#and the grown man is powerful beyond comprehension

[west-tokyo-incidents]

"We have to defeat Dunstan!"

Garion's eyes slowly blink. He knows this song and dance.

It's like this, every time. If a timeline gets this far without an alteration, this is always where it leads. So few actually stayed on the straight and narrow good vs evil. Which makes sense, humans rarely, if ever, believe in a truly black and white.

He was lounged out on a low concrete wall, the good douji having their gathering in the small courtyard of the abandoned hospital.

He redirected his eyes from them, spinning his cane in his hand boredly. Trickery's parrot voice giggled, and spat out a mockery of them.

It incited anger in the young man who was the master of the Ultimate Good. Garion just kept quiet as his douji heckled Yamato.

"That's enough, Trickery." His voice is sharply stern, "Help me up." The mimic douji snapped his jaws shut, returning to his master's side. Garion holds an arm out and Trickery pulls him to his feet. His bad leg has gone weak, sitting on the hard surface, and he leans heavily on his cane. He knows the others have noticed his change in attitude, and doesn't plan to stick around long.

"Well, you all have fun on your wild goose hunt. I think I'd rather spend my time with more reasonable people." He put on a smile and waved a hand before beginning to walk away.

"It's the only way we can end this crap! Unless you have a better plan!"

Fury shoots through Garion and he has to stop himself, knuckles going white around the snake head of his cane. Trickery flicks his eyes between his master and Yamato. Garion takes a breath, steadying himself. As he turns around, the happy, nonchalant, almost dopey smile is back in his face.

"Oh, no, Mr. Yamato, don't mind me. You have your fun trying to defeat a man who's omnipresent and able to change timelines at will. You enjoy that. I'll simply have no part in it." He waves a hand dismissively. Though he can tell they know something deeper is in his words, he doesn't care. The deviation will soon tear them away from that plan entirely. It's only a matter of time.

He turns to continue down the road leading away from the hospital and back to his car. Trickery is skipping along beside him, giggling, "Dunstan makes you really mad, huh?"

"Yeah..." A sigh, "Yeah, he really does. Let's go check on Vice, hm? I wanna see how close he is to making Paresse snap now." He opens the driver's door and slips in.

"Oooouh, yeah!! Should be any time now." Trickery never opened the passenger door, but is sitting there beside him, phone open and clicking through texts, "The evil douji are meeting tonight, too!'

Garion makes a knowing hum, smiling to himself.

He liked these timelines.

[dollfaced-erin]

can i request something about jing yuan being domestic with your dc!reader and yanqing 🥹 like maybe he comes home to his seemingly empty house and he reminisces on the many years he spent alone after the hcq fell apart + reader fell into a deep slumber until he spots you both in the garden, with yanqing asleep on your lap/shoulder and you basking in the silence and jing yuan realizes that even though things will never go back to the way they were before, he'd be more than glad to start anew with you and cherish all the time he has with you (+ yanqing who you've both taken under your wing!!)

A/n : -

HELP THIS IS TOO SWEET ? I CANNOT BRAIN ?!?! i have finally finished my exams and is now a free woman for a month WEEHEE ! i'll do my best with catching on withthe requests and the current storyline ! have you guys played penacony ? i only played a bit and whoa was it BEAUTIFUL ?! btw, Dan Jia was subjected to her shell before Dan Feng's molting rebirth, and cracked not long after Dan Heng was exiled from the xianzhou.

Taglist : -

Day by day passed, and he felt as if not one of them held a single significant meaning to his soul. He had long died in the past, though his body lived on in a shell immortal to time and corrosion…

He had long felt joyous emotions before those dreaded days approached. The days…where he had lost his comrades…one by one without a shred of mercy from any deity with powers no matter how much he begged, cried, broke at the demise of his loved ones.

What use was a large house when there was no one to brighten it up...? To him, it was merely a structure, might even be considered a store where he keeps all valuables and merely comes to rest before leaving, day after day.

He couldn't bare to remember the pain he felt deep in his heart when he heard of the news of the passing of his friend. In a long, arduous and almost fruitless battle against the Denizens of Abundance, his friend had sacrificed herself in summoning the deity…The Hunter of Worlds…Lan. Being struck down by one of the divine arrows raining from the sky, all that was left was mere droplets of blood…and a tuft of her soft lavender hair.

He couldn't dare think about the betrayal he felt in his heart, etching deep within his being when he realized the sins his friends had committed. An arrogant man…colluding with the proud dragon in creating a life of he deceased, even sacrificing their mutual beloved in the process.

He didn't ever endure nights without nightmares, where his own companion was infected with life beyond death, tainted with the curse of immortality from the flesh of an emanator of abundance. The pain of the sounds of bones cracking and flesh tearing to recreate the man in his younger ages time and time again, before he fled the lands to a planet barren of life…

He couldn't forget the feeling of burden on his shoulders, watching as his legendary mentor be reduced to a mind insane in plagued with rampaging mara that caused her to commit crimes beyond her comprehension, reducing her title from the General to a mere felon that had escaped in the night where the moon was high and full above their heads, pale like the color of her hair.

He could never forget the burden he felt slumped on his shoulders, a full world on him as he upheld the position of his mentor, and sentenced his own friend to molten rebirth, listening to the cries of the dragon who yearned for the body of his sister, injured and subdued due to his own stupid and selfish actions.

He couldn't ignore the searing sensation he felt in his chest when he brought the limp body of the woman he loved, who had grown alongside him, who had been with them through thick and thin in the shadows, back to her shell to heal and reform anew.

As he trudged through the silent halls of his home, feeling somewhat empty, his tired golden eyes wandered around. He looked at the beautiful ornaments and art that decorated the house, that was until he noticed an open door on his right, the sliding door that led to the courtyard of his manor.

He was a little confused at first, before his golden eyes shone with remembrance and a tugging at his heart that led him to walk towards that opening. He didn't know what he'd see there, but he had a feeling he knew.

The general of the Luofu leaned against the doorframe as he admired the sight before him.

A sight he would give anything to protect. A sight that he would never forsake or take for granted with every fiber of his being. A sight that he would never dare forget no matter how much Mara would strike him in his future years...

He knew deep in his heart that she would be different when she was reborn…and the same goes for her brother. Perhaps they would lead new lives, lives that would never intersect with his ever again.

He thought he was ready to forget her in his memories, but that would be as if deleting a piece in the complicated puzzled. Incomplete.

That was until her shell broke again, where the Pearl Keepers immediately contacted the Seat of Divine Foresight…

"This…cant be." Jing Yuan gasped softly as he knelt before the body that was hatched from its shell.

Upon normal circumstances and past experience, the body cracked from the Vidyadhara pearl would conceive a new individual, where the waters would wash away their past and their sins as they carried new names and led new lives…

But this wasn't it…

Before him was a young woman instead of a child, bare and naked in front of him, eyes closed and unmoving. He reached a hand, and felt that her body was deathly cold, but he felt warmth from her nose as she inhaled and exhaled softly.

She had the same horns…the same skin tone…the same feel…the same size…!

It was her…Dan Jia. Dan Jia had been reborn in a shell similar to her past, almost similar to Dan Heng who had intentionally underwent Molten Rebirth and attained his younger form, not being reborn as a full grown adult !

"This must've been the result of the lacking process of the Transmutation Arcanum…" One of the Preceptors noted. "Before his demise, Imbibator Lunae Dan Feng had already announced his heir, a girl in the future named Bailu."

The egg was still small, not yet of its time…

"An abomination, lacking the Dragon Heart…" another elder said, shaking his head. "The heart was already ripped out of Saltator Lunae Dan Jia, so why is she still retaining the form of her former self ?"

Little did Jing Yuan know that they had messed up the Molten Rebirth, resulting in a flaw in Dan Feng's incarnation, and automatically jeopardizing the rebirth of Dan Jia. Those two were still connected, even in near death…

"Bring her to the jurisdiction of the Ten-Lords Commission." Jing Yuan said sternly, holding Dan Jia's reformed body in his arms to preserve her modesty, as if he hadn't let loose the tears he had been keeping in for so long.

His eyes were red rimmed as he embraced the body of his beloved, tears still trickling down as the aftermath of him crying in joy, knowing he wasn't quite alone in this life.

That...was the first change that had happened through his dark days.

Though his life was slightly troubled with bidding off an old friend formed anew, wishing off the young teen a happier life, away from the mistakes of his former incarnation.

The teen too wished him happier and brighter days. He wished he could say the same for himself, and the universe seemed to be smiling upon him after the challenges life had thrown to his shoulders.

Everyday seemed to be better now, routine, even. Ever since Dan Jia was released from the Ten-Lords Commission, a room was built for her, in tribute to the sleeping dragon that never stirred awake. She was hovering between life and death, with no actual signs of waking up, but also no signs of succumbing to death. She was just...in a dormant state.

"Perhaps the shock of suddenly taking away her heart had really hit her with the blow she didn't expect..." One of the judges said, looking at the young woman's body that rested in a room similar to a display room one would find in a museum, housing only the most valuable and precious items.

Which...was partially true.

Jing Yuan looked around the large room. It had red pillars holding it up, and banners with celestial wordings scribed into them, giving a light golden shine. The path from the door was carpeted with a precious red fabric, leading it up to a small platform, a couple steps high.

And there...lay a large glass box, with beautiful ice flowers filling it's depths, illuminating the dark room with a calming shade of blue, a lighter color of the horns of the individual resting in the coffin.

This...was a beautiful box, Jing Yuan thought as he reached a hand in, and gathered silky locks of (h/c) in his hand, bringing it close to his lips as he kissed it.

Everyday...he would go to work, then stay with (Y/n) for a while, talking to her about everyday, having lunch or dinner by her side as he basked in the peaceful silence. Then he would return home for the day, and the cycle would repeat.

That was until one fateful night, where he had heard knocking.

As he groggily trudged his way to the door, he was aware of his surroundings. Who was it bothering him such late into the night...?

And there he saw it...a young child crying softly in its bassinet, little arms reaching out towards whoever had stumbled upon him.

Jing Yuan's heart melted, wrenching in guilt and sorrow as he bent down and collected the little child in his arms. The little infant soon stilled, finding the beating of Jing Yuan's heart in his chest soothing and comforting and lulling the young child to sleep.

He honestly didn't know how to deal with the child, even after days of exhausting his resources to find the boy's parents.

"I don't know what to do, Dan Jia." Jing Yuan sighed as he leaned against the coffin, closing his eyes as he pondered about his choices and decisions.

"I know if it were you...you'd find it in both mind and heart to bring the child in, adopting him..." Jing Yuan said, trailing off before the idea actually struck him in the chord.

"Adopting...him...?" He repeated softly and wondered to himself as memories came back flooding to him. During the days where his own master brought him in to train him as a child.

His...very own retainer. Just as he was for Jingliu...

But would he be able to do it...?

He'd just have to give it a try. Besides, there were people around him that were able to help him, like the Foxian servants that lingered in his manor. Perhaps he could also task them with taking care of the child.

"But...what should I name him then ?" He wondered again, lifting his head off the edge of the beautiful box of eternity and looking at the young slumbering woman inside, the very definition of elegance and grace with traits of altruism and devotion.

