#i feel like of all the pilgrimage party

[serpentface]

What’s the Janeys/Brakul death scenario?

So like upon review I mostly just was going to kill them off for Couya + Faiza + Hibrides’ character development (#FEMINIST WIN!!!!!!!).

The background situation of their death scenario is something that will happen either way:

Throughout the story, the pilgrimage requests tribute from the towns it passes through (mainly food and other supplies). This is a common practice for pilgrimages and the travels of royalty, and Imperial Wardi civilians are used to the concept (just not so much during a famine). Some people give fully willingly (a lot of people believe in the pilgrimage's goals/and or the necessity to keep its high status participants fed), most are at least partly coerced (usually not via direct threats, but the pilgrimage contains a couple hundred soldiers, the Usoma, and Odonii leadership. The threat is implied), some are Fully coerced via threats.

In the latter third of the story things are not going well. There’s been a lot of internal struggles among the soldiers and dissatisfaction with pilgrimage leadership (mostly Stavis), men are starting to defect and a large body are getting outright mutinous. The group has also lost much of their food supplies and things are getting desperate (they've been starting to eat their own pack khait and oxen)

With this going on, the pilgrimage sends three soldiers to exact tribute from a farming village in the province Lobera. They meet a group of men acting as representatives for the village, who flat out refuse to give tribute. Things escalate into an outright fight, the soldiers are better armed but few in number and are killed.

One of the village elders finds out that this happens and panics, knowing that the men who killed three of the Usoma’s soldiers (one of which is her son) have signed their own death sentences, and possibly that of others. She attempts to persuade the families to preemptively flee, and then takes the village's one remaining skinny old plow ox to carry the bodies of the dead soldiers back to where the pilgrimage is camped. She supplicates herself before Stavis Amanti and begs for mercy, saying they don't even have enough food stored to feed themselves, much less to give, and that the men thus considered the killings righteous self defense. She shows that she’s returned the bodies for rites as an act of goodwill, and offers the ox in tribute, the most valuable thing she can provide. She begs that the Usoma accepts this as tribute and spares the men's lives, and that the pilgrimage moves on without taking anything else.

Stavis bids her safe passage away from the camp (without confirming or denying that he's accepted her plea), and the heads of pilgrimage confer on what to do. The killing of the soldiers is a violation punishable by death, but this would be like, a notably bad PR move. Meanwhile a contingent of soldiers (including some major side characters I haven’t introduced) break off and lead a raid on the village to avenge their fallen brothers and loot supplies. Others get drawn into the fighting, and it devolves into a full on massacre.

A couple families had fled at the elder’s suggestion, but most refused to leave their homes. Some of the villagers believed they would be left unharmed if the killers were given up, others had been preparing for a reprisal and armed themselves with everything available. But they have few actual weapons and none are trained combatants. All of the remaining men and adolescent boys get killed, one woman manages to take out a soldier using a shovel but is killed, most of the other women and girls are spared murder but several are assaulted. The village is looted for supplies and kindling for funeral pyres.

Stavis Amanti has no fucking idea what to do. The soldiers defied orders and killed Imperial Wardi civilians, but the current climate amid the pilgrimage would make it EXTREMELY Bad for him if he demanded their punishment (but also potentially very bad if he didn't- not all the soldiers participated in the massacre and many were horrified). Faiza encourages him to exert authority in a measured response by having the ringleader of the mutineers killed but sparing the rest, and offers to publicly back him in hopes of avoiding full on mutiny.

The raid reveals that the villagers had been hiding more grain than they claimed they had (as in like, enough to feed their people on starvation level rations for a few weeks). Stavis takes this as an opportunity to justify not punishing the mutineers (as the villagers DID technically have something to give, and execution IS technically the punishment for refusing the order of tribute (though not execution of the entire community)), but insists that their Galenii bless the village dead and their men build pyres for the civilians as is honorable conduct. (This attempt to make amends is not particularly appreciated by the survivors.)

The pilgrimage holds a funeral for their own dead soldiers. The village ox that was given in tribute is killed and butchered for the funerary feast.

----

In the Bury Your Gays route, Brakul is one of the three that gets killed during the tribute extraction. Janeys loses his fucking mind when his body is brought back, and tries to slit his own throat on the spot. Couya stops him by wrestling him to the ground while Janeys screams threats at her and the old woman in a very pathetic public spectacle. He is deprived of all sharp objects.

While the pilgrimage leaders are conferring, he hovers miserably around Hibrides (who is also not feeling so great about all this). He's suddenly very interested in her pregnancy for the first time ever, asks to feel the baby (which has been just starting to kick). She's like "fuck off", but he strongly implies he's planning to commit suicide asap and she concedes and then is like Okay I Let You Feel The Goddamn Baby Now Leave Me Alone Holy FUCK.

Janeys turns his attention to fucking murdering anyone tangentially involved in this happening. He’s among the initial raid party, plays a major hand in it turning from its ostensible 'find and execute the ones responsible, subdue the rest, steal their food' directive to a full massacre by directing his men to immediately attack the first man he sees. He and his group capture three young men as prisoners and demand that they be slain at the soldier's funerals as is wartime custom (this isn't wartime). Janeys additionally demands that he should get to do it, as the only kin of any of the dead men. Once that's done he immediately cuts his own throat and bleeds out. They wind up getting cremated at the same time so things work out how Janeys wanted it.

At one point I realized that this is kind of just The Iliad?

----

So like obviously whether they die here or not has little impact on THESE events, but a lot of the endgame revolves around Couya Faiza and Hibrides and these deaths would be very significant to THEM in varying capacities. It affects the trajectory of the final stretch of their arcs and adds a lot of layers to the ultimate Couya/Faiza conflict. I also liked their deaths being kind of random and shitty and meaningless because that in of itself is kinda ~thematically resonant~ with the story. (A lot of tension between the lack of intrinsic meaning to events and the profound levels of meaning ascribed to them).

I'm almost definitely not going with this version of events though. Janeys and Brakul don't have much active involvement in the endgame and don't Really need to be alive for it as it stands, but I think the version where every main character (except Faiza she's doomed) survives to see What Has Been Wrought and living to experience the fallout ultimately works better.

[kudouusagi]

Animedia Uryuu Kyouko interview

Not skating but playing karuta!?

Q: What is the scene that you though "this is hot" the most during?

A: While they were playing Karuta! Please feel that true breath of life!

You'll be able to see all sorts of firsts!

You'll be able to see how Sakurayashiki and Nanjou interacted while they were young!

Just as the title says, you'll be able to see their morning routines!

You'll be able to see Hiromi-chan in love!

Click to read the rest of the interview

We asked Kyoko Uryu for secrets about the production of the OVA! 

--It's been just about 4 years from when the first season was aired on TV, and the OVA is going to be shown in theaters soon. How did you determine how production would go?

While we were making the first season, people would often say things like "I'd like to do this type of thing in season 2" so there was a strong desire to continue in the production team. So it was determined we'd make a season 2 very soon after we saw the reaction to season one. However, since it's an original anime without a work to base it off of, and the staff had plans to work on other projects, we figured it would take a while to make another season. We decided to produce an OVA before the second season, as we wanted to deliver something new in the meantime, and also as a gift to express our gratitude to the fans who would be waiting for a long time. That ended up taking quite a while too though......(sweat). Thank you so much for waiting......!

--Uryuu-san, please tell us your favorite part of the OVA, that's an "Omnibus story about their everyday lives"

We wanted to make something we couldn't do in the series, and we wanted to make it something that us as the staff would also want to see, so this is an episode we made from all of our ideas. I can't say much about the content yet because it would be spoilers, but I can tell you now that my personal favorite point is the theme song! Not only is it sung by Reki and Langa, the lyrics that Utsumi-san helped produce are amazing, so please listen to the full version on the OVA bonus CD!

--In the commercial currently available, we see Sakurayashiki and Nanjo in their highschool days. Was the part set in the past something you came up with after it was decided there would be an OVA?

Well, we had decided that they've been "frenemies since childhood" before this, but we started from wondering how these two would have been during their school days if they fight like children even as adults..... That's how we went about creating this story. We hope you enjoy seeing their former daily lives(?) that we aren't really able to depict in the main series.

--If there's a character that your impression of has changed, or you've found a new appeal because of the OVA, please tell us!

Kikuchi! Kikuchi is a mysterious character by nature, but I think you'll see a side of him that's completely different from the image you have of him from the TV series.

--Other than the second season that's already being made, there have been various collaborations and pilgrimage tours held for this series that's been loved for a long time. Is there anything that you personally want to see happen for SK8, Uryuu-san?

I feel like the fans of SK8 have a deep love for this series, so if I ever have the change, I'd like to have a tea party or something like that to talk with the fans about the series. I'll never forget about how enthusiastic the fans were at the talk event held during the pilgrimage tour last year (lol). Other than that, I'd like to be able to have a Canada episode someday and be able to hold a Canada pilgrimage tour...... of course before that I'd like to go to Canada with Utsumi-san for location scouting!

--Finally, please give a message to everyone waiting for the OVA to go one sale and the theater screening!

Thank you so much for waiting 4 whole years. 

The OVA is made for the fans who are overflowing with love for SK8, and I think it's packed full of rich content for them so please look forward to it!

The limited time theater screening will of course contain the OVA itself, but we also plan to deliver specially edited footage from the first season so that everyone in the theater can enjoy it together, as well as behind-the-scenes talks with the cast and director. There will be footage only shown in the theater so I hope everyone will enjoy it together before the OVA comes out. The OVA packaging will be just as elaborate, if not more than, the series packaging, so we hope you'll pick it up and watch it over and over again!

[cool-thymus]

Rin Week 2023

A drabble and an illustration for the most special girl in Narutoverse.

Day 4 | November 15 Secret

Team Minato; Rin has a secret; Kakashi has a secret; Obito ...is asleep; they are all tipsy; this is supposed to be funny

The shinobi world is a cruel place. If you’re raised a ninja, it often feels like running naked through a nettle field. No matter how fast you are trying to get out, it always stings. Constant pain and misery touch your bare skin, and you slowly get used to it. The shinobi world is greedy too. It takes the people you love and hardly ever returns them. And you are expected to go with it, no questions asked. But as one Red-Hot Habanero shrewdly observed, this world had room for smiles, laughter, and occasional celebration, especially when your loved ones were given back to you. 

