#general of the enlightened army

[resrerum]

King of the eclipse

based on Jean delville - la justice d’autrefois

[martiancake]

Just cultists looking for a new jerk to follow

"So hear me out... 'Elgar'nan' sounds a lot like 'Elder One'..."

-- The Venatori, probably.

[pricegouge]

Omg I have achieved enlightenment: bear!Price while reader wears period underwear... No tampons to hide the blood.......

okay this isn't quite what you asked for but it got carried away lmao

linking the fic cause i haven't written for it in roughly 2k followers whoops

cw: period sex. primal play. mentions of past cannibalism. breeding kink. dubcon kinda, but i assure you bunny is fine. unedited, sorry. MDNI

it's strange how much winter has changed for you, since being with john. when you'd moved back north you'd been looking forward to the snow and the visible changing of the seasons. but then the reality of the cold had set in before you'd even set in yourself and with the hardship came the depression, the general malaise that clings to you like mold in the dark and the damp of the season.

but then your partner had made it explicitly clear that he expected you to hibernate with him and everything about the dark months got easier.

you still miss the sun quite dearly, but not having to spend your whole day locked in an office or something meant you could at least sun bathe in the window on clear days, or bask like a little lizard in front of the army of sun lamps john had gotten you in the weeks before succumbing to his slumber. you'd told him or maybe two would suffice but you'd learned the hard way his animal instincts were hardest to suppress come late fall, his need to pad his apartment with absolutely every amenity either of you could ever dream of needing during the long winter not something he could ignore, no matter how unreasonable. which is how you'd ended up with a collection of no less than ten lamps, though you weren't really complaining come february when you'd not seen the sun properly in so long you were half convinced it was some mass hallucination and you needed the artificial glow injected directly into your veins.

they were set up over the headboard on a timer, a long power strip designed more so for griswald family christmas lights than for in-home use. but john would rather sleep through 15k lumens beamed directly at his head than wake up to find you usually spent your days int he living room so needs must.

he did that sometimes, wake up. it hadn't been something you'd expected so he'd scared the piss out of you the first time he'd lumbered into the living room and barked about getting back to bed. you rarely left his side anymore, only creeping out when absolutely necessary for food or sanitary needs.

when he let you, that was.

you can't budge him. he lays across your chest with such a heavy, dead weight, you'd be concerned about him if not for the deep snores he keeps issuing directly into your ear. at this point it's the only thing that lets you know he's not faking it, either, seeing as you've been actively trying to wake him up for the better part of half an hour.

"john," you pant, shoving at his bicep as you continue to try wriggling out from under him. the bed is too soft, keeps swallowing you deeper into its comfort like quick sand every time you try to squirm away. "john, i have to use the bathroom." your leg escapes the confines first, a false hope for freedom. he snorts when you shift too far away and his hand grips tight around your hip, pulls you with him when he rolls away.

perched half over him, you'd be thrilled with your new position and the escape it promised if not for his eyes fluttering open as you straddle his thigh, embarrassment building when you see his nose twitch instinctively.

"be right back," you promise, but his hands are even more insistent now, keep you pinned to his side with your legs hitched over his hips as he wakes a bit more, base instinct kicking in more quickly than his brain can keep up with.

perhaps that's why his jaw widens over your cheek, breath a hot pant against your skin as his fingers creep up and over your thigh, hitch it impossibly higher until he can brush his fingertips against -

"john, i have to use the rest room," you try to insist, but he growls when you go to pull away, rolling until you're pinned beneath him again.

"bleeding, honey," he grumbles, as if telling you some grave news you were unaware of.

"i know, sorry," you hedge, unsure how he'll feel about the fact the he very likely has period blood on his thighs and fingers now because you hadn't been expecting it for a few more days and had fallen asleep with no protection.

he answers that doubt for you by shoving his own fingers in his mouth, a thick groan leaking between the webs of his fingers at the taste.

oh, right. he's a freak.

"john, i -."

"sh sh sh sh," he murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded and dark when they finally focus on you properly. his hand falls to your hip again, leaves a sticky wet trail across your skin as it glides lower. "just hungry," he supplies by way of explanation, and for the first time since understanding his secret, you worry about the nature of what he means by that.

it's just that he does look like he could eat you right then, maw open and lax as his chest heaves with breath. he's overgrown and unkempt, his beard thick and scraggly. it's late enough into the season that he's lost some mass but it only lends to his voraciousness, draws some prey instinct deep within you to the surface, has you fawning under him as his fingers find your cunt again.

"not gonna hurt you, honey," he promises, but his voice is tight with need and you can't deny him when he's so indigent so you let your legs fall open around him, unflattering pair of plain cotton panties on display.

the air is cold against your pussy, the wetness of your own blood chilling against your skin. john shuffles closer on his knees and you feel the hot length of his cock slot eagerly into the crease of your thigh, his warm, broad palm cupping your cunt through your panties. you try not to pay attention to the way his hand comes away stained. he doesn't let that go to waste either, licking at it almost distractedly as he continues to pull your panties off. he struggles with his own bottoms for a moment, gives up completely when he decides they're out of the way enough, draw string straining around his thick thighs. this winter has been kind to him. or maybe you have - perfect mate, keeping him fed even when he's too lethargic to cook proper meals. he's not lost so much weight this year, his build still absurdly impressive despite the long, slow crawl of the season. he knows it, too, when he's awake and present enough, at least. takes great pride in rubbing his belly and telling you how luck he was to find you.

tonight is no such night, the very concept of the king's own evidently too much for him to tackle, already reduced to grunts and sighs, his breath hot and heavy before you'd even properly begun. last week you'd awoken in an empty bed, found him sitting on the kitchen floor while absolutely ravaging a hock of raw lamb. he'd sounded much the same at the time as he does now, heavy cock slipping between the sticky folds of your pussy.

you sit up enough that you can see over your own tummy, gasp when you see how bloody you already are, red staining his skin and clotting the thick curls at the base of his cock. when he rocks forward, his tip kisses his own belly, staining the fur there too.

"John, we need a towel, at least," you try to reason, leg swinging over his head as you attempt to roll away -

and absolutely freeze in place when john - sweet, sweet john who has never so much as raised his voice at you - snarls and uses your own momentum to pin you on your belly, looming over your back until his breath pants hot against the nape of your neck, voice a low threat against your skin when he asks where you think you're going.

there are some times the actual danger of who, and what, he is hits you like a ton of lead. the way he'd eaten a grown man had certainly been one, the desperation he succumbs to in late fall another. and yet, somehow, you'd never felt at risk in his presence before; always certain that being his mate would keep you safe.

but a bear would fight a prospective mate when challenged.

your palm settles on his thigh before you can really think it through, a soothing touch to counteract the shakiness of your voice as you soothe, "nowhere, baby. i'm right here, hm? right here."

john doesn't even huff in acknowledgement, breath still puffing agitatedly as he begins to nose at the side of your throat. you bare it instinctively, let him drink his fill of your scent, parse through it so he can find his own among the notes - his bed, his home, his mate.

he's still eerily silent when he settles his weight over top of you , cock still hard and sticky with blood when it slots between your cheeks.

"John -?" you start, unsure really what you plan to say. stutter out anyway when he growls in warning, lets his teeth scrape over the knob of your atlas vertebrae. his voice is tinged with something dark and inhuman when he pulls away, just enough you can still feel the scrape of his mustache when he speaks.

"just be good for me, rabbit."

you can do little else, pulse hare-footed and nerves so overloaded they can't decide which action to execute first. john does not kiss his way down your spine as he's done so many times before, instead dragging his teeth heavily down your nape, the thick skin there catching and tugging until he hits the collar of his own oversized shirt. he groans, perhaps in approval, the odd mix of yours and his sweat caught between the fibers of cotton. but it seems you're not the only good thing he wants to ruin today, his hands coming up to tear it free from you, one long rip that would hide your surprised gasp if he wasn't so carefully attuned to your weakness, falling back over you with a jumbled mix of predatory snarls and deceptively human coos. "ain't gonna hurt you," he promises, and you risk eye contact enough to peek over your shoulder at him, get your face shoved back into the pillow by a whiskery muzzle pressed much-too hard against your cheek for you effort.

"and what about your bear?" you chirp, wiggling beneath him when he begins to grind his cock against you.

john chuckles, or would, maybe, if he had a better concept of human reactions at the moment. "won't hurt you, either," he asserts, perhaps trying to convince himself because he can't seem to help stretching his maw over the hinge of your jaw even as he says it, wet tongue working over your pulse point when he continues. "he's just gotta eat, 's'all."

he wolfs down your words when you reply too, thumb pressed against the fluttering vein in your throat as he licks your lips. "he gonna eat me?"

john doesn't answer at first, just growls when he reaches down to tilt your hips up, pulls your cheeks apart so he can bury himself between them better. "if you ask nicely."

you envy the lamb.

john's got your hips folded over his own arm, your knees braced wide enough he's wedged his own between your ankles. your arms hold most of your weight, shoulders aching because you can't quite fall forward at this angle, john's thick forearm digging painfully into your tender, crampy belly when you do. at least he hadn't toyed with the lamb like this, didn't drink down its rich blood with wet slurps and satisfied groans. at least the lamb didn't have to bite back soft sighs, squeals of surprise when this beast nipped at it, overeager and toothy.

but it's hard to draw the line at bite marks on your ass when he's so sweet after, tongue laving at the wound as he whines along with you, kisses it better with his lips sealed over your own, pussy fluttering around his hot tongue.

his free hand is just as bad, holding your cheek spread wide for himself with twitching fingers, squeezing divots into your soft flesh which he distracts himself with, pulling away to brush whiskery kisses over them and chuckle darkly when you flinch away, expecting teeth.

you want to tell him to stop playing with his food, are mildly afraid to remind him of the sentiment. "john," you whine instead and he shoves at your hips so hard you flop forward onto the mattress, feel him shuffling up behind you until he straddles your hips.

"said be good, bunny," he growls and his thumbs hurt when he hooks them on either side of your ass, spreads you wide for his inspection. you can feel his cock head bobbing against your cunt, clench around nothing reflexively. he groans when it forces a heavy clot out, reaching down to guide his tip after it, a blood hound nosing around a burrow.

"but john, i -."

he shuts you up with his dick notched up against your entrance, broad head bullying its way past your lips before you're properly ready, aided only by the thick glide of blood and slick.

"rabbits get bred, bunny," he grits, something about the cadence rubbing you wrong, as if he's explaining something very basic to you. "they get bred by their mates. are you gonna be a good little bunny for your mate?"

you'd ignore the cajoling if you could and just wriggle back onto his cock properly. but his grip won't let you, fingers bruising tight upon your hips when you try. "yes, joh - ouch!" you shriek, hand reaching wildly behind you to catch his wrist before he can spank you again. but he's not winding back for another, his big mit kneading at the tender flesh instead. you peer over your shoulder to pout at him again, get distracted by the wild look in his eye and the blood matted in his beard, painted across his cheek. he looks untamed, more bear than man. you remember the crunch of bone between his jaws, the way his other form had stared back you, blood up from his battle, undecided if he wanted to kill you or put a baby in you.

you decide for him, using your grip on his forearm to pull him back up over yourself properly, jaw tilted to lick the blood from his cheek as you beg your mate to breed you.

"good rabbit."

[theorahsart]

Please enlighten me about the french revolution

Here's 5 key things I see people most commonly not consider that I think greatly impacts how they interpret events:

-There was much 'state sanctioned' violence in France long before The Revolution started. The early clashes in the Revolution (ie. Storming of Bastille) didn't just come out of nowhere. People were genuinely fearing for their lives and felt they had no other choice. This same fear and anxiety haunted the rest of the Revolution.

-The Monarchy wasn't just killed for purely idealogical reasons. Louis and Antoinette essentially started a war against their own country. They posed a very real danger to people's lives, and even then the choice to kill Louis was a long deliberated one. The country was at war, people felt they had no choice.

-It's right to acknowledge that the amount of suspicion going around during The Terror was excessive, and it became arguably too easy to accuse and arrest people. It's wrong to assume people were accused purely on basis that they 'didn't share the same opinions' as those in power. The country was at war. Rightly or wrongly, most people were arrested because they were suspected of threatening the safety of France, not because the Jacobins simply wanted to eradicate anyone who didn't share their values.

-There were many, many events over several years that justified people becoming so overwhelmingly concerned with stamping out counter-revolution and being excessively suspicious. Such as: Aristocrats gathering personal armies and sending open threats about destroying the Revolutionaries, or once trusted heroes surprising everyone with secret betrayals (see Lafayette or Mirabeau for good examples), and all of these threats and spies and assassinations happening whilst the country was at war.

-THE COUNTRY WAS AT WAR. Every reductive criticism I've seen of the Revolution seems to dismiss that everyone was making choices against the very real fear that at any minute their hard fought for human rights and democracy could be taken away if they lose one more battle to a neighbouring country. It was basically 'kill the enemy or lose an entire country to war and oppression', that's the mindset politicians were in at that time.

One rly basic thing that I have to explain all the tie (just cos I'm making a comic about him so I get many comments on him specifically lol):

-Robespierre was only one person and didn't control the entire country lol Evidence generally points to him actively avoiding having any power as much as possible. The only executive power he had was in the last year of his life, and he still shared that with 11 other ppl, who had a chance to vote each other out of their committee every month. There wasn't some long term plan to take him down after he'd ravaged the country for a year. It happened very suddenly in an atmosphere of paranoia and extreme anxiety, when he made a bad speech that set off alarm bells. He was then *accused* of tyranny/conspiracy/etc etc. That didnt mean he actually was a tyrant. Loads of politicians across the years had similar accusations used against them. Robespierre was as much a victim of the irrational suspicion and anxiety of The Terror as anyone else at the time.

One final long note:

Every bad moment in the Revolution was A Group Project, it's naive and reductive to put the blame on any single person. I also think its naive and reductive to try frame The Revolution as being a failure or a success. We take for granted all the freedom, protections and choices we have today. Those things never existed back then, it was all entirely new and scary and no one knew wtf they were doing, or if it would last. History doesn't seem to ever have neat tidy success or failures when so many people are involved.

Perhaps the one tangible aspect of the Revolution is it's undeniable impact on modern day human rights and political systems. For me personally, I would want people to focus on this aspect of Frev and how they created those things, alongside all the violence that was frankly, very normal across many European countries during that time.

Like, people go on about how monstrous and vengeful the Guillotine was, either romanticising it or demonising it. But the kind of capital punishment that existed pre-Guillotine was much more barbaric. The kind of capital punishment that exists in modern day USA is much more barbaric (a death that was over in seconds is more humane than pumping someone with chemicals that burn your insides slowly and paralyse you so that you don't cry out in pain in front of whoever is watching you die. In case you hadn't guessed I'm very very against the capital punishment laws in USA =_=)

I went to a UK museum recently and read an article in a Bath newspaper from 1790s. Two boys were publicly hanged for stealing some food.

Considering that 1790s France was a) dealing out a style of public execution that was less painful/quicker than hangings and b) working very hard in attempts to ensure that boys such as that had free education, a right to vote, and protection of rights, so that they'd never have to be arrested for stealing bread to begin with- which of these countries is more barbaric at that time? Why do we frame the Revolution as barbaric and not the wider culture it was clumsily attempting to evolve from?

That was rly long lol But those are the things I want everyone to consider first before they begin any of the more nuanced opinions/discussions I'd LOVE to be having with strangers on Instagram.

FYI Im NOT an expert so I might still be wrong about any of these points nad I will VERY HAPPILY accept that, if any awesome respectable well read ppl call me out. And thats the last thing rly, just trust that it's an endless journey and you're always gonna be learning new things all the time when it comes to history.

[yourreddancer]

Many of us are familiar with the story of Pompeii. The Italian city built in the shadow of and ultimately buried in the destruction of Mt. Vesuvius.

Prior to the volcanic eruption Pompeii was a bustling resort town and home to many of Rome’s most enlightened citizens. Though residents of Pompeii were long aware of their volcanic neighbor and the volatile threat it posed, they took for granted that they would survive any eruption.The city flourished and expanded even as the risk of explosion grew greater. More than 15 years prior to its fateful eruption Vesuvius rumbled triggering a powerful earthquake in the nearby town.

Yet through acrobatic displays of cognitive dissonance and incredible displays of hubris the residents remained steadfast in their belief that they were safe from the dangers bubbling beneath the surface. The city continued to prosper, its sustained success taken for granted by entrusted leadership.Even in the midst of the powerful eruption that took place in 79AD residents of Pompeii had time to flee. Yet faced with an unconventional threat, they failed to understand the immediate dangers that lay ahead. The folly of their ignorance cost them their lives.

