thegoldendemon-blog

[thegoldendemon-blog]

spiritwield:

             @thegoldendemon

             This is a trap. Come alone, he said. Let us meet. For so long had the Demon evaded Shen, and how he arrives inviting him to tea or what have you. Shen is ready for bodies, for blood, to come away with perhaps an arm or a leg missing – but not to die. A show is not a show without an audience. 

             But he does not have much choice. Shen is not the type to pass up an opportunity to catch the Demon, no matter how unlikely his chances. The Demon knows this – and much more of Shen. 

             Shen arrives at the proposed meeting location, dressed in armor and armed with only his blades. Akali insisted he bring some shuriken, a kunai or two – even put poison underneath his fingernails or along the edge of his swords. He declined them all. She looked as if she was between screaming and striking him. 

             “Khada Jhin,” Shen says aloud, looking around. “I know you’re here.” He can feel him: his ki like tar filling the inside of Shen’s mask. 

      “This place was a tea-house some twenty years ago,” goes a curt voice whose direction could be left or right. “I feel as if the Hunters are watching our every move.”

      The building is dilapidated, but not abandoned; for every smear in the tatami mats, there is a short tableau of porcelain vases who house whole bushes of spider-lilies. For every cut on the paper walls, a mural whose paint is only just beginning to set.

      A mask is all there is to greet Shen in the far corner of the hall-- it is not golden. No. Pointed, harsh and of steel, it does not belong here.

     It belongs to the Master of Shadows.

     “You listened to me.” There’s laughter, cold and distant. It comes from the left. The next few words come from above. “Tell me, Shen, what does this stage make you feel?”

     He’s dying for the answer.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

   Back to the land of chimps where I belong.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

TAGGED BY: @deathbond

1ST RULE: tag 9 muses you would like to know better.

TAGGING: ?!

2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true for your muse. ( italicized for verse dependant. )

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller.

I wear glasses.

I have at least one tattoo.

I have at least one piercing.

I have blonde hair.

I have brown eyes.

I have short hair.

My abs are at least somewhat defined.

I have or have had braces.

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people.

People tell me that I’m funny.

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me.

I enjoy physical challenges.

I enjoy mental challenges.

I’m rude with people.

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it.

There is something I would change about my personality.

ABILITY:

I can sing well.

I can play an instrument.

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping.

I’m a fast runner.

I can draw well.

I have a good memory.

I’m good at doing math in my head.

I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute.

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling.

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch.

I know how to throw a proper punch.

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports.

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else.

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else.

I have learned a new song in the past week.

I work out at least once a week.

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week.

I have drawn something in the past month.

I enjoy writing.

I do or have done martial arts.

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss.

I have had alcohol.

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game.

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting.

I have been at an overnight event.

I have been in a taxi.

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year.

I have beaten a video game in one day.

I have visited another country.

I have been to one of my favourite band’s concerts.

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship.

I have a crush on a celebrity.

I have a crush on someone I know. (“crush”)

I have been in at least 3 relationships.

I have never been in a relationship.

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them.

I get crushes easily.

I have had a crush on someone for over a year.

I have been in a relationship for at least a year.

I have had feelings for a friend.

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”.

I live close to my school.

My parents are still together.

I have at least one sibling.

There is snow right now where I live .

I have hung out with a friend in the past month.

I have a smartphone.

I have at least 15 CD’s.

I share my room with someone.

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced.

I know a person named Jamie.

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce.

I have dyed my hair.

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now .

I have punched someone in the past week.

I know someone who has gone to jail.

I have broken a bone.

I have eaten a waffle today.

I know what I want to do with my life.

I speak at least 2 languages.

I have made a new friend in the past year.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    For those curious, I’ve spent the last few hours yesterday and today organizing a character board for Jhin on Pinterest. Usual disclaimers for imagery, but I’m proud of it.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

opening titles

    He felt a thousand eyes fall upon him, bidding that he might do something.

    True to never show all of his cards, Khada Jhin did not.

    Someone was talking-- unfortunately, addressed to him. He held a closed smile, listening to only the barest meaning to what they were saying, wishing that he didn’t have to (he did) and that it could be over if he just shut his eyes (it wouldn’t). So he stood there, watched impassively as the jaws kept flapping, and responded in turn.

    “Yes, I’m paying you,” he said, “I would rather not to, but I am. Do you know what you’re doing?”

    Yes, they did.

    “And what you have to do? How many people with you?”

    Yes and yes; three others.

    “Three others.” He hastened to call that fortunate, but didn’t waste his breath.