A team of three young shinobi of the Hidden Leaf was that lucky. But miracles didn’t just happen for them. They had to claw back their teammate from the darkness and then fight day and night for his life. Cry for each other and hold shaking hands; lose sleep and hug tight.   

Since then, the hardest and the happiest day of their lives turned into an anniversary that was celebrated as the team’s birthday, their own little festival. Kushina and Kakashi would prepare a feast making sure everybody’s favorite dish was on the menu. Rin was in charge of decorations and flowers. Every year she would make a special arrangement for the table and provide small bouquets for her teammates. The location for the celebration was Minato and Obito’s duty. They liked scouting out picturesque spots, preferably near water. The hike was their small ritual: they traveled alone, mostly in silence. Obito felt special because he was on the same task as the captain, but for Minato it was a pilgrimage to the day when he carried the dying boy back to the village cursing himself for every wrong choice he’d made. Now he let Obito lead the way watching how the 16-year-old jumped left and right like a puppy chasing a butterfly. He followed and silently renewed his vow to always have his back, always protect the kid he’d almost lost. 

This year they picked a cabin near a small waterfall. The view was worthy of the occasion, and there were enough rooms to stay overnight. The Namikaze-Uzumaki family had grown a new member who enjoyed the attention and liked making everything about himself. He was three. The baby added the ingenuousness that the team gradually grew out of, and he kept his parents occupied, so that Rin, Obito and Kakashi could have more privacy and party the way they wanted.

However, none of them was a party animal.  

***

“Isn’t he adorable?” Rin said quietly tugging at Kakashi’s sleeve. Obito had rested his head in her lap; his eyes were closed, lips parted; soft snuffling noises made it clear - he was fast asleep. 

“The word is ‘pathetic’, Rin. We didn’t even drink that much, and he’s already out like a light.” Kakashi took another sip of his beverage (being on good terms with the Sannin had its benefits: their favorite genius was allowed a drink of his choice now and then, in moderation though), “Or… maybe he just really wanted to get to his comfort place as soon as possible.”

“You mean he’s dreaming of something comforting?”

“I mean your lap.” 

Rin paused for a moment, startled with the misplaced sarcasm, but then smirked at him and continued stroking Obito’s hair. “Are you trying to be funny or irritating?” 

Kakashi’s snarky comments never worked on her; at least they never escalated into a full-scale fight like they did with Obito. Rin was just… smarter. If Kakashi all of a sudden started showing his sassy attitude, it only meant he was uncomfortable. She reached for his face and playfully squeezed his cheek like she would with their captain’s little son. 

“Rin, are you trying to be … cheeky right now?” He barely finished the sentence as they both started giggling. Making terrible jokes was their thing, especially when they were tipsy like that. 

“What is it, Kakashi? How did he piss you off this time?” 

“He didn’t. Everything’s fine.” 

“Come on now. You know you’ll feel better if you tell me. Is it because he kept teasing you about that girl?”

Kakashi pulled his mask down and drank some more, then he looked at Rin, the mask still under his chin. 

“Bingo,” said the girl with a half-smile. “You know he’s not trying to be insensitive, right? It’s just that you never talk to him about this kind of stuff, and he probably needs it. So he’s simply trying to start a conversation with you.”

Kakashi turned his gaze to the floor in front of him pulling his yukata over his knees.

“I know we’ve been over this, but… why don’t you just tell him?”

“Let’s not do this tonight, Rin.”

“You told me…”

“It was different with you! You had a thing for me, and it wouldn’t be fa…” 

Rin quickly pressed her finger to his lips, “Yeah-yeah! Let’s pretend you told me because I’m your best friend and not recollect the moment I made a fool of myself?”

Kakashi took her hand in his, bowed his head and pressed his forehead to the back of Rin’s hand, “I’m still sorry about that by the way.”

“Hatake Kakashi, stop being so suave, or my inappropriate feelings will return again!” 

They both started laughing causing Obito to stir in his sleep. Rin pulled Kakashi closer, and he moved to sit next to her, their attention returning to the sleeping teammate. 

“Although… he was kind of an ass to you today,” whispered Rin. “Do you want to teach him a lesson?”

“I might wanna teach him a lesson, yes. About the importance of respecting other people’s boundaries,” Kakashi whispered jokingly, but then, to his surprise, Rin carefully lifted Obito’s head, laid it onto Kakashi’s lap, and sprang to her feet.

“What are you doing?” 

“Be right back. Don’t wake him up!” she shot back and dashed to the hall.

Obito’s head felt heavy. Without Rin in the room, it was too quiet, and Kakashi could hear his friend’s breathing: in and out, the chest rising and falling, slowly, evenly; no gasping for air. “Good job, buddy. You’re doing a great job, just keep breathing, okay? Just like that.” His own words from a long time ago echoed in his mind, but he suppressed them right away reminding himself that there was no need to monitor Obito’s breathing anymore. He was okay now.     

Rin suddenly reappeared next to Kakashi, eyes sparkling with mischief. Noticing that his hands were still hovering near Obito’s temples, she gently nudged Kakashi out of his trance. When his eyes gained focus again she proudly demonstrated a black marker that she'd fished out from Kushina’s bag with the baby stuff.

“Are you actually going to draw on his face? Like a five-year-old?”

“Yep! Can you steady his head a bit, Mr. Boring?”

Kakashi’s hands reluctantly landed on Obito’s cheeks tilting his head in Rin’s direction. She proceeded to draw a funny-looking beard and a mustache. 

“You know, he can’t grow a beard anyway, so this is offensive as hell. Keep drawing.”

Rin raised her eyes at Kakashi covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. Then she started to draw a pair of very thick eyebrows. 

“Oh, that’s just cruel! He’ll never forgive you for making him look like Gai.”

“Me? Who said I was responsible for this? It’s totally your doing,” she said in a mockingly indignant tone as she traced out ‘Kakashi did this’ on Obito’s cheeks. 

“Hey! He’d happily let you off the hook, but me?! I’ll never see the end of it!”

Rin ignored Kakashi’s words, admiring her work. 

“Isn’t he adorable?” Having said that, she was carefully watching her friend whose left hand was still resting on Obito’s cheek. 

“Yeah… he is.”

“Kakashi, you can tell him. He’ll be okay with it, I promise.” 

There was a minute of silence between them.

“But you can’t promise me that, Rin. What if he’s simply weirded out by it? Or feels uncomfortable? What if he stops hanging out with me at all?”

“That’s not gonna ha…”

“I know! I know this is probably not gonna happen, but what if it does? What if I'm not a part of his life anymore? You were there, Rin; it was hell without him. I’m just… I’m not ready. I’m not ready to lose him… again.”

“Kakashi, you idiot! Did you really think I would…” Obito opened his eyes and tried to prop himself up with his elbows, but in an instant a very precise hand hit several chakra points on his neck knocking him unconscious. 

“Kakashi! You can’t do that! Why did you hit him?!” 

“It was a reflex, okay!” They both leaned over to check on Obito.

“Has he been awake the entire time?” Kakashi was getting worried.

“How should I know? Seriously, Kakashi, I just wanted you to be honest with your best friend, and you go and do this?!”

“I said I didn’t mean to knock him out, okay?! And by the way, maybe you should stop berating me? It’s not like you’re completely honest with him either. Did you have enough courage to tell him about your secret nurse-boyfriend?”

“Rin?! You have a bo…” Obito regained consciousness but only for a few seconds before another hand made him pass out again.

“RIN!”

“I’m sorry!” 

@rinweek2023

[quitealotofsodapop]

Imagine this for post jttw.

There's a really, really important festival coming up for FFM. Soemthing similar to Qingming, specifically to remember and celebrate those lost to the Great Burning and the War, and it's something that's SUPER stressful for Wukong because, well, he feels that he has to get this right no matter what! It was HIS foolishness that led to the War and the Burning, so the least he can do is try to make sure it's perfect for the monkeya who make a pilgrimage line to participate in the festival. Normally, he has Macaque there to keep him in check and help him out.

But this time, Macaque isn't there! He's still missing!

MK knows this is a very stressful time for his mom, especially since this is the first time he had to go through the ceremony and festival without his dad. He wants to help! He asks Pigsy for vacation time, about a week or two off so he can help his mom with preparations. This is the first time MK has ever asked for time off, he never asks for it off even when he gets hurt doing his Monkie Kid thing! So, of course, Pigsy is concerned and asks.

MK: It's just... there's this important festival going on up on the mountain soon, and it's really stressing Mom out. It's supposed to be a remembrance of those we've lost and the celebration of how our ancestral hone has healed from near destruction. Mom is trying to put it together all by himself since Dad is gone, and I'm worried about him, so I just want to help him out! Do my part as the Prince of Flower Fruit Mountain."

Of course, the group decided to get involved. Both because they don't want Wukong getting stressed out and also because they really wanna see the festival! When they head up the mountain, they find that MK was right to worry. Poor Wukong is a mess as he tries to juggle getting the bonfires ready, getting his ceremonial robes cleaned and refitted, writing a speech that isn't a rehash of what he did the last 100 years, dealing with his anxiety over said speech because of his stage fright, caring for the cubs and making sure they're not gonna cause chaos, figuring out travel routes for those who live away from the mountain, etc.

+a similar ask from @soniclozdplove;

Had to do some thinkings for this one;

Qingming is a Spring festival (April 4th this year), so I can imagine the "Memorial Day" for the Burning taking place between then and New Years.

Wukong has hosted the Memorial Day just fine in the previous years... but then again, Macaque was always at his side in those years. Without his mate beside him, Wukong starts feeling the pressure of organising such an important yearly event (not to mention him missing Mac so much he feels sick, but that could also just be pregnancy nausea).

MK has goofed around a lot in terms of his responsibilities as Prince - it comes with the casual nature of FFM. This year he wants to step up and help his mom with stuff he's worried about. Wukong tells MK he really doesn't have to, but is clearly delighted to have someone step in to help.

MK immediately runs to Mei, breathlessly explaining that he needs help organising the Memorial Festival since he has no idea what he's doing!

