#first by failing (in his mind) to save her and then by using that failure as a catalyst to reinvent as a monster
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Reddit guys often act like Post-Evilification Nishiki is some kind of independent masculine icon compared to the way he was in Yakuza: 0 but the truth is that Patriarch Nishiki is. Lmao. He is infinitely more fragile and pathetic than he ever was in the eighties. All the energy he puts into concealing his weaknesses is subtracted from his ability to control them - which makes him a good leader for a gang of brutal thugs, but as a private person it strips him of all his strengths, and what’s left is neurotic and bloodthirsty and unstable and 100% charmless when parlaying with others on equal footing instead of barking orders at men who are terrified of him. He’s much wealthier while simultaneously being down at least fifteen percent in body fat, all his features razor-sharp, almost like he’s starving. He tries to convince people he’s on top of everything but you just know he isn’t getting any sleep. He’s a blatant contradiction, so desperate to inject a sense of value into the power he’s chasing but so uninterested in denying just how ragingly miserable the pursuit is making him. When Yumi reminds him he won’t be happy even if he has the money, he freaks out and demands that she acknowledge what he’s “achieved” - it’s about his worth, not his happiness, and the latter is an afterthought without the foundation of the former. He’s never been more dangerous or more hard to love and it’s eating him, wearing him away, all the people who once held him up transformed into names on a list of his failures. I am shoving him in a washing machine and turning on the spin cycle as we speak.
#he prolly thinks about his dead sister constantly. that’s like canonically what he considers his biggest personal failure right#he who knew her better than anyone else#only to just. to just transform her into One Of Akira’s Personal Tragedies the way everyone else did in the end#first by failing (in his mind) to save her and then by using that failure as a catalyst to reinvent as a monster#this is Because Of Yuko whether Yuko would’ve wanted it or not 🫠☹️😶🌫️#(she definitely wouldn’t have. like ever. but no one cares.)#akira nishikiyama#nishikiyama akira#yakuza 0#yakuza kiwami#yuko nishikiyama#nishikiyama yuko
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hi!! I have a spencer reid x fem!reader request, how about emily plotline but it's spencer instead of emily and reader totally falls apart after she thinks he died, to the point of self-destructive behaviors. she simply can't cope. i totally understand if you're not comfortable with writing something like that, though.
i hope you're having a great day <3
Beyond the Grave - S.R
a/n: angellllll thank you so much for requesting !!!!!! <3 i hope you have the BEST day ever!
masterlist
‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧
pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: angst, spencer dead for a hot sec then he's not, reader using alcohol to cope, weight loss briefly mentioned, unhealthy coping methods, happy ending!
wc: 1.7k
The knocks were there again, a stubborn sound you chose to ignore as you smothered yourself with your pillow. You willed yourself to drown out the noise and fall back asleep, to forget that your existence now had shrunk to the four corners of your mattress--a fact that didn't necessarily bring you any pride.
When it first happened, you were in a constant state of disbelief. The harsh truth that Spencer had died, leaving a void that you were powerless to fill, seemed to a cruel joke. You found yourself caught in an endless loop of denial, half-expecting him to stroll through the door or wake up to the realization that this was all just a bad dream.
But that never happened so you spent your days imprisoned in your own home, a shell of your former self, devoid of anything that once animated your being. You distanced yourself from everything that once brought you happiness--your family, your friends, your gardening.
You had just introduced Spencer to it a couple months before it happened--when to plant each flower, how to prepare the soil, the schedule of watering. But now it all felt very meaningless, and the once-tended garden became a forgotten space, overgrown and disregarded.
Each morning at work, you were met with a twisting, angry sickness--a gnawing reaction to the collective failure of everyone in that room. You had all let him down, and now the weight of never seeing his smile again was a blade that kept twisting deeper. It was excruciating.
The blow landed on you with a severity that others seemed spared from. You couldn't simply erase the memory and move on. It wasn't an option; it was etched into your very being, monopolizing every thought and sensation.
The team had attempted to piece you back together, but eventually, their help felt like a stabbing reminder. You were beyond repair, a lost cause--you skipped meals, you never slept, you drank too much. With every look in the mirror, you saw the reflection of someone slowly crumbling away.
Finally, you were angry, a scalding feeling that spread through your veins. You were furious at Spencer leaving you, at the unsub for taking him away, and at yourself for failing to save him, for arriving too late, for watching him struggle against the knife, for watching him disappear into surgery and not come out.
The incessant knocking persisted, an annoyance that finally drew you from your bed. Your limbs were heavy with sleep, a thick haze still clouding your mind. You dragged yourself toward the door, a string of mental curses directed at the uncivilized disturber--likely Penelope with her usual invites for a girl's night out.
But as you swung the door open, the familiar world upended itself, flipped around, and splatted to the bottom of the universe. Dryness clung to your throat, your hands rendered numb at your sides.
And there he was--Spencer, not a ghost, not a figment conjured by your overwrought imagination, but flesh and blood--alive. You fought the urge to pinch yourself. You questioned your sanity briefly, but those eyes--his eyes--were indelibly seared in your memory. You would know them anywhere.
You can't breathe, can't form coherent thoughts. This moment is the very one you've replayed in your dreams, a thousand different ways, and now that it's tangibly here, you can't breathe.
Spencer's heart squeezed at the sight of you. Your eyes were swollen and tinged with the redness as if you'd been crying or just woken up or both. Your hair was shorter than he remembered, ending just shy above your shoulders. You face was washed and hollowed out; the color sapped away as if the sun had become a stranger to you.