Within days of its eruption, the city and thousands of its residents lay buried in ash and molten lava. Centuries later the city was remarkably excavated. It’s people preserved in ash for history to note the expression of surprise on the faces of the deceased as they were suddenly faced with the reality of their situation.

Americans, independents, Democrats, progressives and conservatives alike best take note of this cautionary tale. Like Pompeii our traditional checks and balances are no match for the unconventional threat we as a nation face. Though the danger in front of us may be made of flesh and blood the risk is no less real. The destruction left behind will be no less predictable or deadly.The party of Trump is not interested in the preservation of the American dream.

Their end goal is not to advance the experiment in self governance and individual freedoms that has sustained America for near 250 years. This caravan of corruption and criminal enablers hope to achieve is a hodgepodge Christofacist theocratic oligarchy which protects the privileged status of those in control of today’s status quo, while siimultaneously enforcing a fervent moral code and virtuosity. Fulfilling the dispensationalist agenda of that hypocritical band of fundamentalist glory seekers striving to create a holy army to unconditionally serve in the rapturous war to end all wars.

Welcome to modern day Vesuvian threat that is the entirety of the modern day GOP. A party that for years smoked and billowed warnings to our Constitutional Republic now finds itself on the outskirts of our most sacred walls. The very infrastructure which has held our citizenry together lay melting beneath the literal heat emanating from our darkened skies and apathetic hearts. The evidence lay bare for all to see that this imminent threat has no care for tradition, precedent or the rule of law.“

We,” as a nation need to accept a basic premise. The fight to save our Republic must not wait! Our system of checks and balances has collapsed! The constitutional crisis is here! The battle for the soul of our nation is now! A failure to act means we all get burned in the ash and lava that will rain from our nation’s skies. Our Republic’s survival requires proactive action and sacrifice.

Traditions and political norms have no place when faced with an unprecedented threat! Urgent and innovative measures must be taken to safeguard this nation. Further delay will not solve the crisis, but only come to guarantee that the gaping scars on America's soul will be visible for generations to come

[usnatarchives]

World Book Day: Washington's Revolutionary War account book

It's #WorldBookDay, and we're highlighting a page-turner in the holdings of the National Archives: George Washington's Revolutionary War account book.

General George Washington refused to accept a salary as Commander in Chief of the Continental Army, but he did receive reimbursement for his expenses. Washington was always meticulous with his finances. He accounted for every penny spent at his Mount Vernon estate and applied the same precision in managing the Continental Army. Throughout the 8 years of the Revolutionary War (1775 - 1783), Washington maintained a complete record of all the expenses he incurred as Commander in Chief. This book is written almost entirely in his own hand and includes the charges of his daily meals, housekeepers, and spies. According to his accounts, Washington had incurred expenses totaling $160,074 by the end of the Revolutionary War.

These records provide enlightening insights into the daily lives of Washington, his family, and the people who played vital roles around them.

[spookygibberish]

who are the dogstock?

There’s quite a bit to go over with this so bear with me

Pictured: 3rd male and Virgin Queen (Uhasr)

The Dogstock are the Godstock People of the Dog, descended from an ancient warrior class of a now very dead culture. There’s still a lot of details to work out so I’m skimming over this part, honestly. The warriors of this culture ate the flesh and drank the blood of the Dog to become more like it, and were changed. The level of change that just imbibing the flesh of the Dog imparted is not sufficient to explain the level of purposed biology that characterizes Dogstock, and this culture didn’t practice active manipulation of stock in the way the Jacantese do, so the full history of their origins are somewhat mysterious. (I have ideas (not worked out)).

The Dzuzhnutte Empire perfected the Dogstock as they exist today, and their design, handling, and breeding as perpetuated still in Orimat today. The Dzuzhnutte conquered the entirety of the Dochira, the Hochkiskuph Steppes, and the isthmus in between which now holds the modern day the Kiiz principalities (Ann-Kiiz, Bel-Kiiz, Osat-Kiiz) primarily by the strength of a massive and powerful army of specialty bred and trained Dogstock soldiers. One could argue the high cost of maintenance of this army (among other factors) was the nail in the Dzuzhnutte Empire's coffin, but honestly it's all conjecture. Like the people who first captured and consumed the Dog, the Dzuzhnutte are no longer around.

There are three major broad cultural groups of dogstock that I'll be talking about, if i talk more about these guys publicly:

The Uhasr (/yhezr/) (i cannot pronounce this word correctly either)

The empire didn't collapse all at once, it shrank, it abandoned its peripheries. One of the first such regions to be abandoned was the Hochkiskuph, a relatively small, cold desert region with little obvious wealth in anything other than sheep. The Dogstock soldiers stationed in the Hochkiskuph were not retrieved, as there was no particular need for them. Dogstock are cheap to breed and expensive to feed, or so it goes. This happened about 700~ years from the modern day, and the abandoned Dzuzhnutte Dogstock warslaves formed the basis of the modern day Uhasr culture.

Uhasr Dogstock are a very decentralized culture characterized more or less entirely by their shared language. Uhasr means "ear-having", and is a reference to their uncropped ears. Dogstock slaves of the Dzuzhnutte (and descendant cultures, the tradition persists) had their ears and tails cropped as a mark of servitude, and the Uhasr, being master-less, take great pride in their intact ears and tails, enough to consider them their defining features.

The Uhasr Dogstock are nomadic hunters who exist in an ongoing state of constant conflict with the indigenous Hochki people, who are mostly nomadic herders. The Dzuzhnutte Dogstock were brought to the Hochkiskuph to hunt people, and did not stop doing that once left to their own devices.

Uhasr Dogstock practice exocannibalism (they eat their enemies' flesh), collect body body parts as war trophies (particularly hands and heads), observe religious practices that could be said to be the only surviving form of the ancient Dzuzhnutte state religion, have a strong culture of storytelling and communal theatre, and are generally known as "Feral Dogstock."

Oan Dogstock

Citizens of the Kiiz are Oan. A person from Ann-Kiiz is Ann-Oan. Oan Dogstock are Dogstock who are legally citizens of the Kiiz. The Kiiz are a trio of city states controlling the isthmus between Dochira and the mainland. They political history of this region is up in the air, I'm working on it. You'll get what you get lmao.

The Kiiz are currently undergoing a period of high art and culture, scientific developments, religious inspiration, lofty patronage of the arts. The Kiiz are an enlightened culture where Dogstock live freely among humans, slavery is illegal in the Kiiz, unlike Orimat, and all Dogstock are full members of society. In practice, it's rare to find anyone willing to sell property to Dogstock, and 95% of Oan Dogstock rent houses, or live with human sponsors, for who also often employ them in exchange for food and housing.

The Dogstock of the Kiiz exist in a strange, tense state, trapped between the Uhazr and the Orimish Dogstock in the eyes of their human contemporaries. The experience of the Oan Dogstock is one of supplication and opposition, they crop their ears to distinguish themselves from the feral Uhasr savages, and leave long their tails to distinguish them from servile Orimish slaves. A notable percentage of Oan dogstock are particularly strict adherents of the local religion of the Kiiz (idk much about it other than it's monotheistic - one of if not the only monotheistic religions on the continent).

The Orimish Dogstock

I know the least about this culture of these groups. It is the region where they're still actively kept as slaves. I'll get around to it.

[elgar-nyan]

I want to talk about these. Ignoring the unblighted lyrium crystals attached to the "God-Emperor" medal, because they are placed that way on purpose to create a time-line.

(Sorry for the blurry image)

He was a general of the Enlightened Army, gave himself a little silver crescent. Then when he rose to become King after the war... Or during the War?... He gave himself the gold crescent with the fancy little rope. When he declares himself a god after the Titan war like in the Fresco, he gives himself the silver crescent with the lyrium fragments.

He's already calling himself a god. Not even just a god, according to the concept art above, but a God-Emperor.

So what the heck does "God" in quotes mean? And that is clearly blighted red lyrium, which suggests he gave himself that after he started playing with blight. But Solas was pretty quick to put the Evanuris down presumably, as he senses the Evanuris playing with his wards on the weird Blight Box, sends Mythal to talk to them, they kill Mythal, then he traps them. It doesn't necessarily happen within days, but it's definitely fairly quick compared to the other time skips.

But the biggest thing I want to point out was how understated the first two are. As General, as King, it's almost quiet. After the Titan war when he declares himself a God-Emperor (or whatever), the medal still isn't quite so ostentatious, but it does show pride seeping in. The little trophies on the medal.

That "god" medal though. Whew that Ego. But... That almost suggests he didn't have that big of an ego until after Solas started to meddle.

Just some food for thought.

[the-mortuary-witch]

IDEAS FOR TALKING TO DEITIES

THESE ARE JUST SUGGESTIONS, YOU CAN TALK TO ANY DEITY ABOUT ANYTHING.

ASMODEUS:

Attracting a new romantic partner.

Enhancing sexual intimacy and chemistry with your current partner.

Helping to navigate relationship challenges or conflicts.

Confidence and charisma in social situations.

Achieving your goals and desires related to love and relationships.

Fertility, conception, or motherhood.

Balance and control in the face of strong emotional or physical desires.

Your sex life.

Working through issues related to jealousy, infidelity, or betrayal.

Cultivating a deeper sense of passion, creativity, and sensuality in your life overall.

Gambling.

Exploring your shadow side or embracing your inner desires and impulses.

Money issues.

ANUBIS:

Death and the afterlife.

Mummification and the preservation of the human body.

Transitioning from life to death.

Balance between life and death.

The guidance and protection of Souls.

Importance of honouring and respecting the deceased.

Relationship between the material world and the spiritual realm.

Symbolism of the jackal or the dog in ancient Egyptian mythology.

His role in the Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Death masks and other symbols associated with mummification.

Importance of funeral rites and the proper treatment of the dead.

Ancestor magic

Mystery and majesty of the afterlife and the secrets it may hold.

Legends and stories associated with him in ancient Egyptian mythology.

The role of Anubis as a guide and protector of the deceased.

Death magick.

Guidance.

Life after death.

APHRODITE:

Relationships and romance.

Love, beauty and sexuality.

Creativity, art and the creative process.

Beauty magick.

Confidence, self-worth, self-renewal, and self-love.

Emotions, healing and emotional health.

Success and achievement.

Your sex life.

Strength, power and leadership.

The divine feminine.

Spirituality and the divine feminine.

Intuition, spirituality, and enlightenment.

Women's empowerment and strength.

The beauty and value of love.

Pleasure, joy, and happiness.

Self-love rituals.

Passion and sensuality.

Intimacy and vulnerability.

Femininity and motherhood.

Motherhood.

Fertility and creation.

Beauty and style.

Life and death.

ARES:

War and battle.

Talking about His and Aphrodite’s relationship and/or myths.

Power and domination.

Violence and destruction.

The impact of violence on innocent civilians and the concept of acceptable collateral damage in times of conflict.

Masculinity and aggression.

The role of the gods in human affairs.

Overcoming fears and obstacles.

The concept of victory and defeat in battle.

Anger management.

Healing from trauma (especially trauma from being in the army, witnessing wars, etc).

The impact of war on the psychological well-being of soldiers and the potential for PTSD and other mental health issues to arise from their experiences.

Loyalty and the importance of keeping one's word.

The cycle of violence and the potential for conflict and war to spread and escalate unexpectedly.

His role as the god of war in general, and his presence in many myths and stories involving martial conflict and combat.

APOLLO:

The sun and light.

Music and the arts.

Wisdom.

Purification and healing.

Balance and harmony.

Poetic and artistic inspiration

Knowledge and truth.

How to heal from physical or emotional wounds.

Physicality.

The power of the sun.

Hunting.

Creativity and divinity.

Accessing or interpreting prophecy.

Truth and knowledge.

Intelligence.

Youth and adulthood.

Pursuing personal growth and beauty.

Archery.

The boundaries between the mortal and immortal realms.

Prophecy and divination.

Insight and guidance.

ARTEMIS:

The hunt and wilderness.

Protecting and nurturing the natural world and wildlife.

Moon and the night.

Protection and guidance for young people.

Childbirth.

The art and skill of archery.

Strengthening one's independence and self-sufficiency.

Protecting women and children.

Chastity and independence.

Seeking guidance and support during times of transformation and change.

Nature and wildlife.

Survival.

Connecting to the energy and power of the moon and night.

Virginity.

Feminine divine.

Transformation and change.

Fertility and nurturing.

The darker, more primal aspects of nature.

Animals, particularly those associated with the wild.

Civilization and wilderness.

ATHENA:

The spiritual meaning behind owls.

Learning and education.

Wisdom and knowledge.

Strategic planning and decision making.

Courage and strength.

Art and creativity.

Protection and defence.

Conflict and competition.

War and warfare.

Poetry.

Skill and craftsmanship.

Leadership and guidance.

Justice and rule of law.

Battle strategy and tactics.

Archery and weaponry.

Logic and reason.

Diplomacy and negotiation.

Weaving and textiles.

The history and legends of Athens.

Architecture.

Loyalty and friendship.

Overcoming fears and obstacles.

The concept of victory and defeat in battle.

Courage and determination.

Kitting.

Her association with the olive tree.

The Trojan War and the Odyssey.

War and battle.

BASTET:

Cats and feline grace.

Healing

Celebration and joy.

Dance and music.

The moon and mystery.

Protection.

Seeking grace and elegance.

Beauty and love magic.

The transition from life to death and back again, or the cycle of renewal.

Feminism.

Joy and happiness in the present moment.

The Underworld and the afterlife.

Fertility and abundance.

Working with magic to attract love or beauty.

Life and death.

Purification and cleansing of the body and spirit.

Motherhood.

Balance of yin and yang.

Girlhood and womanhood.

BEELZEBUB:

Gluttony and overindulgence.

Vanity and pride.

Exploring the darker or destructive aspects of oneself or society.

Disease and plague.

Leadership and the attainment of power.

The dark and murky realms of human nature.

Rebellion and challenge to authority.

Greed.

Destructive and chaotic aspects of life.

The embodiment of the rebellious and transgressive aspects of human nature.

Flies and other insects.

Deceit and trickery.

One’s own desires and needs.

The embodiment of the destructive aspects of human nature.

Power and control.

Ambition.

Excess and overindulgence.

The destructive and chaotic aspects of life.

BALDER:

Light, warmth, and positive energy.

Joy, happiness, and emotional wellbeing.

Laughter and fun.

The healing power of music, poetry, and storytelling.

Beauty, love, and romance.

Fertility and growth.

Springtime and new beginnings.

The cycle of the seasons and the changing of the year.

Healing, renewal, and regeneration.

Good fortune and luck.

The bonds of friendship and community

Eternal struggles between life and death, and the triumph of light over darkness.

Sunshine, rainbows, and light.

The power of hope and optimism.

Inner child healing.

Childhood trauma.

Positive mental and physical health.

The cycle of life and the eternal return.

Solar magick.

Connections between the physical and spiritual realms, and the power of rituals and practices to bring about positive change.

The power of the sun.

Insight and guidance.

BRIGID:

Fire, warmth, and protection.

The power of fire and its ability to both purify and destroy.

Inspiration, creativity, and the arts.

Healing, health, and well-being.

The role of women in society and the divine feminine.

Fertility, childbirth, and motherhood.

Spring and the power of new beginnings.

Rebirth and renewal, both in nature and in oneself.

Music, poetry, and storytelling.

Prophecy and foresight, and the ability to see into the future.

Community, collaboration, and the bonds of friendship.

Purification, cleansing, and the removal of negativity.

Women's issues and issues related to motherhood.

Pregnancy.

Connecting with the natural world and cycles of life.

The role of motherhood in your life and how to nurture and care for others or yourself.

Girlhood and womanhood.

The celebration and history of Imbolc.

BAPHOMET:

Sexuality and sensuality.

Creativity.

Spirituality and enlightenment.

Independence and self-actualization.

Power and control.

Empathy and emotion.

Nature and the balance of opposites.

The occult and the divine.

Authority, dominance, and leadership.

The self versus the selflessness.

Duality and the balance of energies.

The shadow self.

Masculine and feminine energy.

Life and death.

Destruction and creation.

Sacrifice and self-improvement.

Unity and separation.

Necromancy.

Knowledge and wisdom.

Willpower and discipline.

The mystical and the mundane.

CERBERUS:

Guardianship and protection.

The afterlife and the Underworld.

Mortality and death.

Strength and power.

Loyalty and devotion.

Discipline.

Security and safety.

Guarding secrets and information.

Knowledge of the past.

Guarding the boundaries between the realms.

Wisdom and intuition.

Balancing light and dark.