With a touch of her phone, Mei organises the crack team of party planners;

Mei: "Ok, what's Monkey King most worried about?" MK, counting off his fingers: "One, the festival tends to have bonfires on the beach that get doused at the end of the night to symbolise the fires on the mountain being quenched (mom really doesn't like fire). There's a lot of music and dancing involved." Mei, points to the line-up: "Red Boy! You're on pyrotechnics! I'll man the tunes! Jin and Yin will organise the dance floor!" Red, grumbling: "Stop calling me Red Boy." Jin & Yin: "Yea!" "We've helped out before!" "Course normally big brother supervised, but we can do it with our eyes closed!" MK: "Two; Transport for monkeys living on the mainland so that they can attend the festival." Sandy: "Oh I can do that! I ferry people across all the time!" MK: "Great! Next is someone to man the food stations. A lot of it is fresh fruit and vegetables, but there's normally a pot luck table with grills and soup pots going. Pigsy, can you pretty please help manage that?" Pigsy, determined look in his eyes: "If you insist." MK: "Fourth; Mom gets super nervous about the yearly speech he does to the subjects, so he'll need someone to help him out with that." Tang, hands shoots up: "OH OH! I can help! I do lectures and presentations all the time at work!" MK: "Ok, phew! That's a lot of the heavy work sorted out. The major one, and this is a doozy cus baba normally does it; someone to keep an eye on the cubs during the festival." Noodle Gang: (*look confusedly between themselves*) DBK, sudden booming voice: "I will be honoured to care for my xiandi's young for the durration of the Festival!" MK: "Wait, really? But aren't you nervous about people still being mad about the whole "Tried to Take Over the City"-thing?" DBK: "Boy, my wife and I tended to you in the years following your birth! Your parents were still busy rebuilding, and you were quite a troublemaker for someone not able to walk yet!" MK, embarrassed: "Guess that answers that question. Thank you guys." (*getting emotional*) Mei: "Aww, come here little monkey man." MK: (*gets group hugged*)

The day comes and... literally, almost everything doesn't go as planned.

Red Son misjudged the amount of fuel needed to start a bonfire and accidentally sets the whole beach alight before the party even starts. PIF (wind powers) and the others (extinguishers) help put it out, but the sand is noticibly scorched. Red insists on spending half the day trying to start bonfires "the old fashioned way" with flint, to avoid similar accidents. Red panics cus he's worried that his magic fire could trigger the monkeys who survived the Burning.

Sandy has to make multiple trips to and from the mainland to FFM, and hits a rough patch of rain as he's coming in. PIF sees the rain clouds ahead and uses her powers to blow them away for now. Hopefully that wont come back to bite them (lie). Each of are the Four Stalwarts arrive on different trips, and try their best to help out.

Mei is used to high-energy dance and rock music, and has no idea how to groove to the more traditional island tunes.

Multiple mishaps with Jin & Yin setting up the eating areas and dance floor. A few benches break cus the twins either got pinched by a crab or their feet stuck in a sand trap.

Pigsy managed to set a beautiful spread of fresh fruits and vegetables, and has the grills and cookers prepared. He is however, currently at war with the ungodly amount of pests attracted to the spread.

Tang is upfront with Wukong in helping him with his speech and the Monkey King is super grateful. Accidentally turns into an improv/therapy session as Wukong rambles to Tang about how he's feeling + the times previous festivals went badly. No actual speech prep ends up taking place.

DBK starts out fine with taking care of the cubs. But he's a complete pushover, especially towards his godcalves; the twins aptly nicknamed Rumble & Savage. The twins quickly have Uncle Bull allowing them to run off and fight eachother with weapons, and take food from Pigsy's table before the party even starts. PIF steps in to corral the misbehavior, but is distracted by little Luzhen running off and making hair clones of himself. Yuebei spends most of the initial drama asleep.

MK is supervising everything and is getting a little control-freaky. Calls up his clones to supervise different sectors of the party (Delivery for Food, Artist for Decor, Porty for music) and keeps running to and from characters to keep an eye on them.

All the guests arrive and things are going ok until- WHOOPS! The rain cloud PIF blew away came back with a vengance and turns into a tropical storm! PIF can't help rn either - Luzhen stole her fan and she's trying to catch him before he knocks over half the island.

The whole party has to be moved inside, much to the dismay of those who prepared it. Red's efforts in making the bonfires were for naught. Pigsy's beloved food spread has to be dismantled and moved inside. Mei's dj equipment nearly gets soaked. Jin & Yin nearly get lost in quicksand. MK's cloned went a bit haywire and have to be wrangled up.

Just as things look like they couldn't get any worse... the rain wakes up Yuebei. As she registers that she's wet and see can't see her Mama or Baba; an ungodly scream and two massive eye lazers shoot from her. DBK takes HP damage. All the babies/cubs attending the festival have to be rushed inside cus there's so much crying.

Wukong exits his office in the Stone Palace to see Water Curtain Cave packed to the gills with his subjects and freezes. He did not expect them all to be here now! Stage fright activated. Tang thankfully manages to encourage Wukong to take his place. The Stalwarts cheer for their little brother as he stammers through his few lines of well wishes and recap of the year. The room gets really quiet when he mentions the missing Warrior... The subjects take a moment to pray, not only for those lost all thoee centuries ago, but also those who could not be there that day.

The subjects then applaud not only their Kibg for his guidence, but MK and his friends for their effort! They all did wonderfully! To bring the decendants of the Pilgrims, and dear Brother Bull and Sister Iron Fan to them was an amazing feat! The praise is unprompted and MK, the Noodle gang, Jin & Yin, and the Bull family can't help but smile.

Rumble and Savage cut Uncle Bull and Auntie Iron Fab a break, and show that they used their portals to finally catch little Luzhen (fan included). The bull couple are immensely grateful and tired.

As the party officialy begins, within the walls of the caves rather tan the open beaches, Wukong brings his son aside to talk. Tipped off by four certain Stalwarts about the Prince and his friends' troubles organising everything;

Wukong: "Wait, you got all your friends, including my older siblings involved just to make sure I wasn't worried about the Festival?" MK, sheepish: "Yeah..." (*Wukong pulls MK in to a tight hug*) Wukong: "Thanks kiddo. But it's not the Festival itself I was worried about. I was just..." MK: "You really miss dad." Wukong, sadly: "I do. I really, really do. I haven't spent a holiday without him since before you were born. It's just with the Memorial Festival, I just kept thinking back to him. How he'd help me proofread my speech. How he'd direct plays for the subjects. How he'd keep your or your siblings in line so you wouldn't cause Havoc..." (*turns head away and sniffs*) Wukong, crying lightly: "You're so much like me and your dad, bud. I bet he would have loved to see your first planned Festival." MK: "Thanks mama." (*hugs back more*) Wukong, wiping his tears: "OK! Enough weeping! There's a whole festival to celebrate out there! Plus, we have to make sure the cubs haven't broken your Aunt and Uncle." MK: "I doubt it." (*Meanwhile with the Bull couple and the cubs*) DBK & PIF: (*covered in laser burns and bits of fruit as the four younger cubs + MK's clones sleep in a baby pile*) PIF, whispering: "And I thought our little firelily was a handful." DBK, happy but exhausted: "They are certainly Brother Wukong's children." PIF: "The playfulness, yes. But using shadow portals to toss fruit at each other from multiple dimensions? Using hair clones to steal my fan? That's Macaque."

Realms away; Macaque allows tears to fall to as his ears pick up what joyfull celebration he's missing. But he needs to ensure there's a way LBD doesn't make this Memorial Festival their last...

[wndfsh]

a (brief) analysis of toxic masculinity and fatherhood in final fantasy x

something i have always loved about braska is that, although he doesn't have much of a canon personality, in what little we see of him, he is so clearly an extremely supportive and genuine person. in life, he was a loving husband, a good friend, and even from beyond the grave, a supportive father to yuna.

it's interesting to me, then, how much of his personality is in direct contrast to jecht, who, at the start of braska's pilgrimage, is none of those things. but it isn't that he and braska are opposites—when you think about it, they're actually pretty similar—it’s their respective ability/inability to express vulnerability that sets them apart. lemme explain:

in all that we see of braska, he never really seems to not be thinking of his family. jecht, from the very beginning, is shown to be the same way, but it takes him a long time to be able to express it—let alone admit it—without lashing out. braska, on the other hand, has no reservations about displaying his affection for his family, doing so pretty often.

both braska and jecht are famous, braska being a known basphemer and a summoner on pilgrimage, and jecht being a blitzball champion. fittingly, braska doesn't expect special treatment for his status. he’s appreciative and humble, and when the party arrives in besaid, he admires it. jecht, however, insults it for its quaintness, and impatiently demands food. similarly, when they first depart on braska's pilgrimage, he expects fanfare, and the celebrity treatment he received in zanarkand.

unlike braska, who outwardly treasures and humanizes the women in his life, in the nightmare tidus has in besaid, it seems like jecht (although it's obvious from watching cutscenes with his wife in them that they loved one another dearly) outwardly regards them as… almost conquests, mocking tidus for being unable to “get a woman.” he also only really mentions his wife in passing, whereas braska mentions his, and his daughter, quite often.

braska lovingly encourages yuna to choose her own path, and promises to support her wherever she decides to go.

jecht, however... i mean, there's a whole minigame about that, so… y’know.

everything i just described, however, as most figure out when they finish playing through the game, is not the “real” jecht. i said he and braska are similar for a reason; underneath his ego, he, too, possesses the capability to be every bit as genuine and supportive as braska, and there are moments where he almost lets his true feelings surface.