"Hey," his voice floated to you, soft as though he was worried you might vanish at any louder sound.
A hesitant hand reached out, trembling as if half-expecting it to pass right through him. But when your fingers brushed against his--solid and warm--reality intensified to an almost unbearable degree, too visceral to be anything but real.
"B-But you're dead," you choke out, a tremor in each syllable. Your fingers find their way to your lips, the ground seeming to spin in a disorienting whirl. "Spencer, I watched you die."
"Can I come in?"
He didn't wait for an answer, stepping around you into the room. His eyes swept over the cluttered space--the litter of empty alcohol bottles, the stacks of dirt dishes. His heart plummeted, a sinking stone to the pit of his stomach.
One of the first things he noticed about you was your near-compulsive need for keeping things clean, orderly. Your desk had been organized to an almost surgical degree, and Morgan took a secret pleasure in disrupting your system, shifting your pens just to get a reaction. But Spencer had memorized the exact coordinates of your things and discreetly corrected each item before you could notice.
So, this, the sight of your neglected home was something he never thought he'd see.
"Maybe we should sit?" Spencer suggested, more firmly. "I have explanations for everything."
With a nod, you make you way to the couch. His gaze lingers on you, taking in the way the clothes that once hugged you, now draped over your frame in loose folds. He noted the strained swallow, the constant bobbing of your knee, and the startled wideness in your eyes, as if you weren't really sure how to process the sudden influx of information.
He told you everything--why he faked his death, what he had been doing this whole time, why it wasn't Hotch's fault for keeping it from you, and why you had to be kept in the dark.
His expectations hadn't included you jumping up and down at the sight of him, but the coldness he encountered caught him off guard. Brows knitted downward, knees angled away as if his presence was unbearable, you offered no words when he spoke, an occasional vacant look washing over your features.
"Did you even think of me once, or was I out of sight, out of mind?"
The words surprised him, your tone casual, but your balled fists resting on your knees betrayed you.
"I never stopped thinking of you," Spencer's response was immediate, his hand reaching towards yours.
But you recoiled immediately, shaking your head.
"No, no," you stammered out, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to speak. "You can't just...leave me and come back and act as if... as if...it's all okay."
Your voice broke with every word and so did his heart.
With a quick motion, you're on your feet, nearly tripping over the disorder that's invaded your space. Spencer's instinct is to reach out, to steady you, but he knows better.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, standing to follow your movements. "I didn't have a choice. Believe me, if there was any other way, I'd never have left. I couldn't--"
He paused, a hand brushing through his hair as he blew out a breath.
"But that's just it, Spencer, I don't believe you," you snap, voice trembling with indignation. "You were my best friend, the one person I relied on, and you disappeared."
He started to speak, but you took a step back holding your hand out to stop him.
"No, you died Spencer. I went to your funeral. I stood over your grave, and now you're here." Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you turned away, hiding your face. "How can you just stand there after all of that?"
Spencer moves closer. "You're being unfair," he says cornering you against the wall. "Why are you being like this?"
His eyes search yours, probing for an explanation, and you give it to him, raw and unfiltered.
"Why am I being like this? Maybe because I'm in love with you."
Spencer's steps falter, retreating as if struck.
"Oh, come on, don't act so surprised," you blurt out, already wishing you could take back the words. "I know you know." You're rambling now. "I mean, in team briefings I always save you a seat, in meetings I'm always the first one to back your theories, and for crying out loud I got you a copy of the first edition of On the Origin of Species by Darwin for your birthday, like do you know how hard that was to find? What platonic friend would--"
Your admissions pour out unchecked until Spencer's hands are on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours, stopping the flow of your confessions.
Your breath hitches, a startled sound muffled by Spencer's mouth, a rush of surprise coursing through you. For a heartbeat, you're frozen, but as quickly as it comes, it fades into a warmth that blooms deep in your chest, and you're kissing him back with a desperation that matches the pounding of your heart.
The world narrows down to the sweet pressure of his mouth moving with careful ease against yours, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling with the soft strands as you melt into him.
You pull back just enough to see his eyes, your breaths mingling, foreheads still touching, softly panting.
"I'm still so upset with you," you whisper, your eyes glistening.
Spencer's hands are soft on your skin, brushing away the tear. "I know. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
You nibble on your lower lip and give a small nod. Spencer responds by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer. "Promise?" you ask, heart in your throat. "I don't want you to leave me again."
You had never felt so vulnerable.
"Promise," he replies. "I'm not going anywhere, baby."
You let out a shaky breath, the reality of his words setting in. In a moment of boldness, you reach up to trace the lines of his face, memorizing every detail.
Spencer's eyes soften, and he whispers, "By the way, I love you too. From the very first moment I saw you."
It's like a key turning a lock. You don't say anything, you don't need to. The silence is enough--the quiet understanding that you'll heal, you'll grow, just like the garden waiting for your return.
taglist: @hotchhner @khxna
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem reader#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid angst#criminal minds#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fic
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Sweet
Pairing: Dark!teammate!Max Verstappen x reader
Tw: NC, purity ring, smut, reader is 18, Max is 25, idk what else
Based on this request!
Max just couldn't understand how someone as nice, caring and dumb like you got into one of the most dangerous sport. After getting tired of racing in NASCAR, and almost retiring from motosport, Christian Horner saw the opportunity and got you a seat as their reserve driver.
Nobody thought it would go well, racing in such a different category and skipping all the previous steps to F1, it was just failure in plain sight. But when Daniel Ricciardo, their second driver broke one of his bones and you got in the seat, it was amazing. You loved Danny, he was so funny and such and amazing coworker who loved to tease you.