    “This location is very important to me.” He had said this already. “I won’t take for any changes. Four people are enough to convince this spirit, isn’t it?”

    The jaws flapped again. Jhin didn’t like the answer.

    “No. Here.” He pointed to the earth. “Must I make myself more clear?”

    He did not. This was the better answer.

   “Good.”

   He no longer had to pretend that he cared about them existing, sending them away with a motion of his hand. Jhin swept his head, facing the bank of the pond, his feet not far from where grass became mud and then water. To his east, if he let his ears, the low cacophony of a moving city. Kaijn. The Jewel of the Pass. An ironic title for that Kaijn had no jewels for the last twenty years, but neither did the mines in the west.

    Jhin stepped forward, lowering a hand into the pond. It was cold, the water slow from sloughing off the last bits of winter ice. In the new year, he had seen the waterfall itself completely turn. Locals dubbed it the home of underwater sirens. Khada Jhin did not believe them, but getting soothsayers for construction of the house proved difficult. The four he was to have now must be coming from all over Zhyun.

    His eyes met the thousands staring from the skies.

    Jhin would do something, he decided, but he wouldn’t let them see it.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    And there he was:     the Golden Demon,     surrounded by the ambiance of silent puppets,     whose voices could no longer sing.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    On the subject of new lore on this blog, I will try (keyword: try) to update my internal headcanons for Ionia to be compliant with new lore because I did enjoy Ionia’s update from a worldbuilding perspective, but I don’t think any such updates will be very drastic. Jhin, and my Jhin in particular, has always existed somewhat outside of Ionia as a whole.

    That said I am happy Riot confirmed my existing headcanon that Ionia itself is quasi-sentient and they inadvertently made Jhin’s concept more uncanny for how rare an Ionian serial killer must be now let alone one even a quarter as prolific as the Golden Demon.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

THIS LAND KNOWS ME.

     I WILL NOT FORGET WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO HER.

                                 AND I WILL NEVER FORGIVE.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    He shouldn’t.

    But he must.

    His hands reach. Reach out. Reach further, fingers finding; satin found him, pushed against layers of a clear, glassy film. It looks. It’s silent, but it’s looking. How did he complete the loop? The question is meaningless—  they always are. He thinks on it for a second. Another one. He scrapes it under his index’s nail. Maybe two more. He is alone, but it feels crowded. They are all watching him. Surrounding. At last, the anticipation slips. It falls into his gullet and drowns.

    He shouldn’t.

    But he must.

    He wonders what makes an eye. There are no books on anatomy— no good ones on this archipelago, at least— and he cannot stand remembering what acid rain and bronze plates feel like to plumb the other continent. They’re still looking at him. He enjoys the attention. He knows enough that eyes are maybe the most complex of any organ save for the brain, and that this truth annoys him horribly. It annoys him that he can no longer see from the left side of his periphery. He would notice more looking at him if he could. It is this slight that he leads with his right hand, led with his right as the scimitar came down singing; it had made a lovely noise— it always does— but he spent years making himself ambidextrous just for it to evaporate in a single vertical swipe.

    He’s tracing that scar right now. They continue to watch him, probably interested in why he pets that side of his mask. It takes quite a lot of ash paste and lightener to cover up that scar when he’s out, because Yagami Hiro does not have a scar vertical to his left eye, because Yagami Hiro sees out of both of his eyes. Behind the cowl and the mask, he does not have to use anything, because he is not Yagami Hiro.

    The film starts to bubble.

    This, he doesn’t expect. He observes, noticing tension leaking through the film and twisting on the satin, the clearness now occluded by a shield of opaque alabaster. The coloration is familiar. He hears a wet, snapping noise, like a ligament being drawn behind the back and pulled out of socket, and it no longer looks at him.

    In fact, it’s screaming at him. They all are.

    The chorus is repugnant, shrill and shrieking. It is a flurry of gnats hissing in his ears. He covers them; the volume stays steady. He backs off, grinding his teeth together at how terrible it sounds, how horrid, how miserable, how unnerving—

    He shouldn’t.

    But he must.

    —and it isn’t until he screams himself that they instead sing.

    He is not wearing a mask. He is not wearing his gloves. He does not have his swords. He is not the Golden Demon. They are singing, and he thinks it’s a wonderful sound. He wants them to look. They’re not. They do not even know he is there, listening behind the curtains. Missing the attention, he reels the satin back.

    He introduces himself as Khada Jhin.

    They smile, not at him.

    He shouldn’t.