...but, in the end, he doesn't. while he and braska are indeed similar below the surface, he’s practically incapable of allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable, and that, i believe, is what sets he and braska apart.

he tells auron to turn the sphere recorder off when he gets teary-eyed in luca. in macalania woods, he turns the sphere recorder off after trying to talk to tidus, because he's "no good at these things." tidus's entire life, jecht has ridiculed him for always crying—for showing his emotions. auron tells tidus that jecht loved him—"he just didn't know how to express it, he said."

even in jecht's final moments, he mocks tidus for crying (and even though it isn't genuine, it's still worth noting).

but… why? why is jecht almost allergic to vulnerability? and why isn’t braska? that may be where they differ, sure, but what is it that causes it in the first place?

i think final fantasy x, whether intentional or not, has a lot to say about masculinity. many have noticed this and discussed it at length, and i'd like to contribute my own (admittedly weird and kind of bullshit) two cents on the matter by examining each of them through the lens of jungian psychology (hence why i said it’s kind of bullshit—i’m not believer in jung's theories, i just find psychological archetypes interesting). more specifically, i believe jecht and braska each represent different stages of a jungian archetype known as the anima.

the anima is an archetype that is already present throughout the game’s narrative, anima being the name of seymour’s aeon—a fitting reference, given that anima is seymour’s mother. as it applies here, however, the anima not only represents a man’s perception of women, but it also represents a man's more "feminine" qualities (and while i don't agree with ascribing personality traits to gender, jung and all those other kooky old psychiatrists did, so we'll just have to roll with it for this analysis, unfortunately). more specifically, i think braska embodies a fully integrated anima, whereas jecht embodies a rejected anima.

what does that mean?

integrating one's anima, according to jung, means accepting and embracing the more traditionally feminine aspects of oneself (for instance, the ability to be nurturing, sensitive, emotional, etc.), as well as ridding oneself of the guilt associated with doing so. braska, being as shamelessly emotionally available, nurturing, and mature as he is, seems to have achieved just that. even his design borders on androgynous, his large, petaled robes concealing nearly all of his body.

jecht, however, very clearly has not. he rejects anything even remotely traditionally feminine within himself, even at the cost of his relationship with his son. as such, he is egotistical, lacks emotional maturity, and for a large part of braska’s pilgrimage, is incapable of taking responsibility—and, just as braska’s design reflects his relationship with femininity, jecht’s design reflects his own as well, putting his body (and his ego) on full display, emphasizing his muscles and scars.

(obviously, while not every aspect of the anima archetype and its stages of integration apply to jecht and braska, i do think they at least represent the aspects of the theory that affect one's self acceptance and emotional expression.)

as i said before, i think final fantasy x has a lot to say about masculinity—more specifically, toxic masculinity, and how it affects relationships.

the reason i brought up the anima archetype is because it’s relevant to the concept of toxic masculinity; men who aren’t ashamed of expressing traditionally feminine behaviors and characteristics are far less likely to idealize and aspire to toxic, performative masculinity, whereas men who do are more likely to do just that—braska being the former, and jecht being the latter.

jecht’s inability to express vulnerability as a result of how deeply rooted toxic masculinity is in his psyche is a large part of why he and tidus have such a negative relationship. for tidus’s entire life, jecht has ridiculed him for showing emotion (crying) and desiring closeness with him (wanting to learn how to play blitzball)—both of which are things that are often seen in men struggling with toxic masculinity. even ten years after jecht disappeared from zanarkand, tidus is never without that nagging voice in his head, telling him to “stop crying,” or, “you can’t do it, kid.”

similarly, braska’s masculinity also influences his relationship with yuna—unlike jecht, however, braska’s affects their reationship positively. this is because braska, in what little we see of him, is loving, supportive, and unafraid of expressing his emotions. he encourages yuna to live the way she wants to, and reminds her that he will always love her, even from beyond the grave. even ten years after his passing, she still holds him in very high regard, and his undying support is part of what motivates her to forge her own path in life—which is what leads to her and her party defeating yu yevon once and for all.

i don’t really have a conclusion, but i think this interaction between yuna and tidus illustrates just how each of them affected their children:

yuna, for a brief moment, can’t even fathom hating one’s father so, scolding tidus for doing so before she realizes it isn’t that simple. what a tell. braska’s positive impact on yuna helped her to go on to defeat the very source of spira’s suffering. jecht, however, left such a negative impact on tidus that, until he sees jecht change for the better in the sphere recordings he finds around spira, is plagued by his memory until the day he fades away.

[googleitlol]

Sorry if my thoughts are all jumbled here. Or if it doesn't make sense. I'm also kinda being vague here cause these are kinda in the beginning stages of forming to proper theories.

But first of all, thanks for answering my question and indulging me.

Also sure I'll share a little bit of my theories here. Once again, you don't have to confirm or deny these. Hell, you don't have to answer this if you don't wanna.

I had a feeling since the title and the dove symbolism kinda went together, there would be at least some surface level nods to it, but now that there's confirmation that there's more reason behind the dove transformation I can kinda go into my little "theory" (more or less speculation). Not really connected to the stories ending too much that I know of buuuuut, I've just been thinking what enlightenment would be for Dove herself since everyone is going through their respective character arcs to achieve enlightenment in the end. I'm also keeping in mind the love symbolism from this creature, even though it's not really symbolism from religion and more so a universal thing across multiple cultures, as a possible significance.

But also, these little teasers with the endings and the one shots here got me (oop here comes more theory and speculation) thinking about what the hell happened. Cause the heavenly court and Buddha don't seem to be the "badguys" in this story. So i kinda figured a 3rd party got Dove separated from the group somehow since everyone else (allegedly) got to stick together. So something really bad definitely happened here, and either Dove is going through some corruption arc or someone else is pulling at some strings here. But nooooow, I'm inclined to believe the latter, if not this 3rd party, causing the corruption arc. These are just things I kinda think about in 2 possible endings. I hope this all makes sense.

I could be waaaaaayyy off though so yeah

Oh, you know I'm gonna answer these! Also, I'm glad you caught onto some of this!

Love is definitely a big part of Dove's character arc, tho it's more of a catalyst for what she has to realize. Dove at the start of the journey isn't really… her own person. Or at least, she wants to change herself to be more like the person who saved her. It's like she thinks there's some moral obligation she has to follow in Guan Yin's steps, and as her relationship with Sun Wukong develops, she starts to question that.

Your other thoughts on what happens near the end… muahahaha…

I've mentioned it in passing so I won't try hiding it, there's another party involved in PoM. They don't get too involved until after the Red Boy arc, which is lowkey why I decided to start posting to AO3 after I finished with those chapters. Everything from the start of PoM to Wukong realizing his feelings can be considered… the first act of my little soap opera. This third party doesn't become more prominent until Act 2.

Technically, the third party has been causing problems since the prologue. They're just chilling cuz one of them doesn't know about the journey yet while his accomplice… she knows about the journey, she just gives less of a fuck. But when they decide to take action, stuff gets fun (stressful and full of agony). I'm excited to get to them, who they are, their backstory and powers, EVERYTHING! UUUGGHHHWVBOJNVUSBDCS I WANNA TALK ABT THEM SO BAD–!

ahem, anyway–

As for your theory about a 'corruption arc'… depending on how I end PoM, Dove may or may not cross a line she wouldn't have crossed at the start of the pilgrimage. The fun part is, the ending I consider the 'good ending', the one where she doesn't get separated from her friends and loved ones… is where she crosses that line. If Dove kept trying to be like Guan Yin, she would never think of going down that road. So in that good ending where she stops trying to be someone she's not, and the ones who helped her get to that realization are put in jeopardy… she has no hesitation.

[use-ur-inside-voice]

Past Lives: How can a movie be so beautiful yet painful?

I watched Past Lives this past Tuesday, and I have some thoughts. I won’t necessarily speak to the movie itself, but instead to how this movie made me feel. After I left the theater, I felt this wave of sadness rush to me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness as I thought about Nora and how her story is so similar to the stories of other immigrants. I know that a lot of people have been taken with the romance in this movie, but I think we all need to step back and refocus for a bit. This is a movie about immigrants, and how immigration can impact everything and everyone. As I was saying, I couldn’t shake this feeling of sadness after leaving the theater. I could only think about my mother, and how her life would be different if she didn’t immigrate to the U.S.

Would she still be a nurse? Would she have followed her passions of being an English teacher or a lawyer? Would she have more kids? Would my sisters and I know our mother tongue fluently instead of constantly asking, “What does that mean?” Would I be close with my grandmother whom I never see or understand? Would I feel the pressures of having to be extremely successful in order to feel like my life was worth it? That my parents’ pilgrimage to the U.S. was worth it? That their sacrifice was worth it? How would being the eldest daughter be if not for my immigrant parents making me feel like I need to be the saving grace of the family? Would be mother be happy? Would we be happy? 

Every so often, my parents pull out their old photo albums and show me who they once were. Photos of large smiles on faces I don’t recognize. Photos of friends, aunts and uncles at parties that I have never met. Seeing my parents light up at the photos and hearing them go on and on about what life was like when they were in their home country. The community they once had, the lives they lived, the happiness they experienced. I could see the longing for those memories in their eyes, full of glee and sadness at the same time. 

My parents, especially my mother, speaks in the future tense. “Once I go back home...,” “I’m going to walk on the beach...” “I can’t wait to see my sisters again...” “I hope I can see my mom one more time...” It pains me to think that the life that my mother lives is not one that she longed for. It’s not a life she wanted. She longs for something I can not give her. And so I’m left with the thought of what would life look life if my parents never won a green card in the green card lottery? Would my mother be happy? 

Past Lives is a beautiful yet painful reminder that the life of an immigrant can be upended in seconds, whether for better or worse. It is more than just a love story, in fact, the romance between the two main characters acts as a vehicle to show us the real meaning behind the movie. Who were we? Who are we? And who will we become? It is sometimes too painful to think about what could’ve been, but something I learned from Past Lives is that it is also beautiful to reminisce on the past, embrace the present, and look forward to the future. I hope someday my mother can go back to her home country and live out the rest of her days, and I hope once she does that I never have to ask, “Would my mother be happy?”

[ryin-silverfish]

Hello ryin! I saw in a recent post of yours that you dislike the "class warfare" reading of the Havoc in Heaven arc in JTTW and would honestly love to hear more about your thoughts on that! Your takes have been really interesting.

Thank you!

My biggest problem with the "class warfare" reading is, first and foremost, what it has been historically used for.

Like, after the Havoc in Heaven opera and movie came out, the propagandists absolutely ate it up; SWK was associated with Mao Zedong and used to promote Mao's personality cult, and soon after, the White Bone Spirit story would be interpreted as this fable for the Sino-Soviet split.

Whereas Havoc in Heaven was intended and viewed as a metaphor and love letter to the victory of Chinese revolution, the White Bone Spirit story was interpreted in the context of the horrific fuck-up that is the Great Leap Forward, where the party were starting to doubt its leadership, and the path to the future seemed an uncertain and arduous one——much like the pilgrimage.