"What's that ring you got there?" He asked wiggling his brows, making the blood rush to your cheeks, you weren't ashamed of anything, it was a part of your identity, but something about him asking that in front of Max, who you knew would make fun of you, made you blush.
"Mmm, it's a purity ring" you stared at the floor.
"Oh, that's cool" he said smiling.
"A purity ring?" Max scoffed "what time are we in? In the 1800?" He laughed leaving you to deal with the shame in the form of prickling tears in your eyes.
"Not cool mate" Daniel shaked his head.
"Not cool how she's so proud of that thing, like everybody else is worse than her" he shrugged.
You rushed out of the garage, the word shame wasn't enough to describe how you felt right now.
Walking to the McLaren's garage, you saw Lando, changing your path towards the brit.
"Hey sweet" he hugged you sideway.
"Hey Lan" you smiled.
"Want to help me take some pictures?".
"Sure, would love to"
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Making your way back to your garage to finally get ready to race, starting to feel anxious about facing your teammate again.
You never felt ashamed of your ring, but it was itching in your finger, begging to be taken off and be hidden.
Looking to both sides you decided to take it off and save it on your pocket, finally reaching your side of the garage to start getting ready.
"Good luck sweet" Daniel said, bumping his fist with yours, frowning when he saw your naked finger.
"Thanks Danny, I wish you could be racing in my place" you said hugging him, needing the comfort of your friend.
"Well, I dont, you're going to do great".
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In fact, it went amazing, taking your first win on the Monza track? A dream come true, except for the part when you had to face Max again, breaking his almost record wasn't in your plans.
Showering and hiding away in your driver's room was the best idea on your mind. Not having to face your furious teammate.
Well it was a good idea, till he opened the door that you didn't lock well.
"Fucking hiding from me? Not even going to apologize for what you did?" Max was towering over you, looking down at you from your place on the sofa.
Starting to tremble a little, not liking how mean he was being "I'm sorry Max, I really didn't mean to" you hugged yourself "But I'm happy I won, it's my first win" you whispered the last part.
"And why should I care? You fucking ruined my record!" You flinched at his raising voice, not being used to be yelled at "You pretend to be so nice and sweet, but then you go and ruin everything for me, and I don't even get a real sorry? You are a bitch" he spat.
"I'm not!" You said standing in front of him "I've been nothing but nice to you, I don't know what you want from me" you saw his face change, frowning and a twisted smile appearing.
"Apologize" he said "You're not a dumb kid that doesn't know how to say sorry, you're fucking 19"
"No, I wasn't wrong, you don't deserve it" you shaked.
"Seat" he demanded.
"Wh-"
"Stop playing dumb, you heard me" he pushed you down "Going to teach you how to say I'm fucking sorry"
You watched in horror how he started to undo his jeans, trying to stand again, failing when he bloked you.
"Be nice" he growled "Open your mouth"
"No, go away Max" you cried.
"Open" he said squeezing your cheeks with his hand, hurting you till you gave in, his fingers pressing down on your tongue, letting you taste your own tears "If you bite me, it would be worse, be nice, like you always are, okay?" When you didn't respond he got his face closer to yours "Okay?" Shaking your head 'yes' to reply his demand.
Finally taking his aching cock out of his tight jeans, proding at your lips "Open" he said once more, smiling when you did as he said "That's it, sweet, so good" you flinched hearing your nickname coming from his mouth.
He started to fuck your mouth at a slow pace, moaning quietly "Fuck, relax, breath through your nose and you would stop choking sweet" he told you with a sigh, keeping his moves going "That's it, much better" he caressed your hair, making you cry even more pushing at his thighs, he pulled out.
"You got what you wanted Max, please go away now" you cried.
"Oh sweet, I just started" he chuckled "Take your pants off" he kissed you cheek "And put the ring back on" watching you fish the ring from your pocket, putting it on and freezing, he sighs "come here" he said pulling you by the loop on your jeans, taking it off himself.
"Max, please, stop" you whispered, trying to cover yourself.
He didn't listen to you, putting his hands on the back of your thighs pulling you on top of him.
"Please, I'm not going to said anything, I swear" you cried.
"Put your hands on my shoulder" he ignored you again, kissing you while moving your panties to the side, thrusting inside you little by little, not letting go of your lips.
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The next day, arriving to film some content for the team, you went to say hi to Daniel.
"Hey" you hugged him.
"Why the fuck does Max have your ring on a fucking chain?".
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A/N: Hellooo, more dark content bc is never enough, hope you enjoy it, love yall🤍
#max verstappen smut#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#dark!max verstappen#max verstappen x oc
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I don't remember much about the possession.
I only know that I gave up. I betrayed my family, my brother and I gave up. I stopped fighting. I was very tired, not only from trying to expel my possessor, but from seeing how he harmed my family. He hit my brother when he started to dig deeper into my strange behavior. He insulted my mother and almost beat up my father. I couldn't take it anymore and gave up. Because I'm a coward
Sometimes I have flashes of what he does with my body. Small moments of lucidity, produced by some failure in his control. Yesterday, I think it was yesterday, I saw how he fucked a girl in a bed that I didn't know. God, Alice, I betrayed her too.
I don't feel pain, I don't feel anything he does, but the restlessness of being locked in your body, in your own mind, is more than enough torture.
A sharp pain in my eyes wakes me up and I slowly open them, blinded by the bright light of the sun. "I can move" is the first thought that comes to my mind. "I feel my body" is the second.