"I wish he would have the same poise and patience you do. And at a young age...I will teach him the ropes of becoming my retainer, destined for greatness of someone with position and power. I would teach him to never abuse his power, to be kind and honest like you..."

He reached a hand in, stroking her cold cheek that was still soft to the touch, thinking of possible elements he wanted to name the young boy as. Something...something special...

Something like (Y/n) and the ice flowers around her. Something that connected both of them. Something they had in common. Something only he would know the reason behind.

Then it hit him. The general smiled warmly as he gazed at the sleeping dragon, a brilliant idea coming to mind.

"It's official." He said lovingly, smiling warmly. "I'll name him Yanqing. Yan...after your elegance, and Qing after our matching high-ranking official titles."

Thus was born the child of frost, named Yanqing. The son he raised by his own, keeping Dan Jia's principles close to his heart to raise a young man that had inherited both their traits.

He smiled warmly, crossing over his arms with a chuckle leaving his lips as he watched (Y/n) lean against the ancient tree that sprouted tall and high in the middle of the courtyard, her horns perched on her head shining with the light that passed through the shade provided by the tree's thick canopy of leaves. She was sleeping, her beautiful eyes closed as she rested against the tree, a young child curled up on her lap.

Yanqing had laid his head on (Y/n)'s lap, probably exhausted from another full day of training and mastering the art of ice with (Y/n) and the power to control his swords with his mind. His blonde locks fell and covered his forehead as he snuggled close to (Y/n), a hand of the dragon lady lovingly placed on his shoulder as he rested on her lap.

Another hand of (Y/n)'s was perched on Mimi's thick and luscious mane. Mimi was curled on (Y/n)'s other side, finding solace in the young woman's cold presence from the smoldering heat. The proud feline placed its head on its paws, large head nuzzled into the side of (Y/n)'s thigh, purring softly as it lounged around with the duo.

Right...he wasn't alone anymore. All those years of loneliness and darkness were gone, left behind him.

These two before him...were his light in the darkness.

He smiled warmly at the duo before him.

Jing Yuan knew that he was happy in his past, where the High Cloud Quintet were prime in their era. But he would do anything to live in this moment, gazing at his beloved who held his child close, caring for him like her own kin.

Though things would never return to as they were, he was more than glad to tread on his future days with the woman he loved and the child he raised.

"I love you." The white-haired man whispered as he kissed (Y/n)'s forehead as he caressed Yanqing's golden hair.

"I love you both so much."

[satosktty]

satoru balancing both yin and yang is so dear to me.. people try to put him to one or the other side but he works as both; too much yin or yang creates imbalance and while satoru is definitely a character with imbalance in his life; I feel like this symbolism is the perfect balance of himself ?

darkness; satoru becoming a monster for his students, for the hopes of a better life in the jujutsu system for them, he goes against the original plan, his reasoning of even teaching in the first place ( finding strong students to overturn the systems themselves ) for these kids safety — abandoning one goal that shaped him so greatly, the very reason he got to meet the children he dearly protected

- along with it is limitless; it's dark, a void of space filled with knowledge beyond human comprehension

passive; the textbook definition for passive is to not take action and let things happen to them; satoru doesn't argue about them using his body ( if ) he werre to die — even though he was confident he would win. he selfishly was willing to give his body; resign himself to a similar fate of kenjaku's victims and of his best friend to aid his students. his soul could've fought back as geto's did, but he did not.

soft; from his teenage years satoru has grown more mature; his coping mechanism also works as a method to uplift the nature of his students; shown with how silly he acted with yuji and nobora in season one, how he cheerful he looked finding out him and yuta were relatives in jjk0 ( notably after yuta had to fight geto and give rika's soul up. ) and even letting yuji pat his back when he was off to fight sukuna ( it brightened him up just as much as it did yuji ); people tend to mistake softness for calmness or silence but the gentleness satoru shows his students emotions trumps the 'standardized' practices of soft

"Yang creates the air, while Yin creates the senses, which belong to the physical body. When the physical body dies, the spirit is restored to the air, its natural environment. The spirit receives its nourishment through the air, and the body receives its nourishment through the senses."

six eyes is the natural sixth sense gojo and presents as yin — working as an extrasensory perception for himself. it is his his extra sense; his body has moulded before birth to accommodate said power via his blue eyes. infinity is yang; the air / space around him which works as a force to keep people out. satoru post-hidden inventory receives the most comfort with his infinity on, and through his comfort he is able to focus his other abilities.

light; as darkness satoru is light; it goes hand in hand with his softness; he is a natural light to his students and rather they realize it or not he subconsciously uplifts their spirits with his own positive attitudes; bright shiny personalities tend to relate to the sun

active; his passivity with his students and loved ones does not extend to everyone. he is willing to fight in cases that call for it; he was willing to take down geto even though the man used to be a close person to him, due to his obligations and the fact the man was going to kill his students; he was ready to kill jogo without second thoughts ( twice ) and his willingness for action and his ( most likely unknown ) enjoyment of jujutsu and the act of fighting directly opposes his nature with his loved ones and i think it's a large reason why he can have such a vast amount of male and women fans

guidance; doesn't have to be explained how he has dedicated himself to teaching to garner a group of kids to rival/be on par with/surpass his own power regardless of the trauma that has weighed on his life since he was their age??

tldr; yin and yang are both in need of one another and I think people forget that in yin there is yang and in yang there is yin.. and also this is basically just me talking about satoru being both 'fem and masc' because I love him ( fem leaning bc he's literally i. )

[na-t0]

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

The piece below contains the bleak words from a remitter that considered not deserving a response from its addressee. A mere confession from a worn out soul to another.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man with a geranium colored spirit.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man that will be loved until the five moons that adorn the sky, fall before the eyes of this desolate heart.

The reason why I am writing this letter to you is somewhat difficult to explain. It's something much bigger than me, a greater power beyond my comprehension that unfortunately, is slowly consuming everything around me. I’ve come to find myself plunged into deep despair, and at the same time, I learnt to accept the cowardice that has been invading me for not being able to muster the necessary strength to look at you in the eyes and tell you what you will read here in a few moments.

Pretty easy right? To hide between words, ink and paper. I'm sorry about that.

I will start by saying that, when I first met you, I came to realize that everything I knew and defined as my world would transform into something entirely different. You were the strike of lightning in the pouring rain, a hit that came with enough force to demolish an entire city. Your presence was all over the place, making it hard to ignore you. Every step you took resonated loudly in my head. And despite of what your name represents and what people often acknowledges you as, I have realized that it only covers a small part of what you truly are.

I think you are incredible, Vash. You are kind, you are a gentle being. You are the most wonderful coincidence that I have met in my life. You are an imperfect creation, but so am I. And so is everything else. And no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to fully comprehend your greatness. But that's okay, because I already came to create my own conclusions. Just like you don't need to fully understand why I feel the way I feel when I notice you are near me. Or how the blood flows violently in each and every of my veins when I hear you breathing softly while you are sleeping on my chest. Even when, I suppose that you too have already come to create your own conclusions about it.

My love for you has grown so unbridled that I fear of losing my mind. So, that's why I decided to get away from you, from the room we shared, from the city where we used to travel together. Having you by my side hurt, because despite the suffocating closeness, you were still miles away from me.

And it hurt, it hurt immensely because my heart is exposed. Open the palm of your hand and there you will find it, bleeding and throbbing with emotion and life. While yours, is hiding behind an iron barrier attached to the left side of your chest. A barrier I could never cross no matter how hard I tried.

And because of that, I wish your gaze had never met mine. I wish you had never saved my life. I wish our lips had never touched. I wish you had never felt embarrassed to undress yourself in front of me. I wish I never had to see you cry while nightmares tormented you at midnight. I wish your pain would just go away. I wish you never had to suffer. I wish you had never deprived me of the right to love you.

I wish for so many things.

And I also foolishly wish that you loved me as much as I do, despite everything, despite all of this.

I love the scars in your body that form together a map I have traveled so many times with my lips, a map vividly embodied in my memory. I love your eyes and the color of your hair. I love the little mole that adorns the highest part of your left cheekbone. The aroma of your skin and the contrast of temperatures that your hands emit when you embrace me. I love when you laugh and I also love that you are easily moved to tears. I love the sound of your voice at any time of the day. I love listening to you hum that song you like so much and I love dancing with you that waltz we drunkenly invented one night out in the dark alley of a bar, and therefore, only you and I know. I love all the versions I've met of you.

I have even come to hate that word, ‘love’, because I consider that is too vague to describe what arises within my being when I lift my stare from the floor and see you standing in front of me. But I've learned to settle for it, so yes, I love you. I absolutely love everything about you, your worst and your best. I love you, Vash. And I am a slave to my own body because it refuses to feel otherwise, to think otherwise.

I will be devoted to you until eternity comes to an end, even though I don't really have a clue of how long that will be.

Knowing you, that idea does not please you at all.

So, forgive me.

Forgive me for stumbling upon your way that rainy day, and for trying to love you the days that came next.

Forgive me for that, and for all the other things, so I can leave without wanting to look back.

                   -Yours entirely. Yours forever.

What followed after was the image of Vash going through the door, running after those faint footsteps of your boots imprint in the unforgiving sand of May City. Holding against his chest the crumpled piece of paper that had the last bit of your essence. The trace that a weak, broken heart left behind as an old souvenir. Pieces slowly intermingling with the ground, waiting to be picked up by the hands that undid them in the first place. And as he ran, it wasn't just the scorching sun of a summer afternoon the only thing that burned. The love you felt for that mysterious man with the empty smile and tender eyes was consumed in ashes. The sun was burning, but your heart and your soul, were burning even stronger. And Vash ran, he ran for hours until his legs sank in the dryness. Ran until your trail was lost. And he cried too, cried until exhaustion did not allow a single more sob to come out of his throat. But he managed to stand up, just like he always has, and kept searching. Praying silently to the heavens for another coincidence, another way to find you once again.

[blackjackkent]

All right. So. Stormshore Tabernacle. Gale. Mystra. Let's go.

Hector has zero intention of letting Gale control the crown if he can avoid it, but he also has zero patience for the way Mystra has apparently manipulated his friend for so many years. He's also a tremendously devout man generally, which doesn't square particularly well in his mind with the fact that if Mystra tries to hurt Gale further he would honestly be perfectly willing to kick her teeth in.

So this is going to be an interesting conversational needle to thread.

The temple is a very pretty looking building run by a halfling named Vicar Humbletoes.

Gale is hanging out waiting here already since we told him back in camp to get ready. The statue in front of him is glowing with power.

Narrator: There she stands, just as Elminster promised. Mystra. Goddess of the Weave. Mother of all magic.

"The old man wasn't lying," Gale says wonderingly. "She's opened a summoning channel. Can't you feel it?"

Narrator: Gale's right. The very air around the statue crackles with magic. It sets your teeth on edge.

"A stream of pure, undiluted Weave," Gale says. His fingers fidget at his sides and his eyes are narrowed thoughtfully. "I have only to reach out and it will carry me to Mystra. Wherever she may be."

Jaheira raises an eyebrow at him impatiently. "Well? Are you composing a poem in your head or somesuch?"

Hector smiles slightly to himself. In Jaheira's impatience he can hear a reflection of his own. It is not the impatience of wishing to be gone - but of worry for what Gale is about to do, whether it is the right choice for him. Gale has grown from his time as Mystra's lover... but it would take only a slight nudge to push him back into that unhealthy role.