So, in the new twist on the "class warfare" narrative, Tripitaka and Pigsy became the poster-boy for "party members who were easily captivated by revisionist ideas" and needed to see how wrong they were, the WBS became the personification of Khruschev, imperialism, capitalism, revisionism...you name it, and SWK the Mao expy who could do no wrong yet was unfairly blamed by everyone.

Came the Cultural Revolution era, SWK would then become a sort of hero and role model for the Red Guards, smashing down all that was considered archaic and backwards, tearing down older authority figures and perceived "class enemies" alike, all the while emboldened by Mao's saying that "To rebel is justified" (造反有理).

Yeah, no, fuck that shit.

Terrible historical baggages aside, it is also a reading that reeks of presentism, and Lin Geng, a renowned professor of literature, had done a thorough takedown of the "SWK as peasant rebel" idea in his 西游记漫话.

Namely, it neither fits the circumstances of Havoc in Heaven, nor SWK's backstory and motivation. He's not rebelling because his monkeys are oppressed by the Celestial Realm, he's doing it because he feels personally slighted.

His mindset is also not that of a traditional peasant; compare and contrast that with Zhu Bajie, whom the author argues is very much peasant-coded in terms of his obsession with going back to Gao Laozhuang, his rake, and his comedic ignorance that stems from urban stereotypes of rural farmers.

To paraphrase Lin Geng, "Not all rebellions and rebel narratives in Chinese history are peasant ones, and we shouldn't just cry 'peasant rebellion metaphor!' the moment we saw a rebellion in fiction."

Lastly and more personally? This reading also tends to remove SWK's depth as a character. The representation of the Mind can be both heroic and flawed, capable of great feats and fuck-ups alike, but the representation of The Revolution has to be heroic and his opponents, whether celestial or demonic, must be evil oppressors and political boogeymen.

Like, the demons in the novel are representations of the mental obstacles a person will face on the path to Enlightenment, but they are also capable of being funny and very human characters, and not all of them wanted to eat Tripitaka.

The Celestial Realm is a satire of the imperial bureaucracy, sure, but the novel is also a product of its time and cannot magically promote 20th century ideas of revolutions and political reforms 500 years before they were a thing. Besides, SWK can still get help from them on the Journey and their relationship is more complicated than "oppressed rebel and oppressors".

And that's exactly why I dislike the "class warfare" reading: it creates a simplistic opposition of good and evil, and tries to squeeze the work into a narrow political framework that is neither nuanced nor accurate.

[robotbeetle]

Bg3 has neither an Asian nor monk companion so I took matters into my own hands.

Here’s my idea for a companion character. He’s not supposed to be tav/durge but a character you would recruit and have on your party like Gale or Karlach. And yes, he would be romanceable.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how he would fit into the storyline and gameplay. Here’s the notes I have on my phone regarding his companion quest and hypothetical game mechanics:

Upon first recruiting him, he will tell the group he got captured amidst their pilgrimage across Faerun but in actuality Yeon Ryang was searching for their brother, a leading figure in a growing Kara-Turan crime syndicate

Complicated sibling relationship™

Pretty early on you will learn of his keen disliking of Kozakura and its people. Prying further you’ll discover that he was refugeed as a young child due to a particularly violent Kozakuran invasion attempt of Koryo.

Traveling with Yeon Ryang and garnering approval from him will allow you to refer to him as just Ryang. You will also learn that before he was a monk, he was a criminal. A petty thief at first but his sense of entitlement grew alongside the severity of his crimes. It’s a past he holds ever so shamefully and the reason why he blames himself for his brother’s upcomings.

You’ll learn this past after interacting with the Zhentarim and later the Guild which activate unique cutscenes for him. He will strongly disapprove if you earnestly work for these crime groups and approve if you fight against them. If you romance him and help the Zhentarim overthrow the Guild, he will break up you as well, believing the Zhent to be the greater of two evils.

After learning said past, you also learn that Ryang is highkey obsessed of cleansing himself of his past sins and of all sins entirely. Ryang refuses to let go of his shame over himself and part of his companion is quest is helping him get over it for better or for worse. In the end, either he’ll become cynical to his shame and uses it to justify his return to crime or he’ll acknowledge that his shame will always be a part of him that he can only accept it and try to better himself as much as possible. 

Romancing him will give you the dialogue option to ask about his missing pinkie fingers in which he’ll explain to you that it was in fact the head monk of his monastery who severed them as a show of reform and discipline to Ryang. Yeon Ryang doesn’t resent his teacher for this and instead sees it as a deserving punishment and reminder. 

Later on it’s revealed that his brother, Yeon San who is currently operating under the name Sanjong, is in alliance with the cult of Bhaal and thus the cult of the absolute by supplying them with paralytic poisons from Kara-Tur (the same Dolor uses). He is hoping that when the Absolute takes control over Faerun, that’ll they extend a hand in an assault against Kozakura

If you encounter Sanjong and kill him without Ryang in your party or kill him without talking to Ryang beforehand, you’ll have to pass a dc30 persuasion check to keep Ryang from leaving your party permanently

His companion quest ends with a showdown between him and his brother where you’ll have to fight Sanjong and his goons. Once you bring him to low health or knock him prone, a cutscene occurs where you can convince Ryang to either spare or kill Sanjong. Remaining silent will result in him sparing his brother and leaving the two to repair their relationship

Whether Sanjong is killed or not, the player will have another choice in influencing whether Ryang will either join the ranks of the Kara-turan crime guild or continue pursuing total redemption

Basic rundown: His companion quest centers around the idea of plausibility of change and Yeon Ryang’s feelings of responsibility over his younger sibling. Either you can lead him down the path of rejecting his monastic ways and reverting back to his criminal life (either alongside his brother or replacing him) or you can inspire him to continue traversing across Toril (with or without his brother) to truly realize enlightenment. 

[asksiffrin]

Alright, well. Tell me if any of this gets through, and if so, what. And, uh, sorry in advance about the headache.

Talk to the librarian in Dormont to ask about shields. Alternatively, to make things quicker if you can hear this - there's a secret library in the House library with information about shields, among other things. See if you can get the Keyknife - find the one intact Change God statue (I assume somewhere on the third floor, but the layout might be different than I'm familiar with) - and make sure to grab the sharpening stone (probably on the first floor) and you can use it against the King. Talk to your party about what you want to do after all this! If Mira wants to go on a pilgrimage, maybe she'd like some company? Bonnie shouldn't be going back to their sister all alone, either. And visiting Jouvente or Ka Bue could be fun!

What else, what else... don't eat any stars, to be more specific about the 'glowy things'. Beating the King might not end the loops, but there IS a way out, please don't give up. We're with you.

Quite honestly, I'm not expecting much of this to get through. But... I'm hoping at least some of it will, and that it'll be of some help to you. Good luck. - ✨

(Stars, your head feels like it's about to split open. But you did get a little of that, at least.)

(First, talk to the Dormont librarian. Assuming you can figure out how to get back to Dormont for real.)

(Second, a Keyknife from the intact Change God statue the Vaugardian actors pray at before you all fight the King? And a sharpening stone for it.)

(Third... something something Mira?)

(...)

(Is that... what you used to call her?)

[chronologically-challenged]

"Oh this is an adult decision" fic ✨

OKAY, so fun fact, this fic was what this piece I commissioned was based on! I kinda shelved it to the side for now, but I still think about it sometimes.

Basically, sort of a spiritual sequel to my fic To Dream, To Be Real, where it's a post canon, partying after the events of Act 6 fic. Mirabelle perspective. It's a winding down fic where the events of the day start to hit, and more than that, the events of the day means for the rest of their lives. Mainly for Mirabelle, it's that feeling knowing your entire life has shifted around to accommodate new people. She only thought her life would be as a Housemaiden, but what does it mean to include Isabeau, Odile, Bonnie, Siffrin, all of them?

The "oh this is an adult decision" part is that feeling where there are actual stakes in your decisions. Because now, your choices don't just affect you now, does it? You're making a new life with a bunch of people. And that's terrifying, but it's also amazing because the life you're making is with the ones you trust the most. It won't always be easy, but it's something she wants. She wants to build a life with them.

Currently it's very much a Draft and it's under the cut because the fic explanation got too long lol:

Mirabelle: Obviously Siffrin can take care of themself!!! 

Isabeau: Obviously… 

Odile: Obviously. 

Mirabelle: They did before us!!! Siffrin isn't incompetent. They foraged, hunted, and lived. Survived. It's not like. They aren't. Self sufficient. 

(But she wants to. Take care of him. And that's scary isn't it? siffrin went from saying you'll always be alone, to confirming they wished to stay with them, to Mirabelle… realizing she wants the same and that the others want the same too. 

What is her future going to look like? She was thinking about a pilgrimage. Can she have one with the others? What about Bonnie? Oh change she's going to see Bonnie grow up. She's seen the children grow. As babies. But. She seeing something happen and being a part of it is different. Has she ever truly been a part of anything? She's been a housemaiden for all that's ever mattered. Euphrasie has helped her, the other housemaidens have too. But no one has ever looked up to her! She's only ever been Mirabelle. 

Change she can't take care of a plant pet alone raise a child!!! 

Help take care of a friend who has been through something she can't even imagine. 

But she isn't alone is she?

[flame-of-tar-valon]

End-of-Year Special 6: Buscarron's Scar

The small party trudged through a particularly muddy crevice. “Careful!” Sylphie called. “It’s just rained, you know!” Silvairre shushed her with a sharp wave of his hand, and, chastened, Sylphie fell silent once more.

“What can you tell me about Pawah Mujuuk, Leih?” Nia’a asked, keeping his voice low.

“Well, I… To tell the truth, I don’t know her, really.” Leih hung her head in shame. “After the Calamity, my family home was wiped out, and I ended up in Gridania. You’ve stayed around Buscarron’s for a while, surely you know more than I at this point.”

From several paces back, Silvairre cleared his throat pointedly. Nia’a looked back toward him and found him wearing the most insufferably condescending expression. “Truly times must be hard if neither of the two Miqo’te on our mission even know of our target.” Leih’s face twisted in hurt and anger, but Nia’a just sighed bitterly. What sort of lesson the Archer’s Guild hoped to impart by pairing the two up for missions was beyond him.

