy-going. Here's a link to her Carrd if you like! It has more information if the novel I wrote here somehow isn't enough.

[godblackbones15]

Kali and the patriarchal fears Via Medium

The goddess of death and what she represnts for the patriarchal society

She’s naked, covered with ashes, her hair matted with snakes in them, a garland of skulls and freshly cut heads around her neck. She laughs like madness herself, dancing to the chaotic rhythm of death, dragging a corpse behind her which she licks with her blood-red tongue from time to time.

Now imagine meeting her in the middle of the night on a dark lonely path. Here’s an old description — a dhyana mantra of Guhya Kali, one of the forms of Kali. The tantric text is called Tantrasaara and is written by Krishnananda Aagamavgisa.

“She is dark as a great cloud, clad in dark clothes. Her tongue is poised as if to lick. She has fearful teeth, sunken eyes and is smiling. She wears a necklace of snakes, the half-moon rests on her forehead, she has matted hair, and is engaged in licking a corpse. her sacred thread is a snake, and she lies on a bed of snakes. She holds a garland of fifty heads. She has a large belly, and on her head is Ananta with a thousand heads. On all sides she is surrounded by snakes….She has a snake-girdle and an anklet of jewels. On her left is to be imagined Shiva in the form of a boy. She has two hands and has corpses for ear ornaments. Her face, decked with bright new jewels, shows she is pleased and calm.”

🔻 She’s not likeable. Hell, she���s scary. In Hindu mythology, she’s nature— something that causes death and destruction, something that’s wild and raging, something that’s unpredictable and uncontrollable. Her hair are wild and open (mark of undomesticated woman or someone who doesn’t belong to a husband-ry), she dances naked outside. Both being naked and being outside is something that is forbidden to the female gender in our society.

You wouldn’t invite her into your homes (unlike the more demure Lakshmi, goddess of wealth or Saraswati, goddess of knowledge). She’s wild, frantic, out of control. She’s nature in its more fearful, horrific form, an earthquake, a hurricane, a tsunami. Her world is the one where a dog butchers another and all of them perish.

No wonder the patriarchal society, the cultured society, the rule based, control-based society, you and me, tremble at the very thought of her. You see, the patriarchal society is all about control — through rules, rituals, and routines. Do this, and you will get this. Do this and this and you can prevent death and disease from happening to you. If there’s a death in a neighbour’s house, don’t go there, for you might catch that disease.

If there’s a garbage-collector coming near you, step away, even though he takes your own garbage. Don’t touch him as he touches something filthy and you will become filthy too. Oh, your left hand is by default filthy. It wipes your bum after all!

Both genders are mired in rules, rituals and routines in this society — all in an effort to control life, prosper and save oneself from death. A man should control his estate and his woman, a woman should control her body and keep herself inside the house, under her husband. Both should stick to the codified laws of dharma created by some rishis a few thousand years ago. People most probably too stuck up to let their hair down.

Since she’s uncontrollable and fearful, like everything else, she’s associated with tantrics, who all mainstream Hindus see as charlatans, black magicians or simply people who are evil or threaten the codes of the patriarchal society. Like Bhairava (Both Kali and Bhairava feature in one of the most beautiful stories I have written in my upcoming graphic novel The Skull Rosary) she’s a goddess who belongs to the fringes of the society. She and her worshippers are associated with blood sacrifice, sometimes even human sacrifice. S

he’s the patron of thugs and witches—both of whom threaten the society’s status quo. Patriarchal society intellectuals have alternatively looked at her ugly form (by societal standards) as filthy, fearful or downright disgusting. That’s the reason you would not see rich merchants in Calcutta or Gujarat worshipping her. She’s of the night, meant for those who roam about the shamshaan in the night. She’s death itself.

If you worship her, you are either crazy or inconceivably evil. You are definitely not a well-wisher of the society. You are an outsider. Her image is the opposite to the mainstream, civilized society. She distrupts society. Personally, she inspires me and pushes me to write. She is the destruction and inspiration of creative energies itself and my heart beats in tandava with every step she takes. And so she inspires me to create destructive stuff. I am scared but I also bow down to her creative juices, sometimes leaking blood.

[stellamancer]

You should’ve known better, really. 

When the words “trust” and “me” are placed side by side in the same sentence, that alone should be reason enough to sound the warning bells in your mind: it’s a sure sign that you should do the opposite of what you’re being told to do, especially when the person uttering those words is your best friend, a girl whose obsession with biseinen draws her to butler cafés during the day and host clubs during the night. How she manages to fund this particular addiction of hers, you still have yet to discover. Butler cafés are a bit more affordable -- or so you’ve heard -- but spending even a single night at a host club is like buying a one-way ticket to the snowballing train wreck known as financial instability.  

But it’s worth it -- again, or so you’ve heard. 

Your experience with that particular subsection of Japanese culture can be summed up in two words: never been. You’ve only ever passed in front of one butler café, back when you were in high school, and that once had been one time too many. One glance at the high school boys dressed in pressed white shirts and black slacks, chatting up any girl within hearing distance as they promoted their business, had been enough to turn you away. 