He knows it, too. "Time was I'd have given my right arm for a chance to speak with Mystra again..." he mutters. "The left one too. Maybe a knee."

Hector shakes his head. "You don't owe her so much as a fingernail," he says firmly. "She asked you to blow yourself up."

Gale shrugs. "Not the message one hopes to receive from a past lover. But her first love was always the Weave. At best I was a close second." He hesitates, then smiles ruefully. "When I pictured this moment, I thought I'd feel more in control. Yet here I am, with palms sweatier than a bugbear's armpit. I always wondered what being nervous would feel like. I hate it."

"Of all the things to be nervous about, an audience with a goddess seems reasonable," Hector points out.

As he speaks the words, he recognizes his own deeper frustration underlying them, too. He hates what Mystra has done to Gale, and yet there is just the faintest bit of jealousy that he can't escape. Gale spoke to his goddess on a regular basis, in person, and is about to do so again.

So many gods, it seems, all reaching out in direct contact, a face that could be spoken to or spat in... and Selune always watching from far beyond his reach, as distant as the moon itself. It feels tremendously unfair sometimes.

But that is not the point right now. He's here for Gale, not himself.

"You're kind to say so," Gale says with a slight smile. "But this is hardly my first time in Mystra's presence. It's more the matter of what I'm going to say to her. During my time locked away in Waterdeep, I prepared a quite comprehensive speech for her on the subject of our former relationship and the manner in which it ended. Alas, recent events have rendered the majority of it moot, so I'm going to have to improvise. Unless you have any words of wisdom to impart before I go?"

"You're not taking me with you?" Hector asks before he can stop himself.

Gale shakes his head. "The summoning channel Mystra has provided is one only I can enter. No matter how much I'd prefer not to face her alone.

Damn, Hector thinks. He would much rather be there with his friend, able to help catch him if he starts to slip back under the goddess's thrall.

He hesitates, trying to decide what advice to give that might keep Gale on a path away from extremes. "Don't give anything away," he finally says slowly. "Just find out what she has to say."

Gale smiles slightly. "You'd make a fine Three-Dragon Ante player, you know." He nods, squaring his shoulders. "I think it's best I keep a cool head going into this. Approach it like a particularly high-risk round of Three-Dragon Ante. I'll let Mystra show her flight, and then I can see how strong a chance we have of winning the gambit."

He turns, holds a hand out towards the statue. "I"ll only be gone for a matter of moments. The Outer Planes experience time quite differently to our own. Wait for me. Please."

The flash of light consumes him, and he is gone.

[memekeymouse]

Man. I just had the dream ever last night. Not a lot actually happened but the concept itself is kind of wild. It’d make for a hell of a story/AU:

In this dream, Minnie was led by these mysterious figures (the dream didn’t show me anything concrete about who they were or how they looked like, other than they were figures of authority and also Bad) because she had been chosen to accompany the King of their world

The King (who is basically a synonym for god in this context) is The Most Powerful and Important Person ever. But also he hasn’t “grown into his power” yet. Many people before Minnie have tried to help him with that, and they have failed (and put to death as a result. Yikes)

Because of this Minnie is, understandably, terrified. She thinks the King is some kind of terrifying monster beyond her comprehension. What if she fails too? She doesn’t want to die! So imagine her surprise when the King turns out to be…..a(n unhealthily) skinny mouse boy wearing nothing but shorts too big for him who’s not even taller than her. And he seems as surprised about her as she is about him.

Nervous as she is, she asks him if he’s really the King. He admits that that’s what the people who look after him say, but he thinks it must be some kind of joke, too. But it would be a very weird joke, and it’s the only life he knows too, so….not much he can do, either.

The next thing she asks him is his name. That seems to surprise him; not one person before her ever asked for his name before, they just called him by fancy titles and treated him like he was untouchable. It made him sad and uncomfortable. He tells Minnie his name is Mickey.

His room is depressingly huge, white and empty, except for a bed and a tiny window up near the ceiling. The only things he seems to own are some books and paper sheets and pencils for drawing. He’s never left the castle; he’s barely left this room. But he wants to be a pilot and drive a plane so he can see the sky.

Mickey doesn’t like being treated like a king or a god, but the people who take care of him tell him the people need him to be happy, so he doesnt want to cause anyone trouble. He knows that kings are supposed to look after their people so he should at least do THAT right. He just wishes he wasn’t so lonely…..

After that it’s mostly Mickey and Minnie talking and spending time together doing really mundane stuff. Minnie loves music so she plays for Mickey and he gets so happy, flowers sprout under his feet (because despite everything, he really IS a god).

Something something Mickey gaining weight to show that he’s happier and healing. We love to see it 🥹

The people who keep Mickey imprisoned end up hating Minnie because they think she gets in the way of Mickey being perfectly obedient.

In the end though, these people are gone and Mickey finally ‘ascends’ as a god (and Minnie becomes his Queen, which means she becomes a goddess as well). But rather than actually do royal things, they’re free to travel and see the world together

I mean. My dream was vague in a lot of things but the metaphors are kind of obvious, and I woke up feeling all 🥺

[le-panda-chocovore]

No more horrors beyond comprehension. I want happiness beyond my comprehension ! Love (platonic, romantic, whatever) beyond my comprehension !

Give me people sharing all they have. Give me empathy and compassion. Give me found family than no one understand why but still exist. Give me a grown man plain laughing of pure joy because of a dumb joke he heard.

Damn, show me beings that everything oppose walking hand in hand through Hell without once losing their smile ! Show me monsters afraid of the brightness of an incomprehensible, powerful love ! A light that will never turn off no matter how much darkness surround it !

I want to see a picture so big, so beautiful, so nice that it'd could NOT be observable at human scale. I want a universe full of stars and supernovas that bright so fucking much that we can't even imagine it.

Horrors are outdated.

Welcome to the area of warmth, love, and happiness.

[axelerror]

Victor Frankenstein and his creation 🧪🪦🪡

Decided to make a 70’s au sort of thing (calling it ‘Monsterous’). These two are the main characters but I will be finishing up my Dracula, Renfield, Invisible Man, and Werewolf designs soon. All of these are based on the books and a tiny bit inspired by the universal pictures versions as well…

Their personalities are very much like the books (at least at first), they’re just under different circumstances. These two do NOT get along lol. Partially because Victor has issues (generally speaking and also in regards to his creations existence) and also because they are WAY too similar. I love the idea of a flesh golem of human corpses brought to life, but golems in Jewish lore typically follow exact orders given to them by their creators. The Creature… does NOT do that. He WANTS to follow orders because he wants to be useful/loved and there’s something deep within the fabric of his being that compels him to (the nature of being a golem) but he defies Victor constantly.

Upon creation he already had a mind of his own and fragments of Victors' personality fused within him, albeit manifested in different ways. (In the book both Victor and his creation love nature, however, Victor is in awe at the sheer power of lightning strikes while his creation loves the signs of natural life: birdsongs and newly grown leaves.) I imagine the creatures independence is a big reason why Victor is terrified of him. Beyond the uncanny valley of sinew and muscle not-quite lining up under patchwork skin. Beyond eyes like black holes fueled by something beyond either of their comprehension. Beyond responsibility, or god, or anything else, is the fear of unpredictability. A golem that does not follow orders.

[expectantdaddies]

Balam was the fiercest warrior of his tribe, feared by all who crossed his path. His people had lived deep within the heart of the jungle since the gods abandoned them, where the dense foliage seemed to swallow you whole, hiding dangers at every turn. The air was thick with the sounds of snarling beasts and the rustle of leaves as capricious spirits danced among the trees.

Balam, huntmaster of the tribe, had grown arrogant over time, believing himself invincible against the jungle's perils. His unmatched prowess in combat and unparalleled hunting skills ensured his people never went hungry under his leadership. The tribe prospered, but what Balam didn't know was that he'd caught the eye of a particularly powerful ancient spirit.

This spirit had been observing Balam for some time. It admired his form, his strength in battle, and above all, his arrogance. The spirit wanted to teach Balam humility, to make him understand why the jungle demanded respect and fear.

One fateful day, as Balam led a group of hunters into the jungle, he found himself lost, trapped within a maze-like section of the dense foliage. No matter which path he chose, he ended up back at the same spot, surrounded by trees that seemed to shift like walls in a labyrinth. The birds and beasts of the jungle seemed to toy with him, leading him deeper into the heart of the green hell.

Panic began to set in as Balam realized the gravity of his situation. He'd been hunting these lands for years and had never gotten lost before. How could he be trapped so easily? Hadn't he passed that same tree twice? He had carved that tree with a marking to make sure he hadn't gotten turned around. Was he following his own footsteps? Fear crept over him like a cold mist, chilling him to the bone. Finally, after hours of panicked searching for an escape, Balam fell to his knees on the jungle floor, exhausted and terrified, crying out in despair.

As he lay there, waiting for whatever force had ensnared him to finish him off, a figure appeared before him. The man was a spirit, marked by his unnatural skin color and shifting mystic symbols that danced across his form. Balam couldn't understand the language spoken by the spirit, but its emotions were transmitted directly into his mind.

In an instant, Balam found himself stripped bare, his weapons discarded like trash. The spirit claimed him, pouring its essence into Balam's body with a ferocity that left him gasping. It was as if the spirit had known every secret pleasure in which Balam took delight with his own kind. Over and over, it claimed him, leaving no part of Balam untouched.

As the spirit's final touch faded away, Balam collapsed into unconsciousness, exhausted and spent. When he awoke, the jungle lay silent around him. The only message left behind was etched in his mind: "I'll always be watching you."

Months have passed since that fateful encounter, and Balam continued to lead the tribe's hunters. However, he now was far more cautious. Now he knew that he wasn't the apex predator of the jungle, that forces beyond human comprehension roamed these lands. As he walked among his people, Balam cradled his swelling belly, a constant reminder of the spirits' power and his own vulnerability. And in the jungle, a pair of eyes watched Balam stalk the jungle more carefully, satisfied with his humility and his growing burden.

Balam, pregnant jungle warrior.