Justice and punishment.

Self-growth and soul evolution.

Animal magick.

Spiritual growth and enlightenment.

Overcoming fear and overcoming struggles.

DIONYSUS:

Wine and revelry.

Theatre and performing arts.

Ecstasy and spiritual liberation.

Transformation and rebirth.

Fertility and vegetation.

Ask for his help in celebrating or enjoying life to the fullest.

Spirituality or creativity.

Overcoming obstacles or limitations.

Finding ways to grow and evolve.

Learning how to dive into your unconscious mind and explore the hidden depths of your psyche.

Madness and frenzy.

Chaos and subversion.

The irrational and the transgressive.

Ecological forces and the natural world.

The unconscious and the irrational aspects of the mind.

Ask about embracing your inner chaos and irrationality.

How to connect with the natural world and ecological forces.

LGBTQ+ issues or news.

DEMETER:

Earth and the harvest.

Protecting women and girls from harm.

Agriculture and nourishment.

Motherhood and the cycles of life.

The balance between light and dark, innocence and experience, or life and death.

Women's issues and issues related to motherhood.

The Underworld and the afterlife

Fertility and the natural world

How to grow your own food or how to support sustainable agriculture.

Pregnancy.

Connecting with the natural world and cycles of life.

The role of motherhood in your life and how to nurture and care for others or yourself.

Relationships.

Dealing with loss and grief.

Seeking support for fertility or health issues.

Transformation, change, and rebirth.

Feminine power.

The cycle of life and death, and how to find meaning and purpose in both.

Girlhood and womanhood.

ERIS:

Chaos and disorder.

Envy and jealousy.

Conflict and strife.

Social upheaval and revolution.

Disruption and discord.

Unpredictability and unexpected change.

Mischief and trickery.

The pursuit of personal gain at the expense of others.

Provocation and rebellion.

The dark side of our own personalities.

Conflict between individuals and groups.

Betrayal and infidelity.

Petty rivalries and sibling strife, particularly within the family.

The destructive nature of competition.

Consequences of unchecked emotions, particularly anger and wrath.

The power and influence of gossip, lies, and deceit

Rebellion and defiance of authority and tradition.

Fragility and instability of societal norms and conventions.

The corrupting influence of power and authority.

FREYJA:

Love and relationships.

Sexuality and self-expression.

Romance and intimacy.

Women's empowerment.

Lust and pleasure.

Friendship, connection, and compassion.

Women's issues and values.

Self-love and self-acceptance.

Femininity, motherhood, and fertility.

Warrior's spirit.

Courage and self-assertion.

Strength as a woman and womanly empowerment.

Crushes.

Sexuality and sensuality.

The Valkyries.

Spirituality.

Womanhood, fertility, and femininity.

Life and death.

Spirituality and the divine feminine.

Pregnancy and childbirth.

Discipline.

The divine feminine.

FENRIR:

Destruction and rebirth.

Power and vengeance.

Chaos and anarchy.

Strength and bravery.

Loyalty and devotion.

Rebellion and revolt.

Hunting and hunting tactics.

Survival instincts and primal nature.

Predation and prey.

Animal magick.

Strength and ferocity.

The instinct to hunt and kill.

Importance of loyalty.

Anger management.

Healing from trauma.

Power of leadership and authority.

Freedom and independence.

Primal instincts and animalistic nature.

Violence and aggression.

Protection and guarding.

Dominance.

The will to survive at all costs.

HADES:

Death and the afterlife.

Mortality and immortality.

Life and death.

Judgement and justice.

Wisdom and enlightenment.

The soul and the divine essence.

Strength and power.

Death magick.

Secrets and hidden depths.

Emotions and spirituality.

Shadows and darkness.

Wisdom and knowledge.

Spirituality and divination.

Discipline and restraint.

Power and authority.

Dealing with grief or loss.

Rebirth.

Life after death.

Vengeance and punishment.

Fate and destiny.

Healing and recovery.

The subconscious.

Necromancy.

Soul healing and spirituality.

HECATE

Spells and spell casting.

Protection and warding off negativity.

Divination and insight.

Spiritual power and enlightenment.

Necromancy.

Psychic awareness and intuition.

Natural and mystical spirituality.

The occult and mysticism.

Witchcraft.

Healing and energy work.

Guidance.

Ritual practices.

Spirit work and spiritual guidance.

Psychic abilities and intuition development.

Magick and mysticism.

Healing and recovery.

Self-empowerment and spirituality.

Dreams and dreamwork.

Lunar magick.

Spirit communing and manifestation.

Rituals and altar setup.

Spiritual tools and practices.

HYPNOS:

How to achieve better sleep and rest, and remedies for insomnia or nightmares.

Dreamwork.

Understanding and interpreting dreams and their symbolic meaning.

Accessing and exploring the subconscious mind through dream work and lucid dreaming practices.

Dreams you’ve had.

Learning techniques for inducing relaxation and stress relief through meditation and visualization.

Insight, healing, and transformation.

Better sleep and addressing insomnia, nightmares, or sleep disturbances.

Exploring your spiritual path and connection to the divine through dreamwork and subconscious exploration.

Developing a closer relationship with your own inner wisdom, intuition, and creative potential.

Seeking guidance on navigating and interpreting the symbols and messages that appear in your dreams.

Dream meanings.

HERA:

Marriage and relationships.

Family and domestic life.

The symbolism of the Queen and the feminine power that comes with the role of a Queen.

Childbirth and motherhood.

The relationship between the gods and the humans.

Fertility and the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

The power of jealousy and revenge.

Feminine power.

Hospitality and the treatment of guests and strangers.

The divine feminine.

How to manage anger.

The role of women in Greek society.

Wisdom and insight.

Femininity and the nurturing and protective nature of women.

The importance of loyalty and faithfulness in relationships.

Controlling jealousy.

Women’s rights and issues.

The balance between the divine and the human, and the potential for conflict and tension between them.

HERMES:

Travel and safe journeys.

Communication and language skills.

Business and trade.

Trickery and cunning.

Inspiration and creative expression.

Dreams and intuition.

Psychic abilities and insight.

Music and arts.

Pranks, jokes, or wordplay.

Balance and harmony.

Athletic skill and success.

Luck and fortune.

Healing and medicine.

Protecting livestock and herds.

Seeking guidance and protection during travels.

Finding lost objects.

HEL:

Life after death and the afterlife.

Death and dying.

Necromancy.

Life and death.

Self-improvement.

The soul and the divine essence.

Wisdom and insight.

Vengeance and punishment.

Healing and recovery.

Death magick.

Spirituality and the divine feminine.

Past lives and reincarnation.

Soul travel and astral projection.

Death rituals and burial customs.

Spiritual enlightenment.

Communication with spirits and the divine.

Spirit guidance and divination.

Protection and salvation.

Dealing with loss or grief.

Soul recovery and enlightenment.

The cycle of life and death.

Spiritual journey and transformation.

Ancestor work.

LOKI:

Mayhem and chaos.

The art of manipulation and deception.

Humour and playfulness.

Illusion and deceit.

Mischief and pranks.

Trickery and mischief.

Wisdom, insight, and understanding.

Imagination and creativity.

Exploration and experimentation.

The power of charisma and persuasion.

Inner child healing.

Funny stuff that’s happened in your life.

Self-expression and creativity.

Freedom and independence.

Rebels and rebellion.

Anarchy and revolution.

Outcasts and misfits.

The illusion of reality and the veil of illusion.

Masks and unmasking.

Truth.

Childhood trauma.

Shapeshifting and the ability to take on different identities.

LILITH:

Women's empowerment.

Self-love and self-acceptance.

Femininity and motherhood.

Self-value and self-confidence.

Lust, desire and sexuality.

Intimacy, spirituality and empowerment.

Love and romance.

Spirituality and Goddess energy.

Women's issues and values.

Power and domination.

Your sex life.

Sexual liberation and empowerment.

Women's rights and autonomy.

Self-worth.

Freedom and independence.

The divine feminine and the cycle of creation and destruction.

Power and strength.

Emotions and emotional health.

Femininity and divinity.

Self-empowerment and self-love.

Physical and spiritual pleasure.

LUCIFER:

Self-power and independence

The rejection of societal norms and expectations.

Enlightenment, wisdom, and knowledge.

Freedom and rebellion.

Revolution and defiance.

Charisma and confidence.

Manipulation and strategy.

Darkness and forbidden arts.

Spiritual evolution and expansion.

Destruction and chaos.

Morality and the morality of actions.

The self-preservation aspect of consciousness.

Spiritual enlightenment and wisdom.

Pride and ego.

Strength and courage in confronting authority.

The dark side of human nature.

Self-love and self-care.

Rebellion and rebellion against tyranny.

The dark side of the self.

Shadow work and spiritual evolution.

MELINOË

Dreams and nightmares.

Necromancy.

Possession and the power of the spirits to possess and control mortals.

Shadow work.

Madness and confusion.

Death magick.

The power of the night and the hidden side of the subconscious mind.

Ghosts or hauntings.

The role of the gods in human affairs, especially the darker and more sinister aspects of their nature.

Spirit work.

The Underworld and the world of the dead.

Death and decay

Importance of confronting one's fears and facing the unknown.

Lunar magick.

The role of prophecy and divination, particularly in terms of predicting the future and understanding the nature of human fate.

Life after death.

Chaos and disorder.

The nature of the subconscious mind and the role of dreams and nightmares in shaping our thoughts and actions.

MA’AT:

Truthfulness and honesty in one's actions and relationships.

Importance of justice, truth, and morality in personal and societal relationships.

Justice and order.

Significance of symbolic objects and images in relation to Ma’at, such as feathers, scales, and the ankh.

Nature, significance of cosmic order, and balance.

The role of Ma’at as a judge in the afterlife.

Significance of the feather as a symbol of Ma’at.

Truth and balance.

The cultural and historical context of Ma’at in ancient Egypt and its significance in modern pagan and spiritual traditions.

Asking for help in resolving conflicts or disputes.

Seeking guidance and insight on personal or spiritual matters.

The natural laws of the universe and how to live in harmony with them.

MEDUSA:

Personal growth and transformation.

The power of the ocean.

Embracing one’s own power and strength.

Seeking protection and guidance in times of hardship or uncertainty.

Wisdom or insight.

The cultural and historical context of her stories in Greek mythology.

Overcoming fears and obstacles.

Life, rebirth, and death.

The art and craft of divination or fortune-telling.

Personal empowerment.

Self-confidence.

Navigating relationships and interpersonal dynamics.

The significance of the colour green and its associations with nature and transformation.

Healing from trauma or overcoming past experiences.

Change and transformation.

The importance of balance and harmony in one's life.

Meaning and symbolism of her serpentine features.

The power and significance of her gaze.

Connection between her curse and the themes of vanity and pride.

Women’s rights.

The role of her serpentine hair in her transformation and power.

NYX:

Night and the dark side of reality.

Destruction and rebirth.

Mysteries and secrets.

Spiritual energy and magic.

Wisdom and insight.

Spiritual protection and guidance.

The paranormal and the demonic.

Psychic abilities and spirituality.

Intuition and spirituality.

Darkness and the occult.

Lunar magick.

Protection and healing.

Dreaming and dreaming interpretations.

Spiritual jury and self-exploration.

Dreamwork and astral travel.

The cycle of death and rebirth.

Soul evolution and enlightenment.

Mysticism and the paranormal.

Darkness and mysticism.

Shadows and the subconscious.

Visionary abilities and metaphysical abilities.

ODIN:

Wisdom and knowledge.

Prophecy and divination.

The connection between the gods of Asgard and the fate of humanity.

War and battle.

Magic and sorcery.

Poetry and songwriting.

The balance between the light and dark aspects of the divine.

Runes and the language of the gods.

Norse mythology.

Royalty and kingship

Death and the afterlife

The pursuit of wisdom and knowledge, often through sacrifice

Shapeshifting and the ability to take on different identities.

The importance of prophecy and the ability to see into the future.

Fate and destiny.

The importance of sacrifice and the willingness to give up something important in pursuit of a greater good.

Healing (especially from war related trauma).

The Viking Age.

OSIRIS:

Transformation.

Leadership and authority.

Rebirth.

Life struggles and challenges.

Personal growth and self-discovery.

Grief and loss.

Healing and restoration.

Fertility.

Dreams and visions.

Strength and resilience.

Protection.

Spiritual growth and enlightenment.

Personal goals and aspirations.

Guidance.

Purpose and meaning in life.

Overcoming fear and anxiety.

Forgiveness and letting go.

The afterlife and the journey of the soul.

Cycle of life and death.

PERSEPHONE:

Women's fertility.

Spirituality and rebirth.

Protection and guidance.

Emotions and emotional healing.

Motherhood and feminine values.

Intuition and spiritual growth.

Pregnancy and childbirth.

Self-love and self-preservation.

Feminine spirituality and divine energy.

Relationships and bonds.

Love and connection.

Intimate relationships.

Emotions and compassion.

The divine feminine and the feminine archetype.

Necromancy.

Feminine spirituality and energy.

Self-care and self-preservation.

Girlhood and womanhood.

Bonding.

Emotional healing.

Marriage and relationships.

The Underworld and afterlife.

Dealing with loss and grief.

RAUM:

Astral travel and lucid dreaming.

Shadow work and facing one's fears.

Exploring the depths of the unconscious mind.

Strengthening one's psychic abilities.

Navigating the spirit world and encountering other entities.

Working with magic and spellcasting, especially that related to protection, transformation, or growth.

Understanding and exploring taboo or darker aspects of one's own nature.

Working with animal spirits.

Developing skills in shamanic journeying.

Exploring the hidden forces and energies at work in the universe.

Understanding and working with symbols and archetypes.

Exploring the intersections between magic, psychology, and spirituality.

Using ritual and invocation to connect with the demonic plane.

Dealing with and overcoming personal challenges and obstacles.

SKÖLL AND HATI:

Nature and the balance of nature.

Destruction and rebirth.

The cycle of life and death.

Pack structure and hierarchy.

Sacrifice and devotion.

Leadership and loyalty.

Strength and survival.

Predation and pack dynamics.

Bonding and unity.

Coexistence and acceptance.

Lunar magick.

Endurance and perseverance.

Primal instincts and spirituality.

Survival skills.

Hunting and hunting techniques and strategies.

Teamwork.

Loyalty and devotion.

Wolves and wolf behaviour and psychology.

SATAN:

Individuality and rebellion against authority and societal norms.

Good, evil, and the balance between light and dark.

Truth and wisdom.

Pleasure and the rejection of conventional morality.

The power of the Infernal realms and the spiritual world.

Freedom and self-expression.

The darker and more primal aspects of human nature.

Desire and pleasure.

The pursuit of personal power and autonomy.

Knowledge and wisdom.

Self-preservation and self-protection.

Transformation and personal growth.

Individuality and autonomy.

Darkness and forbidden arts.

SELENE:

The cycle of time and its passage.

Self-love and self-care.

Phases of the moon and the cycle of months.

Femininity and feminine power.

Moonlight and lunar energy.

Spiritual protection and guidance.

Feminine values and wisdom.

Spiritual empowerment and enlightenment.

Femininity and motherhood.

Lunar magick.

Female energy and feminine mysticism.

Intuition and intuitive energy.

Emotional healing and spiritual protection.

Dreams and dream interpretations.

Connection between sexuality and female energy.

The power of the divine feminine.

Women's values and spirituality.

SANTA MUERTE:

Death and the afterlife.

Self-protection and spiritual protection.

Healing and recovery from trauma.

Spiritual empowerment and enlightenment.

Protection and guidance.

Healing and soul purpose.

Karma and cosmic justice.

Necromancy.

Spiritual intuition and divination.

Evolution and enlightenment.

Self-expression and self-identity.

The afterlife and the spiritual realm.

Reincarnation.

Spiritual evolution and growth.

Live after death.

Divination and communication with spirits.

Spiritual healing and soul healing.

THOR:

Thunder, lightning, and storms.

Strength and power.

The representation of raw power, strength, and the ability to defend and protect those who cannot defend themselves.

Protection and defence.

Masculinity and warriorship.

The struggle against evil and chaos.

Weather magick.

The importance of honour and loyalty.

Fertility and fertility rites.

Masculinity and manliness.

The power of the natural world and the elements.

Battle and warfare.

Hospitality and protection of guests.

The importance of family and community.

Strength and prowess in battle.

Agriculture and the prosperity of crops and animals.

The maintenance of order in the world and the defeat of evil and chaos.

Bravery and courage.

The responsibility of leadership and responsibility.

THE MORRIGAN:

War, battle, and conflict. 

Fate and destiny. 

