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Continued from @owliiish's post!

Autumn evenings brought an iciness over the Boiling Isle, something only a comforter could hope to fight against in the wee hours. Thus with each day growing shorter and shorter, the perfect excuse was provided to any looking for cause to nod off. And the ever-encroaching oppression of disembodied observation was as good as any other reason to turn in early. Yet there was no solace to be found in Nod, none for the Owl Lady. In the between where the quiet lay did things seldom stay tranquil these days. When her consciousness fades and gave way something arose from the subconscious bay. Like a web spun from high, gossamer threads glimmered as they stretched out from corner to corner in the nest. Only there was no widow to make the threads a home. Instead, there was only a coldness not too unlike the dead of night, frost drifting off the threads to coalesce over her head. That is all to say--it was not a pleasant night. It did not start pleasant and would likely not end pleasant either, not for as long as an unseen hand wrung Eda's psyche. Something sought to drain dry whatever kept her on edge. Whatever it was keeping her aprized of the observation, the scrutiny peering through rock and bone and stone. Until all that remained was a withered husk content to let whatever be do as it pleased. Then the hand loosened and pulled back to give her a breath, to let her find herself amid the swirling tempest. Only after did the fog recede, create a pocket of clarity to think and to feel. And once the calm came, so too did a single great eye. It opened without fanfare, splitting the abyss to unveil an island of glaring milk with a thousand-thousand glittering orbs all blink-staring to form the whole of a pupil through crude pointalism. Splintered veins carved their way through the margins of the melted chocolate spilling out into the black, each a finger-thick fissure throbbing in arrhymic patterns. And welled within its depthless expanse was an intensity that shook the very ether.

Down the optic's dot roamed until settling upon Eda, constricting until it was a pinprick similar in size to her own pupils. Only then did a sound resonate across the endless black.

}--.͠l̢͝ɘ҉̡̕ɘ̢͢ꟻ̛ ̷.ɘ̷̧ʜ̕͞t̵͞ɒ́͞ɘ̧̀ɿ͠B̧́͠ .̡ʞ͢ń̶̕i̧ʜT͢--{

A foghorn blaring out across an empty prairie, its voice thrummed and the air of Nod was cowed.

Ramble alert ramble alert I'm about to ramble hello again

⚠️⚠️also spoilers for the 249 leaks just incase ⚠️⚠️

A thing I've been thinking abt lately is the main differences between the big sukuna fight. The biggest difference between the gojo v sukuna fight and the current sukuna fight I think is the reason they were actually fighting. When gojo was fighting sukuna he wasn't fighting for megumi he completely disregards him at the start (not stating he doesn't care for him we all know megumi's his favourite lbh that's his boy) and by him doing this he essentially gives himself a free mind to go absolutely ham on sukuna, megumi vessel or no, because in the end he's wanting to go for the thrill of actually facing someone with his level of power, of finally not being at the top of it all, by himself. He's fighting for him rather than everyone else which is what his downfall was in the end I think. When you compare it to how yuji and yuta are currently fighting sukuna, it's the complete opposite. For one they're fighting for megumi, from the start that's been their goal. not just to solely beat sukuna but to also save their friend and everyone they can. I've been thinking abt this comparison a lot lately since the recent chapter just bc another theme for jjk is love. Like not to be cheesy but between "love being the greatest curse of all", yuta's whole existence tbh and everything going on between geto and gojo, jjk has pretty much every form of love in one way or another and yutas domain being "true love" is really just the icing on the cake for me on how this fight is definitely the more end game fight I'm feeling if that makes sense. Do I think yuta and yuji are gonna end sukuna themselves just like that? No, but I do think there's a good chance that them and everyone else on the sidelines will all beat the shit out of this old guy and save megumi together bc they don't have to do it alone GOJO(I hope I pray oh god). Ngl I've completely forgot my point here again and I'm also sick so that prolly doesn't help I could very well be talking out of my ass rn but I've missed rambling abt jjk and I also miss my son so of course this is low-key about megumi </33

Anyways happy days hope you're doing well!!!

Bahaha thanks for sending this, I loved it. "what point was I trying to make?" is so relatable. Also, there's another ask in the queue asking the question you just answered. And I have to agree with you.

I feel like Gege set us up by telling us that "the strongest sorcerers have an overwhelming sense of self and no regard for others". I don't trust the narrator anymore precisely because of what you said above. There's this sense that Gege is criticizing Gojo (and the "strongest sorcerers") mindset and changing the definition of strength and what it means to have a strong sense of self.

To your point, I'll also add another example. I've seen a couple of people say that Tsumiki was holding Megumi back, and now that she's dead, Megumi is free of the burden of her existence and can go all out. But to me, part of the reason Megumi grew confident in his abilities and challenged himself, was because he was fighting for someone else. Doesn't mean he can't go all out now that he's free from the attachment but... they're not mutually exclusive things.

Thanks for sharing the brain rot!!!!! It's been a bit since you sent this so I do hope you feel better.

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Difficulty arises from obstination, dipping into the ink and coming away with black and blue palms, surprised when the water cannot run clear. Yet they persist despite the outcome never altering. But the insanity is tolerable, an acceptable state of affairs as far as the Law and its Caretaker are concerned. The beautiful banal of life played out as it always did, as it always would. Even if there were hiccups in their mundane day-to-day; even if they had regrets; even if there were mistakes they wished to undo. None of it mattered in the end.

A pacifist would continue to walk down the path they fought tooth and nail for.

And a shade that should not have been would continue to trail behind them, sequestered within the harbour of a benevolent soul.

R E C O L L E C T I O N S | Accepting

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In the primordial between, resting idly in the cradle of abyssal threads stitching a vascular organ substitute to what the finite might understand to be an upper torso, was the culmination of the bond between Soul and Collective. There, the still present quintessence of what the Soul was ruminated on the infinitely finite happenings of past, present and future. They played out in fleeting snippets of lifetimes that, to something such as she, passed in the blink of an eye. Yet being who she was, they all were analyzed and understood down to the finest detail. To the finite, they’d be convinced that an overwhelming majority would be rife with tragedy and hardship. But this was not the case. Nay, ‘twas nothing further from the truth–there was an equilibrium. Good and happiness occurred just as frequently as the opposite, laughter the same as sobbing, et cetera. And the one to preoccupy her as of the immediate moment was as such: A child’s cry at the start of life, the beginning of the new. So much to examine, so much to experience–more than anyone instance could ever hope to see. The first steps, a toddle toward smiling faces with either arm outstretched. Education from two then one then seven, friends and enemies alike providing lesson after lesson.  There is loss and grief that uncover wellsprings of happiness and newfound understanding. A rollercoaster with too many twists and turns to ever end with anything less than an abrupt stop. Sweeping vistas and breath-taking glimpses at something far grander than what the finite mind could grasp. Yet it was all over sooner than anyone wanted--an unfortunate accident at the hands of intoxication. But when accepted back into the Whole, every last moment is precious, each memory a treasure to hold dear.

What a joyous addition.

@sansblog123

Push, pull, a symphony of threads strummed as one.

A never-ending ode to creation--how wondrous an existence.