I try to stand up a little, failing due to lack of practice using my body, I don't know how much time has passed. I am in a large room, a hospital, and through the window I can see the bay of my city. At the side of the bed, there is an armchair, and my brother is asleep in it.
Anton, Ant!!! My voice feels different, deeper and more masculine. My brother wakes up and when he looks at me and sees that I'm awake, he screams. Mom, dad, he's woken up!!!
The next moment, a warm and aggressive hug was suffocating me, and my family was on top of me. My mother and my brother crying, and my father about to join in the crying too.
I'm sorry. It's the only sentence that comes out of my mouth. My mother is the first to speak. It's okay, honey. He's gone, he's not going to do anything to you anymore, not anymore
Then my brother. It's my fault Paul, I should have realized it sooner, I should have saved you......
I didn't really know what to say. The following hours my parents and my brother told me everything that had happened.
Five months had passed. Bob, my possessor, had sneaked into my house one night, through my window. The police assumed that he made the possession there. At first it was subtle, my parents and my brother noticed that something was wrong, but little did they know that a dangerous criminal had impersonated their son. The days passed and "my" behavior became erratic, increasingly evident that something was very, very wrong. In the end, my parents had no choice but to throw me out of the house, or Bob, and report me to the police. I was a danger to them. That was only during the first month, but they didn't know anything else about me, except for some information that Anton found out. It seems that Bob started a drug trafficking business again, with my body. They received no more news until a week ago when a police officer, more precisely Detective Sheila Mille, called my parents' house and explained the situation to them. The police were not sure that I was possessed, but for my family there was no doubt.
All the helplessness they felt during those months turned into anger, anger towards Bob, and hope, hope that I, their son, was still somewhere.
At my request, we talked again and stayed like that for a few more hours.
The police came to take my statement a few hours later, and when they left, Detective Sheila arrived, and with my family's permission, explained the situation to me, who Bob was, and why he could do what he did. I honestly couldn't understand much of what he was saying.
A few hours later I was discharged from the hospital and went home. While my parents prepared dinner, Anton and I met in my room. I needed to apologize
I'm sorry, I gave up, I couldn't do anything and you paid the price.
You don't have to apologize, Paul. In any case, it is my fault, for not having trusted my instincts, my heart that kept telling me that the person in front of me was not my brother.
When we finished talking, we had dinner as a family and when I returned to my room, I noticed it. A pain that was not pain. An anguish. My brother came through the door and threw something into my hands, a pack of cigarettes.
What the hell are you doing? I don't smoke
You don't, but Bob does. And he smoked every day for the five months he was in you. It's horrible and you're going to leave it as soon as possible, but not today. Today you have too many things on your mind to worry about that.
Before I could say anything else, the cigarette was already lit, and I was already smoking. This shit hit hard, it was going to be difficult to quit.
...........
The next morning I got up early and wanting to get back into my routine, I got ready to go to the gym. I hesitated whether to take the cigarettes or not and in the end decided not to, without realizing that I had already put them in my backpack without thinking about it.
......
This is going to continue
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SOME ILLEGIBLE RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS: GALE AND WYLL AS FORSAKEN CHILDREN
Gale and Wyll share a rather unique element of abuse that I haven't seen discussed yet. Someone's gotta talk about it, might as well be me lol.
I would argue that both Wyll and Gale are being pressured to destroy themselves at the altar of certainty.
Wyll pacted with Mizora in the first place because when the cult of Tiamat threatened Baldur's Gate, he was told that destruction and death were inevitable outcomes unless he agreed. Mizora was exploiting fear, self-doubt, and a double-standard in self-worth. Even in the Forgotten Realms I'm pretty sure the future isn't set in stone. There was a definite chance destruction and death could occur due to the cult of Tiamat though, and Wyll was willing to enter an incredibly abusive pact to avoid that possibility. His alternative was to accept that life is struggle and uncertainty by nature, and he does not have total control over outcomes. The idea that his best might not be good enough and others might come to harm was enough to justify self-destruction in Wyll's own mind back then. In scenarios where Wyll ends his pact, it's narratively poetic that Mizora poses the same question. This is a way for audiences to examine whether or not Wyll has changed over the course of his pact, whether he looks at himself and life the way he did originally. Mizora tells him with the same false-pretense of certainty that if he doesn't use her power then his father will die and it will be Wyll's fault for not sacrificing himself in Ulder's name.
Having Wyll break the pact feels appropriate to me. Whether he succeeds or fails in saving Ulder, it matters that he makes the attempt as a free man without any guaranteed outcome. If he succeeds, it's an especially good way to spit in the face of Mizora's manipulation. She never knew for sure what tomorrow would bring. She had no right to pretend that she did.
Mystra does a similar thing to Gale. Gale might succeed in destroying the Absolute without detonating the orb. He might succeed in retrieving the Crown of Karsus. He might not. Mystra isn't in it for mortals here either way. She wants what she wants for herself when she wants it. And while the scene before the final battle varies depending on choices, I had one where Gale basically started panicking because if he didn't use the orb and the group's efforts failed--he thought that everyone who died to the Absolute and mindflayers would be because of him. He thought it would be cowardice and selfishness not to kill himself. He could have gone up alone, detonated the orb alone, and made CERTAIN nobody died except for him. The alternative was to risk failure for the possibility that he wouldn't need to die too.
Like Wyll, Gale was taught not to trust himself. Like Wyll, Gale believes his life and well-being are acceptable prices for 'the greater good'. Like Wyll, Gale is being told that the fault of everyone's suffering if he tries and fails is not the Absolute, not the Emperor, not the Dead Three--but him. His best couldn't overpower those enemies, so it's his fault for letting everyone down. It's his fault for not just killing himself. For Wyll it isn't Mizora's fault if his father dies. It isn't Gortash's faut. Blame falls on him exclusively because he wasn't ready to put himself back into the power of an abuser.