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe it’s a good way to pass the time. Maybe it’s a relief, having a reliable escape from reality. And maybe it’s thrilling, spending a few hours with a guy who will treat you like a goddess, who will whisper sweet nothings into your ears, but that’s all those words will ever be: nothing. Sweet lies like spun sugar. Coffee grounds. A web of saccharine threads -- one touch, you’re trapped. Bittersweet chocolate. A shot of whiskey. 

What good is a fairytale without a happily ever after? What happens when the clock strikes twelve and you realize that the façade you’ve fallen in love all that it is? That every look, every touch, every word -- lies, lies, all lies. You’ve left your glass slipper, but Prince Charming won’t come. Will never come. And that slipper will join other broken halves, tossed to the side, unwanted. 

If that’s what passes for love these days, then you don’t need it. You don’t want to be a part of it. Not now. Not later. Not ever. But if your friend wants to waste her life chasing waterfalls, then that’s on her, that’s her choice. She’s an adult. She can think and make decisions for herself. There’s no point in telling her how to live her life: that’s what parents are for. It’s not like she’d listen to you, anyway, so interventions would be a waste of time and effort. 

But, “Trust me,” she said, a couple of hours ago. “You’ll have the time of your life.” 

Doing what, she didn’t say, didn’t see any reason to elaborate. And you, not having anything better to do on a Saturday night, didn’t ask, just stupidly agreed to go along with whatever she had planned. To be fair, you should have seen it coming. You should have known better. Trust me, she had said. You should have said no. 

But you didn’t. You said yes, and so here you stand, just outside the double doors leading into one of Japan’s most talked about host clubs. Even as your eyes narrow in annoyance, your friend is all smiles and excited giggles, and no matter how much you glare at her, no matter how much ill will you wish on her, she doesn’t appear to notice. In her hands is a coupon, a silly piece of paper that must have cost her a small fortune to obtain. Tonight’s grand opening, if the sign on the left door is to be believed, is a special event open to only a handful of lucky patrons. 

“I didn’t know who else to ask,” she says, and that is all the warning she gives you before grabbing your hand and pulling you forward. The doors open automatically, and at first you think it’s motion activated, but quickly realize that that’s not the case. There are two men standing on either side of the doorway, each with one white-gloved hand holding open the door closest to them. Both of them are wearing suits, like those boys from that butler café, only these are grown men.  And they, you have to admit, are pretty damn hot. 

“Welcome,” they say in perfect unison, and their voices are low, send an unwanted tremor down your spine. The one on the right, the one standing closest to you, has impossibly silver hair that is reminiscent of moonshine. He bows, and when he straightens, he offers you a wink and a charming smile, actions that successfully draw a deep blush to your cheeks. You calmly avert your eyes, and promise yourself revenge. Another night, though, because you can’t quite bring yourself to ruin this, not when she looks so pleased, so painfully eager. 

And then you’re being dragged down the hall, stopping in front of another set of doors that look comparably less elegant than the building’s exterior. A woman is standing off to the side, balancing what seems to be a menu on the upturned palms of her hands. She smiles, welcomes you with a honeyed voice, and there is something unsettling about this whole experience. 

“Normally, we would have you designate a host before entering, but because of tonight’s grand opening special event, we will be choosing for you. The drinks are complimentary, of course.” You almost roll your eyes. So that’s what they’re calling it these days. The woman gives you a sharp look, as though reading your thoughts, but continues to smile as she motions towards the doors. “Your hosts are eagerly anticipating your arrival.”

“Let’s go,” your friend says, and you have no choice but to follow her. It’d be too embarrassing to leave through the front doors on your own. If you’re walking next to someone, it will be easier to convince yourself that you’re just stepping out of the department store or something. 

As the two of you leave the sparse hallway, you hear the receptionist call out behind you, “Please enjoy your night.” Those words hint at something more, at something beyond a few hours spent downing shots of vodka or a glass of brandy while some hot guy pretends to be in to you. They suggest things that you don’t want to think about, things that you can’t unthink, no matter how hard you try. How many times has your friend enjoyed her night with a stranger? How many times has she invited one of them into her bed? And you feel sick to your stomach, just a bit, because this is not how the world is supposed to work. 

Ironically enough, stepping through those doors is like stepping into a different world, and the imposter who greets you is impossibly handsome. He stares right at you, eyes cutting into your very soul, and a small smile tugs at his lips. The lenses of his glasses flash. "Oh? Onii-san is lucky to have such a cute girl to keep him company."

okay i'm glad i waited until i was fully conscious to read this. i saw it pop into my ask box last night when i was getting ready for the sleepsies.