As for himself and Sylphie, Leih was still serving as Sylphie’s bodyguard, and Sylphie was due for her pilgrimage to the South Shroud, so at some point the two girls had agreed that it was best to wipe out two birds with the same stone. Nia’a wouldn’t have joined them if O-App-Pesi hadn’t dangled his leverage in front of him, but… in truth, Nia’a was starting to acclimate to the new status quo of being perpetually ordered about by the man. Even if he weren't Tree-Blessed, he seemed to have a knack for getting people to do what he wanted.

And, it seemed, today he wanted Nia’a to accompany Sylphie, Leih, and Silvairre on this mission into the South Shroud, to stop the K eeper of the Moon Pawah Majuuk.

“She is the most infamous poacher ever to walk the Twelveswood,” Silvairre explained, his Elezen features twisted into a sneer. “A born leader, deadly with the bow, she formed her own gang of Miqo'te hunters in the wake of the Calamity to take advantage of Gridania’s weakened forces. She has thrown the balance into disarray. She was apprehended once, and would have been brought to justice...had she not tricked a foolish young sentry into releasing her, before vanishing without a trace.”

[…]

“An’ what have we here?” Nia’a heard from behind him. He froze.

Pawah Mujuuk strolled into view, sizing him up with a glance. “Well, well. If it isn’t ol’ scaredy-cat himself. Thought you of all people would’ve had the brains — or the cowardice — not to step into my corner o’ the Twelveswood.”

Nia’a stayed frozen. She knew of him, at least. Hopefully she knew enough to not consider him a threat. He had to get out of this.

She walked up in front of him. Why had he knelt down to the ground to investigate the footprints?! He tilted his head back to look up at her, fear hammering in his chest.

“Ye know ye were the talk o’ the forest for a while. Not only are ye a half-breed with some bloody Sun-addled vagrant, but a runaway who don’t even have the stones to pick up a weapon? I s’pose it must be a relief fer yer mum, havin’ one less mouth t’ feed.”

Shame, loathing, disgust filled Nia’a to his core. “Yeah. Ye get it now, don’tcha. We’ve been watchin’ ye. Fer awhile now. Once upon a time we thought we could extend a job offer. One o’ my best hunters fell that day, right when you came up — the shame of the entire Tsara family — and ye had a prize bow sittin’ on the ground in arms’ reach. But no, ye couldn’t be one o’ us. I guess yer dear old mum never told ye: A hunter with no fangs ain't nothin' but prey.”

That had only been a few days ago. After five years of waiting around after the Calamity, Nia’a still couldn’t brave the depths of the Shroud. The monsters that lurked in the treeline wouldn’t have overlooked him just because he was an herbalist or botanist — a noncombatant. Like fate, a bow had been presented to him. A familiar bow, one carved in the traditional style of the Rootslake clans. Just looking at it had made him feel closer to home.

He had wanted desperately to find his father, but he had likewise known he was the worst person for the task. He had seen the bow and pictured himself, fierce and brave, loosing a volley on whatever fiends had torn his family apart years ago, his braided hair flowing behind him in the wind. He had pictured himself as if he was his eldest sister — the pride of the family — instead of… himself.

And when he had snapped back to reality, the thought of firing an arrow at another living being — coupled with the recognition that he would never be his family’s pride — had turned his stomach so violently that he had immediately dropped to his knees, ill. And Pawah had seen his shame.

“Now, the question is, what do I do with ye,” Pawah mused. “Like hells are ye capable of layin’ a finger on me. But I can’t just let ye flap yer tongue to the Wood Wailers that ye saw me here…” She smirked. “I s’pose we can cut out that tongue of yers t’ keep it from flappin’ and send ye on yer way.”

“No!” he yelled, voice cracking. “No, I’ll go with you! I may not be able to— to hunt, but I can tend your wounds or— or mix poisons for your arrows, or—”

Pawah squatted down to look Nia’a directly in the eye. “Ye know what I hate about ye? Granted, I don’t know ye very well, just through reputation, but ye’ve confirmed the worst o’ the worst fer me already.” She grabbed him by the collar and pulled his head closer to hers. “Ye don’t got a backbone. Ye don’t choose a side; ye stumble into one or th’ other. And when the goin’ gets tough, ye’ll sell anybody out t’ save yer own skin. That’s why I don’t buy into yer shitty ‘never hurt a fly’ preachin’. How many o’ yer tribesmen have ye killed by runnin’ away?”

She threw him back to the ground, and his head collided with a rock. He thought he heard the rock apologize for hurting him in its alien whispers. The ground was too noisy here, he could barely hear himself think, let alone figure out how to escape —

“Get away from him!” Leih yelled, and an arrow zipped past Pawah. A warning shot.

Pawah jumped. “Well, well. Seems ye should be grateful yer friends are more loyal t’ ye than ye are t’ them.” With one final wicked sneer in Nia’a’s direction, Pawah leapt into the air again, and was gone.

* * *

Yay! What a nice touching family reunion for our Twelveswood miqo'te!

This was a very recent scene. I've long known I want to do something with the combat guild quests for Gridania. They're such an insular society and they have such a complicated relationship with the Keepers of the Moon and the Duskwights —both of which are a uniquely Gridanian thing. Ul'dah has something similar-ish with its treatment of refugees, but Ala Mhigo gets its own geographical area and its own expansion.

I don't exactly know how everything is going to resolve, on a large scale, with the different groups around Gridania. But I was thinking about the parallels between the insular Gridanians and the insular Keepers of the Moon, and I think things are very difficult for Nia'a in exile.

Join me tomorrow as Vivimani completes a couple quests that he's 50 to 60 levels too weak for in canon. He cannot be stopped.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

WHUMPTOBER | Search Party | wc: ~800

a/n: homebrewed fantasy AU inspired first from @/boss-the-goofball's fantasy isekai AU; this is purely an aesthetic thing now, i think, and also me enjoying OFA interactions

//

The paladins of One for All rarely gathered in the same area. Not only because it was impossible to ensure everyone had the means and free time to travel on a schedule, but also because their souls were already shared with one another. The connections rendered physical meetings moot since they could tap into the mental space and hold a conversation from, say, a cave system below sea-level (Banjo) to the highest peak in the land (Shinomori) without strain. 

Kudou referred to the network as ‘Yoichi’s heart’ just the once before clamming up about the identity of their divine patron, but Nana thought the term was apt.

It wasn’t just words they shared. It was feelings, too.

ALL FOR ONE WANTS SORAHIKO TO BE HIS CHAMPION, Nana yelled, and she couldn’t tell whether the pure lightning streak of terror was hers, or En’s, or even Shinomori’s. They reached for her. She shoved the hastily-scrawled note to the forefront of her mind, just as she shoved her socked feet into her boots and tightened the buckle of her sword belt.

‘I have to go. Sorry.’

Burned into the wooden floorboards, a complex spell circle taunted Nana with her lack of understanding. 

Where is he? said Kudou, said Bruce, said every other wielder of One for All’s power. A dizzying array of locales flashed before Nana’s eyes: a tavern, a marsh, a gray coastal cove. They were six individuals in total, but their movements echoed up and down a chain.

I don’t know. It was possible Sorahiko didn’t know where he was headed either.

Nana had personally plastered the bloody sword with talismans. She had verified Sorahiko’s lack of possession using techniques only Kudou and Bruce still recalled, invasive ones that made Sorahiko actually complain (even though he still agreed to them). How did All for One ensnare him? Or had Nana been tricked from the start?

No. No, that was paranoia speaking. Nana knew Sorahiko. She pinned her cape into place and scoured their room at the inn with a practiced eye. He’d taken his traveling pack. Her own was apparently untouched, so Sorahiko’s priority wasn’t to sabotage Nana. She shouldered it on.

En mused, All for One’s castle?

Kudou and Bruce destroyed that years ago, Banjo disagreed. A sense-memory: Banjo’s footsteps, pressed into ash, slowly disappearing as a cold wind picked up. Nana tasted the absence of life and grimaced. She had her own memories of the unofficial pilgrimage site; she didn’t need Banjo to hammer the point in.

Shinomori said, Show me the summoning circle again, please.

She obliged, but she didn’t dare to step into it. The markings were a script, jagged in style, and interlocked. It smelled strongly of blood. Maybe Sorahiko’s, but just as equally likely, Nana was going to venture outside the inn to see a mob wanting justice, or trip over a fresh pale corpse.

We need a direction, Kudou said testily.

The fourth paladin to pledge an oath to One for All was silent for a second more, and then Shinomori answered, The circle was not written with cardinal directions in mind. Shimura, are you certain of Sorahiko’s allegiance?

He wouldn’t swear to All for One, Nana declared.

He didn’t care for One for All either, Bruce reminded her. 

Nana bristled, but before she could defend (what could she even say? Sorahiko didn’t think highly of any divinity, nor was he a lover of material wealth; his loyalty was selfish in motive, selfless in effect) her friend, Shinomori intervened: The dead volcano on the southern coast. There is likely a port town.

You deciphered that? Kudou’s incredulity filtered through the network, but they caught a flash of him wheeling his horse about-face, heedless of any cursing pedestrian. Lucky him. Nana was still trying to decide if she wanted to leave through the front door, or toss herself out the window.

No, Shinomori said, patiently. The script’s vocabulary is not so specific. The summoning is flexible in its target, because the desired location is meant to be a center of unrest and fear. Shimura mentioned that the last locale she and Sorahiko visited received them… poorly.

She felt her ears burn with embarrassment. Yeah. Not her greatest moment as a paladin of One for All, needing to haul Sorahiko’s revenant-attracting ass out of a revenant-infested pit nearly every local witnessed him (sleep)walking into. 

He’s not All for One’s, Nana said.

Yet, Banjo quipped. Who’s closest? 

En signaled a wordless acknowledgment, too distracted with a conscious verbal transaction to commune with One for All. After him, it was Shinomori. Nana was third-closest, followed by Banjo, Kudou, and lastly Bruce, who was somewhat stranded in the north. She wrenched the window’s shutters open and leapt into the sky, Floating high to avoid any vigilant watchmen. 

The net had been thrown. Now it was a question of who would catch Sorahiko first.

[squirrel-on-a-typewriter]

Holiday Special

(CW: child endangerment, house invasion, unreality)

December has always been a special time of the year for me, as it is for many people. One of my earliest memories of childhood was waking up in the dark of a dawning Christmas morn, where the sun had not even begun to rise yet, long before the rest of my family had stirred.