The attempt to shift accountability is incredibly dishonest.
Both Wyll and Gale are basically being put into the allegory of the foresaken child. For anyone who may not know it, the story goes like this.
There is a perfect, utopian city. No one suffers, no one fights, no disease ravages its streets, no hunger grips its people. And everyone not only lives in peace, but lives in the certainty that their peace will never be broken.
There is, however, a price to this. For all the residents of that city to enjoy tranquility a single, innocent child must be sacrificed to endure unimaginable torture. It's because of this child's suffering that everyone else is guaranteed happiness.
Is that child's life an acceptable price?
Most people would say it isn't. The allegory exists to illustrate how people might decide to give cruelty and horror a pass.
There is another saying that exists, too. "Those who would sacrifice freedom for security deserve neither." That is also what is being demanded of Wyll and Gale--their freedom, their agency, their efforts rejected as inadequate. Only guaranteed outcomes will do according to their abusers... except life has no guarantees.
I would argue Wyll and Gale are both effectively forsaken children, who are being blamed for balking when told to accept their torment for the good of everyone else. Their abusers condemn them for not treating themselves as expendable.
There's a difference between a sacrifice freely made as a last resort when all alternatives are exhausted, and someone making a sacrifice because they regard their own life as cheap or are afraid of failure as a possibility. There's also a huge difference when someone sacrifices themself as their own idea compared to being coerced or manipulated into it.
And as a fun personal experience that accidentally illustrated the point. During my first complete play through, it happened that there were two characters in-range of the Netherbrain. One was Karlach, wailing on the thing until it had about twenty HP left. The other was Gale.
Gale had no powerful spells left, and no scrolls left. But he had cantrips and he was in-range.
The last move in that fight was Gale killing the Netherbrain with shocking grasp.
Considering that Gale started the game with basically none of his archwizard spells, that Mystra had no trust in his capabilities and encouraged him to doubt his own capabilities, that Mystra wanted him to kill himself regardless of whether it was necessary simply because it was certain... having Gale win on the reaction cantrip felt like the biggest fuck you he could have given. Could not have asked for things to unfold better than that personally.
In any case the idea that Wyll and Gale come to realize they're more capable than they ever gave themselves credit, that they aren't disposable, and that they aren't to blame for the bad actions of other people seems like a key lesson for both of them imo.
#wyll ravengard#gale dekarios#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#bg3#bgiii#Fwiw I don't have the best opinion on Ulder but I don't think he needs to die either#I kind of wish Wyll had more opportunity to express selfishness and have that framed as okay#Also I've seen takes on 'is Gale morally supposed to have blown himself up' when the narrative doesn't actually support that#Neither does the gameplay tbh
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curses, its so bitter.
- geto suguru x reader
The burden of consuming curses takes an emotional toll on Suguru, elevated by the recent loss of Amanai Riko. As Suguru retreats into his own silent struggles, the caring intervention of their partner becomes a source of warmth and healing.
genres/warnings: angsty, fluffy, hurt/comfort, minor character death, spoilers for JJK season 2(?)
notes: got an exam tomorrow but i'm writing this instead 😭 anyways, enjoy!! i'm going to sleep now, gn (nah i'm going to study fr wml!) as always, english isn't my first language, so ignore the grammatical errors, sorry!
home | masterlist
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Exorcise. Absorb. No one else understands what cursed spirits taste like. It's like swallowing a dirty rag that’s been used to clean up shit and vomit. Geto Suguru believed that no one in this world understood what he was going through; maybe he’s right. After all, it's rare for a curse user to actually like the taste of it.
You knocked on his bedroom door, “Suguru?” your voice laced with a hint of worry.
Suguru remained silent, his form unmoving on the bed as he replayed the details of the earlier mission in his mind. The echoes of the mission played relentlessly in his mind, each moment etched with the bitter taste of failure. The weight of regret pressed upon him as he struggled with accepting the harsh truth – he couldn't save her. Amanai Riko; the girl had dreams, and Suguru couldn't forgive himself for failing to shield her from her doom.
You quietly entered the room out of concern for your boyfriend, “babe.”
You approached his lying figure, “you haven’t eaten all day…” you worriedly muttered, your hands reached out to touch his shoulder but he quickly turned around, his back was now facing you.
“Not hungry.” he replied briefly, you noticed the slight crack in his voice.
While you may have not been a curse user but you were well aware of his habits. Whenever Suguru ate a curse, the lingering taste of the curse would hinder him from eating actual food. Combining that and the death of Amanai Riko, he wallowed in grief and sadness with an empty stomach.
Of course, as the loving significant other you are, you refused to let your boyfriend starve or struggle for another minute.
“Don’t be like that…” You sighed, touching his back. This time, he didn’t flinch or move away. That’s good.
You gave yourself some time to think, “how about tea? I can make some tea for you right now.”
Suguru hummed, not having the energy to respond to you. Honestly, he felt bad for ignoring you like this. All he wants to do right now is pull you close to him and mutter apologies for being so…so emotional right now, but he doesn’t have the energy to do so.
You left the room and once again, Suguru was left alone in the room with his thoughts.
Was he being too harsh on you? Will you leave him because he’s treating you like shit right now? Is it wrong of him to be pushing you away like this?
So many questions yet none of them had a concrete answer.