HOST CLUB AU. YOU HAVE REALLY OUTDONE YOURSELF THIS TIME MYSTERIOUS YAMATO ANON.

so i wonder, is this friend who prances into butler cafes and host clubs.... based on anyone LMAO. maybe? furTHER MORE WHO PUT THIS IDEA IN UR HEAD.... or is this a mysterious yamato anon original

maybe not. i am most definitely the cynic friend. but GOLLY. the building up into entering the club... so captivating. i hope you don't think you've lost your touch, because you most definitely have not.

moonshine hair... adding this to my repertoire. i like this description. who's that guy... it can't be sou-chan.... unless your intent is to hit me with a double whammy....

AND THE LAST BIT. THE IMPOSTER WHO GREETS YOU.... the imposter... like, it's so fun to be aware that it's fake and it's lies... i suppose this is actually rather fitting for yama-san, but aughhhhhh gnawing at my desk. how will this turn out I AM SO CURIOUSSSSS AUGHHHH. like there is just so much fun in like.... writing a story with double lives and becoming the mask it's AUGHHHHHHH i could eat it all up AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

continuing to SCREAM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[novankenn]

Altered Destiny

= Eight =

(So through the poll, which can be found on the Chapter Page, my readers would like to see this Jaune in a more of a Healer/Cleric style role, over that of a Tank/Paladin one. So Chapter 4 has been revised to suit. Thank you to everyone who participated. I will be using powers and feats from D&D Neverwinter as I don't have access to any significant materials from D&D 3.0/4.0/5.0)

Glynda sat quietly watch the worst student of her class, tossing and turning in a restless sleep. Occasionally she would mumble something, though it was too low and Glynda was too far away to catch what she was saying. Not that Glynda was paying attention. She was more focused on what to do with Jaune.

From the short amount of contact with her, Glynda knew there were going to be several issues, the main one being Jaune's own acceptance of her situation. Talking with a professional would help, but Glynda doubted it would be fully successful.

Her mind then wandered. She took in Jaune's new body. Her body was slim, lithe even, but it was complicated by her now new proportions. Her hips were fairly wide, plus her bust was quite substantial. Jaune was going to have issues with her balance, probably even walking was going to require a process of practice.

Glynda thought back to the stumbling dash to the bathroom. Jaune had barely remained on her feet. The previous Jaune had been improving, Glynda saw it. His confidence was growing daily, and his ability to actually spar, to counter and fight was blossoming, but now. Glynda was afraid these changes were going to shatter Jaune.

As Glynda was watching her sleeping form, Jaune found her self in a strange place. She was standing in a flower filled meadow. All about her waits tall tulips and daisies. The sky was a myriad collection of reds and purples, like one would see at dusk. Seeing no one, Jaune started to walk. The tall grasses and flowers gently brushing against her hospital gown, clade form.

Above the light faded, and stars began to fill the indigo sky, and still she walked. Slowly, as the light faded and the field of flowers took on a more dream-like quality, she saw a pair of figures seated yet floating in the air, almost as if they were seated upon the very tops of the flowers.

Figure One: Ah, there you are, Jaune. Welcome. You must have many questions, ask them, as I have the answers you seek.

Figure Two: So this is the mortal for whom you rewove the threads for. Interesting...

Jaune: What is going on? Why?

Figure One: We have brought to this space between realities to answer your queries. To ease your mind, my child.

Figure Two: As for why my sister's actions... you have potentially great fates ahead of you, niece. One that was not to end with your... foolhardy choices that day.

Jaune: I don't understand.

Figure One: That is to be expected, daughter. Much has changed for you, and more is to change. Your metamorphosis is yet to be complete.

Jaune: Huh? What does that mean?!?

Figure Two: Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to your child, sister.

Figure One: Yes, that would be prudent. Daughter I am Selune, Goddess of the Moon.

Figure Two: And I am her twin, Shar Mistress of the Night.

Jaune: What is going on? There are no such names on Remnant. There is just the Brother...

Selune: Yes, the brother Gods... petulant children, unworthy of their place as this world's patrons. When they left this world to its own devices, they left a void in the astral plane.

Shar: One that is drawing the attention of other entities and beings like us. Entities both benevolent and malevolent.

Jaune: I... what did you do to me?

Selune: Your choices that day ripped the tapestry of your life, you shredded your possible futures... futures that depend on your survival, so I rewove your fabric, and spliced your frayed life thread back together

Jaune: I... I... I don't understand? Tapestry? Life Thread?

Shar: Perhaps it would be better, niece, if you asked the true question you seek answers to.

Jaune: ... why am I now a girl? If you did whatever it is you did... why have I changed?

Selune: Your life thread was frayed and was not strong enough to hold the weave... so I pulled from the ether a thread of possibility.

Jaune: Huh?

Selune: Threads of Possibility are those you have no choice about, no control over, unlike threads of Fate. They are chances such as your gender at conception. If you were a multiple birth, and similar such requirement for life.

Shar: Your thread that determined you as male was weakened to the point it broke. My sister had to grab another thread to save you...

Jaune: And this thread...

Selune: Would have been your life thread if you had been born a female. Your life as a male had ended that day at the bottom of the chasm. Your male body broken beyond repair... to save you and your potential...

Shar: You had to be refashioned as female.

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