Transformation and change. 

Death and rebirth. 

Sovereignty and personal power. 

Cycles and the changing of the seasons. 

Spirituality and the supernatural. 

Leadership, courage, and determination. 

Protection and guidance. 

Magic and witchcraft. 

Dreams, visions, and prophecy. 

Personal growth and self-discovery. 

Power, success, and abundance. 

Revenge and justice. 

The Morrigan's presence and power in your life. 

Questions about the Morrigan's history, myth, and legend. 

How to strengthen your relationship with her.

Rituals, offerings, and acts of devotion to the Morrigan. 

THANATOS:

Life after death.

Endings and transitions.

The cycle of life and death.

Death and the afterlife.

Transformation.

Greif and mourning.

The process of dying and the experience of death.

Peaceful death and the transition to the afterlife.

Balance between life and death.

The importance of accepting death and letting go of attachment to life.

Ancestor and shadow work.

Necromancy.

Protection.

Spirit guidance and divination.

Dealing with loss or grief.

Soul recovery and enlightenment.

ZEUS:

Thunder and lightning

Kingship and authority.

The sky and weather.

Justice and morality.

The natural order and stability.

Power.

Law and order.

Fatherhood and paternal guidance.

Order and stability in the world.

The power of storms and extreme weather.

Cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

Leadership and authority.

The power of creation and destruction.

Destiny and fate.

Cycle of the seasons, time, and the passage of time.

Weather magick.

The balance between light and dark.

Wisdom and knowledge.

[seravphs]

Act One, Chapter One: half agony, half hope

Knights are bound by duty and honor, but Gojo is more devoted to his princess than he ever was to his oaths.

Main Masterlist | AO3

wc — 10k

tags — royal au, knight gojo, princess reader, forbidden love, ballroom scene, dancing, court politics, blood, minor character death, period-typical misogyny, complicated relationships with fathers, secret meetings, flouting social etiquette by sneaking out to meet your childhood best friend who is also your loyal knight, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Next: the beginning of devotion (coming soon)

He was so still Shoko almost mistook him for a dead body. It was a common misunderstanding in her line of business, but not one she was usually startled by. As a poisoner, legally and officially a herbalist, the occasional corpse on her table wasn’t such an unexpected occurrence. A lord, on the other hand, was. 

Especially if it was him.   

Gojo Satoru wasn’t just a lord. He was the son of the former Hand of the King, the greatest swordsman in living history, and connected to the princess. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know the Gojo name. It was synonymous with the royal house itself as the clan that had produced scores of advisors to the king. In nearly every generation, the heir to the throne was accompanied by a Gojo, acting as a living sword and shield. 

But even with that storied history, this one was special. A young man who had risen to prominence during The Silent War, he returned home from hell as a knight unlike any other. The bards would adore him. They already did. 

Most generals earned their titles by leading campaigns. Gojo hadn’t needed one. He turned the tides of the war as a single man army. They had started calling him a grim reaper, a god of death. 

Shoko disliked him on principle, but she couldn’t kill a man like that. They’d have her head on a pike. She didn’t mind the idea of dying so much. What she did shrink from was the idea of dying painfully. 

The princess was known for abstaining from most decisions involving the crown despite being in line to inherit it, but Shoko somehow doubted that she would remain so passive if her favorite knight was murdered. Thankfully, Gojo let out a soft breath to show her that he did remain among the living. 

“I thought you died,” she remarked. 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” 

She said something else, but Gojo wasn’t listening anymore. He was floating through a shapeless world again, chasing that moment. It slipped away from him despite his redoubled attempts to capture it. He remembered the tang of iron in his mouth. Blood spraying in the air, a mist that he could smell and taste. The leather grip of his sword in his hands, slippery with sweat. 

He was trying to win back enlightenment, briefly attained and lost again just as quickly on the battlefield. A feeling of deep and solid peace had settled over him as he hacked through bodies, as if that was what he was meant to do. It should’ve concerned him. He already confused the ever thinning boundary between man and monster. That bloodshed brought him such euphoric tranquility could only mean it was growing worse, but he hated things he couldn’t understand. 

He needed to experience it again. Just one more time, so he could make sense of it. The smell of blood. Wading through the dead and the dying, thigh deep in gore - it was no use. Frustrated, he let it go. 

There was something soothing about the cracks in the ceiling. He stared up at it, letting his breaths come as shallowly as they had while he had been immersed in his meditative state. Shoko’s basement was chilly and dark, but it was necessary for the illegal autopsies she performed at his request. Those, and the poisons she crafted for him, were its primary purpose. It was only a stroke of luck that these qualities were also helpful for his attempts to recover his short-lived state of grace. 

He was tempted to try again, but not today. There was someone too precious to keep waiting if he delayed any longer. He wouldn’t impose upon her the way he often imposed on the elder lords who tried to remind him of his place by pulling rank. While they deserved his spite, she didn’t. 

Even Shoko was surprised by his sudden desire for punctuality. “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have a princess to rescue,” he said. “Dragons to slay, things of that nature.” 

Shoko scoffed. “You are the dragon they have to save princesses from.”

Well, Gojo thought as he hurried down the corridor, she wasn’t wrong. He was sure others agreed with her. He didn’t waste his time with children’s tales anymore, but he remembered his mother’s voice whispering to him in the dark, curled around him in his bed. A dragon was a tool to lock princesses away. His presence deterred anyone from coming too near to his princess, so by that definition, he was most certainly a dragon. 

Gojo found that he was a little proud of himself for that. Thinking of his mother had made him nostalgic. He thought she might be proud too, that he had taken such good care of the princess she herself had looked after. A dragon might trap, but it also guarded and hoarded. He had polished his princess like a treasure, lavishing her with attention until she had become a gem. 

She was beautiful. 

He was a soldier, so he had long since rid himself of the ability to lose his breath, but if he still could, he would’ve choked at the sight of her when he broke past the doors. She was seated so that the eye of anyone who entered the ballroom would be drawn to her first, but he would’ve found her regardless. He had promised. 

Wherever you were, he would always find you. 

It’s difficult to hide, being as tall as he is, but Gojo managed. He didn’t want you to see him coming. Already, he has to bite his lip to fight down his smile as he draws closer and closer. A few more steps, a detour to duck behind some random noble, and he’s in front of you. 

“May I?” You don’t have a chance to speak before he’s already dragging a chair closer. 

The smile on your face doesn’t match the harsh delivery of your words. “The next time you leave me alone with these miserable fools, I’ll order you to fall on your sword.”

Gojo laughs, unfazed. “Good choice. You’re too pretty to get your hands dirty. Although, you are a bit more murderous than expected for a princess.” 

“You try putting up with Naoya’s simpering gibberish for an hour.”

“I don’t have to.” He slips into the chair beside you, avoiding you neatly when you try to trip him. “Watch your feet, my lady. People like me don’t have to put up with Naoya.” 

People like you shouldn’t have to, either. You’re both higher ranking than he is, a princess and a lord each, yet Gojo’s the only one who gets to escape his painful-to-witness affections. 

It’s only natural. A royal dowry comes attached to you. Any eligible man would have to be an idiot not to fight for your hand, but really, they’re vying for a chance at kingship. You can’t go one day without someone reminding you that you’re a physical embodiment of the crown, something to want and own. 

Gojo pours himself water with a heavy hand, bypassing the wine. Watching him sip at it, you realize you’ve actually never seen him drink.

“Come now,” he says, a little softer. “Don’t look so desolate. What will I do if everyone sees you pouting? You’ll ruin my reputation.”  

“You don’t have a reputation to ruin.” 

“Don’t underestimate the things I’d do for the smallest sign of joy from you. Shall I procure one right now to destroy for your amusement?” 

You know he wants you to smile, but you can’t. Even if Gojo can usually pry laughter from you with the ease of a trained jester, this time, your sadness weighs over you like a heavy wool cloak. It’s your birthday, but it’s not a happy occasion. Every passing year tightens the noose around your neck. 

You’re a princess, and that means your life was arranged for you before you breathed your first breath. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve never had a choice. 

“Don’t,” he whispers. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t make that face,” he says. “I’d marry you. If it came down to it, I’d take care of you.” 

His words nearly cause you to spill your drink all over your finely embroidered dress. If it set in, it would never come out. He grasps your hand just as the cup begins to tip, saving you. 

“Did you mistake your water for wine?” It’s a genuine question from you. 

He waves his goblet around carelessly. You’re worried he might be actually drunk, but you smell no alcohol on him. He couldn’t get inebriated from just a sip, anyway. Whatever wild whims have overtaken him tonight are entirely of his own design. 

“Better me than Naoya, no? I’d keep you safe.” He cracks a crooked smile in your direction, like you’re sharing a secret. “Admit it. I’d be a good husband. If I were around, you’d be untouchable.” 

He’s telling the truth. If Gojo Satoru was your husband, no one would dare anything with you, but you chase the idea from your mind as quickly as Gojo plants it. You’re your father’s daughter, raised on his practicality. You don’t waste time on pipe dreams. Better the hideous truth than a lie costumed in beauty - the bite of thorns was infinitely preferable to the impermanent fantasy of petals. 

Instead of answering him, you push your plate in his direction. You don’t even have to ask. Gojo dutifully takes your knife and fork in hand to cut up your meat. “Not even going to consider it, princess? I’m hurt. That was a serious offer, you know.” 

“You’re insufferable. Be quiet and eat.” 

Gojo’s mother used to say that the more adamantly someone denied something, the closer to the truth it likely was. You can only hope Gojo doesn’t remember, because she was right. The reason you won’t give him even an inch on the topic of marriage is because a proposal from him is the only thing you want but can’t have. 

Predictably, he ignores you. He’s never known when to quit. With so little that can genuinely stand in his way, Gojo has difficulty understanding the concept of a limitation. You’re both spoiled in that sense, noble children who had never been told no. 

“Think about it,” he says casually. “We’d be invincible. What other house could stand before our union?”

“I said- hello, father.” 

“A little early to be calling- oh, hello, Your Majesty. You look well tonight. Is that a new ring?” 

Your father cuffs Gojo around the ears. “Brat.” 

He’s in a good mood, then. 

“My little girl,” he says to you. ���How pretty you look. I’m surprised no one has stolen you away from me yet.” 

You’re not so little anymore, but you forgive him. It’s just the two of you, ever since the queen died. He’s the reason you are what you are, as cultivated as a rose in a greenhouse. The climate that nurtured you is one carefully tailored by his own hand. 

“Not for lack of trying,” Gojo says brightly. 

“Boy,” your father calls him, despite the fact that Gojo isn’t a boy either. A deep sigh escapes his lungs. He looks truly sorrowful for a moment. “You look just like your mother.” 

Gojo’s smile freezes on his face. It’s true, he does. Through him, the king’s former hand lives again, but you know Gojo doesn’t want to be seen as an extension of her, even if he misses her more than anything. 

You’re familiar with the way your father knows exactly what to say to make you feel small again. The king is someone who exudes power. His uncanny ability to pick out what you’re most sensitive to and exploit it makes even the most proud of noblemen revert to children in his presence, as if they’ve been scolded by a nanny for stealing tarts from the kitchen. It’s strange that you feel the need to protect Gojo, the strongest person you know, from that. 

He reaches out and pats Gojo’s cheek now that he’s reduced him to silence. “Enjoy the night, my dear child.” 

When he leaves, Gojo slumps back in his chair with a tick in his jaw. Even if the king is your father, he can’t help himself. “Nasty old man,” he mutters. 

You pinch his thigh beneath the table. “Smile and look pretty.”

“Ugh, who is it now?”

“Lord Zenin and his son haven’t gotten their fill of tormenting me.” 

“Hm,” Gojo says. “I wonder.” 

“If you have a plan to avoid them, hurry. They’re nearly here.” 

“I don’t know,” he teases. “I don’t think you’d like it very much.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like conversation with Sir Zenin very much either.” 

He grabs your hand. “Then you’ll forgive me for anything that happens tonight?” 

“Anything is questionable, but do as you please.” 

He tugs you from your seat, pulling you through the crowd of people. Caught in his wake, you float past faces familiar and unfamiliar until the patriarch of House Zenin and his infernal spawn fade behind you. 

When you turn to face him again, he’s dipped into a bow. His smile is sweet, boyish. It’s as if you’re children again, and he’s stolen you from your lessons to waltz in an empty ballroom, motes of dust that you’ve stirred up floating in the sunbeams. 

He extends his hand, a sapphire burning on one finger. A dragon curls around the silver band of the ring, a nod to his heritage. Though the Gojos are a powerful and ancient house, in this moment, Gojo looks young, foolish, and all the better for it. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” 

You giggle, wishing you had a fan to pretend to hide behind. You’re playing pretend again, acting as if you’re characters from a storybook.

“I’d be delighted to, my lord.” 

The music swells. Gojo takes your hand and presses a kiss to your bare knuckles. His lips are soft against your skin, temptation incarnate. In his grasp, your fingers tremble slightly, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. 

You’re terrified by how much you want him. 

If you let him in for one second, you can imagine how easy it would be to never stop. He’s every one of your desires and hopes made manifest, tied up in a single person. Although it’s impossible, you still feel the heat of him. The warmth of his lips linger on you, a stolen moment before he sweeps you up in his arms.

This is how you remember he’s a boy no longer. The breadth of his shoulders is wide. He’s lost the roundness of youth, his face growing angular and cunning. There’s solid muscle underneath your hands as he pulls you with him, his feet beating a steady rhythm that you have to fight to keep up with. 

He’s doing it on purpose, you know, testing how much you still retained all of those years of tutoring. You’re determined to show him they weren’t for naught. 

When you catch your breath and master the music once more, gliding with him rather than being tugged along, he smiles like he always expected you to. He’s been like this since you were young, dangling challenges in front of you that he’s equally as excited to see you pass as fail. 

The music slows. All around you, the frantic steps melt into slow swaying. You’re feeling brave tonight, so you step closer. You allow the arm curled more tightly around your waist, the tender look in his eyes. When you steal a glance around, no one is watching the two of you, but how far can you go before you lose it all? 

“Don’t talk to Naoya again,” he murmurs against your skin. It tickles, and you squirm until he presses so close it petrifies you. “I don’t like the rumors around him.”

“What rumors?”

“Bad ones. He tumbles girls and leaves them with nothing. Hurts them, takes whatever he wants, and ruins their lives. I don’t trust him, and especially not with you.” His hand smoothes over a stray ruffle on your petticoat, the gesture impossibly loving. “Never with you, princess.” 

You shudder at the way he says princess, feeling cut open, exposed. What has gotten into him tonight? You don’t understand. It feels like drowning, your brain always three steps behind, struggling to break the waves of your confusion. 

You know you’re weak. It’s your name that protects you, the threat of your father and the royal house behind you. Alone, you’re a lamb to slaughter. You’ve been spoiled your whole life, leaving you naive and helpless. 

Gojo is someone you trust implicitly. He’s always protected you. You’ve relied on him for as long as you’ve been alive, but perhaps that’s conditioned you to feel comfortable putting your hand into the mouth of the beast. Even at the chance of exposing how poorly you’ve been trained for the court’s schemes, you don’t hold back when you’re with him. He makes you feel at ease to speak freely without fearing how much you’ll reveal of your own vulnerabilities. 

“I can’t,” you tell him honestly. “House Zenin is one of the Three Great Houses. I can’t refuse Naoya without good reason.” 

“Then marry me,” he says softly. “Marry me and be done with all of this. They don’t deserve you, anyway. They won’t treat you like I will.” 

You close your eyes, feeling the telltale hotness of incoming tears burn behind your eyelids. Why did he do this to you? He was so gentle it hurt, even though you knew he was capable of terrible things. Somehow that made it worse, the knowledge that he was choosing to be kind. 

“You should go,” you say instead. 

Marriage between you and Gojo would never happen. Forget your father. An alliance between the strongest house and the royal house? It would be akin to tyranny. There would be blood in the streets before any of the other nobles would allow it. It’s better not to dream about impossible desires. 

Thorns, not petals, you remind yourself. You can suffer the truth. 

“Why?” He says. “I want to stay with you. I want to be good to you.” 

“This isn’t something to joke about, Satoru.” He looks like he’d rather you have slapped him. “Never talk to me about this again. Find someone else to dance with.” 

There. Your brain snags on something to distract you. You’ve been dancing with him for too long. It’ll reflect poorly on your reputation to give an unmarried man so much of your attention. 

“Pick another partner,” you urge him. 

His brow creases. Stubbornly, he holds onto you even tighter. “Don’t want to.” 

“You have to. Everyone will whisper. I’m surprised they aren’t already.”