You returned with a cup of tea in one hand, some leftover cookies you baked from trying out a new recipe. You set the cookies by the night stand, “I got your tea.”
He ignores you.
“It’s your favorite. Chamomile with a teaspoon of honey.”
Suguru shifted, facing you before mustering the energy and courage to sit up. His voice, hoarse and weary, as if he hadn't had a sip of water in days. "You... really didn't have to trouble yourself, really," he replied, acknowledging the concern you showed. The fatigue in his tone hinted at the toll recent events had taken on him.
“Nonsense.” she smiled, handing him the cup, “I enjoy taking care of you.”
Suguru managed to smile slightly, you noticed his eyes didn’t wrinkle like it used to, it no longer had that spark and his eyebags were more prominent. Of course you weren’t blaming him but you can’t help but feel sad realizing just how much his technique has been impacting him, especially after his most recent mission.
“Thanks.”
“Now,” she said as her hand slowly made its way to his free hand, “do you want to talk?”
He sighs, “Okay.”
"I just–" he starts, "eating curses, it tastes like shit. I hate it, yet I have to do it," he says, his voice carrying a mixture of frustration and resignation.
“Worst part is,” he adds as he squeezed your hand, “the worst part is, when you eat real food, you think of the curse you most recently ate…making it taste like it.” he explains as he took a sip of his tea.
You stroke his hand with your thumb, reassuring him in your own way, “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”
Suguru’s tone changed into more of a hateful tone, “it's because of those…those monkeys. I have to eat their curses.” he muttered, “I hate them. Useless monkeys.”
“Monkeys?”
"Humans. Non-sorcerers," he explained, taking another sip of his tea. "Curses spawn through non-sorcerers' negative energy," he continued, his tone carrying a distinct bitterness, as if the very thought angered him.
Why the hell should Jujutsu sorcerers lose their life over something non-jujutsu sorcerers do? Why should they protect the weak, why should the strong protect the weak?
It angered him, the bitterness evident in every word as he expressed his frustration. "Not only are humans – monkeys, useless, but they're also the reason why Jujutsu sorcerers die on a daily basis. At the very least, if you’re useless, don’t make shit harder for us," he muttered with a tone that carried a mix of irritation and exhaustion.
You continued to hum, your thumb stroking his hand gently. Suguru rarely opened up about his true feelings. If anything, he played the role of everyone's therapist, ‘everyone’ being you and his best friend, Satoru.
Satoru looks for him after an earful from Yaga or calls him whenever he has no one else to try out the newest mochi shop that opened just around the corner. Suguru was also your rock; you'd go to him when you felt down or depressed, and even if you didn't, he always found out and looked after you.
Slowly, everything– being the therapist friend, Amanai Riko’s death, curse eating, school, it was all too much for him; instead of seeking you out and finding comfort, he chose to keep quiet, letting his negative emotions swallow him, making him feel like an empty seed.
“You know what else hurts?” He dryly laughed, “the fact that no one– well, almost no one noticed I’ve been quieter, I’ve been going out less and less.” He looked at you with hurt in his eyes, an expression you’ve never seen before.
“Shoko is busy studying to be a med student, Satoru probably could care less about how I feel, and you…” he looked away, “you’re probably only here out of pity.”
You widen your eyes, “Suguru, no, of course not.”
“Why?” he looks at you once again, “why did you come find me today?” Suguru asks, his eyes were looking for something in yours, an answer, perhaps?
You played with his fingers, tugging on them gently one by one, “you’ve been severely sad these past few days, Satoru, Shoko, me– hell, even Nanami and Haibara noticed as well.” You laughed dryly, “I couldn’t just sit here and leave you alone.”
Suguru pulled you into a hug, “thank you, love.”
You hummed, hugging him back before he suddenly laid back down onto the bed, turning the hug into a cuddle, “now, will you please try and eat something?” you giggled.
Suguru, who seemed to be feeling better smiled, “okay, maybe a bite of that cookie won’t hurt.”
#jjk x reader#geto x reader#geto angst#hurt/comfort#geto hurt/comfort#jujutsu kaisen angst#geto suguru#suguru geto#jjk fic#geto x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader angst#jujutsu kaisen#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru geto drabble#-xia’s works#jujutsu kaisen headcanon#geto suguru headcanon#geto headcanons#jjk headcanons#jjk headcanon#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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Spirit of the Sky
Summary: Wild has had a very bad day, from losing Zelda to breaking the Master Sword. It would be a really bad time for Sky to show up.
Words: 680
AO3
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For the second time in his life, Wild woke up alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no memory of how he had gotten there. He wasn’t even wearing any clothes, but his arm- the one that the skeletal figure underneath the castle had burned- wasn’t right at all. It was glowing, along with some glyphs creeping up his shoulder, but it wasn’t even his arm. It responded like it was his, and he could feel it, but it was like a stranger had somehow grafted it to his body.
A calm voice spoke to him, telling him that his arm hadn’t been the only thing that Wild had nearly lost. The champion’s head whirled, taking in too much information at once. So much had happened so fast, and he had only been awake for less than a minute without any time to remember what had gone wrong before.
His arm- the Demon King- the Master Sword- Zelda-
He had to find her.
First things first, he had to get out of this… room? Cave? There were roots and vines everywhere but they didn’t quite obscure the stone foundation. Wild didn’t really care, especially when he saw what was lodged in some vines a few feet away.
The Master Sword looked fine, if you ignored everything below the hilt. Wild had seen how the gloom had shattered the blade, but when he drew it, nothing could prepare him for what he gingerly held in his hand. It was barely more than a dagger now, the metal jagged and corroded by the concentrated evil.