[legaciestold]

@everythingheard​ (for bruce from rachel)

it had been so much easier to see things in absolutes before aliens rained from the sky and the man she had thought she loved turned upon everything he stood for and been consumed with villainy. locked in a jail cell among the very people he’d put inside. she had been so idealistic and young when bruce had returned, so sure of right and wrong and the need to live in the light. she couldn’t reconcile the boy she’d run around the manor with with the dark knight that had drug his sister into a life in the shadows. (though, even rachel at her core could admit there was no talking kara into anything, she’d made her own choice and that choice just so happened to line up with her brother’s path.) with the man who’d become hardened and brutal in his quest to strike fear into the city’s underbelly. fear. fear couldn’t solve the cities’ problems. but harvey’s quest, standing up to criminals in the light of day, had purpose, had potential. she had immersed herself within it and existed behind a vault of blindness. not that she still did not believe in the quest, but, her eyes had been awoken to a very many shades of grey since those days. 

zod had attacked their world and powered people escaped the shadows. jokers reigned terror and bruce had led gotham through floods. him and kara had become symbols not of fear but of hope and rachel had seen what she had not allowed herself to before. bruce had evolved, grown, but the bruce that tugged on her hair to get her attention when they were young was still a part of him. she could see it in his quest to repair his family’s name. in the way he took dick grayson in as his own. in his conviction to aid in reforms at arkham and help rehabilitate those who resided within it’s walls. yes a part of him could be brutal but he still held hope for those he fought. she could see it in the way that he worried about a sister who proved fully capable of protecting herself. she could see it in the way he had sat at alfred's side in the hospital after the explosion. and now, in the wake of harvey’s trial and superman’s death with forces beyond their comprehension just past the horizon rachel finally comes to him at the manor, sharing a look with alfred before she’s making her way to the room bruce is in. alfred had told her when bruce, dick, and kara had returned from superman’s funeral. 

this world was not the one they’d grown up in and it’s a wonder how anyone was coping in the wake of what had transpired in metropolis. footfalls echo throughout the room, rachel coming to a stop just inside the doorway before shutting the door. all their moments in recent history have been so fully charged with chaos and tension, with her in danger from an alien battle or flooding waters, with two friends sitting in a hospital with alfred’s life in the balance, with her kidnapped and strapped to a bomb that kara had very nearly failed to protect her from that they’ve never had time to truly sort out where they stood. maybe she hadn’t been ready yet. she was now. yet what that would look like she wasn’t sure. 

“i want you to teach me to fight. self-defense.” she begins, unsure why that’s the first item on the agenda she broches. “not that it’ll help me if we have another alien invasion. god, i still can’t believe i’m even saying that. aliens. metahumans. and now superman’s gone.” there’s a pause as she allows the weight of that statement to linger. she hadn’t known superman but rachel had always been close with kara and she knew the impact his death had on her, and, she knew bruce felt the loss too. 

“--but if i’m going to be the new district attorney and connected to bruce wayne i think i ought to be able to at least prevent my own kidnapping.” she never wants to feel as powerless as she felt when crane had drugged her or when she’d been in that warehouse with bombs around her again. another step is taken forward, followed by another until she’s nearly reached him-- standing just a mere foot away from him. they haven’t spent any significant time together in so long, haven’t been this close to each other even when he’d used his limo to save her from press after harvey’s sentencing because lex had been there with him too. 

a part of her wants to reach out though she doesn’t, not yet. maybe she’s waiting for him to meet her half-way. for them, in the wake of everything, to make this choice together. “of course, that’ll mean i’ll be spending a fair amount of my free time here, with you, when you’re not out there.” she motions outside the window. there’s a weight to what she says, words unspoken between the lines but implication clear. she’s taking the first step, making a choice to accept being in his life again and all that entailed.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Au where Danny is Damians twin. He had gone on countless solo missions since the time he was six and niether he or his brother had ever failed. This time however, was a bit different.

Dr's Jack and Madeline Fenton were playing with forces beyond thier comprehension and endangering the entire world with thier actions. They were clearly aware of it too if thier sketchy work with the government was taken into consideration. Daniel's job was to infiltrate thier lab and copy all thier data into a flash drive before killing the parents and destroying everything. Simple enough, but he made a crucial mistake.

He got curious.

Isn't that always how the eldrich and unknown gets you? You start asking questions and before anyone knows it you're a raving lunatic.

Once he had completed his first three tasks, Danny had put on one of the suspiciously numerous white and black and child sized hazmat suits and went into the beckoning maw of what was mentioned to be the portal. He looked down to step over a bundle of wires and in his momentary distraction hit a button on the wall with his hand.

The next thing he knew everything was tinged green and he was screaming.

Awaking to find his form had changed, leaving him with glowing green eyes, pale skin and white hair he was confused. Mother and Grandfather did not have a meta-gene and according to mother thier Father-the Batman- also did not have it.

Then It clicked. The scientists were studying the afterlife, more specifically the spirits of the dead and how to invade thier realm. Daniel, at the tender age of eight, had died. Whats worse is that he apparently had the ability to flop between life and death at will. Fearing what kind of experiments his Grandfather would no doubt subject him to he finished his mission by rigging the place to blow far more spectacularly then planned and fleeing into the portal.

The resulting explosion could be seen for miles. Upon seeing it from her place on a park bench with her friend, Jazz had immediately knew something terrible had happened.

Three years later Daniel- now going by Phantom- found that the portals maw had survived even if the portal itself did not and it was reactivated by a pair of nosy teens. Amity Park was being attacked by ghosts and the Justice League, a group of famous heros lead by his Father, Wonder woman and Superman, refused to even answer thier calls for help. Odd.

Phantom stepped up and began fighting them both with his powers and his training from the League of Assassins. The people hated him for being dead. The dead hated him for stopping thier rampages and his annoying ability to just disappear. (He's so glad he kept the half living thing to himself, even if it meant he often had to sneak away to living realms to get human food)

As it turns out, the Fentons had a back up location that niether he or the League of Assassins knew about where they stored notes on thier theories about the nature of ghosts and how "evil and mindless" they were. A government based group eventually formed called the Ghost Investigation Ward, or as the locals called them, The Guys In White who then passed a set of laws called the anti-ecto acts.

Daniel had grown up hearing tales of his Father. A paranoid man who thought of everything and had eyes and ears in every sector of the government. He and his League of Justice would never allow this...and yet days passed since the announcement of the acts. Then weeks. Then a month with no words speaking out againsts laws that essentially stripped the rights of an entire species. Did Father believe the lies and slander from the government and the remnants of the Fentons "research"?

If he knew about him would he think he was a monster? A threat to be eliminated?

Daniel fiddled with his domino mask as he began applying the weekly dose of phase-proof paint to the metal of the portals blast doors. He loved his mask. It made him feel just a little bit safer. Yes, he knew logically no one would ever think that a dead child would ever secretly be a living one, but facial recognition software was a very real thing and it wouldn't be long before the GIW modified it to work the blurriness out of ghost photos. Even if they didn't (which they might never considering the groups overall intelligence) people have eyes

Daniel wasn't technically living in Amity Park. At least not legally. He stole whatever he needed and stayed hidden away in abandoned houses and underground caves. Not the most luxurious life, but better than a scapel and rib shears. He shuttered at the thought.

It was almost a week after his and Damians birthday that he saw his parents again. They were fighting in the streets near Polter Heights, the rich side of the city. He wondered what they were there for. He had long taken the portal deep underground where no one could access it without intangibility and Amity really had nothing to offer otherwise. They couldn't possibly know who he was, could they?

He flew closer invisibly, listening to mother state that she planned on recruiting this "ghost child" into the League. Interesting. She didn't know it was him.

Batman. His own father argued that she knew nothing about these creatures and that they were dangerous but handled by the local authorities. Daniel couldn't fight back his sneer. The GIW did nothing while Phantom did all the work and he highly doubted any of the living considered him an "authority". Nevertheless, this proved to Daniel his fears of his Father hating him was well founded.

He did however, find himself surprised at the familiar chill of a blade at his throat. How? Then his brother, his beloved twin ordered him to surrender. Not a chance. Not even for him. Phantom fought his brother that day, no matter how much it pained him. The GIW have been chasing him relentlessly since thier founding and would do anything to get thier grubby little paws on him. If he was taken into custody by any form of law enforcement or was an immediate Game Over, even if it was the Justice League.

Daniel managed to escape but Damian left knowing he recognized that fighting style.

Damian ended up telling the rest of his family about his twin, Daniel and how he had died and how he suspected the ghost protecting Amity was his lost brother.

Unfortunately, Daniel had overheard what Batman had said to his Mother and believed his change of heart and attemps to get him to come home with him were a ruse to get him to let down his guard.

Thus begins the chaotic time in Amity Park where his Mother and Father both try to convince Phantom to live with them.

[duskamethyst]

make it right.

a/n: i was on a writing high. i initially hated this so much but ended up with 12 pages long.

word count: 5.1k

genre: mature, smut, nsfw, angst to fluff

warnings: mentions of abortion, pregnancy

pairing: hawks x f!reader

𝅘𝅥𝅮  music rec: the reason by hoobastank  𝅘𝅥𝅮

summary: you told keigo that you’re carrying his child but he didn’t take it well. five years later he shows up in front of your door after being invited by his son and says he wants to fix everything.

you lean down towards the counter as you concentrate on creating pretty swirls of cream on the cake you baked with a piping bag. the dining table is full of food, a feast almost too huge for only two people, but you have a good excuse. it is a special day. your son’s fifth birthday to be exact. 

kids these days can be ruthless and your son doesn’t get along very well with the other kids from his kindergarten. they like picking on others that seem too fragile, too quiet – criteria that fits him well and it doesn’t help with the fact that they know he’s growing up without a father. your child never opened up to you about the constant mocking he faced until one day you overheard him sobbing through his pillow in his own room. it was dark, though the door was still open by an inch to allow a small amount of light to penetrate into the room whenever he slept. he said he wanted to sleep earlier because he was tired but the muffling sounds he tried to conceal betrayed his efforts when you passed by later that night.

it made you angry and disappointed in yourself. you really tried your best to juggle between being a mom and a dad at the same time, keeping an eye on your child and working your ass off to make a living for the two of you. you’d always put up a tough front, never broke down in front of him when you were dead tired from being overworked and the thought of him trying to not make you worry, shattered your heart into pieces. you know that all he deserves is a good life and you constantly blame yourself for not being good enough, mostly angry at your past self for not even knowing how to make good decisions and think things through. 

if only you could turn back time, you would tell yourself to never get involved with a pro hero – to never get involved with someone who feels so responsible for other strangers’ lives but not their own child’s. 

were you being selfish? for not understanding that his work always comes first? he can’t possibly have a family when he has villains out there that need to be put in their right place for their crimes. were you expecting too much from him?

“can’t you… get rid of it?” he muttered. his cold words felt like a sharp blade that just stabbed you in the heart. never once you thought that he would say that. how easy was it for him to ask you to throw out another life like it meant nothing? 

“keigo, you can’t be serious.” you shook your head, your legs were already wobbling and you felt sick to your stomach. this news should be happy for the both of you but unfortunately, you two weren’t on the same page. 

was it your fault? keigo never spoke about having a child together but he always said he’d love to build a family with you someday – he loved you, he would always protect you and be there for you. sure, it was a slip up this time. you always made sure to take proper measures to avoid pregnancy from happening but you were also more than glad to bear this child and you were convinced that keigo would be happy about it as much as you were. he loved you so much, after all. 

“i don’t think…” he stammered, trying to find the right words. “give me some time.”

your lips pursed into a thin line, hands clenching hard and knuckles turning white. think? the uncertainty in his voice was already giving you the obvious answer. he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. he never wanted this.

“save the trouble, keigo.” you spat. “how about i’ll just leave so you don’t even have to think at all?”

keigo finally lifted up his head to look at you with wavering eyes, but he still couldn’t find the words to say, to comfort you. “what are you saying?”

“i’m still going to have this child. even if it means i have to do it alone.” with a sharp breath, you turned around towards the door.

you heard a frustrating sigh coming from your back, “you know i can’t. you know damn well that i have my job as a hero and i can’t look after… after a child!”

“but it’s your child keigo!” you turned around to scream and look at him again, tears already welling in your eyes, threatening to pour out.