“Then let them,” he pleads. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

Regretfully, you pull away. Darkness clouds his beautiful face. It’s unnatural. When you remember him, he’s always smiling. The instances when he directs a genuine frown at you are few and far between, but you’ve already made your decision. 

Gojo stalks off in search of a new partner. Somehow, even though you were the one who forced him to leave, your heart stings to watch his back fade into the distance. If you didn’t want him to go, you shouldn’t have said anything. This is what you hoped for. Still, it’s painful. 

You want to find somewhere to rest after your spat, drained from a rare argument with him, but nowhere is secluded enough for you to let your guard down. Suddenly, you feel a wave of hatred for your stupid, glittering palace and the stupid, glittering fools infesting it. You just fought with your best friend and you’re tired, but you still have to keep up appearances. 

Somewhere nearby, Gojo is spinning another girl, her skirts flaring out around them. You wish you could press your palms to your eyes, letting the pressure relieve your headache, but you’ve shown enough weakness tonight. Instead, you tilt your head back and breathe, trying to appear calm and in control. 

It’s a good thing you restrained yourself, because Naoya is the one that finds you. His shoes are the first thing you see, black leather with steel accents. Steel, not silver, because he wants it to hurt when he kicks. 

You know. You’ve heard the stories. 

“Abandoned by Satoru, my lady?” You hate the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Gojo makes it sound so intimate, like it’s for you and him only. Naoya’s version is a bastardization, much like the man himself. 

You’re too tired to deal with him, and yet, you’ll have to. House Zenin is important to your father and thus, important to you, especially when you inevitably replace him. “What are you insinuating about your princess, Sir Zenin?”

You use the proper address, the way he should’ve spoken about Gojo. They’re not close enough for him to be calling the other man by his first name. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “Don’t get defensive now.”

You want to tell one of the knights stationed around the hall to drag him away. Instead, you smile and let him prattle on. Court politics. If you ever want to prove to your father you deserve everything you’ve been born into, you have to play the game. No matter how terrible some of the players are. 

“Since you graced Satoru with one, I hope you wouldn’t mind another dance.” 

Turning him down isn’t an option, but when you see that everyone’s watching, you realize even more how much it really isn’t an option. He probably arranged it that way too. Demonspawn. You’d curse his house if you could, instead, you offer him your hand, cringing internally when he tries kissing it. 

You can’t help but compare the two. Gojo did it better. 

Like any son of a high born house, Naoya’s a good dancer. It’s the one compliment you’re willing to grace him with, as everything else about him, especially his personality, is hideous. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room. It makes you want to scrub yourself clean, even under the layers of clothes. 

You’re doing this for your house. Your throne. This is nothing. None of your mantras diminish your desire to shove Naoya’s head in the cake waiting at the banquet table. 

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you. 

“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”

“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.” 

“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. One is enough. “I find myself rather dizzy.” 

Naoya’s lips whiten with anger. He tries to grab your wrist, but someone steps between you. “Watch your hands with Her Royal Highness, Zenin. I won’t tolerate your disrespect.” 

Naoya’s eyes flash, but the interloper is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction. 

“Sir Getou, what are you doing?” 

Getou looks down on you in amusement once you’re a safe distance away. “Satoru sent me to rescue you, of course. I didn’t think he was serious when he said you would get into trouble without him.”

“Trouble finds me,” you reply archly. 

“Yes, yes,” he placates, sparking annoyance even though he just saved you from Naoya. “Are you tired of dancing yet, or do you have room for one more? I’m hoping to make an impression on potential wives by dancing with the princess.”

You’re smart enough to know that one more is rarely truly one more, but Getou did save you from Naoya. Besides, if you’re busy with him, no one else can ask for your hand. 

“I suppose I can spare you a dance.” 

Like Gojo, Getou is an adept dancer. He is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are unusually predisposed to the arts in any case. If the Gojos are known for their strength, the Getous are known for their crafts. 

Getou doesn’t flinch from your unwavering gaze. If anything, he seems to find it amusing, although in the way one would find a puppy amusing. Gently, he leads you around the ballroom. 

“Stay alert, my lady. Someone’s watching you,” Getou warns. 

You follow his gaze to Gojo. There’s a beautiful woman in his arms that takes you no time at all to place, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear. 

They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge each other like they could. 

Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. Getou is gentle with you, each movement as delicate as lilies floating across the surface of a pond. In contrast, Gojo and Yuki dance like they’re fighting, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them. 

Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but the pair itself seems disinterested in the crowd around them. Yuki’s eyes are closed but Gojo-

Gojo’s looking at you. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His stare is intense, eyes half-lidded. Every move is prowling, almost predatory. His eyes remain fixated on your face as he and Yuki move in a complicated, sinuous series of circles. There’s something impossibly filthy about his gaze. It borders on indecency, combined with the way he barely seems to be paying attention to dancing, giving you all of his focus instead.

“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.” 

You’ve never been trained in statecraft, but you’ve been given the very finest of tutors in the elegant manners of the court. A show, as Getou puts it, is more than within your capabilities. You close your senses to the rest of the world, focusing on the shift of your skirts and Getou’s quiet voice as your steps weave intricate patterns across the floor. 

He’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each peak in the music. Although he’s friends with Gojo, your social circles rarely overlap enough for you to spend much time in Getou’s company. You’re almost surprised by how much you enjoy it. 

“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.

As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone takes his place. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were placed appropriately on your upper back down to your hip. You drag them back up, ignoring his pout. He’ll be your last dance of the night. 

“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs. 

“It was only one turn,” you tell him. 

“And I never want to do it again,” he says. “The other girls don’t dance like you do.” 

He’s an unrepentant liar. You might have been tutored by the best dancers your father could find, but at this level, first and second place might as well be interchangeable. He’s only saying it so you know that he wanted to come back to you, despite the fact that you forced him away. 

Gojo’s a contradiction wrapped inside a paradox, at once sadistic and merciful. No one’s capable of making you feel as much as he does. Without the guidance of formal tutors to give you the education of a prince, you have no idea how to navigate the dangerous world of alliances and betrayals, war and peace. Once, you clumsily blundered through diplomacy, watching your father’s disappointment grow by the hour. You’ve since learned that complete silence is preferable to gaucheness. At least that is something your education as a princess has taught you. 

But Gojo knew you before you grew into the woman you are now. He still remembers how to pull smiles and tears from you, how to push you to the brink of exasperation and coax you into brilliant happiness. He has a key to all the gates you’ve erected. No matter what you do, he always slips past your defenses. 

If you keep letting him do as he pleases, you’ll be the only one who loses. Gojo is a man. If he’s rumored to be attached to the princess, it’ll elevate his reputation. He’s already the best swordsman in the entire kingdom. Being thought of as a profligate would only make them worship him more. People love a little hint of degeneracy to their heroes - not too much to make them immoral, but enough to make them attainable. 

A princess is not a hero. You’re not someone to attain, you’re someone to obtain. When people look at you, they only see the crown. If you’re thought of as a ruined woman, it would prevent you from finding a husband. It would destabilize the entire kingdom. 

It hurts to realize that you’re that selfish. Gojo would’ve chosen you over anything, but you’re letting something as empty as reputation displace him. 

Not that it’s exactly a choice. Your life has been forfeit since you were born. You don’t belong to yourself, but to the royal house. As the only child of the king, you can’t allow yourself any mistakes, not when even the barest twitch of your fingers is scrutinized. 

When Gojo offers to escort you back to your chambers at the end of the night, you swallow down the desire to agree. His eyes are hopeful, mirroring your own expression. It could be like back then, when you were children, running through the halls of the grand palace without a care in the world. Except you know you can never return to the halcyon days of your childhood, before your mother died, before his mother disappeared, before everything went wrong. You try not to let the disappointment on his face bother you when you allow the knight your father sent to bring you back to your rooms instead. 

You attribute the strange feeling you get in the morning to the leftover melancholy of last night. Sunlight trickles across your face lazily, not enough to raise you from your bed but just bright enough to remind you that morning was here. 

You’ve never slept long enough for the sun to warm your face while you were still entangled in your sheets before. The window faces your bed at such an awkward angle that the sun has to be high in the sky before it can light across your pillows. 

Usually a maid wakes you by now if you aren’t up already. Where were they? 

A gentle knock at the door only makes you more apprehensive. It can’t be Utahime. You know the sound of her steps. The pacing is stilted, awkward, as if whoever was behind the door was nervous. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, princess!” Definitely nervous. Not a voice you can recognize. A new maid, perhaps? But why would they-

The door bursts open. You scream as a cloaked figure lunges at you. She throws herself on top of you, trying to pin you to the bed so she can run you through with the knife she has raised in her left hand. 

She’s crying. “You weren’t supposed to be awake!”

Crying and angry. Fluffy white down bursts into the air, obscuring your vision as she stabs a pillow so brutally it vomits its contents. She’s not very good, which explains her terror. Unfortunately, you aren’t very good either, and you’re pinned underneath her. Thrashing doesn’t work - at the very least, she’s stronger than you, if badly trained. 

When she finally immobilizes you, she has a growing bruise over her arm from a terrible punch you had thrown, trying to mimic the way Gojo does it. Keeping your thumb outside your fist was all you remembered, and it went wide. You barely managed to hit her, and it came with a cost. She snags your wrist and pins it down. 

The knife plunges towards you. It’s rusty, which terrifies you almost as much as the implement itself. If by some miracle you survived, you’d be at risk of infection. 

Blue eyes flash before you. In this moment, an inch away from death, you wish you had gotten to say goodbye to him. Fear robs you of rationality. You don’t know anything but that you want to see him one more time and feel the warmth of his embrace. 

“Princess, it’s okay. I’m here.” 

You crack an eye open. The girl is no longer visible. The only person leaning over you now has white hair and the characteristic Gojo eyes, impossible to fake. You decide you must’ve died already. This is heaven, where your wishes have been granted. 

Gojo pulls you up. His hands are warm and solid. Vaguely, you realize that you’re trembling with the same nonchalant distance that you would use to catalog the color of the pillows. 

“You’re not dead yet.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

He chuckles. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your palm. “No, I could just tell by the look in your eyes.” 

“The girl…”

“Dead.” 

You scramble to the edge of your bed and peek over. Sure enough, she’s lying in a pool of her own blood. Her throat has been cut so surely her head is nearly separated from her body. 

You gag. 

“Wait,” Gojo says. He kneels to tear off her cloak and holds it in front of you. “Here, princess.”

You don’t want to give in to your queasiness, especially not when he himself is so stoic, so you shake your head. More insistently, he pushes it towards you. 

“It’s only natural,” he soothes. “I’m used to this. You’ve never seen a dead body before.”

“Just come here,” you say weakly. “No, actually. I’ll come to you.” 

“Give me a second,” he says, dropping to his knees. Under the bed, he retrieves your silk slippers. He slips them onto your feet gently, standing when he’s finished with his task. 

Obligingly, he waits as you gingerly step over the girl. When your slipper threatens to dip into the red stain spreading across your floor, he simply grabs you underneath the armpits and lifts you over it. 

Even though it’s a horrific scene, you can’t look away. Her face is frozen in a still mask. Bile fills your stomach. Gojo gently turns your head in another direction with two fingers, the touch delicate. “Don’t look.” 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” 

“I told you not to restrain yourself,” he says disapprovingly.

“You’re not- you’re-“ You can’t figure out the right way to finish your sentence. “Does it really get that easy?” 

His laugh is short and brutal. “Easy? I didn’t even think about it. All I know how to do is kill. I don’t mind it, for you.” 

You shake your head. There’s nothing to say, with a body between you and blood pooling around both your shoes, but still, your heart aches. You had known him when he was a boy. It would always be hard to see him with calluses where once his hands had been chubby and soft. 

He chucks you under the chin, the gesture fleetingly affectionate. “Don’t be so despondent, princess. I’m glad to do it. That’s what knights are for.” 

Knights and maids, all meant to lay down their life or other lives for you at your convenience. Utahime was too loyal to have let an assassin into your chambers by choice. Your breath catches. It concerns him that you’re teetering into upset again, just when he’s calmed you down. 

“Satoru, is Iori-“ The thought is too horrible. You can’t finish it. 

“She’s not dead,” he says. 

Noticeably, he doesn’t say that she’s alright. 

Utahime will be scarred forever. They found her slumped at the bottom of the stairs, her body dumped unceremoniously after they stole her from outside your bedroom. A massive gash opened her right cheek up, crossing just slightly over her nose bridge. 

You almost can’t bear to look at her. Not because her scar makes her hideous - far from it. Utahime will always be beautiful to you. The scar is only a reminder of how you’ve failed her. 

You’re a princess without any power.  All you can do is fuss over her after the fact, unable to change the past. 

“Princess,” she hisses, jerking away from you for the third time in as many minutes. “You must stop! I’m your lady-in-waiting, not the other way around.” 

“You got hurt for me,” you say, hands balled helplessly at your side. You refuse to touch her more aggressively, for fear of aggravating her wound. The bandages wrapped around her cheek are an ever present reminder of how much she’s sacrificed for you. So are the whispers. The looks. She holds her head high, acting as if it doesn’t bother her. 

“I was glad to do it. I didn’t want to be shipped off to some far away baron anyway. Be grateful,” she cracks a smile you don’t feel. “I certainly am. At least I could still join the church, if anything.” 

Why do the people around you insist on destroying themselves for your benefit? 

“You don’t need a baron.” Loyally, you vow, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”

“Be careful, my lady. Some would take that as a marriage proposal, and then I’d have twice as many death threats.”

“I’d protect you.”

“You, princess? I doubt that,” Gojo calls. 

You’ve been watching the knights move in and out of the arena from your vantage point on the royal balcony, but very few of them have dared to address you, much less speak to you so casually. They’re all too focused on the tourney you’re set to watch this afternoon. Only he would be so familiar with you and so unconcerned about the sparring, knowing his chances. 

Utahime lets out an aggressive sigh with no regard as to whether or not Gojo could hear her. In fact, she’d probably prefer it if he had overheard. Gojo, for his part, ignores the chance to antagonize her for once in his life in order to focus on you.  

“You know, my lady, I’ve heard an interesting rumor going around.” 

You walk to the edge of the balcony and peer over the railing. Utahime gasps in fear and grabs onto your petticoats, afraid that you’ll tip over the fencing. “Go on, Sir Gojo,” you say. 

“If a fair damsel grants a knight her favor, he’ll fight ten times as well. Twenty, even. And all the more so if it’s the princess, who everyone knows is the fairest in the land.”

Unwillingly, a smile twitches to life upon your lips. “Is that so?”

“Won’t you grant your most loyal knight a token of your affection?”

“Don’t,” Utahime gripes. “What has he done to deserve it?”

A scrap of pale blue fabric flutters in the light breeze, reminiscent of doves. Gojo catches the ribbon you’ve loosed from your hair, his fist enclosed in armor. He brings it to his lips for a chaste kiss he can’t place upon you. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching. 

“I’ll win this whole thing,” he says. “I’ll defeat every knight here for you.” 

The trumpets blow, calling the contestants. He’ll be wanted. Utahime shakes you lightly as he leaves your sight. “Get yourself together,” she says sternly. 

“But mama, I love him!” You joke. 

Her frown can’t last in the face of your teasing smile. She fixes the lace on your sleeve and collar, though they’re hardly ruffled. She can’t help herself. It’s her second nature to dote on you. 

“Ah, my princess,” she sighs. “You worry me.” 

You poke her uninjured cheek, trying to get her to smile. “It’s not me. You worry too much.”

Another voice cuts in. “I feel the same way sometimes, my dear Lady Utahime, but I trust no one more than you. Her mother left her to your capable hands, after all.” 

Your father has arrived. Utahime smiles as the king kisses her cheek, but you can’t. You know he means it lightheartedly, but it galls you all the more that he says it so blithely. When your mother fell ill, Utahime had been the one who took charge of looking after you. 

Not your father. 

Not your only living parent, the man who was supposed to feel all the closer to you for your loss. Instead, he pushed you away. 

You knew you weren’t being fair. 

The king had been wracked with grief over the passing of his beloved wife. Along with his other royal duties, he couldn’t possibly have been expected to watch over an infant as well. You know better than anyone the toll the crown takes on a man. Stewardship of this land asks a heavy price. It’s not an easy role. 

No, you can’t blame your father for choosing the country. It’s his duty, as it is yours.

You only wish it hadn’t been Utahime’s burden to carry instead. She was just a few years older, a child still when she had raised another child. In many ways, she had been a mother to you. Only now that you’ve grown older than she had been back then do you understand how much responsibility she had accepted at such a young age. 

Your father turns to you. “Are you enjoying the tournament?”