The Blade of Evil’s Bane, forged countless years ago and wielded by heroes across the ages… was broken.
Wild had broken the Master Sword.
Sky was going to kill him.
That terrifying thought was more than Wild could handle, and he fell to the ground, collapsed under all of the stress.
“Wild.”
He had been powerless to stop the return of the Demon King, he had lost Zelda-
“Wild, you have to breathe.”
He was a failure to his friends, his brothers, his kingdom-
Something like a cold hand landed on his shoulder, trying to ground him in the present. “Wild, please listen to me, you have to breathe.”
Wild gasped, recognizing the voice before he turned around. It wasn’t the one who had told him that they had saved him, it was none other than-
“It’s just me,” the voice said, low and soothing. “It’s Sky.”
Clutching the sword close like he could hide it, Wild whirled around, coming face-to-face with the spirit of the Chosen Hero.
Sky smiled, making up for the lack of warmth in his blank teal eyes. His mouth didn’t move, but Wild heard his words in his mind. “Hey, I’m right here. No need to panic.”
Easy for him to say, when he was still two seconds from seeing the Master Sword and tearing Wild apart. Wild gripped the blade tighter, wincing as the twisted metal dug into his palms.
“Careful, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Sky said, frowning until Wild eased his death grip on the broken blade. He just stared sadly at it, and Wild felt like he was about to scream.
“I’m sorry,” Wild sobbed, setting the sword on his lap since his hands were shaking too much. “I didn’t mean to break it, I swear, I know you’re mad-”
“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Sky asked, too gentle to bear. “You did everything in your power to stop that guy, and so did she. Her final act was to save you, because you were trying to save your Zelda.”
“But I- I still failed,” Wild protested, though it was weak. “I tried to use it against something it could never stop, it’s all my fault-”
Sky pulled Wild into a sudden hug, a soothing chill surrounding him. “Nothing was your fault. You couldn’t have known that the Demon King would be so strong.”
Wild was still, too tired to argue.
“She did her job, so you can do yours. Take us with you, and go find your Zelda.”
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Mortals and Fools — First Look #1 (Coming Soon)
Want to read a SFW coming-of-age fantasy novel with evil gods, two adult aspec protagonists and magic? Consider supporting this project!
Author's Note: After a total of 8 years of posting fanfiction on this account, I am excited to announce that I am finally starting my first long-term original work as an author! Goal is to get this series published as an actual novel but until then, I will be uploading chapters online as I write them, hopefully building an audience in the process! Mortals and Fools will be available on Wattpad and potentially other platforms. The first 4 chapters will be uploaded to Tumblr as well. Over the next few weeks I will keep uploading promo posts with new characters and more info! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me as a writer over the years and welcome to everyone who's new here!
Summary: In the land of Elsthess, brilliant but arrogant Dr. Immanuel Faust is doing his best to follow the teachings of the Goddess of Wisdom, live up to his late grandmother's expectations and hide the fact that he has been seeing strange, mystical apparitions all his life.
When his pupil becomes afflicted with an ancient curse and the things he has seen turn out to be more than just hallucinations, Immanuel must forge a contract with Morgan, a being from another realm who's ready to humble him at every turn, and learn his religion's most despised art: magic.
As he steps outside of the simple world he has grown up in, he slowly comes to realize that there is much more to learn for him still.
Themes:
The Meaning of Wisdom & Growth
Unlearning harmful narratives and prejudices
Religious Trauma
Healing from Abuse
Rebuilding trust in others
Learning to understand others
Navigating radical changes during adulthood
Elitism and class inequality
The problems with the ideal of meritocracy
Queerplatonic & Alterous Attraction
Addiction
Gender Dysphoria
What this story contains:
A variety of fun magical powers!
Evil Gods & Forces from other Realms!
Queer rep! (demisexual & aroace protagonists, a trans man and a wlw couple)
Mysteries to unravel
The coming-of-age fantasy adventures you're used to from YA novels but with characters in their 20s and struggles of adulthood
Humor
My blood, sweat and tears as an author
The Cast: Introducing 3 Characters
Here's some info on the three characters in the header, from left to right!
#1 — Dr. Immanuel Icarus Faust
❝ It wasn't supposed to be like this... I've failed... as both a doctor and a man of faith. I wanted to follow your teachings, dear Goddess, and guide those who seek wisdom and knowledge, as grandmother did... but I couldn't even save one innocent girl. Have I become godless? ❝
Raised by his grandmother, the High Priestess of Solbrynn's temple, Immanuel was taught from an early age on to aspire to be the best in everything he attempted to do and dedicate his life to wisdom, in order to make the Goddess Adira proud. Having become a renowned physician at the age of 28, Immanuel understands himself as his kingdom's ideal of a self-made man: a scholar who can achieve everything he puts his mind to, no matter the circumstances. As a result, he has put himself on a pedestal, believing that those who achieved less than him had all the chances and merely didn't use them. Fearing nothing more than failure and becoming anything like his absent, alcoholic father; Immanuel is bound for a rude awakening.
#2 — Morgan Miralaith
❝ While you were having your existential crisis in the mad scientist laboratory you call your bedroom, I took the liberty to read your grandmother's diary. The good news is, I finally understand where all the hubris comes from. ❝
Morgan, belonging to a long-lived species from the realm of Calliah, is the second-in-command for the Elsthess Resistance against the Plague Avatars. While the Resistance on Mhorunn regards her as a capable leader and a skilled fighter; using fire magic to blaze her way to victory; it is clear to most that she has many secrets and ulterior motives. She cares about others in her own way, yet hardly lets anyone close to her. With her mischievous demeanor and cynical nature, Morgan has made it her new mission to recruit Immanuel for the Resistance and, while at it, shatter his very distorted self-image and worldview. Upon forging a contract with her, Immanuel believes that he has sold his soul to a demon. It is only upon meeting others of her kind that he realizes that really is just her personality.