“and what difference does that make?!” he yelled back. “in fact, that’s even worse!”

the room was quiet as the both of you just stood there. keigo slowly realizing what just came out of his mouth in the heat of the moment while you just stared at him in disbelief. both were standing stunned and speechless from what he clearly said. that was it, you thought. 

“fuck you.” you cursed under your breath and immediately left his place, not even sparing a look back. 

if he was sorry, he would chase after you. if he didn’t mean it, he would look everywhere for you.

but none of that happened.

you ended up going back to your hometown after that. it was shameful, to finally see your parents again but just to cry on their feet as soon as you saw their faces and telling them that you were carrying an illegitimate child. it was devastating for them initially but thankfully they easily accepted it, welcoming you to stay over at their place with open arms so they could help you throughout your pregnancy until the baby was born and grown. above all, you were still their daughter. living far away, your parents had never met keigo and they were shocked to know that you were having the no.2 pro hero’s baby but also disappointed at how he reacted when you told him the news.

however, what was done is done and you can only manage to move forward by raising the child with your utmost capability. you promised yourself that you’ll protect and raise this child with as much love and care a mother can offer. whatever it takes, even if you’ll have to do it by yourself. 

you ended up living with your parents until your son turned four and decided to live independently, not wanting to burden them any longer. they didn’t want to let you go, the presence of the child brought so much joy in their daily lives. he was a bundle of sunshine and they loved him so much. 

and kyō is just beautiful. 

keigo’s genes manage to overpower your son compared to yours. fluffy but shorter blonde hair, dark and sharp on the inner corner of the eyes and not to forget the red wings on his back. it isn’t as big as keigo’s yet but it still stands out. although he takes on your personality more, every part of him reminds you of keigo and sometimes it feels like a jab to your chest. it hurts to be reminded of the man that hurt you and told you to get rid of the child you were bearing so ruthlessly.

throughout the years, you tried to make peace with the past. at first, it was hard to look at the news and see his face. he was almost everywhere, a lot of stores also sold his merchandise and his face even covered the magazines-- you realized you couldn’t escape him, your past. although he’s in the limelight, the media was still unaware about his private life and you were glad alas the similar features of kyō to the pro hero made some passersby and mothers at the park question you. fortunately, you already came up with a bullshit excuse like “he is such a big fan of hawks and he cosplays him every day… and oh, the wings are fake too.”

of course, strangers weren’t the only ones who inquired about it. even the little child himself could smartly notice his resemblance with the pro hero.

as soon as he first saw hawks on tv, he went on and on about how they looked so much alike. he was beyond fascinated, he could barely understand what the news was talking about at the time but being on the screen was more than enough to make him understand that hawks was an amazing guy. his eyes would twinkle in wonder when the news caught footage of him flying in the air with his red wings spreading graciously. if anything at all, kyō just couldn’t wait to flap his own smaller wings soon. 

then one thing led to another. a question that any curious child would ask their parents about. 

oftentimes kyō would ask you about his dad. why didn’t he have one like the other children he played with at the park and oftentimes you would try to avoid the topic and shrugged it off with a lame joke saying how you were also his dad and how you were powerful to have two bodies in one unlike other people. 

he ended up growing tired of it one day, crying to you and asked if the reason why he didn’t have one was because he didn’t love him – something he heard one of the kids said. it broke you and you were lost for words. you called your parents for support and after much discussion, your mother thought he deserved to at least know the truth and you did just that. 

luckily, he took it surprisingly well. even his little brain can comprehend the job of a top hero, he understood that it was a lot of work and keigo was often busy and far away. it was less to his liking when you made him promise you to not tell anyone about it and he should keep it as a secret because bad guys would chase after him if another single soul would know and his dad did it to protect him. it was a bad lie, but still, you had to do it.

later, kyō realized that his birthday was coming soon. he knew what he had always wanted. he didn’t know if he could have it but maybe… maybe if he tried and wished hard enough, it would come true. 

he sneakily took your phone to look up “hawks'' on your phone, though at first he was only shown results and pictures of the literal bird before smartly adding “pro hero” at the back. with limited comprehension, he eventually managed to find the agency’s website before scrolling further to find the address to the agency and scribbled it down on a piece of paper. 

-

“daddy?!” the bell has been ringing for a few times but you were too concentrated on decorating the birthday cake to even hear it but your son’s small wings flutter in excitement as he runs across the hallway to open the door.

your heart stops for a second. was that the reason why your son was pacing around the living room? you’re not expecting any guests for tonight’s dinner at all, especially the father of your child. 

“hey! i got your letter!” the familiar excited tone of his voice bursts from the door as he speaks. he kneels down eye-level as his son and gives him a big hug. “happy birthday.”

“what letter?” you break into the conversation, arms folded in front of your chest as you lean against the wall with an unamused expression written across your face. 

“i wrote daddy a letter!” your son says proudly, but you can already imagine the horrible squiggly lines on the handwritten letter. 

“and you gave me a picture too. you look exactly like me, am so happy!” keigo chuckles, ruffling the hair of his boy, eliciting little giggles from the other. it’s a beautiful sight and it makes your heart ache a little at the image of what it could’ve been. if only he was fully ready to accept the fact that he was gonna bear a child. if only he knew how to balance between his career and personal life. you could’ve had the most beautiful family you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“honey, can you go to your room for a bit? your daddy and i have to talk.” you say softly, hoping that he won’t take it any other way.

“am i.. in trouble?” kyō turns to you with a frown and puppy eyes – which he knows well that it would always work on you and it’s almost adorable how it’s exactly what keigo would do whenever he makes you annoyed with his antics. it’s just one of his ways to apologize to you. 

you sigh and shake your head, “no. we’re gonna talk about…” you glance elsewhere as you think of an excuse. “your surprise present!” 

“it’s not a surprise anymore if you say it like that, mommy!” the child laughs and scurries to his room as told and the both of you watch him with a smile tugged on your lips. 

you turn back to keigo with a dour expression as soon as your son closes the door to his room, causing him to fidget a bit from his spot. he hasn’t seen it for years, after all. he’s about to pull you into a hug but instead, you quickly turn your heels around towards the kitchen.

“i still have things to do. either you help me with it or leave.”

he quickly takes off his shoes and follows you, taking in the view around the house before he enters the kitchen. the atmosphere is stuffy and tense while you sit on the stool to continue decorating the cake. 

“you can help by setting up the plates. top cabinet.” you break the awkward silence and keigo obliges, he reaches the cabinet to take out the available plates and put them nicely around the table. 

“you made it yourself?” he tries to make a conversation as he glances at you working on the cake. 

“yeah.” you simply reply without taking your eyes off from your work. 

“it’s nice. chocolate?”

“obviously.”

keigo sighs from the underwhelming response, “i know you don’t want me here but –”

“no shit.” you almost slam the table but quickly recompose yourself by taking a deep breath. for the sake of your son, you know you shouldn’t get into an argument right now, at least not today. 

“look, i’ll leave as soon as this is over if that’s what you want.”

you glare at him, “it’s more than what i want right now,” then it’s your turn to sigh. “but i doubt that’s what kyō would want.” 

keigo already knows his name from the letter but his lips etch into a warm smile at the sound of the name you’ve given to the-- his child and a small part of him wishes that he was there in the process of choosing a name for the boy together with you. 

“okay, just for tonight. we’ll pretend like we’re a happy family.” you stand up from the stool after putting the last candle and set the cake in the middle of the table. 

“...and what if we don’t have to?” he blurts out after a brief and quiet moment, immediately catching your attention. he notices the puzzled look on your face and continues, “what if we really start being a happy family from now and onwards?”

you blink once, twice. for a second, you feel a heavy pang in your chest as your brain processes the words that just came out from his mouth. it’s like déjà vu, only this time keigo has certainty in his voice.

the room falls dead silent again as you stare at each other. you’re finding words and about to open your mouth to say something but kyō suddenly interrupts from the corner of the kitchen and both of your attentions quickly turn to him.

“mommy..? i’m hungry.” 

“oh, sweetheart. you’re just in time!” you walk up to kyō to carry him in your arms before bringing him to the dining table. his eyes sparkle at the variety of food spread across the table and his wings flutter in excitement. 

“can you help light up the candles? the lighter is in the drawer.” you usher to keigo as you show your son his favorite food you made earlier while keigo quickly rummages through the drawer. he lights up each candle as you put down kyō on one of the chairs before he stands on his knees to reach close enough to blow the candles. the both of you excitedly sing happy birthday and clap your hands as he blows off the candles after a brief moment for a wish. 

“what did you wish for?” keigo asks, affectionately patting kyō on the head.

“i wish to be a hero like daddy!” he exclaims, arms and wings spread in enthusiasm. a bittersweet feeling engulfs him-- a part of him is disappointed and ashamed of himself while another part of him is elated and relieved that he’s still looked up upon by his own child. in the corner of his heart, keigo thinks he doesn’t deserve it. kyō is a splitting image of himself (minus the color of his eyes that he takes after you) and it easily brings back visions of him from the past. he wanted to be a hero too, but his father wasn’t someone he could look up to. hence, making endeavor the only man he idolized. 

he realizes he is lucky enough to be the person his son looks up to. he knows that this was what his own younger self would want. a father he can be proud of, a hero at that. keigo wants to make it right with whatever it’ll take.

the night proceeds smoothly, all three of you have fun together like any normal family would and bonding over lost times. keigo is thoughtful (though his choice seems a little bit conceited) enough to give kyō a present; an action figure of himself. unknowingly, the walls that you built around you by the time keigo arrived earlier slowly crumbles and you grow less wary around him as time ticks by. when it’s bedtime for the boy, keigo insists on putting him to bed so he can spend more time with him which you gladly consented to so you can also continue cleaning up the kitchen.

a set of footsteps coming down the stairs can be heard as you’re seated on one of the stools while sipping tea. 

“want some tea?” you offer without turning around to look at the male.

“sure.” he says as he walks up to you. 

you can feel his tall and lean build ghosting you from the back as you pour a cup for him but his hands suddenly reach your shoulders and give them light squeezes. 

“what are you doing?” you ask quizzically, glancing at the hand on your shoulder.

“giving you a massage.” he smiles innocently as he continues pressing on the knot in your stiff shoulders, making you sigh in reflex.

“trying to get on my good side?” you say in a mocking tone.

“hmm, just showing my appreciation to you.” his hands move lower to your spine, your back arches a little as he presses down your aching muscles. 

“you’re five years too late, keigo.” you sneer but welcome his service as you close your eyes and hum in content. it’s not that bad, you assure yourself in your head. 

keigo diligently continues to massage your back as the kitchen now fills with your quiet sighs and whimpers whenever he rubs on the sore spot. without you realizing, he slyly pulls the collar of your baggy shirt down and plants soft kisses on your bare shoulder.

“k-keigo?” you immediately open your eyes and flinch at the sudden touch.

he remains quiet while his hands work up and down your arms gently and his lips move further up to your earlobe, sending tingling sensations down to your core and you can already feel your nipples harden underneath your shirt. 

“relax.” his hot breath fans over your ear as he whispers. your cheeks are already burning red and you’re out of sarcastic remarks as you can only find yourself to indulge into his touches. 

you gasp in surprise when keigo’s hands sneakily move under your shirt and quickly unsnaps your bra. he massages your breasts and kneads them gently before teasing your erect nipple between his fingers. your hands firmly clenches the edge of the island to hold yourself as he nips on the crook of your neck, just gently to carefully not leave a mark. 