“It’s barely started. Only the squires have been jousting. We haven’t seen any of the real knights yet.” 

“Those squires will become knights themselves one day. Watch carefully, and you may discover a treasure worth keeping.”

As he speaks, you finally find someone worth watching, as if your father only had to say it to cause it to happen. A boy with rosy hair lunges towards his opponent. He disarms him and forces him to the ground - only to offer him his hand in exchange.  

The other squire hesitates. Doubt crosses his face. Finally, he accepts the proffered hand like someone expecting an attack at any minute, but all the other boy does is pull him to his feet and dust him off. He’s more honorable than most of the knights of the realm you know, too focused on humiliating their opponents to flaunt their own glory. 

Your father doesn’t notice your distraction. He’s still speaking. You bring yourself back to the conversation just in time to hear him say, “Sukuna, the King of the Curses.”

“Sorry?” You laugh. 

“It’s no laughing matter, I’m afraid,” your father says gravely. “He’s the ruler of the Western Kingdom, the land where the sun never sets. Perhaps he’s grown tired of his arid land and seeks gentler climes, for his invasions have earned him the title ‘King of Curses’.” 

Utahime’s lip curls in disgust. “King of Cruelty is more like it. I’ve heard of what he’s done to his prisoners. That man has no honor.”

“None,” your father agrees, “and yet it is necessary not to antagonize him. We are small if prosperous. We can’t afford it.”

Utahime looks as if she wants to speak, but she holds her tongue. She’s always been good at navigating the court. Trained under her, you wait as well. Taking your cues from her is something you’ve done since you were a child.

“Yes,” your father says, his eyes distant. He’s ruminating over something he won’t share. “He can’t be provoked. The representative he sent us for this tourney must be carefully attended to.” 

That representative, Uraume, doesn’t fight like any knight you know. Their sword is wider than most of those found in your country, and half as tall as a man. Precision is lost in favor of brutality. They wreak havoc with the brutality of a butcher, tearing through the ranks of your best and strongest. Of course, he’s not the only strong fighter. There are other knights to watch as well. 

“That Lady Tsukumo is doing quite well for a woman,” your father notes in surprise. “What prodigious talent. I don’t think her house has produced a fighter like that in years.”

“She’s better than half your knights,” you remind him. “Lady Tsukumo already defeated most of her bracket.” 

“Yes, yes,” your father laughs. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m simply admiring her.” 

As the day progresses, clear victors emerge in each division of the tournament. Uraume is one of them. Gojo is another. 

They placed him against Getou for his penultimate match, knowing the crowd would go wild for a contest between not only two of the best knights of the realm, but sworn brothers. Although Getou is better than most, Gojo is more of a natural disaster than a real, human adversary. At the end of their round, Getou smiles even as Gojo brings him to his knees. 

The next round is even more hotly anticipated than Getou and Gojo’s. 

Gojo strides into the center of the arena with the classic arrogance he’s known for. He delights in riling the crowd up. They cheer louder and louder on each circuit he laps around the arena on his silver stallion, pale as moonlight. By the last, they’re nearly delirious with passion for him. 

Uraume has no such pretenses. They’re a cold creature, as frigid as they come. 

It matters not. Gojo beats them so easily that it can only be described as disrespectful. He rides past Uraume and thrusts the hilt of his sword into their stomach with such force they fall off their horse. Gojo dismounts casually. He hadn’t even used his blade. He flips Uraume onto their back with a boot and steps onto their breastplate, pinning them in place. His sword hovers underneath their chin, a whisper away from death. “Yield,” he says pleasantly. 

You, remembering your fathers speech about Sukuna’s chosen representative from that morning, glance to the side. He’s smiling as gently as ever. Underneath his cloak, where only you and Utahime can see, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white. 

After the match, you recognize one of the men rushing Uraume off to be one of your father’s most trusted advisors. He must be doing damage control, but then again, when is he not when Gojo’s around? 

Your father stands, as composed as if he had never been upset in the first place. You envy that self-control. You’ve always aspired to your father. In your eyes, he was the perfect ruler - perhaps because he was the one who taught you what a ruler should be. 

Gojo waits in the center of the arena. He’s beautiful as always, as fierce as an avenging angel. There’s a fine sweat beading at his temples in a way that makes you want to wipe it off with your handkerchief, but you abstain, knowing thousands are watching. 

Gojo has no such scruples. 

When it’s time for him to be awarded his laurel crown, he kneels - not to your father, but to you. A gasp rises from the crowd. You stifle your own shock. Here, where every sign of weakness is clearly visible and easily taken advantage of, you can’t reveal that this wasn’t planned. The royal family’s control over its retainers must appear immaculate - even if Gojo had always been uncontrollable. 

Wordlessly, your father passes you the laurel. You know something is brewing. He can only tolerate Gojo’s outlandish behavior so many times. But this isn’t the place to worry about your father’s incumbent wrath, so you take over the duties of honoring the victor. It’s easy. You’ve seen your father do it enough times to be able to replicate it in your sleep. 

Gojo rises from his knees, a hungry smile on his face. “I told you I’d win.” 

“That you did,” you reply noncommittally, trying to figure out how you’re going to discreetly get him out of the arena without your father attempting to try him for treason. 

He frowns. Knowing him and the type of maneuvers he’s likely to pull, you put a respectable amount of distance between the two of you as you mark his brow in gold paint. 

When you grasp his hand to lift his arm into the air, he presses something into your palm. Years of sharing secrets and playing pretend at espionage have trained you not to flinch. When you lower your enjoined hands, you slip the shred of paper he’s passed you into your pocket. 

People are cheering. You notice with warmth that he looks heroic, like he’s stepped right out of an old legend. Your father doesn’t seem to agree. 

Arguments between the two of you used to be few and far between, but lately it seems like you can’t do anything right. You’d forgotten what it was like to retreat to your parents’ bedroom for a scolding. It hadn’t happened since you were a child, yet here you were again, studying the fabric of the draperies to avoid eye contact with your father, just like you had when you were younger. 

“He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you start. But that’s not true, and you know it. So you try again. “He wasn’t trying to cause problems. He cares about the kingdom, father. He was just trying to show off his - our - strength.” 

“Gojo is a liability.” How easily your father casts him off, marks him as defective. He’s always been like that - clinical in his appraisal. You lacked that precise, indifferent ruthlessness. You’ve tried. 

“He’s a good man, a good knight. House Gojo has always been loyal to us, father. Remember his mother? Remember Sorashi? She wouldn’t want you to treat her son like this.”

Your father flinches. First comes sorrow, then, anger. “Don’t speak to me about Sorashi.”

“You can’t just pretend like they never existed! Sorashi, my mother-“

“Child, you are testing my patience dangerously.” 

You fall silent, hating yourself for it. Always a child. Never someone worth listening to. 

“You don’t understand anything,” he says more gently. 

“I don’t understand anything because you won’t tell me anything!” 

“You’re a princess,” he snarls. “You’re not supposed to know anything!”

You reel back, stunned. You had always been afraid that this was how your father truly felt. 

“You have no sons, so it’s me or no one else.” Disgust fills you at the fear in your own voice. Weak. Pathetic. After all these years, the lessons your father gave you still haven’t sunk in. Perhaps he’s right, and you’re not fit for the throne after all. You’re still begging for what you want instead of demanding it like it’s what you deserve. A prince wouldn’t act like this, but you’re not a prince - only a girl who was never taught how to rule. 

He throws up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t say anything about sons. See, you’re too young and inexperienced. This is why I won’t let you in yet. You’re not ready to rule.”

“But I will?”

He gives you a wan smile. He’s tired. Guilt seeps through you. These days, all you do is fight. You miss the times when it felt like you had worked together. At the end of all of it, you love your father. You hate that it’s been like this. 

“All in time, my child. I love you, I really do. But you’re not ready.” 

Mutiny curls under your tongue. You’re not ready because he waited too long, hoping for a male heir until your mother died. By then, it was too late for you to catch up on years of lessons you should’ve had. Regardless of what he says, you know how he feels. You were never the one he wanted but-

He’s still your father. When he reaches out to stroke your cheek, a peace offering, you close your eyes against his hand and don’t give voice to your treasonous thoughts. It’s nothing to suffer the humiliation of your status for a while longer. You have all the time in the world to earn your place. 

Your father is right, in the end. You can be patient. 

Back in the privacy of your room, you unfurl Gojo’s note. Gojo’s mother had him trained in elegant cursive that he uses for formal documents and letters. In his messages to you, it degenerates into chicken scratch. It’s a lucky coincidence that it’s all but unreadable to anyone else, making it a code only you can decipher. 

The gardens at midnight. - S. 

Only a place and a time. Is he trying to tempt fate? 

You indulge in the idea of not going, especially since things are already tense with your father. All the way up until the hour you need to leave, you let yourself believe it’s not happening. It’s too risky. People are already suspicious of you as it is. The minute passes, and if you go now, you’ll be late, so you won’t. 

You grab your shawl with a huff of annoyance. You’re going. You were always going to go, from the very moment you got the note. 

You aren’t used to sneaking through hallways you usually glide through. There are several close calls as you make your way closer and closer to the gardens. Multiple times, you’re forced to make a run for the nearest door or drape to hide behind. 

You’re barely two feet away when you’re finally caught. A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor. You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence. 

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.” 

You bite him. 

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Why would you do that? You scared me!” 

“You’re not careful enough, princess. Did you even notice the maid coming up the left hallway?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t. It’s lucky that he was there to save you. 

Gojo has always been there to protect you. The tension bleeds from your body. You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it. 

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?” 

“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.” 

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. His very presence is the promise of security. It makes it too easy to relax when he’s with you. 

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he remains silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him. “Satoru?” 

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You raise it to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised to release the scent into the air. 

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.” 

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease. 

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s too.”

You freeze. 

“If not marriage, then knighthood. Let me be yours, in whatever way I can have you.” 

���You have me,” you tell him. “You always have.”

You don’t know how to answer such devotion. Besides the obvious political ramifications of being wedded to Gojo when your marriage is meant to be a bargaining chip used for the sake of your kingdom, you don’t want it. Not like this. 

Gojo has been your dedicated shield for so long, the two of you have forgotten a life where he wouldn’t give up everything to protect you. He’d do anything for you - even that which he should hold sacred for himself. His very body is littered with scars that he’s received on your behalf. How much more can you take from him? 

Does Gojo really want to marry you or does he want to protect you? Will he play the part of the devoted servant for the rest of his life? 

“You don’t have to…” You realize you don’t know how to say it. Or that you don’t want to. Selfishly, a part of you can’t bear to release him from the oath he gave you when you were children, though he couldn’t have known. Neither of you could have understood what it meant for him to kneel at your feet and swear his life to you. It had all been in good fun, the way children understand things. “I don’t want you to- Oh, Satoru. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve done enough for me.” 

For a second, your imagination plays tricks on you. The cobalt of his eyes kindles into a terrifying flame, like the lightning in the town he hails from. It’s as if the draconic blood his ancestors claimed still lives within him. 

He continues as if he hadn’t heard you. “I’m going to ask your father tomorrow. I want to be your dedicated knight; I won’t wait any longer. I’ve waited enough.” 

His pushiness feeds your annoyance. You cling to it, preferring it to the dreadful hopelessness inside of you. The right thing is not always the easy thing. Gojo deserves his freedom after wasting his youth on keeping you safe, yet letting him go feels as difficult as willingly driving a nail through your hand. You want to cling to him forever, reassured by his strength. 

“Don’t,” you say, trying to sound firm. 

“At the ceremony,” he says determinedly. “When he gives me captainship in the army. He’ll have to say yes if I ask him then.” 

“Satoru, please-” Your voice wobbles embarrassingly, and you have to pause. Silently, you beg your tears not to fall. The way he disarms you is humiliating. You turn away, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you has taught him a lot. He bandaged the scrapes that you refused to cry over and avenged your honor after you pretended your pride hadn't been hurt. He can see right through you. “Please don’t.” 

You see the frustration on his face. He’s not a man used to holding himself back, and yet he does. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.” 

It’s just another number to add to the tally of favors you owe him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-” 

“I know. Though I do think the king will ask me anyway, so this is all pointless.” He looks away. “I just wanted you to- Nevermind.” 

“Really?” Doubt colors your voice. 

“I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?” 

“He doesn’t like you,” you point out. “No, he does, but it’s a very begrudging like. I don’t get it.” 

It makes you smile, thinking about the way your father can’t stand Gojo but won’t allow anyone else to speak poorly of him. He’s still a Gojo after all, no matter how much trouble he causes your father, and your father loves Gojos. The royal house has always held their house dear. They had been close for decades. Always, they were something to the other, no matter what form that something took. 

“There you are,” Gojo murmurs. His fingers trace the arc of your mouth. “So pretty.” 

You glare at him through tears. “And whose fault is it that I cried?” 

“Your father’s?” 

You scoff. “You see? This is why he doesn’t like you.” 

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him for it if I have to.” 

“Don’t do that,” you gasp. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor.” 

You look at the crushed violet in your hand. 

Who else but Gojo? 

He breaks you down so easily. You press the flower back into his palm. “I know you’ll do what’s right.” 

His eyes soften. He leans closer. 

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?” 

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer. 

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever. 

You nod, fearing your voice will give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you. Does it look like a real kiss from afar? Did he mean it to? 

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.” 

“A new plaything?” Asks Yaga. “I’m not so scary, am I?” 

Gojo notices you tremble harder as the voice registers. Lord Commander Yaga is close to the King. As the captain of the kingsguard, he could ruin everything.

Gojo lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face. He pulls you towards him, arranging your legs around his waist. A soothing hand traces a warm path up and down your back. It calms you as much as it shames you. You’ve never been this close to any man, not even him, and now you’re cuddling only for the sake of protecting your secrets. 

“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard,” he says casually, as if the two of you aren’t trapped in an extremely compromising position. As if your father wouldn’t demand his head on a pike if Yaga realized who it was. 

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?” 

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully. 

That night, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yaga gave no sign he recognized you. He acted as if he normally would upon encountering any soldier of his on a late night escapade, profoundly disinterested and deeply desirous to get away. Only in the morning do you begin to doubt your deception. 

[resrerum]

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“The Butcher and The Wolf”pt.2

Commander Wolffe x Princess Reader

R4 trilled while plugging data‑spikes into the sleek shuttle’s nav‑computer; TC polished the boarding ramp as though senators would rate its shine. Inside, [Y/N] sealed a crate of festival gifts—kyber‑laced lanterns, citrus‑spiced tihaar—when the hangar doors parted.

In strode Master Plo Coon and Kenobi, with his most innocent smile. Behind them Commander Cody and an impeccably straight‑backed Commander Wolffe.

Kenobi surveyed the scene, eyes twinkling. “My lady, I trust Coruscant treated you… memorably?”

Plo’s mask inclined. “Yes, I understand you’ve already formed a—shall we say—effective working rapport with our best security personnel.”

TC’s head swiveled. “If you refer to last night’s flawless briefing, Masters, I assure you my presentation notes were—”

“—copied from my schematics,” R4 beeped smugly.

Kenobi chuckled. “Quite. Though some reports suggest the princess herself gathered more… field intelligence than anticipated.”

Wolffe’s helmet visor dipped a millimeter; only Cody saw the pained grimace. He murmured, “Steady, vod, you’ve faced droid armies—Jedi teasing won’t kill you.”

[Y/N] kept a serene smile. “Coruscant was enlightening, Master Kenobi. Your commanders are… thorough.”

“Thorough,” Kenobi echoed, barely suppressing a grin. “An admirable quality.”

Plo produced a data‑chip. “Your Highness, these are revised escort protocols for the festival. The Council looks forward to cooperating.”

Cody added, “Wolfpack leads the clone detachment. We’ll rendezvous in orbit over Karthuna.” He patted Wolffe’s pauldron. “Commander is eager to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Wolffe managed, “Honored to serve, Princess.” Translation: please let the floor swallow me.

R4 gave a warbling laugh. TC translated dryly, “R4 suggests the commander already has extensive knowledge of our customs—particularly nightlife.”

Kenobi coughed into his sleeve; even Plo’s mask seemed to smile.

[Y/N] ascended the ramp, pausing beside Wolffe. Low enough for only him: “Try not to judge anyone before second breakfast, Commander.”

He answered just as quietly, “Next time, title first, drinks second.”

Her wink was pure mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With diplomatic farewells exchanged, the Jedi departed, Cody dragging a still‑smirking Kenobi. Wolffe lingered as engines warmed, visor reflecting the princess who had upended his meticulously ordered world.