    BUT HE MUST

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    “Where did you go wrong? Is there anything redeemable in you? We're about to find out.”

    Good luck Irelia, that’s Khada Jhin you’re speaking to.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

You continue to torment me, I see.

    Odd words, Khada Jhin figures, to say to your bedfellow.

     But their... dynamic (he couldn’t hasten to call it a relationship) is hardly short of those nonsequiturs and oddities; so much so that anything bordering reality from surreal would become cause for concern instead of the other way around

    He looks at Irelia, tall in his corner of darkness, but he knows he does not have to say anything to answer. Instead he leans forward, showing her his unmasked face as filtered through the moonlight of her quarters, in his mind smiling although motionless in the face. In one moment he lords over that corner-- the next and he is beside her.

    It is not the first time they have had this dance.

    Khada Jhin, true to his talents, knows it isn’t the last.

    He has flung his curses, she has flung her blades. He has flung promises and poetry on the mantle of her demise, she has flung her determination on the decorum of his defeat.

    But he’s in her house. Wielding no more than his own hands. Staring, fingers catching.

    Odd words indeed.

    “And you, a disease that won’t leave me.”

[thegoldendemon-blog]

MUSE AS A DEITY.

rules : think carefully about your character and their development through their journey (canon or oc ) within their story .  fill out the chart and tag whoever you want !    repost , do not reblog .

tagged by :  @noxian-rose

deity of :   Dreams, imagination, creativity, and madness

associated with :  The Demon is considered to be the father of evil in the same breath that he is the father of mortal man separating themselves from being mindless pawns in the game of gods, granting them independence with imagination and individual dreams. Despite this, those that stray too close to the source face unspeakable terror and madness awaiting them, for his influence is nevertheless poison. Death and his hand go together like no other.

sacred plants :   Dahlia, spider lilies, flowering ivy, thorn brush

sacred stones / gems :   Gold, ruby, jasper, onyx

sacred animals :   Snakes, eels, cranes and songbirds

colors :    Maroon, gold, black, ice blue

food :    Pomegranates, red meats, dumplings, red wine

scents :    Vanilla, strawberries, corpse stench, cinnamon

accepted offerings / ways to honor : Simply by dreaming does a mortal honor the Demon, for there exists two worlds: the world of reality, and its reflection; this reflection is a surreal plane in which all dreams take place and is the source of the Demon’s power. So long as humanity continues their path of individuality, the Demon grows only more and more powerful, a cruel price to pay for freedom.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    ...

    ...

    ...

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    There is a disturbance; Khada Jhin recognizes it all too well.

    She is coming.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

FALLING DOWN. | ch 1

    Officially “back on my bullshit”, thanks to blasting the Furi soundtrack and actually outlining my work the first chapter of my (rewrite) fanfiction is completed! Below is a sampling that you can read more on my AO3.

Washed clean are the fields that lie empty. Bleached ferns wisp back and forth in an invisible wind, stars long along the horizon despite that the sun hangs at noon. An old oak tree is dying; on the precipice of the snow-white cliff, its gnarled shadow shading a silhouette. The sight of it, framed by the dissonance of the scenery, brings despair even to the Captain of the Guard’s famous iron stomach.

“Zelos,” is the whisper, but he precludes any introduction. A voice, tangentially related to the silhouette but disembodied somewhere between it and Irelia, replies. “I’m dead, you know.” “No.” She winces. “You’re not. Not until I know the truth.” “I’m dead, sister.” The silhouette comes closer to the oak. “They got me.” She sighs, sitting on the very edge of the cliff. Should she look down, she would see that her legs are bloated twice their size, but she does not. Her hands, on the other hand, have twelve fingers each— that she doesn’t ignore. Irelia looks behind her. “You and I buried Father.” The silhouette has no face. “I’m going to bury you, too.” The void in the face laughs, dry and horrible. “How long has it been since that promise?” “Ten years since it started, four years since it ended.” “That’s a long time not to be dead.” Irelia’s eyes narrow. “I died too, you know.” “But you got back up.” The void bends to the right, further than any neck should crane. “Guess you’re a little more special than me.” Her cheeks purple. “I wasn’t the one who decided anything. Someone else did. I don’t know why. I haven’t… spoken to her.” “What kind of person doesn’t talk to her savior?” The silhouette twists around to the left, shape now only in the impression of being humanoid. “What, do you feel bad?” “You’re not Zelos.” She turns her head to the noon stars. “I’m dreaming.” “What an odd way to deflect a question, sister. I’m dead, after all.” “Stop saying that!” Silence, before the silhouette mutters. Irelia turns back; it’s grown a face. But it’s not his. “You know,” it hisses, “You don’t talk to me that much, either. I deserve a little ‘hello’ every now and again.” Her teeth bare through her grimace. “I don’t need to sleep. Not when you and all the other nightmares dog me.” “Huh…” The face extends, looking at the dying oak. Its body long and needlelike, full of shadow and limbless yet for a single dagger hand. It reaches forward and the dagger slices through a drooping branch, turning it to ash. “Everyone is dead,” it murmurs. “Even when they’re alive.” The length of three men now, the face glances at Irelia. “Do you know who I am?” “You’re using that man’s face,” she declares, “But you’re not him either.” It grins at her from cheek to cheek. “That’s interesting. What do you think about me?” “You’re a nightmare.” “But I’m yours.” In an instant the face convulses and new flesh replaces it. First it is Zelos, then Father, then Karma, and then, finally, Irelia. “Yours,” it screams. “Yours! Yours! Yours!”