“you want more, babybird?” he coos as he realizes that your thighs are pressing against each other. as much as you hate to admit it, the nostalgic pet name tugs on your heartstrings and you find yourself melting after hearing it after years again. 

feeling embarrassed, you quietly nod your head. 

“i can’t hear you.” a teasing tone lingers in his voice. he knows what he’s doing and you hate him for it.

“more, keigo...” you whine. it sounds so innocent and adorable but it absolutely makes his cock twitch. noticing that you’ve been avoiding looking at him the whole time, he uses one of his hands to make you look at him and grins when he catches the red tint spread across your face before he presses his lips onto yours. 

the traces of your ego make you hesitate at first but you’re quick to lose it as he deepens it, as if to send you a silent message of how much he misses you while his tongue intertwines with yours. 

one of his hands remains to massage your mound while the other travels down south to easily part your legs and cups your heated sex. keigo rubs the clit against the fabric of your pants, eliciting breathy moans from your lips between kisses. you pull away and lean back to his body as he slides his hand under your pants, feeling the wet patch that is already staining your underwear. 

“already wet from all of that?” he says playfully, taking out his hand to look at the damp juices as he rubs it between his fingers. 

“says the man that was grinding his cock on my back.” you roll your eyes halfheartedly, missing the faint blush that becomes apparent on his cheeks.

keigo then reaches for the cups in front of you and pushes them aside before lifting you up on the kitchen island, making you turn towards him. he swiftly pulls down your pants along with your underwear, your cunt bare and glistening under the lights for him to see.

his golden irises lock with yours as he kicks the stool to the side and crouches down to spread your thighs apart. he starts to lap off your juices, tongue alternating between your throbbing clit and hole. your elbows help to prop you up as your head hangs back and your eyes close in pure bliss. 

keigo smacks and clenches your thighs to draw your attention to him, “baby, look at me.”

you submissively lift your head to look at him, eyes locking with each other again as he watches you squirm on the tongue flicking your clit and eats you out like a starved man having his first meal after a long day. 

you grab a lock of his blonde hair in one hand, pushing him closer as your legs tremble around his head, feeling the bubbling sensation of your orgasm building up. 

“mmh – gonna cum!” you cry out in ecstasy, instantly forgetting the people next door and your son that’s sound asleep on the upper floor as you chase after your high.

keigo smoothly slides two fingers inside your pussy and your hips begin to grind desperately onto them. he knows you’re close when he feels the walls clenching around him and with another suck on the clit, he quickly gets to tip you over the edge. 

“so good for me.” he coos as he pulls away, licking his fingers clean before carrying your panting body in his arms and walks over to sprawl your body on the couch. he hovers on top of you and kisses you again while his hands work on unzipping and taking off his lower garments to free his throbbing cock. 

he smears the precum by pumping his cock as he watches you down, adoring the look of absolute bliss on your face and half lidded eyes that he longed for over the years. 

“my songbird,” he purrs as he leans down to you and lines his cock with your wet cunt, “you’re so beautiful.”

if you’re already red, the endearing pet name makes you even redder. your gaze avoids his to hide your embarrassment but he only draws it back gently by your chin with his thumb and finger. 

“don’t you miss me?” his brows furrowed as he searches your face. you can only stare back into his eyes – bright irises filled with nothing but genuine curiosity and desolation. 

your lips pull into a thin line as you ponder for a moment, promptly unable to vocalize like earlier. it’s as if you let even one word escape your mouth, it would make you burst into tears instead. of course you missed him. your mind often wondered if he even thought of you at least once. even when you did make peace with the past, you still couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to make the first step. ego is an ugly thing and you were certain that keigo should be the one to look for you even if it was hard for him since you just disappeared out of his life.

noticing the reluctance to give him an answer, he shushes you. “it’s okay.” he kisses you sweetly on your nose. “but let me show how much i’ve missed you.”

he trails open mouthed kisses down your jaw, neck and collarbone as your hands run through his hair and down to his back. a soft whine manages to escape from your mouth when he nibbles on the soft flesh of your neck, instantly marking it red this time. 

his mouth then latches onto your nipple through your shirt, making you squirm beneath him. your hands clenches to the fabric of his shirt when you feel his fingers teasingly dancing between your wet folds and his thumb ghosting over your clit. 

keigo gives you a kiss on the lips again before pulling away, the cushion dips as he props himself on the knees, rubbing his hard cock against your wet slits and smearing it with your juices.

a low hiss slips from his lips as he slowly prods in the tip of his cock and your expression twists into discomfort as you feel him stretch you out more – a familiar mixture of pain and pleasure that you haven’t felt for a while.

keigo waits for you to adjust and as soon as you give him the greenlight, he continues to completely balls deep inside you. 

“babybird, you feel so good.” he grunts as he bucks his hips and slowly starts to move. 

you bite your lower lip hard, enough to draw blood as you try to stifle your moans. keigo leans down to kiss you while your arms find themselves wrapping around his neck. he thrusts harder and faster and your whimpers and whines finally find themselves shamelessly slipping past from your mouth.

“fucking– hah– perfect.” he pants as he pulls away to look at your flustered face, eyes half closed and mouth agape with pleasure. 

you quickly bury your face on the crook of his neck and hold onto him tighter while your legs wrap securely around his waist. keigo moves his thumb on your clit, pressing down and rubbing circles all to entice nothing but tightening the coil down in your core more. 

“keigo, keigo –” you cry as your nails dig the fabric on his back and your toes curl to the intense sensation.

“baby wants to cum?” he growls as he feels your walls clamping around his cock, making him buck his hips even wilder. 

“yesyesyes – oh god, keigo!” your mind turns putty and unable to form any more coherent words, making only his name being the only thing you remember as your eyes close shut while you’re nearing your high. 

“that’s it – baby. cum on my cock.” he encourages and you do just that. your pussy flutters as you finally reach your orgasm but his sporadic thrusts doesn’t stop until it starts to falter and his wings tremble.

“fuck. i’m gonna fill you up.” he grits through his teeth and his cock twitches before his wings spread wider as he releases his warm cum inside you. 

the both of your bodies stay against each other, chests heaving for air before he briefly pulls out his cock and lays on top of your chest. 

“yes.” your voice suddenly croaks, breaking the almost silent air in the room if not for the sound of yours and his breathing.

keigo lifts up his head to look at you confusingly before a lopsided smile curls on his lips when he hears you utter the next few words.

“yes. i missed you and i don’t want to pretend anymore.” you suddenly feel overwhelmed and tears start to well in your eyes. a flash of panic crosses his face and he pulls you closer into his embrace, hoping to calm you down as you sniffle on his chest. 

“shh, baby. i’m sorry. i know it’s too late and i was so fucking stupid but i’ll – ”

“i want to live as a happy family with you, keigo.” you cut him off, sobbing through his shirt. he pulls away at once to look at you, unable to believe what he just heard through the choking sob but it still makes even him want to cry. 

“babybird, i – ” he’s completely tongue-tied. at this point he can only manage to lean down to be close to you again. he peppers kisses all over your face, saying how thankful and happy he is.

“i love you, my little bird. i won’t fuck up this time, i promise.” he whispers, finally regaining his composure.

that night, keigo could barely sleep a wink. so many thoughts are running through his head. he glances at you sleeping peacefully next to him on the bed and he already pictures how it is to be waking up to see your face every morning. he also hopes that kyō doesn’t know how to fly yet so he could teach him how to use his wings. oh, he’ll also get to find an excuse to buy more buckets of chickens once you three will start living together. 

he can already imagine how the headlines will be bombarded about him having a family and he sighs at the thought, but he hopes that his publicist is ready for a hell lot of work.

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[kihel-sorcas]

The fear seemed to have finally dropped off of the young girl and instead there was a happiness growing. Excitement like it suited someone her age. Curiosity and wonder as her blue eyes travelled over the vessel, trying to take in every detail at once. There still was disbelief, of course. But for now... Kihel had decided, even if this was a dream, it was a beautiful one. And she would cherish it for as long as she could.

The kind man would teach her how to sail!

It had been so long since she had stepped on a boat. She had grown up on one - until her family had passed away and she was left with nothing. But she had missed the soothing rocking of the waves and their clickering noises at night. A boat was like a big cradle, after all! Nothing could be more comfortable. And it was shown in how easily Kihel adjusted to the moving ground. Just keeping her balance and holding onto the man's hand.

Before he stopped her.

"A name...?"

She was allowed to give the boat a name? That was an honour beyond comprehension! To be allowed to do such... she had figured the man had already blessed this vessel with a name. But now...

Standing there, Kihel looked at the man first, then the boat and the dark ocean. She seemed lost in her thoughts, mulling over all the names she knew. It had to be something that suited a boat. Something that honoured Leviathan.

Leviathan itself wouldn't suit, though. That was the name of the Seaserpent themself. Nothing could compare to that. And Kihel didn't want to offend Leviathan, wherever they may be.

But well... Leviathan had had Dominants.

Perking up suddenly, Kihel smiled shyly, rocking from her heels to her toes, es if she was too nervous to share her thoughts at first.

"You know, I think it should be a name that honours someone who was friends with Leviathan! And I know this was a very long time ago... and I was just told the stories and tales from back then... I can only hope it was right. But, if I had to pick a name, I would want it to be that of a powerful and beautiful lady. The one who has led my people long ago. And she was strong and fearless - and she was Leviathan's best friend. I loved her the most in those tales... I think I would pick her name: Yue."

kihel-sorcas​:

Kihel truly had not know what reaction would come from the stranger, but… it wasn’t anything like this. He seemed so… hurt. As if she had torn open old wounds, that she couldn’t even fathom.

The girl was nervous, her hands kneading her dress, before she noticed the tear falling from his face. And it almost broke her heart.

He meant this as a genuine gift. He just wanted her to have it. Oh, but how didn’t he understand what this world was like? That no one here could come even close to such generosity? It was either a trap - or unheard of. Where had he lived to posses such a heart?

And… this time Kihel decided to simply believe him.

The girl stepped forward and her own hands grasped his, holding them together and looking up to him with a pleading face, shaking her head.

“Please don’t cry! I didn’t mean to offend you! It is just…”

How could she find the right words for that? Turning towards the boat again, still holding onto one of his hands, Kihel felt helpless. Swallowing thickly, she managed to finally smile. There also were tears in her eyes and she quickly tried to wipe them away before smiling up to the stranger again.

“This is the most beautiful boat I have ever seen… it is all I could have dreamed of and I barely dare to breathe - for this can only be a dream I am in currently. Milord… how come you are so generous to me? Just because I wish to help others? No one in Valisthea would act like you do… you truly are unique.”

Her words were a mess, but so was her mind, trying to wrap itself around this situation. Making a step towards the boat, she gently tugged on the man’s hand.

“Will you show me the boat? I mean… I don’t know it yet. It has been so long that I was aboard a vessel like this… and if I take it, if I truly am meant to take it… you will have to teach me how to sail it.”