R4’s hatch closed, TC waved primly, and the shuttle lifted skyward—toward open borders, a five‑day festival, and a reunion sure to test the Wolf’s composure more than any battlefield.

⸻

Commander Wolffe had survived orbital bombardments, trench sieges, and General Grievous’s cackling—but nothing tested endurance like the embassy’s protocol droid at full lecture speed.

TC strode the aisle between jump‑seats where Wolffe, Boost, and Sinker buckled in.

“…and the Festival of Dawning begins with a kuur‑vaan procession. That translates roughly as ‘dance of a thousand sparks,’ involving micro‑kyber filaments that ignite in sequence—quite breathtaking, provided you wear appropriate eye shielding. Now, the correct greeting is ‘Gal’shara’ with palms outward—never inward, or you imply the listener lacks honor. Also, avoid offering your left hand—historically used for bloodletting rituals dating back—”

Sinker slumped. “Commander, permission to eject myself through the air‑lock.”

Boost whispered, “Could be worse—could be a Senate speech.”

TC continued, undeterred. “—and if you’re offered sapphire tihaar, remember it’s an apology drink, not casual refreshment. Accepting without cause is tantamount to admitting fault. Speaking of fault, did you know the northern fault‑line—”

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Droid, compile this in a datapad. My men will study quietly.”

“Oh, certainly, Commander. I have already prepared a 312‑page primer, complete with holo‑graphs.”

Sinker mouthed three‑hundred‑twelve?! Boost mimed choking.

⸻

[Y/N] sat cross‑legged in her cabin, R4 projecting a secure blue holo of King Talren—silver‑bearded, stern eyes softened only for his daughter.

“Little Dawn,” he greeted, using her childhood nickname, “I won’t waste time. Loyalist scouts uncovered three insurgent cells. Extremists insist reopening our borders is betrayal; some whisper of Separatist aid.”

A map flared beside him—red sigils in mountain passes.

“I need those cells silenced before the festival opens,” the king said. “You know the terrain. Take whatever force is required, but keep off‑worlders uninvolved. This must look like an internal matter.”

[Y/N] bowed her head. “It will be done, Father.”

The holo faded. R4 beeped a query.

“Prep infiltration loadouts,” she answered. “Low‑flash sabers, sonic mines, and two squads of Shadow Guard on standby. We strike first nightfall.”

R4 warbled approval, projecting tactical overlays. She added waypoints, carving silent routes Wolffe’s clones would never notice.

⸻

Later, passing Wolffe in the corridor, [Y/N] offered a casual nod. He paused, as if sensing undercurrents, but protocol kept him silent.

Behind him TC called, “Commander, I neglected to mention Karthunese dining order—if the Princess serves you last, it’s actually a sign of high esteem—”

Wolffe muttered a prayer for battlefield blasterfire to drown out etiquette lessons.

In her quarters, [Y/N] traced insurgent sigils on the holo with a gloved fingertip, resolve hardening. Opening Karthuna’s doors to the galaxy meant showing strength the old way—quiet, decisive, unseen.

And if the Wolf and his troopers never learned how the festival stayed peaceful, all the better.

⸻

The twin suns of Karthuna cast copper light over the obsidian‑paved sky‑dock as the Republic cruiser settled with a hiss of repulsors. King Talren stood flanked by honor guards whose sun‑metal armor threw brilliant flares into the air. Behind him waited the planetary senator, Senator Vessar, and the ever‑skeptical Governor of Interior Works, Governor Rhun.

The ramp dropped. Out strode Masters Plo Coon and Kenobi, Chancellor Palpatine in ceremonial crimson, a cluster of senators, and the clone detachment led by Commanders Cody and Wolffe flanked by Boost and Sinker.

Talren bowed with a warrior’s economy. “Karthuna welcomes the Republic. May the Force greet you as friend and guest.”

A respectful murmur answered. Yet even before introductions concluded, his daughter slipped to his side, murmured, “Urgent Shadow Guard matter, Father,” and—still in civilian vest and braid—beelined for a sand‑silver speeder.

Wolffe’s visor tracked her, but protocol held him. Engines howled; the speeder vanished down a cliff‑side lift‑tube toward the high passes.

Talren inhaled—the first lie ready on his tongue.

⸻

Kenobi stepped forward, large smile in place. “Your Majesty, we look forward to your famous Festival of Dawning.”

“As do we all,” Talren replied, steering the party toward the citadel’s balcony overlooking the festival valley—far from launch bays or military comms.

Chancellor Palpatine clasped gloved hands. “Your daughter leads the festivities, does she not? I had hoped to congratulate her.”

“She prepares a…surprise presentation,” Talren said smoothly. “Artists’ temperaments, Chancellor.”

Governor Rhun muttered just loud enough, “More like a warrior itching for mischief.”

Senator Vessar chimed in, tone dripping dry humor, “I assure our off‑world partners the princess habitually vanishes moments before debuting something spectacular—or spectacularly dangerous.”

Talren fixed them both with a steel‑edged smile that promised discussion later.

Plo Coon shifted his weight, Kel‑Dor mask unreadable. “Your Highness, Clone Commander Wolffe will require coordination with your security captain.”

“Of course.” Talren gestured toward the fortress doors. “Commander, my staff will relay schematics over luncheon. Meanwhile, allow me to show the Chancellor our kyber‑terraced gardens—quite safe, I assure you.”

Wolffe’s unspoken protest died behind the visor; duty bound, he followed Cody toward a briefing alcove where TC awaited with yet another data‑slab. Talren breathed easier: one crisis delayed, if not averted.

As the king guided the diplomats through colonnades, Governor Rhun leaned in: “You risk interstellar incident if the princess sparks bloodshed while the Republic picnics outside our walls.”

Talren’s voice stayed velvet, danger beneath. “Better insurgent blood in the mountains than senator blood in the streets.”

Senator Vessar added, half‑teasing, “If she returns with soot on her boots, I shall schedule extra press holos to reframe it as heroic cultural demonstration.”

Kenobi caught the whisper, grin curving. “Your court seems…spirited, Majesty.”

Talren allowed the tiniest exhale of amusement. “Karthuna has waited fifteen years to step back onto the galactic stage, General. We intend to give a performance worth the ticket.”

Above them, fireworks crews tested micro‑sparklers; bright hisses masked the distant roar of a speeder blazing toward insurgent territory.

In a quiet moment against the balcony rail, Talren gazed over valley tents blooming for festival week, mind split between choreography of diplomats and the razor‑work his daughter undertook beyond those peaks.

He whispered to the wind, “Return swift, Little Dawn.”

⸻

By mid‑afternoon the princess was still missing.

Commander Wolffe stood on the citadel parapet overlooking the valley’s bustling festival city, visor fixed on the distant scar of mountains her speeder had taken.

Local Sun‑Guard Captain Arven stepped up, spearhaft tapping stone.

“Enjoying the view, off‑worlder?”

“I’d enjoy it more if your crown heir were within com‑range,” Wolffe replied. “Transmit her last coordinates.”

“Princess has classified authority.”

Wolffe’s servo‑joint clicked as his gauntlet clenched. “My mandate is to protect every Republic dignitary on this rock—including her.”

Arven smirked. “Karthuna protected itself centuries before troopers in white armor needed it. Stand down, Commander.”

Cody’s voice crackled through Wolffe’s comlink: “Easy, vod. Diplomacy first.”

Wolffe never took his eye from the peaks. Diplomacy ends when the VIP bleeds, he thought—and weighed the odds of “borrowing” a gunship.

New LAATs screamed in, disgorging Jedi and clones.

Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano with the 501st, assigned to guard Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo and a cadre of Core‑World legislators.

Masters Mace Windu and Ki‑Adi‑Mundi arrived with Commanders Ponds and Bacara respectively, doubling ground strength.

Skywalker clapped Wolffe’s pauldron. “Heard your princess pulled a disappearing act—sounds like my kind of trouble.”

“Not helping, General,” Wolffe growled, though Ahsoka’s sympathetic grin eased his temper a notch.

Senators debarked in a flurry of aides, holo‑recorders, and fashion impractical for mountain air. Festival staff hustled to reroute them toward reception halls—distraction, Talren hoped, until his daughter returned.

Master Yoda, leaning on his gimer stick, sought King Talren atop a sun‑warmed terrace strewn with kyber wind‑chimes. The diminutive Jedi regarded the monarch’s sun‑metal cuirass and the twin‑bladed saber at his hip.

“Strong in the Force, your people are,” Yoda began. “Yet light and dark you name not. Curious, this is.”

Talren inclined his head. “Master, on Karthuna we are taught: there is no dawn without night. Deny darkness, and daylight loses meaning. Balance is not the absence of shadow, but its harmony with light.”

“Hmmm.” Yoda’s ears twitched thoughtfully. “Unnatural, you say, to void one side?”

“As unnatural as silencing half a heartbeat,” Talren answered. “We do not fear the shadow; we fear imbalance.”

Wind‑chimes chimed like distant sabers. Yoda closed his eyes, absorbing the resonance.

“Much to learn, even I have,” he murmured. “And much to guard, we both must.”

Talren’s gaze drifted to the mountains. “Agreed, Master Yoda. Balance must sometimes be defended by hidden blades.”

⸻

Sunset torched the valley when a sand‑silver speeder roared through the citadel gates. Clone guards scrambled aside as [Y/N] leapt off, still in dust‑streaked vest and combat shorts. She vaulted a barricade, sprinting for the grand foyer.

“Hey—civilian access is restricted!” bellowed Commander Fox, Crimson Guard staff lowered across her path.

She halted, breath steady despite the climb. “I live here, thanks.”

Before Fox could run ID, Chancellor Palpatine emerged from a delegation knot, eyes narrowing with fox‑like curiosity.

“My dear, racing through secure halls in such…practical attire—is something amiss?”

[Y/N] offered a flawless court bow that contrasted sharply with her grime‑spattered boots. “Merely last‑minute festival preparations, Chancellor. Please excuse me; I must dress for the gala.”

Palpatine’s smile sliced thin. “Ah, duty never rests. I look forward to your presentation this evening.”

Fox straightened as realization dawned. “Wait—you’re—”

She winked. “Classified, Commander.” Then slipped past, leaving red armor and red robes equally bemused.

In her chamber, TC fussed with brocade gowns while R4 powered a sonic shower.

“Your Highness, the schedule is punishing: welcome gala at nineteen‑hundred, holo‑address at twenty‑two, and saber exhibition by dawn.”

“Then we’d better look lethal and lovely,” [Y/N] said, toweling off. She chose a floor‑length gown of midnight silk that clung to sculpted muscle, high slits revealing thigh holsters for compact hilts. Sun‑metal pauldrons mirrored her crown, but the gown’s sleeveless cut displayed the lattice of scars down both arms—plasma burns, shrapnel lines, duelist nicks—each a story she refused to hide.

TC clipped the circlet into her damp hair. “Might I suggest gloves to soften the, ah, impression?”

She flexed scarred fingers. “No. Let the galaxy see what Karthuna’s balance looks like.”

R4 projected her entrance route. She studied it, then smiled. “Time to charm senators, silence rumors, and—perhaps—make a wolf squirm.”

⸻

A fanfare of crystal horns cut through conversation. Doors parted, revealing Princess [Y/N] radiant in midnight silk and sun‑metal crown, scars on her bare arms glinting like silver filigree. Senators gasped—half at the regality, half at the unapologetic battle‑marks.

Master Kenobi murmured to Skywalker, “Grace and menace in equal measure—definitely your type, Anakin.”

Skywalker smirked. “She’d have me for breakfast.”

Padmé Amidala complimented the gown’s craftsmanship; [Y/N] returned praise for Naboo’s relief programs, steering talk away from rumored insurgents.

Master Windu approached her, he attempted to discuss security perimeters; the princess assured him Karthuna’s Shadow Guard had “every shadow covered.”

Across the room, Governor Rhun whispered to holoreporters, stoking stories of her “reckless mountain excursion.” TC hovered, intercepting leading questions with cutting etiquette lessons.

Commander Wolffe, helmet clipped to belt, stood near a terrace arch with Cody and Plo Coon. When [Y/N] approached, conversation faltered like a blaster misfire.

She offered a delicate curtsy—mischief in her eyes. “Commander, I trust the briefing notes were…illuminating?”

“They were extensive,” Wolffe said evenly. “Yet somehow omitted your talent for disappearing.”

“Ah, but every good security test includes an unscheduled drill.” She stepped closer, voice just for him: “You passed—eventually.”

The faintest flush darkened Wolffe’s neck. “Next time give me a comm frequency, not a cliff to chase.”

[Y/N] arched a brow. “And deny you the exercise?” Her fingers brushed the edge of his pauldron as she glided past. “Meet me on the terrace at midnight—strictly business, of course.”

Wolffe exhaled—half growl, half laugh—as Cody elbowed him, grinning. “Careful, vod. That one dances with both halves of the Force.”

Strings struck up Karthuna’s dawn‑waltz. Jedi mingled with diplomats while clone troopers ringed the hall’s perimeter. Suspicion, politics, and bright music braided in the air—yet for a heartbeat, harmony held.

In the high galleries, R4 scanned faces, feeding the princess data on a Separatist envoy concealed among trade delegates—tonight’s real threat.

Midnight loomed, and outside the terrace doors, mountain winds whispered of balance, blades, and a wolf answering a princess’s call.

⸻

Princess [Y/N] leaned against the balustrade, moon‑silver kissing the scars on her shoulders. Commander Wolffe stood close, arms folded—attempt at stoic ruined by her playful tug on the strap of his pauldron.

“Still on duty, Commander?” she teased.

“Always.”

“So devoted,” she murmured, fingers ghosting along the seam where synth‑skin met armor. “Makes a woman wonder how else that focus might—”

A scarlet bolt sizzled through the ballroom windows. Shouts. Glass rained like crystal hail.

Inside, Governor Rhun lay sprawled behind an overturned buffet, cloak smoking at the shoulder. Clone guards returned fire toward upper galleries; a masked shooter vaulted onto a chandelier cable and vanished in a flash‑grenade’s glare.

Skywalker, Ahsoka, Windu ignited sabers; Cody’s troopers fanned out. Wolffe ushered [Y/N] through the shattered doors into the throne corridor, senators scrambling behind.

⸻

Heavy doors slammed. Present: King Talren, Chancellor Palpatine, Masters Yoda, Windu, Kenobi, Commanders Cody, Wolffe, Ponds, Bacara, Senator Padmé, and a handful of shaken delegates. Rhun, arm bacta‑wrapped, was dragged in by medics.

Tension whipped like live wire.

[Y/N] broke the silence, voice flat: “Pity the shooter missed.”

Gasps; Wolffe’s helmet snapped toward her.

Rhun snarled. “Should’ve been you that got shot!”

She advanced, eyes blazing. “I opposed reopening our borders. Tonight proves me right. We invited every power broker in the war to one valley—painted a target the size of a moon.”

King Talren’s tone cut ice. “Peace requires risk.”

“Blind risk courts massacre,” she shot back. “Insurgents in our mountains, Separatist agents in our ballroom—now assassins under our roof.”

Palpatine interjected silkily, “Surely, Princess, the Republic can strengthen your security.”

“More soldiers won’t erase the bull’s‑eye you represent, Chancellor.”

Mace Windu’s gaze narrowed. “You suggest isolation while the galaxy burns?”

“I suggest survival,” she answered.

Arguments flared—senators citing diplomacy, clones citing protocol. Wolffe stepped between factions, voice drill‑sergeant sharp: “Focus. Assassin is still loose. Mandates later, lockdown now.”

Plo Coon, calm amid storm, nodded approval.

King Talren exhaled. “Commander Wolffe, you have joint authority with my Shadow Guard. Hunt the shooter.”

Wolffe met [Y/N]’s gaze—heat of earlier flirtation replaced by razor respect. “Princess—coming?”

She clicked twin sabers to her belt. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Rhun blanched; Padmé exchanged a knowing look with Kenobi—battle partners born.

The moment the throne‑room doors slammed behind them, [Y/N] was already moving—midnight gown gathered in one fist, the other dropping her double sabers into waiting palms.

Wolffe fell in at her shoulder, DC‑17 raised. The marble corridor echoed with their synchronized footfalls.

“Shadow Guard breach tunnel’s this way,” she hissed, sweeping aside a wall‑tapestry to reveal a spiral stair cut straight into obsidian.

He nodded once. “After you, Princess.”

The air grew cooler, alive with a faint crystalline hum. Iridescent kyber veins glowed within the stone, casting violet and jade shadows across their path.

Wolffe switched his helmet lamp to low‑band; [Y/N] didn’t bother—her people’s Force‑attuned sight caught every shimmer.