I ambled from the warmth of my bed to the living room to see brightly wrapped gifts stacked under a tinsel and lights-swathed fir. My parents had left our old box television on, something that didn't cross my adolescent mind as off or strange.

What flickered across the CRT screen was a visage of a cartoon Santa Claus going from house to house, popping down their chimneys and leaving presents. This continued on for some time, a solid uninterrupted thirty minutes of Saint Nick's once-a-year pilgrimage.

I sat there, mesmerized, watching as a dumb kid would, until the final scene, transitioned to after an awkward pause of static. A familiar home appeared on-screen. My home, visible from the front yard.

It was dark outside, but our decorations were visible, outlining the abode. The camera was shaky, sounds of snow-crunched footsteps in the background, along with heavy, wheezing breathes.

I heard softer, padding footsteps behind me, and the TV instantly shut itself off, shocking me out of my stupor. Turning my head, my parents sleepily greeted me with a "Merry Christmas," asking what I had been watching.

From then on, eleven months out of the twelve, I was completely fine, but when winter rolled around, I became obsessed with that holiday special, and it indulged, as if it was aware of me.

Every Christmas day, I got up as early as I could, earlier than anyone else in the house, to creep to the family den and find it on the television, waiting for me. Some years, I didn't even go to sleep, simply laying in bed wide-eyed until I was sure everyone else wasn't awake.

Each year as I grew older, the special stayed somewhat the same, but it showed me different things for the final scene. Sometimes my backyard, sometimes the view of the house from the street.

Sometimes, a room inside the house. Empty. Waiting.

It'd turn off by itself if anyone else entered the room while I was watching, but on occasion if the day ever broke into sunlight, the screen would devolve into nothing but eye-searing static.

My fascination did not cease, however. I stared at that static so hard that whenever I finally managed to tear my gaze away, I could feel how dry my eyes had become, painfully unblinking for minutes on end.

I swear, if I focused hard enough, I could see a figure in that static, staring right back at me.

I searched online for any information on the special, but found nothing. I didn't even have a name to go off of. No credits, so I couldn't find anyone who worked on it.

I don't know. Maybe I thought it was a local station's archived tape they would air annually. I didn't consider how worrying it was at the time.

The year I turned twelve was the only year I did not watch the special. I had been at a neighbor's Christmas party the evening prior, so I went to bed exhausted, too tired to even think of it.

We awoke to find out we had been robbed come the next morning. Well, not 'robbed' per say. The back door had been broken in, none of us hearing any clatter, me being too exhausted and my parents mayhaps a touch tipsy on ‘nog and liquor. The perpetrator didn't steal anything, but had upturned all the furniture, as if they had been searching for something, turning every room no one was sleeping in into a disaster zone.

My father invested in a security system before the New Year had even rolled around, installing cams and alarms in almost every room of the house.

They never found out who did it at the time, but I felt guilty all the same, thinking it was because I hadn't watched the special. Why? Who knows. A kid can feel like it's their fault about anything that's out of their control.

The following year, I made sure to get up in the wee hours of the AM, blearily creeping to the living room. The TV was not on this time, but it had this presence about it, as if it were waiting for me. I managed to find the remote and turn it on with a click, a new scene popping up with a low buzz.

I tilted my head in confusion, trying to discern what it exactly was I was looking at. The screen was pitch black, with vague outlines informing me there was something there.

As if I were in the room myself, my eyes adjusted, and I realized I was looking at our garage from the perspective of one of the security cameras my father had set up.

The family car sat idle in the shadows, but what caught my attention was a humanoid figure standing in the corner of the room, their back the camera. I couldn't tell who they were or what they looked like, only that . . . the air around them was heavily distorted, like the device was having a hard time picking them up.

Static. When I think about it now, I still get a buzzing headache.

This carried on for an uncounted amount of time, me holding my breath as if I were anticipating something, only for a loud BANG from somewhere else in the house to jolt me from my stupor. I turned my head, heart racing, figuring it had come from the garage.

Whipping my head between the television and looking down the hallway, the figure was now standing closer to the camera, facing it this time, the corruption of the video feed so strong I could barely see anything beyond the jittering frames.

It said something in a garbled, piercing tone that I couldn't make out, only that it gave me an instant migraine the moment those words filtered into my ears. Then, another bang.

For the second time, our home had been broken into. This time at gunpoint, a grown man frantically waving a pistol in the face of a frightened child.

He fled once my father came rushing in with a firearm of his own. The guy, who the cops figured did the same crime the previous year, was caught hours later, found speeding down the highway away from town.

He plead not guilty in court, for reasons that had left the judge and jury baffled. He said a TV special showed him our house, every year, for years. It had a man made of static, lurking in the shadows, by our bedsides, wanting to do us harm. All he wanted to do was save us.

The case ended with him charged to a mental rehabilitation facility. I felt bad for him, because I did not testify about how I had seen the same things he had. Again, a child's guilt could do wonders for inaction.

We moved away to another city soon after. I never tried to watch the special again, for fear of what would appear onscreen, or manifest in real life, if I did.

Now that I think on it, with an adult's mind and some clarity after all those years, I think I remember what The Static Man said to me.

"Hope you had fun. You're lucky. Happy holidays."

[bluebird722]

After a Long Day

Summary: After a long day of working, a little private and family time are all Jean needs.

Rating: T for nudity

Pairing: Jeankasa

Author's Note: So...I noted in "Beyond the Tree on That Hill" that I was not entirely pro-Jeankasa but liked to read fanfiction and look at fanart. Well...now it's become my OTP, especially factoring in his character development throughout the series! I definitely have more drabbles coming, but this one took only an hour to write.

At last, the day was over. No more paperwork, or catching up on current events. No more writing letters to schedule appointments with overseas officials, or reading up on politics. No more reflecting on past pilgrimages, or reading up on notes from his fellow ambassadors from their previous posts, for future meetings. It was time to call it a day. 

After a nice, hot dinner with his family, Jean eagerly hurried to the bathroom blessed with indoor plumbing, turned on the phonograph, took off his clothes, and dipped himself into a hot bath. Leaning his head back over the edge of the tub, draping his arms over the smooth sides, and parting his legs helped him release the stress from his body. For some reason, he felt like he could breathe easier as though the hot water was like a sponge absorbing all the tension. He kept his eyes closed for two minutes, slid his head into the water, and pushed himself up to wipe his face. 

He swung his legs side to side, alternating between hitting his knees or moving them together. Making himself relax was itself stressful, but the music really helped. He didn’t know the music or composer, just that the genre was called jazz, but he didn’t really care to know the details. It was just something he knew about because Nicolo had the music player at his restaurant and played jazz for private dinner parties. Jean ignored the chill over his wet skin and watched his bent legs move along to the music. 

Knock, knock.

“Jean?”

Only two people would be forgiven for interrupting his private time. He smiled without looking up. “Yes?”

“May I come in?”

Jean pulled apart his legs again and struggled to not smile. “Yes, you may.”

Mikasa–his darling Mikasa, his beautiful wife of three years–walked into the bathroom and hurried to the sink. “How are you feeling? Better?”

“Much,” he sighed. He hung his head back again. “Care to join me?”

Mikasa huffed, though he barely heard it over the running sinkwater. “Maybe later.” After she dried her hands, she walked to the back of the tub and, to Jean’s surprise but overall delight, knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him from behind. Jean moved his head to touch her shoulder and breathed in her sweet scent. “Better?”

“Much more,” Jean sighed. Her touch was like magic in healing him. She didn’t care that his wet hair was making her clothing wet. One hand drifted over his bare chest and stroked both sides of his collarbone. “I could stay like this forever.”

Mikasa kissed his cheek. “So could I.” She grabbed the shampoo bar and ran the square over his head. Jean tilted his head so she could lather the shampoo throughout every inch of his hair, including his nape and behind his ears. Jean remembered when they were first married, how they used to take baths together and wash each other’s hair out of the love they had for each other. 

Now, he had an even greater reason to love her.

Mikasa took her time with his crown and temples, her fingers massaging his scalp and quick to prevent anything going into his ear. Jean stared at the phonograph playing music and closed his eyes with a smile. He needed to close every day, good and bad, like this. His wife moved her hand, tickled his throat, and snaked down his chest, ribcage, and abdomen to finger the small hairs under his abdomen. 

Jean chuckled and slightly shivered at her gentle, ticklish touch. “That felt nice,” he said seductively. He received a kiss on the cheek and more tender strokes over the hairs around his more intimate region. Reluctantly, he pinched his nose and slid his head underwater one more time, where she helped him rinse the suds from his locks. 

When Jean sat back up, Mikasa patted his hair dry and folded her hands over his heart. “Are you truly happy with your life, Jean?” she asked. “I know today was a stressful day for you.”

“I am,” he said, “but yes, I was ready to be done.” Jean lowered himself into the bath water and stared ahead. “It’s not that all this research is burning me out, but…” He closed his eyes. “I had no idea it would be so hard thinking of compromises when you’re meeting with two countries at war with each other. It seems like every time you come up with a good idea, it could jeopardize even part of the other country’s economy somehow, or it violates their law in another way.” 

Mikasa pouted, something she rarely did unless she, too, could understand the challenge of avoiding catch-22s in peace negotiations. “I don’t know how to help, though,” she said.

“You are now,” he whispered, “by being here…but it would be nicer…if you took off your clothes and came in and let me love you up–”

She interrupted him with a kiss beside his eye but was giggling. She smoothed her hands down his arms to lace her fingers between his. He folded his arms so both pairs of hands were crossed over his chest and turned his head. She kissed him, first gently and then with more intensity. 

Jean kissed back just as hard. He could never tire of kissing her. He kissed her even when she was sick. Every kiss was a promise that more would follow, in good and bad times. He freed his right hand from hers so he could cup her face and deepen the kiss. With her left, she pulled his face to hers, sucking on his lips like they were a juicy fruit. Jean wondered if she suspected how hard he was becoming and that a familiar tugging was growing between his legs. 

A loud wail broke apart the couple and shifted them into parent mode. “She’s hungry,” said Mikasa. “I can tell.”