       Isolation, while providing the benefit of self-reflection, also risked ignorance.  Sleeping at the bottom of the sea for generations at a time, Leviathan was often unaware of major changes of the world upon first awakening and, in this modern era, locating lore masters to provide an accurate account of recent history was a challenge.  Then again, even the Children of the Tides--communal nomads who shared everything with one another and often considered strangers to be distant cousins--had found the nations of the Twins very odd in their respective societies, filled with suspicions, paranoia, and rules the free people of the sea respected but did not understand.  If the Children of the Tides had something another needed and did not have, then they gladly shared it, because they all existed in the world together.  They cared too much and that had been their downfall.  Still...still, Yin believed in it, in helping others, in providing for them, in granting kindness in a world so dark, so that maybe...just maybe that goodness will continue, would once again spread and maybe this time...maybe...that goodness would become more prevalent.  When had the world become so grossly imbalanced?

       Thoughts wavered at the touch of warm hands to his own, the chill of his flesh nigh-instantly absorbing the heat of hers.  The contact itself caused Yin to fall into a reverent stillness as the revelation of what had just occurred began to drift into his thoughts.  This was...the first time he had touched anyone for a very, very long time.  It was both fitting and comforting that such a kindness would come from a child, specifically this child, and while his hands were initially quite stiff and tense from the shock of it, slender fingers gradually and gently contoured around the curves of her own--a strong but tender hold.  It almost did not register to him that she was speaking.

       "No offense was taken..." he quietly confessed, still avoiding eye contact.  He just felt horrible for frightening her.

       Yet as she attempted to explain her reaction, his gaze slowly and sheepishly wandered to her face and, seeing the sheen of tears in her eyes, prompted him to instinctively lift his hand, covered by the fabric of his sleeve, to gingerly brush away the stray remnants at the corner of one.  Why would he be so generous?  To her?  "Because you believe," he echoed delicately.  "Because you are kind.  This world needs more kindness."  This world was dying, and kindness was merciful relief from the suffering.  "What purpose do riches serve if not to better the world?" he asked with sincerity.  "The peaceful Valisthea of your dreams...I dream of it as well.  Investing in your future is investing in the future of Valisthea."

       As she pulled on his hand, his other fell to his side, careful steps following her to the boat and, slowly, a shadow of a smile traced across his lips as he set foot onto the vessel.  "Young pearl, it will bring me unfathomable joy to teach you how to sail," he confessed, offering to help her cross the threshold from dock to craft.  Whatever questions she had while exploring the boat, he would be happy to answer all of them.  However...

       "But first, before we sail," he continued gently, "there is something very important we must do.  As this is your vessel, it is an extension of yourself, a part of you.  You have to name it."  The smile spread just a little.  "It is bad luck to sail a boat with no name."

[hamliet]

Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls and It Dies...

Or, why I am pretty optimistic about the fates of Jean, Connie, Gabi, and all titanized people this chapter, which is also an excuse for me to talk about SnK’s allusions to Russian literature. 

There are strikingly parallel ideas The Brothers Karamazov and Attack on Titan, as well as parallel plot points and imagery to the point where if it isn’t deliberate, it’s uncanny. (NB: before people yell at me about comparing a Japanese and Russian work, Isayama has used Russian names since the start of SnK--Shiganshina is a Russian name.) In particular, there are narrative allusions to a portion of the novel known as “The Grand Inquisitor,” which is a short story within a novel. The central thesis of “The Grand Inquisitor” is as follows: 

nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. 

This parable is told within the story by Ivan Karamazov, a character whose intellectuality is his gift and his curse. He tells his brother Alyosha that the motivation for creating this parable is precisely the evils done to children (oh look, a major SnK theme) and specifically cites an example which was unfortunately taken from real life in Russia and which Isayama has an uncanny parallel:

I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer... If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? ... if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old...

... How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? ... What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? ... I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. ... too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it... It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.”

The actual parable of “The Grand Inquisitor” is Ivan’s answer to Alyosha’s question about Ivan’s lines above. Ivan tells a story about how freedom is actually what dooms humanity: it is the curse. (Alyosha does not believe this.) Jesus comes back to earth and is promptly arrested, because his existence and return threaten the wellbeing of society. To be happy, one cannot be free, but one or two strong people in society should be free and bear the burden for everyone else (you can see the parallels to King Fritz/the Reisses). 

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering... all his life he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that they will never be capable of using their freedom...

This is SnK’s thesis: to be free, there will be suffering. It is part of human nature, and yet to not have it is to be lost. But SnK, despite its explorations of human darkness and monstrosity, has a higher view of humanity than does Ivan. SnK’s view is more alongside Alyosha’s, who says what is honestly the truth about not just the Reisses, but Eren now:

"Who are these keepers of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for the happiness of mankind? .... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain, of domination—something like a universal serfdom with them as masters—that's all they stand for.”

Mikasa is akin to the Christ figure in the story, akin to Alyosha: Christ is constantly asked to speak, asked to act, and he does not until the very last moment, when he kisses the Grand Inquisitor on the lips. After the story is over, Alyosha then does likewise to Ivan. 

Not to mention when Alyosha worries about Ivan’s mental state, he then answers with this:

“Listen, Alyosha,” Ivan began in a resolute voice, “if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet.”

A simple leaf can save a life. A leaf can save the world. A leaf, grown from a tree that started as a seed falling to the ground, dead, only to grow life from that death. Alyosha himself notes SnK’s central thesis of chapter 137 in the (very long) novel’s final pages:

...some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

There’s a lot more to this, but this is the epigraph to The Brothers Karamazov, the central thesis of the entire novel:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." -John 12:24

Suffering can grow great fruit in an individual life, and by giving something up, by even death, something beautiful can come. Through cruelty, you can find life. 

This is not just a long-running theme in SnK, but a pattern in its plot. Often those who surrender then receive exactly what they had surrendered (but admittedly, not always, like Erwin). 

Mikasa accepted Eren’s loss, and got him back.

Mikasa let Armin go, and got him back.

Falco gave up hope of survival, and got another chance: 

Hange was going to die alone, feeling guilty for having failed her comrades, but saw everyone again, and they told her well done: 

Historia gave up being free, but now we know she will be.

Levi gave up on his revenge, and then got it. Annie thought she would never see her dad again, but she did. For Mikasa, accepting that she has to kill the boy she loves coincides not just with her acceptance of her love, but with the acceptance and knowledge that he loves her:

It always comes with sacrifice, increasingly hard sacrifice, but usually the seeds that are dropped grow and bloom. 

This chapter, everyone surrendered their hearts. They let their dreams fall to the ground, and I honestly think the story will allow it to plant life. Yes, the world as a whole is saved and that is enough to make thematic sense, but it works even better if the very people who were titanized this chapter also bloom again. They chose to trust Mikasa, Levi, Falco, and Pieck to finish the task.

The characters giving up their lives only to get them back make sense, and give Mikasa’s sacrifice of Eren. For Mikasa, Eren was her world, and she gave it up when she had lost everyone else. She had nothing left, and she still did it. I would hope she’d be narratively rewarded beyond just the world being saved, because Mikasa has always been motivated by her personal relationships.

Moving on from Mikasa: Connie’s mom has been kept alive and the concept of turning mindless titans back to humans was already brought up specifically in relation to her:

Connie giving up on his mother a dozenish chapters ago only to get her back now--not through sacrificing a child, but through saving the entire world--would fit the themes and patterns of SnK.

Thirdly, Gabi should not die. She’s Eren with positive development, and cannot meet the same end. Even people who are skeptical of every titan being saved seem to agree that she’ll be fine. It’s possible she’s the only one saved, but imo, not likely. 

See, the only shifter characters who are going to have the option of self-sacrifice are Falco and maaaaaybe Armin. The others look like they’re about to die right here and now, never mind choosing someone to save: the mindless titans are ripping at their napes. Armin also looks to be in bad shape. 

Yet Armin cannot narratively commit suicide; two chapters ago he was still screaming at himself for being useless and thinking he would be better off dead. He’s already tried the heroic sacrifice, too, so why would it work this time around? It does not work for his arc. Falco dying for Gabi was the plan without any freedom from the titan curse; it’s more powerful if ending the curse changes things, rather than forcing him to make the same choice that Reiner has always been trying to make: a heroic suicide. It could happen; it’s just not as narratively strong.

As for whether the worldbuilding rules, we know that mindless titans are not truly dead nor entirely mindless; they just don’t have freedom. Ymir’s case of getting herself back after decades shows that they aren’t quite dead or absorbed. They still have consciousness that can be awoken; Ymir described it as being in a long “nightmare.” Dina still went looking for Grisha. Connie’s mom remembered and recognized Connie, telling him “welcome home.” There is plenty of evidence that there are parts of these people that are still in there even if they are forced to become monsters (oh hey, it’s an Eren parallel; he was conscious of it and had choices while mindless titans do not, but the parallel remains).

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar’s Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can’t have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear.

Part Three

AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!

May the Force be with you.

Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon’s voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.

It was the first time they’d spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She’d mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she’d remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they’d been, she had doubted he’d see her injuries in a grainy holo.

Instead, she’d simply listened.

Erithon’s mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the “princess” - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He’d explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.

See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He’d nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… “May the Force be with you.” She hadn’t even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she’d been alone again in the dark.

Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar’s stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.

“I don’t fucking like this, Ai.”

“There’s no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe.”

“Yeah, me too, but what about you?”

Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia’s concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar’s control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.

Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she’d helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair’s breadth. Vivicar’s ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.

The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn’t certain what they’d find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.

The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.

It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.

Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.

Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. “And I sense a man tormented by the past.”

You are blinded by the light side. You can’t understand what you face.

Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn’t possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.

Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.

Oddly, Aitahea found she didn’t mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.

As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar’s voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I’ll show you how light can be snuffed out.

Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn’t in anguish. If this wasn’t already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.

May the Force be with you.

It was Erithon’s voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.

Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.

The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn’t fall for Qyzen’s feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he’d be hiding.

Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper’s armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier’s perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.

“Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “Let’s proceed.”

After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She’d barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.

Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?

Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. “Painful, but I endured it.”

Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.

That is why I have won.

Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.

“Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing,” Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.

You will understand soon. If you live that long.

“Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further.”

Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.

“This battle was decided before you stepped aboard.”

“I’m tired of your delusions,” Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. “Explain yourself.”

Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish. My plague isn’t just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived.”

The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn’t come here to bicker; she’d come here to help.

“Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you.”

Vivicar laughed.

“Oh, Aitahea.” This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. “Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even ‘Vivicar’ is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit.” He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. “I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage.”

“You can turn away from this path, Parkanas,” she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. “The Order can help you. Just… just come home.”

“No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan.” He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. “I am beyond flesh… beyond death!”

Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. “No one is beyond the will of the Force,” she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.

Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. “I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!”

For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she’d made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage’s first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?

Aitahea took a breath.

The light didn’t blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.

Aitahea called out.

“Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!” Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. “Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!”

Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea’s weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn’t hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…

Morrhage’s next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.

The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.

“Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.

“You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?”

No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.

“Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me.”

Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. “Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now.”

“And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless.” Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: “Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You’ve lost!”

Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she’d longed for, that she’d tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.

Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. “I can save you, Parkanas.”

Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.

Now, she isn’t simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.

Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.

May the Force be with you.

Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.

The spirit howled in fury. “No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!”

Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage’s furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.

“When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you,” Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.

Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.

Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. “I’m… still alive. You spared me.”

She half-smiled. “Healed you.”

“My mind is…” Parkanas shook his head again. “Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage.” His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?

“Too many Jedi have been lost already.” Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. “Including Parkanas Tark.”

“Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…” Parkanas’ voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, “I cannot return to the Order.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. “Tython has its hidden places. Its forests.” That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. “You could find peace there.”

“I could… go home.” Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. “But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can’t trust the Order. Or the Republic.” Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. “You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too.”

Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas’ frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. “Why…What do you-” Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.

Parkanas held her gaze. “Remember that.”

“We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.

“And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?”

Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. “You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions.”

Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she’d signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.

“I told you there’d be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It’s completely trashed! Go on, get on it,” Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.

With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas’ unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!

“Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you.”

Relief swept over her like a wave. “It’s my privilege to serve.”

“Hurry home. We’re waiting for you.”

Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She’d had her injuries treated. She’d eaten and bathed. She’d slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.

As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she’d missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.

In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.

“You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague.” Aitahea felt Yuon’s pride in every syllable.

Even Master Jaric was smiling. “There’s a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn’t been bestowed in thousands of years.”

Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.

“You have proved worthy,” Master Syo declared. “Now, the Council names you Barsen’thor, warden of the Order.”

Absurdly, Aitahea’s thoughts turned to how much she’d enjoy reading about the other Barsen’thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. “I will do all I can to live up to this honor.” Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.

“I never imagined your potential would take you so far.” Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.

Yet concern laced Master Syo’s next words: “And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat.”

“We need time to prepare a war council,” Satele clarified, much to Aitahea’s unspoken relief. “The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending.”

“I stand ready, Master,” Aitahea assured.

Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. “Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions.”

Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen’thor as well; that’s the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo’s final words. “We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen’thor among us.”

After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.

“Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you.” He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. “Points beyond measure!”

Her heart sang with gratitude. She’d trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he’d returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he’d have the larger portion by far. “We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it.”

Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. “Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald.”

“My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…” For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? “…for everything.”

“Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge.”

Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.

Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn’t have hidden them if she’d wanted to, Aitahea smiled. “Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me.”

Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she’d somehow stumbled into an insult. “You are Scorekeeper’s Herald,” he said solemnly, “and you are true Jedi.”

Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.

“I’m home.”

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[ouyangzizhensdad]

Do you think that making Chinese food is cultural appropriation? I'm white and started making some of the foods I saw in the shows I've watched since the untamed, but now I'm worried I'm appropriating the culture.

Hi anon,

As a fellow white person, I am also someone who needs to critically reflect on how I engage with different cultures. I can't give you the definitive answer you seek, the clear absolution from any potential wrongdoings; in its stead, I can only offer to share my current thought process on this topic. I’d still encourage you to seek other perspectives, and many people have written or spoken on this topic.

I believe we must first acknowledge that, on the terrain of the internet, discussions regarding cultural appropriation have reached a certain... extreme where some people view all forms of cultural exchanges as inherently suspect. They purport that so long as you stay within the bounds of ‘your’ culture, you will problematic behaviours. That perspective is inherent flawed. That is, it relies on a vision of culture as ‘bounded entities’ that exist in themselves. In reality, the ‘stuff’ that makes culture is emergent, existing only relationally, dialectically--it is a not a ‘thing’ that moves through time but an idea which is constantly negotiated and reproduced in relation to power and changing material realities to remain relevant and intelligible. The boundaries of cultural and ethnic groups are fuzzy, overlapping, and constantly being reworked and made meaningful. As an illustration, many of the food I grew up eating was influenced by ingredients and recipes immigrants brought in the 19th and 20th centuries, yet these dishes were understood as 'typically ours’. And it needs to be acknowledged that most of what is currently considered ‘white people food’ relies on ingredients that were introduced to our diet through colonialism and the violent dispossession of indigenous peoples (and, often, the current day exploitation of workers in the South and of migrant workers). No food can be truly ‘traditionally ours’, whatever the purported ‘we’ ends up being brought into the equation, and no eating behaviours can avoid the historical legacy and continuity of violence and power.

Of course, as people who exist in the world, we know that there are cultural differences. Bakhtin’s insights on language through the tensions between centripedal (ie towards uniformity, a common meaning) and centrifugal (toward diversity and change) forces can be expanded to help us conceptualise how we make sense of the way a ‘culture’ is perpetuated through time as something meaningful in our daily lives. Uniformity allows intelligibility, sense-making, but diversity and change are inescapable by-products of individuals and groups repeatedly going through life, meeting and trying to create intelligibility and sense together in a world that cannot stay the same. It is at the intersection of these two conflicting forces that something can be different yet considered the same--that we can create continuity out of change. But something perhaps less emphasized in Bakhtin’s discussions is how much power and material realities work on these forces. Power influences both centripedal and centrifugal forces, if only in orchestrating circumstances that shape how one encounters ‘different cultures’ or reproduces their 'own' culture.

We live at a moment where the world seems to have reached an apex of connectivity--where goods, people, ideas (and viruses) move across distance and borders at speeds that defy comprehension. Yet the way goods, people and ideas move (through which canals and systems? in which direction? to the benefits of whom? at the expense of whom? to what reception or use? in the service of which institutions and ideologies?) or are, inversely, incapable or unwilling to move, is influenced by power and material realities. It is inescapable.

In a roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is that it's useless to try to live life in 'your lane' by turning to a baseline 'culture' because we simply do not have a baseline culture to return to that is 'safe' from the influences of other cultures or the taint of the historical legacy and continuity of violence. So how do I personally reconcile that with how I engage with content that is produced from different cultural contexts, and how I engage with cooking food that is influenced by different cultural contexts? For me the guidelines I take into consideration are respect, attribution and avoiding forms of dehumanisation. These emerged out of witnessing how other white people have acted as well as critically reflecting on how I have acted in the past, and trying to do better (including of course, by listening to different perspectives on the topic). [just in case, warning for examples of racism/micro-agressions] I've been in China with white people who would praise the cooking we were eating in the same breath they were making jokes about dog meat. I've witnessed in Japan a dude decide not to come to an izakaya with Japanese colleagues, fucking off on his own to Akihabara instead, because he was disappointed he couldn’t talk about anime with them--too obsessed with the idealised version of Japan he’d created in his head to treat the Japanese people he met as people. The internet is full of white people telling you how to cook food from places they've never been and taking credit for 'popularising' that dish or 'making it better'. That's not even talking about the tendency for food to become a mark of a cosmopolitan, metropolitan identity in the West--the open-minded, the liberal, the traveler, the hip white person up with the times and beyond the mainstream. Hell, I've even seen people who act as if eating ‘ethnic’ food prepared by immigrants is the singular proof that they were people who cared about immigrants' well-being.

Food is rarely just about food, even when consumed at home. At the same time, we’d be remiss in all these discussions of power to dismiss how food is also one of oldest things we, as humans, want to share with others--including strangers. Feeding is nourishing and giving, eating is accepting into ourselves something made by others. Most people appreciate it when the value of a dish that holds importance for them is recognised by others--although, of course, many might understandably also resent that they have been discriminated against or mocked for eating that same food. Every time I’ve been invited in an immigrant household or at events with mostly immigrants, I’ve felt this sense of almost trepidation emanating from them, waiting for my reaction, and satisfaction once I was seen eating and appreciating the food they had served me--as if the acceptance of the food that was tied to their identity was a form of acceptance of who they were. Of course this can’t be disentangled from past experiences where other people might have been disrespectful, dismissive or outright racist: but the excitement they had in sharing food that had meaning to them and seeing others appreciate it was genuine.

Beyond situations of clear cultural sharing, where we get closer to what appears to be ‘cultural appropriation’, I believe that we cannot act as if there is something inherently sacrilegious in the idea of adapting recipes or using a specific ingredients in new ways--that’s centrifugal forces at play, and they have provided us with many dishes we love today: from immigrant creations like butter chicken to things like spicy kimchi. We cannot work with the assumption that people will only react with hostility at the idea of other people cooking the food they grew with, even in ways that are different from how they’re traditionally used and are thus “not authentic”. I still remember an interaction I had in a Korean grocery store, once upon a time when I lived in a metropolitan city. A man in front of me at the cash register who had been buying snacks and chatting with the employee in Korean looked at my stuff and suddenly asked me if I knew the name of the leafy green I was buying. I wasn’t necessarily surprised because I had overheard in the past customers and employees commenting in Korean about being surprised about the ingredients I, a white person, was purchasing, thinking I couldn’t understand them. I confirmed to him that I knew I was buying mustard greens. He then asked me what I was planning to do with them, and I explained that while I didn’t think it’s a traditional or common way of using it, I personally liked to add them to kimchi jjigae because it compliments their bitter/strong taste and I like leafy greens in my soups and stews. He said it was interesting, and that he was kind of impressed. The employee chimed to tell me I should be honoured at the compliment because the man was actually a chef who owned famous Korean fusion restaurants in the city. That was clearly someone who took Korean food very seriously and clearly had a certain degree of suspicion regarding how white people interacted with it, but he was also curious and interested in seeing how I approached ingredients without having grown up eating them.

Another point of contention is also that we cannot ignore that food is a sensual experience and that, while tastes are greatly influenced by our environment, they are not solely so. I grew up hating most of the food my parents would serve me, and started cooking in my early teens to avoid having to eat it. Before I started cooking, I would often just eat rice with (in hindsight horrible) western-brand soy sauce instead of the meal my mom had made. When I ate Indian food for the first time during a trip at the ripe age of 16, it blew my mind that food could taste like this. Of course I never wanted to look back, and with each years I discovered that a lot of Asian cuisines fit my palate better than what I grew up eating or other cuisines I had tried. When I was a teenager we visited my mom’s friend in France and I hated what she served us so much I’d simply choose to nibble on bread, prompting her to try to stage an intervention for my ‘obvious’ anorexia. Yet, being in China made me realise ingredients I thought I hated had just been cooked in ways I disliked. Do my taste buds absolve me from any need to think critically about how I interact with food? Of course not. But sometimes the reason we want to cook certain recipes and foods is just that it tastes great to us, and we want to reproduce the recipes we enjoyed with the ingredients and the skills we have. Or, really, sometimes we just want to try new tastes because we do a lot of eating throughout our lives, and it seems a waste to limit ourselves to a narrow number of dishes for decades to come.

So that’s where I currently am in my thinking about this topic, as a white person who cooks dishes influenced by a number of different places but who is also not trying to cook in a way that is necessarily authentic. Some things that I keep in mind that you can ask yourself now that cdramas and cnovels have made you interested in Chinese cooking is: are you taking this as an opportunity to support immigrant businesses when getting your ingredients? are you supporting white creators when looking for chinese recipes (some suggestion of youtube channels: Made with Lau, Chinese cooking Demystified, Family in Northwest China, 西北小强 Xibeixiaoqiang, 小高姐的 Magic Ingredients)? are you being respectful (not reproducing harmful stereotypes in how you talk about chinese food and the people who eat it)? do you use your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about China and Chinese people that denies them, in some way, of their complexity and humanity? are you using your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about yourself?

In conclusion I will leave you with a picture of some misshapen baozi I’ve made.