It’s actually really funny how many cultures have fox spirits and how many mostly consider them Complete Assholes, whether actively malicious or just dickheads that trick people
You’ve got the Kitsune that can be anywhere from incomprehensibly evil and powerful to doting mothers and good wives,
You’ve got the Huli Jing in China which were believed to be entirely female and needed male energy to survive, and did so by corrupting high-level politicians- and the Jiuweihu, the big girls that took to leading souls away from Dharma,
You’ve got the Gumiho in Korea, who just straight up eat people’s livers or steal their life force,
In Scandinavia, specifically Finland, fox spirits were believed to be the cause of Aurora Borealis, revontulet, the “fox fire”, as well as just usually messing with people, and then also the Brunnmigi for the Norse which poisoned water because fuck you,
The Celts also attributed them to be wily little bastards that existed to make fools of hunters and apparently that’s where the word “Shenanigan” came from, originally being sionnachuighim, “I play the fox”
in irish gaelic,
In Europe you’ve got Reynard the asshole baron,
and from what I’ve seen a lot of native american tribes also just consider them dicks on the level of coyotes
Anonymous asked: Birthday prompt: more of sexy fem diojona if you'd like!
Dio comes to the ball dressed in a glory that this sad age has not known before and will never know again. Every head turns as she enters, men and women alike transfixed by her beauty, starving to get a scrap of attention. She ignores them all. These insects aren’t worth the merest flicker of her eyelids. She is here for Jonathan.
Dio has visited so many worlds since ascension, gone to so many places, seen so many versions of herself, of her beloved. But none of them have been exactly correct. When she finds her Jonathan, her rival, her lover, her fated counterpart, she will know. She will feel it in her heart. For now, she searches, visiting world after world in her most splendid finery, searching for the spark belonging to the woman that she loved and lost.
So: tonight. The ball. Her gown is gold and green, her lips glossy and dark, and her hair spills over her shoulder like a shining banner to announce: I am here. She goes. She picks a boring man from the crowd and deigns to dance with him. Unseen, unstoppable, she drinks his blood with the merest touch of her hand to his hand, and when the dance ends she discards him in search of other prey. Other flock to her, hungry for their own death, and she dances with them, waiting for the moment when she will spot Jonathan through the crowd.