Jean chuckled. “Nine months in you, and you can tell when she’s too warm, too cold, or too tired. Heck, I still can’t believe you can be in a different room from her and know when she needs changing.”

Mikasa, chuckling, reluctantly stood up and left the bathroom. Jean had one minute to himself and the music, and then she returned with her blouse untucked and her baby girl at her breast. No matter what mood he was in, Jean never felt anything other than pure delight to see the one person he loved more than anything else in the world. 

Mikasa hummed to baby Sasha for five minutes until she stopped eating, and propped her onto her shoulder to pat her back. Jean smiled watching Sasha turn her head and flex her fingers until she let out a soft belch. “Want to say hi to Papa?” Mikasa whispered. Immediately, Sasha lifted her head, and when she saw Papa, she held out her arms to the man in the bathtub. 

Jean happily took her after Mikasa stripped off the baby’s clothes and diaper, and held her up so that her feet touched his chest. “Yes, baby,” he cooed, “even Papa needs bathtime, but not as often as you, because you soil and spit over your clothes every day.”

Sasha, who was already showing signs of her first teeth coming in, still stuck out her tongue between her gums in a smile, like she knew what he was saying. Jean lowered Sasha into the water up to her navel, and then back on her feet onto his chest. He kissed her cheeks and whispered how much he loved her that he didn’t even pay attention to his wife until he heard a splash. She had already disrobed and seated across from him in the tub, her bent legs together. Jean’s smile widen. “At last, you decided to come in.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes, blushing. “She did spit milk over my blouse, so I might as well.” She hugged her legs and watched Jean plant kisses to Sasha’s tiny stomach, the inside of her forearm, and the back of her hand. Watching a father give love to his child warmed Mikasa every time, but seeing the way Jean fussed over and dote on their little girl, their Sasha, made her want to cry in delight.

Normally, Sasha hated bathtime, but she happily splashed her hands into the surface and kicked water to her father’s shoulders. Jean noisily kissed her cheeks to increase her laughter and pulled her up and down into the bath. “We haven’t even had a whole year with you, Sasha,” he said, “but I think I know now the best way to make sure you don’t whine when it’s bathtime. Of course, your mama and I will find out how to make it easier when you’re a little older and more bratty, but we will still love you with all our hearts, and more than anything else in the world.”

Sasha giggled, but then her smile fell. Her eyes crinkled like she was ready to cry.

“She’s hungry again,” Mikasa easily detected. She reached for their baby and sat up to easily guide Sasha’s mouth without dipping her ear under the water. Every time Jean watched his wife nurse their daughter, he noticed that she herself made a face like she was on the verge of tears, like it was the most beautiful way to bond a mother and baby.

“Stay right there,” said Jean. “I’ll be right back.”

Mikasa watched him stand up from the tub (and always admired how fit and toned his naked body was), dry himself, wrap the towel around his waist, and leave the bathroom. He came back with his sketchbook and charcoal. 

“Aren’t you–”

“It shouldn’t get wet,” he reassured her. “I’ll put it away when she starts kicking.” Jean quickly opened to a blank page and stole every detail he could, from the reflection of his wife’s knees in the water, to the curl of Sasha’s fingers, how Sasha’s cowlicks hid her face except the roundness of her cheek, and the adoration on Mikasa’s face when she studied her daughter.

Sasha finished before Jean was completely done, but he finished what he knew from memory as Mikasa patted her back. This time, after Sasha belched (and drooled out a little milk), she nuzzled her face into her mother’s neck and closed her eyes. Jean had enough space on his page to bring to life what he saw but did not want to commemorate with a camera. 

Mikasa waited for Jean to finish to reluctantly stand up, dry herself one handedly with a towel, let her husband tuck it around her hips, and carry the baby back to her nursery. Jean used this opportunity to drain the lukewarm water and pour in clean water, with a scrubbing of soap for bubbles. When Mikasa came back, she discarded the towel and sat across from him again. 

It seemed so long ago, Jean reflected, when he was first attracted to her with all of that long, beautiful black hair and was devastated when she agreed to cut it off. Now, her hair was longer, and he was even more in love with her now. She never tired of hearing him say, “Having Sasha made me fall even more in love with you. I didn’t know how much I could love you more than romantically until I watched you go through labor and give birth.” Of course, Jean had no idea how much he could love or give love until the very moment that Sasha was born. He could only attribute that to the warrior woman across from him, tired from breastfeeding but happy to resume time alone with her husband. 

Jean kissed her knee and stroked the cap under it. “I’m always telling you how much I love you, how you and Sasha are the most important things in the world and in my life.” 

“Yes.” When she reached forward to stroke his wet hair farther from his forehead, he kissed her skin.

“Well, you have no idea how important you two are to me, how you both make me feel after long, stressful days like today.” He kissed her knee again and decided to peck down her shin later that night in the comfort and protection of their bedsheets. “At the end of the day, I remember why I’m doing this and not letting your embroidery become our sole source of income–so that you and I can watch Sasha grow up healthy and happy, no threat to her life or future, and maybe give her little brothers and sisters, in a peaceful island.”

Jean leaned over Mikasa’s knees, put his hands on either side of her, and kissed her. “Then you and I can continue to live in peace, and we can grow old and pass the same, after a long, good life after everything.”

He noticed that her small smile grew wider. “That’s a future that I want to work for as well,” she agreed. “I would be happy to spend the rest of my life and my bed with you.” She put her hands on either side of his face to kiss him deeper; he gently put his hands on her arms. Jean didn’t know if they were going to make love later, either right there in the tub or within their sheets, but he did not want the night to end.

[googleitlol]

Gonna post a longer one in a bit, but I wanted to add this quick little bit for setting up what I'll post later. I actually love the next bit so much when they're not being complete douches but just petty af–

Dove Masterlist

Party Tricks

You hum to yourself, taking in the decor of the monastery that has so kindly taken you in for the night. After several weeks in the wilderness, spending a night in a place with such civilised and well-mannered individuals feels like a welcome change of pace. Tripitaka continues to be a good source of company– that is– when he isn’t being terrified by the occasional demons we pass that try to attack. However, Monkey King continues to be difficult. You wouldn’t expect anything less from him anyway. The newest addition to your pilgrimage, Ao Lie, was a more silent companion. Whether or not his more quiet demeanour stems from maintaining his form as the monk’s steed, you’re still unsure of.

The dragon-horse is now being taken care of by some of the attendants that serve in the monastery while the eldests of the monks makes conversation with Tripitaka. As old as he appears, it was still a shock to everyone, Sun Wukong included, that he has walked the earth for well over 200 years. The old monk smile is still as lively as the youngest one in the monastery. “So you have already travelled ten thousand miles in your pursuit to deliver these scriptures?” The man questions as he and Tripitaka walk side by side.

“Yes, I am accompanied by my two disciples and a disciple of the Bodhisattva you worship in this monastery.” The young monk answers, smiling to you as you nod in acknowledgement. It was a pleasant surprise to find the main hall of the building was named for Guan Yin.

The older man shakes his head lightly. “Well then, I am sure you would all like a moment to rest. I will call for tea to be served, then you can be shown to your rooms where you may rest for the night.”

Thanking the man, you all move to a room where your group can sit and drink together. You find it amusing how much joy Tripitaka shows when everyone is given their cups, their edges lined in gold. Whatever tea they served the three of you adds to his wonder, the brew colourful and fragrant as a flower.

While the two monks continue their conversation, you catch the eye of another carefully approaching. There seems to be a small group of monks that have gathered just by the doorway you all entered from, whispering excitedly amongst each other as they watch their fellow monk grow closer to our group. Maybe they want to talk with Tripitaka? You’re sure it must be exciting to hear that the one chosen to collect the Buddha’s scriptures is in your very own monastery. Of course they’d want to talk with him.

“Pardon, miss?” You blink, the monk you had noticed approaching now looking at you.

You nod with a smile. “Yes?”

The younger monk is quite soft spoken, his voice just above a whisper as he speaks to you. “Is it true what your companion says? Are you a disciple of Guan Yin?” The question takes you off guard for a moment, not expecting it. Looking back to the small group, you see they keep their eyes not just on their companion, but on you as well now, their gaze curious.

“Yes, the Bodhisattva took me in as her disciple when I was just a young girl.” You explain, shifting slightly in your spot as you take another sip of your tea.

Almost immediately, another joins her friend in approaching you. “You mean to say you’re a disciple of the Bodhisattva of the south seas herself?”

“Yes, I–”

“You’ve met the goddess of mercy? In person?” Another joins them, quickly followed by another.

“Well–”

You can barely get a word out when the rest of the group migrate to your person. “You’re telling the truth?”

With so many now quickly surrounding you, the words become lost in your throat. You can barely answer one question before another is asked, the group quickly encroaching on your space. You quickly begin to feel flustered as you look to each of them, unable to figure out what to say to who.

And as if it can’t get any worse, that stupid monkey just has to butt in. “She was blessed by Guan Yin!”

The group grows silent as Sun Wukong enters the conversation, quickly squeezing through the monks before dragging you to your feet by your arm. “With one touch, her magic will put your mind to rest and vanquish any stress in your mind!” He raises your hand into the air before you’re able to snatch it back.

“You blabbering–”

Before you can finish, the first monk steps closer. “Please, could you use your gift on me? These past few days have been stressful, to say the least, and I would appreciate such a gesture.” He looks at you with eyes as wide as a child’s, his gaze pleading.

You pause for just a moment, trying your best to process everything being said before slowly nodding. “A-Alright, give me your hand.” You offer a polite smile before taking his hand in your own and using your gift. It only takes a moment, and the monk’s eyes flutter close. He opens them quickly, his face lifted and his smile even brighter.

“Incredible!” He beams, amazed by his newfound peaceful state. His joy makes you smile brighter, but it quickly fades as the other monks jump to join their companion in requests.

Suddenly, it’s just like before, with everyone speaking over one another as you struggle in your fluster to pick out one person’s question from another. Overwhelmed, you look to Tripitaka and the elder monk for assistance, only to find them walking away with Sun Wukong. “Master, you must show your cassock! It was gifted by Budhha himself, wasn’t it?”

“Really? I would like to see that.” The old monk hummed at that, and you can just see Monkey King looking back at you with a devious grin before ushering your last to chances of getting out of this mess away.

That bastard!