She woke up while a door forced its way open.

Read more on the AO3 page!

[thegoldendemon-blog]

    Activity has been sparse but I finished up the outline to the first part of a rewrite for a Jhin/Irelia fanfiction of mine that never got finished last year (some of you might remember it) so that’s being worked on and I’ll report back soon.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

DAHLIA.

     Above the shadow of water, a single red dahlia swept beyond bubbles compressed by his inert lungs.

     His eyes snapped open. A hand gone to rub them, he saw her leaning over him, sunlight framing her warmth. She pulled back, surprised.

    “Oh! I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

    “No,” he said, sitting up. “I woke myself up.”

    “Were you dreaming?”

    Pause. “No.”

    She crinkled her eyes. “That’s no good. I like dreaming.”

    He was standing now. “Even if I did, I don’t remember them enough to care.” He looked her over. “What’s that in your hands?”

     “These?” She pushed her arms forward. “They’re flowers from my mother’s garden. I wanted to give them to…” She smiled at him although she turned away. “… a secret person.”

    “What?”

    “Don’t worry about it.” She sounded awfully cheeky.

    This, he blinked once— twice— three times, four— but he did not say anything, instead facing the rest of the grove aside them. Midsummer songbirds filled the morning air with their recitals as a wave of wind pushed along blades of dew-riddled grass. The pastel colors he liked most, from the grass to the trees. He would think about coming back with some paper and paint later, when the birds weren’t so annoying.

    “You would look nice with the dahlia,” he told her.

    She snapped back to him. “What do you mean?”

    “You’re holding dahlia, right? Red ones?”

    “Uhm… I think so… let me feel around…” She focused on the banquet, threading her fingers to look for a stem. Once she had one, a fat one with red-orange petals, she pulled it out and presented it to him.

    “Put one in your hair.” Not a suggestion.

    “You think I look good with this?” She raised it up to her face. “Maybe so…”

    Silent as he waited. Her expression darkened before she finally found a spot in her hair, just above her ear, and slid it through. She twirled around in her white dressed and feigned a bow towards him.

    “O prince, given to me your flower!” Unable to hold a straight face, she broke into a fit of giggling. “Today is so pretty I could sing.”

    “Will you?”

    “Hmm…” She grinned. “Not if you don’t pay me first.”

    He huffed. “I don’t pay tithes to princesses if I’m the prince.”

    “Oh, come on—!” She said his name and he flared his nostrils.

    “Not that name, I told you,” he said sternly. She was no longer smiling.

    “What if I told you I liked that name better than ‘Khada Jhin’? You know that means two nouns right?”

    “That’s not your choice to make.” He turned away from her. “And I know.”

    She rolled her eyes. “A charmer as always, Jhin. What’s gotten into you?”

    “Nothing.” He began to walk. “Just don’t call me that if it’s only us. I never liked that name.”

    “Are you going to tell me you don’t like your flowers either?”

    He stopped. “My flowers?”

    “Oh, you are the densest person I’ve ever met! These flowers are for you, dummy!” She pushed the bouquet to him.

    Suddenly not so serious, his cheeks were red as fire. “Thank you,” he said, cradling the bouquet in his arms. “They’re… wonderful.”

     “I know.” She beamed. “And you’re welcome, mister Khada Jhin.”

    As the memory turns to ash, a tall man is appraising his own garden. His head passed by pomegranate trees; shrubs of herbs and flowers reaching his knees. He is whistling a song no-one else can hear, smiling as his fingers cross with the petals of an open, blooming dahlia. Then they lower to a brush and a blank, waiting canvas.