A blaster scorch on the stair railing.

“Fresh,” she murmured.

“Means we’re close,” Wolffe replied, pulse settling into the calm that preceded battle.

The stair disgorged them into a vast cavern—kyber pillars rising like frozen lightning. At the far end, the assassin’s silhouette leapt between crystal spires, cloak tattered by security bolts.

Wolffe’s comm clicked twice—Boost and Sinker sealing exits above.

“Corner him,” Wolffe ordered.

“Alive,” [Y/N] added. “I want intel before he bleeds out.”

They split wordlessly: Wolffe low along a mineral ridge, [Y/N] sprinting the high ledge, gown whipping behind like a war‑banner.

The assassin spun, twin WESTARs barking scarlet. Wolffe dove, bolts sparking off crystal as [Y/N] sprang from above, sabers igniting.

A vibro‑dagger flicked from the assassin’s wrist—met by Wolffe’s gauntlet, beskad plating deflecting the strike. He slammed the butt of his pistol into the assailant’s ribs.

“Yield,” the commander growled.

A hissed curse the killer smashed a detonator against the pillar. Kyber screamed as fractures spider‑webbed, light flaring.

[Y/N] threw Wolffe back with a Force‑shove and thrust both sabers into the crystal, channeling energy away in a surge of blinding radiance. The explosion muted to a concussive thump; shards rained harmlessly.

When vision cleared, the assassin lay dazed, binders already clamping on under Wolffe’s practiced hands.

“Who hired you?” the princess demanded.

The prisoner spat blood, defiant. “Karthuna’s own who crave true freedom—and the Confederacy rewards such courage.”

Wolffe’s visor tipped toward [Y/N]. Confirmation.

⸻

Governor Rhun’s voice boomed across the ballroom remnant—holocams hovering:

“This outrage proves openness invites anarchy! I petition immediate curfew, martial oversight by local forces, and expulsion of unnecessary off‑world elements!”

Several senators, rattled, murmured agreement. Separatist sympathizers whispered through the crowd, feeding fear.

Master Windu folded his arms. “Governor, the assassin wielded Separatist tech. Cooperation with the Republic, not isolation, thwarts such threats.”

Rhun’s smile was razor‑thin. “Yet my princess would see me dead; perhaps the Council should examine internal loyalties first.”

King Talren’s reply was cut short by the distant rumble of kyber—catacomb fight vibrations reaching high halls. Panic rippled anew.

Wolffe and [Y/N] emerged, armor and gown dusted in crystal powder, prisoner in tow. Gasps rippled through assembled officials.

“Governor Rhun,” [Y/N] announced, voice carrying. “Your assassin failed. And he’s confessed to Separatist backing—backing that feeds on fear you happily sow.”

Rhun’s complexion drained.

Palpatine stepped forward, tone silken. “A grave accusation, Princess. Proof?”

Wolffe activated the assassin’s cracked vambrace: a holo‑sigil of the Techno Union flickered. That, plus recorded confession from his helmet‑cam, filled the air in chilling blue.

Yoda’s ears drooped, sad but certain. “Darkness invited not by borders, but hearts seeking power, yes.”

Arguments flared, but now the tide shifted: senators demanding inquiry into Rhun’s dealings, Jedi reinforcing joint patrols, clones and Sun‑Guard sharing data rather than territory. The assassin was led away.

In the aftershock, [Y/N] turned to Wolffe, adrenaline still bright in her eyes.

“You kept up,” she said softly.

“You lit up half a mountain,” he retorted, relief threading the words.

A grin tugged her lips. “Balance, Commander—little light, little dark.”

His chuckle surprised them both. “Next time, maybe just a dance.”

She offered her arm—scarred, unhidden. He took it, escorting her back into the fractured ballroom where a new balance—uneasy, hard‑won—waited to be forged.

Previous Part

[1v31182m5]

Random kfp headcanons that I had (that I am not making them up right now for a post, I just had these in my mind since forever)

- the release date of the movies are the birthdates of the villains (Tai Lung 6th of June, Shen 26th of May, Kai 29th of January)

- Obviously Tai doesn't know his birthday so they celebrate the day Shifu got him instead which is the 4th of July (I chose this date because it was the date that it aired on my country :3 )

-Meanwhile Tai and Shen have their family issues Kai has loving parents with a wholesome relationship and absolute no problems with.

"Okay I get it fine you're all without fathers alright"

K: I'm not

K: I love my dad

K: My dad's fucking awesome

- I headcanon the mixed animals offsprings work the same way in Beastars so the offspring won't be a mixed creature but rather just one of the parents

- Kai has a cow mother and a crocodile father.

- Shen's mom's mother is an Albatross.

- Both of Tai's parents are snow leopards

- I know people usually say that Po and Tai would be besties which I agree but among the villains I think his bestie would be Kai, they seemed to be getting along (almost) in the movie for me X)

- After the third film I cannot imagine Tigress and Po not having a panda daughter

- Tigress and Po has a panda daughter. One child

- Tigress becomes Shifu's succesor. Taking over the Jade Palace ( after it is rebuilt ) Teaching new generations

- Crane is the first one to marry among the five. Mantis is the last he's scared (didn't marry an other mantis oh god kajsksbdjs)

- Po is the youngest member and Mantis is the oldest

- Oogway and Kai met in the army but they knew eachother's existence before that. They just weren't talking to eachother at all

- Kai listens to Oogway's "deep talks". When he was young he couldn't exactly come up with words to explain what is in his mind and tell it, Kai watched him as he mixed 15 random words together to explain what his philosophical thoughts were

"You have an enlightenment every day"

-Shen had a close relationship with his parents till the age of 5. Then it fell apart

- Tai Lung used to count his spots regularly to see if he had grown any more. He stopped after he finished puberty

- I'll probably add more I just kinda don't remember all of them right now

[dunmeshistash]

Hey im @holmsister tumblr is tumbling as usual.

About the Maizuru complaint and bad faith interpretation: I feel the same way about POC in this fandom. I didn't really engage in fandoms that have many canon POC because most of my reading in the last years has been historical and classical European lit and nonfiction so like. The racism is baked into the source so to speak. AND im super white so im not going to try and speak out of turn. But moving into a fandom for a recent work of art in which there are important characters of colour has been... enlightening (derogatory). Also not naming names, but the way white characters are extended grace for things the POC are criticised extensively is... enlightening (derogatory). Maizuru, being at the intersection of being a woman and POC, is obviously going to get the brunt of it. Especially because yeah, she's not exactly a pleasant character - yeah, the way she treats the other retainers is not nice. But she is basically a sex slave. Like we can mince our words as much as we like, add in everything about how she is clearly being well-treated and not resentful, etc etc, but she's there to entertain Nakamoto and she can't say no if he comes to her room. All of her privileges are dependent on her pleasing him. That doesn't mean that she can't be abusive in her own right - but like. How old was she when she was taken in by Nakamoto? She's been around since Toshiro was little, remember? Hell, her obsession with being a good retainer with Toshiro might be a way to safely "escape" Nakamoto - after all, if she's following Toshiro around, she's not in her parlour waiting for his father's next visit, and if Toshiro, who has no interest in her, became the next head of the household, she would be allowed to live out her last years in peace. Like this is speculation of course, but it's based on what we know of the character in much the same way any other speculation is - I'm choosing to give her the benefit of the doubt the same way I do for example Laios choosing to join the army.

Sorry for the vent, it's just. The complexity of the characters is a good thing! Stop trying to find a bad guy, you're missing the point! (And showing your ass in the process). everyone has complex motivations!

Truly, people hate nuance and it seems like internalized misogyny and racism amplifies that.

I feel like at least for the racism one there's more awareness and people speak more about it? But I usually see misogyny arguments being dismissed a lot more so I got specially angy at it.

I guess I wanted to find a reason outside misogyny to justify how people treated these character's cause I've seen lots of people being mad about that before about other characters and even thinking myself "It's surely not that bad/widespread, this character is the one that sucks" but when you have a more general view of reactions it becomes painfully obvious.

Thankfully I didn't see the racism against Toshiro (maybe cause I barely post about him) but I can only imagine.

[weirdero]

So fucking excited for the next three episodes coming up just based of their titles

Episode 5, Trojan Horse,

Episode 6 Attila,

Episode 7 Chikhai Bardo

I’ve been thinking about what they might mean for the story, so I did a little dive into the titles, and honestly, this show is just top tier TV. It’s seriously gold.

we all know what a Trojan Horse is and what it represents YK harmless little thing that’s actually oh shit! a secretly trap or deception. I’m curious if this title points to a specific character or just the general theme of deception in the episode. I’m assuming it’ll likely tied to the Helena secret agent reveal, but thats just a guess

Now, Attila is the episode that has me the most hyped because I actually know who that is! Fir all I could know they are referring a different Attila or like a fancy chocolate brand but I doubt it

In very basic and simple terms, Attila the Hun was the leader of the Huns from 434 until his death in 453 AD. He wasn’t a leader in the stereotypical European king or Roman emperor way, but more like a war general and sovereign ruler to his people. That said, he did rule his people like any other king and was respected among his community as such. He is recognized as one of history’s most infamous conquerors, known for two major things: first, his ruthless military campaigns and borderline bloodlust behavior. The man did not play. Not only did he control a strong and loyal army with good numbers, but he was also a very skilled strategist, able to complete territory raids quickly and efficiently. Secondly, he is known for his raids on the Roman Empire. During this time, he earned the title “Scourge of God.” His attacks on the Roman Empire were eventually stopped after his failed invasion of Italy in 452 and his death in 453, but his raids had such a huge impact that they led to the demise and fall of the Western Roman Empire. They never really recovered from his attacks.

Eugene Delacroix 1847

In media, Attila is usually used to represent brutality and ruthlessness. For example, the only reason I even know about the guy is because of The Sopranos (Season 1, Episode 5). Tony is out of town visiting Meadow at college, and he later calls Carmella complaining about something I don’t really remember just being miserable about some shit and Carmella responds with,

“You’re not Attila the Hun, you know.”

And if that doesn’t convince you on how brutal Attila was, the second media reference about this guy that I can think of is literally from Dante’s Inferno.

Specifically in Canto XII of Dante’s Inferno, Attila is placed in the Seventh Circle of Hell, YK the circle reserved for those who committed acts of violence. The circle that is made up of murderers, tyrants, and warlords. Yeah.

So I wonder what’s that’s about. will say I’m expecting a major milchick crash out or who knows maybe even a proper mark s crash out. I like it when whimsical men get angry.

Now Chikhai Bardo is the one that interested me the most because I had no idea what that was had no clue what this was at first, but according to my research it’s a reference to Tibetan Buddhism beliefs in the afterlife?!???! swear to god you learn something new every day. I fucking love this show

with my very limited understanding of it. From what I’ve gathered , Tibetan Buddhism is a branch of Mahayana Buddhism, which emphasizes compassion and the potential for all beings to attain Buddhahood.

(Quick side note: if you didn’t know, Mahayana Buddhism is one of the major branches of Buddhism, often called the “Greater Vehicle”. It focuses on reaching the universal potential for enlightenment, with a strong emphasis on compassion and helping all beings achieve liberation/buddhahood)

Tibetans Buddhism blends in indian Buddhist traditions with local Tibetan practices. The religion focuses a lot on rituals, meditation, and the guidance of Lamas. Another thing about Tibetan Buddhism is that they believe heavily in reincarnation. This ties in with the episode title I swear

So the term Chikhai Bardo comes from Bardo Thodol which is the Tibetan Book of the Dead. The Bardo refers to the intermediate state between death and rebirth. And Bardo Thodol means “Liberation Through Hearing in the Bardo.” It is meant to be used for guiding the consciousness of someone who is dying, or someone who has just died, through the various stages of the bardo

(So this is the most used cover for the Tibetan book of the dead I couldn’t find who it was made by of if there were other covers so yeah. )

In the Bardo Thodol, there are three stages after death that determine your place in the afterlife. Chikhai Bardo is the first step in that process.

The Chikhai Bardo happens immediately after death, where the consciousness encounters the Clear Light of Reality (whjch based of my light internet skimming its supposed to be fundamental transcendent essence) a light that represents the true nature of reality. If the deceased can recognize this light they can can basically achieve enlightenment and escape the cycle of rebirth and reach Buddhahood never having to experience suffering again

If they don’t recognize the light, they can’t escape the cycle of rebirth and have to go through another round, facing the karma from their past life in this new one. This cycle continues until they finally attain enlightenment by recognizing the true nature of reality.

This concept is insane. Resurrection had been an idea the fandom has played with especially in relation to the Lumons cult like nature, and everyone’s obsession with keir spitting his writings off as scripture but throwing in enlightenment and rebirth is next level. And the idea that enlightenment can only be reached by realizing the true nature of reality is heavy as hell.

And I’m tellling you that episode is probably going to be crazy as fuck. Probably some trippy ass shit too y’all remember Defiant Jazz? That was Episode 7 in season 1. So yeah, this episode better be fucking crazy.

I can’t stop thinking about this show I’m basically living off breadcrumbs, but God, I love the attention to detail. I could just she’d a tear.

Also, this is a pretty rough and general overview of Tibetan Buddhism. I spent a very short amount of time doing some light skimming on the internet, so if I missed anything or got something wrong please for the love of god call me out. Same thing goes for Attila all the information I know about the guy is from a paper I wrote about him from like a year ago… anyways I love learning new shit like before this I didn’t even know there were different branches of Buddhism, so yeah the more you know!

Also some of the websites I used specifically for the Tibetan Buddhism stuff in case anyone was curious

Guide to the classics: the Tibetan Book of the Dead

Bardo Thödol | Tibetan Book of the Dead, Afterlife Guide | Britannica

https://www.samyeinstitute.org/nlncnd/the-six-bardos/

[cloud-makers-make-pollution]

INTRO POST

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

hi!!!!!

so uh

name : aishani :)

sexuality : pansexual (i believe)

pronouns : she/her

age : im a minor (14-18) (pls don’t be weird)

country/language : UK/English but at this point my relationship with Duolingo has lasted longer than that of actual people

socials :

instagram

pinterest

spotify

im pro palestinian

if you’ve got a problem with any of that, with all due respect, fuck off.

‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧

likes/interests/current or previous hyperfixations

musicals : Les Mis, Heathers, Hamilton, SIX, moulin rouge, EPIC, Mamma Mia, Wicked, semi Percy Jackson and the Lighting thief (???), im attempting to get into West Side Story and Hadestown at the moment

music (the listening version) : Madilyn Mei, Queen, ABBA, a little bit of this, a little bit of that, if you genuinely want to know look at my Spotify I spend more time on my playlists than I do my homework, im a bit of a nerd so obviously classical music has some bangers that go cRAZY, eg gopak like what the fuck why is it such a vibe

music (the instrument version) : I play violin, piano, I sing, and I play a little bit of the ukulele. im now on a mission to learn guitar and/or a woodwind instrument (not brass never brass please god no)

sport : badminton, karate, running from my problems and sprinting away from deadlines

fandoms : Les Mis, Arcane (vi my beloved), Marauders/Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows (this is a malaria free environment can we keep it that way)

hobbies : reading extensive amounts of fanfiction, writing (badly), I like to call myself a musician however im unsure about how far that statement goes, drama, specifically musical theatre, sleeping, starting projects and never finishing them, making random spotify playlists, falling in love with every other person I meet and then proceeding to make it everyone else’s problem

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

dislikes

homophobia, transphobia, racism, sexism, trump supporters, terfs, pedophiles, groomers, mushrooms, white supremacy, fear, geography, spiders, just weirdass insects in general, hamsters, and finally, people who eat with their mouths open

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

moots!!!

@noahher this is Noah Noah is great we have many conversations and he gave me a pet ferret called Freddie

@k-is-for-potassium they’re awesome literally icon material

@bleep-bloop-boo FELLOW MADILYN MEI ENTHUSIAST IS COMPLETELY AWESOME

@feernflower I tag them in every tag thing I get even though I’ve never interacted with them properly (I’m sorry you seem so cool) and they’re a marauders fan who posts cool stuff go look at it

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes HELLO this is my sister she’s great and her blog is cool (I’m in your walls)

@ladymoonstardust aux armies!!! vive les gays!!! the revolution must begin!!!!! exceedingly cool les mis person, and with whom one hath a number of enlightening conversation, more often than not to do with the wonderful beings in that one musical about the land of croissant

@sing-me-sweetly-to-my-doom 🫵🫢🫵😮🫢😮!!!! (ily please don’t forget that <3)

“if my self worth is high then im egotistical, but if it’s low then I hate myself, and if it’s vague and undecided then im mediocre, and that’s not an option”