#3 — Mortis Grimm
❞ People reject that which is foreign to them. You of all people should know this. Still, my personal aspirations and origins are of no concern to you. Remember that. ❝
While there are several people from the Realm of Calliah in Elsthess, the realm that Mortis Grimm originated from is unknown. He seems to be the only one of his kind and there is something sinister about him. Wielding powerful magic that matches no other in recorded nature, Mortis, despite being the leader of the Resistance, is a big mystery to all of its members. Usually donning a Plague Doctor mask, Morgan is among the few to have seen his face. He is Mhorunn's greatest ally, but hardly a trusted one. Most understand that he could just as well become its greatest enemy one day.
Interested in reading more and receiving updates as they're posted? Comment on this post and tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Reblogs are appreciated to spread the word! 💞
Taglist — @gwaaaaar @silveryloneliness @noxochicoztliv @justletmeon12 @averytirednerd @letsallsleepoverwork @styrofauxm @non-pressurizeddiamond @mangoinacan13 @amateurmasksmith @kenobiblue @soru-dee @pictures-of-the-stars @elf-osamu @animusicnerd @jaytherat-hometothereblog @watcherofeternalflame
#fantasy novel#aroace#ace representation#aroace representation#demisexual#indie author#webnovel#wattpad#author#writing#authorblr#writers of tumblr#writers on tumblr#indie fantasy#novel promo
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Four Pearls
This is a sort of continuation of this post where I talked about the changes regarding the solstice deadline, but this time I want to speculate a bit about the pearls and how I feel it will effect the larger storyline.
If you have read the original book, you would know that Percy originally only received three pearls from the nereid and Poseidon. The show gives him four. Let's talk about it.
So spoilers for PJO TV and the original PJO books! It's a long one.
There's a lot of speculation about what this means for Sally and "You will fail to save what matters most in the end." I still think they're going to fail to save Sally.
The prophecy: I have a hard time seeing the thing that matters most is not Sally. I have doubts that Percy's going to save her.
The preview: The preview for episode 7 shows Percy and Grover arguing:
Percy: "After we get the bolt, you guys are leaving…with my mom."
Grover: "What about you? What about you?"
…
Percy: "Hold fast, Mom."
Based on how this line is delivered, I think this might be Percy telling Grover and Annabeth to leave thee Underworld with Sally. He pauses before he says "with my mom", which makes me feel like that hesitation means that Percy is relunctantly doing something once again. The way Grover reacts makes it seem like Percy is staying behind and he doesn't have a plan to get out.
He tells Sally to "hold fast" which we know is something that she tells Percy. The last time we hear this quote is when Sally leaves to distract the Minotaur and they're separated. I think Percy is telling Sally to hold on just a little longer because he can't save her.
The nereid: If you pay attention to what the nereid is telling Percy, you'd notice something a little odd.
Percy: "There's four of them."
Nereid: "Save the world. And then go save your mother."
I don't think it's a mistake that she tells Percy to save the world first. She doesn't even tell Percy what the pearls are for, that's how the episode ends. If the intention of giving him the pearls was really about saving Sally, the emphasis would have gone on "save your mother."
So if the pearls aren't for Sally, what are they for?
I think they're testing Percy.
In my previous post, I talked a lot about how many, if not all, of the trio's major failures during their quest was because of the gods' interference. We are not meant to like the gods—they're setting it up so that down the line, we are more sympathetic to Luke's cause.
More importantly, it sets up Percy to be moree sympathetic to Luke's cause.
But Poseidon gives Percy four pearls. Poseidon actually waited for Percy to show up himself. With each episode, we are given little details to make us think that Poseidon is the god to be rooting for.
However, if you look a little deeper into his actions, Poseidon is not the perfect parent. Percy said it himself, Poseidon didn't acknowledge him until he needed something from Percy.
I believe Poseidon / the gods are testing Percy. The gifts from the gods don't come free.
Asking for Athena's assistance came at the cost of the Chimera.
Getting (relunctant) help from Ares nearly killed Percy if Annabeth didn't change Hephaestus' mind.
Seeking out Hermes for transportation caused them to miss the deadline.
What will these pearls cost?
Don't forget this quote from the book either:
When I reached the beach, my clothes dried instantly. I told Grover and Annabeth what had happened, and showed them the pearls.
Annabeth grimaced. “No gift comes without a price.”
“They were free.”
“No.” She shook her head. “‘There is no such thing as a free lunch.’ That’s an ancient Greek saying that translated pretty well into American. There will be a price. You wait.”
(The Lightning Thief, "We Shop for Waterbeds")
I think Poseidon knows he will fail and he's not telling Percy. It's a test of his fatal flaw: personal loyalty.
Who will Percy choose? Annabeth and Grover or his mom? The world?
The entire quest, Percy had little to no agency in the big decisions. He does not want to go on this quest. Annabeth is in charge, Athena, Ares, Hades, Zeus, and Hephaestus all nearly killed him. Hermes stalls them.
The deadline has passed and they failed. But Percy chooses to move forward. He chooses his mom, he chooses to continue. Percy is taking matters into his own hands.
The price is Sally Jackson and Percy is not going to be happy about it.
In the long run, I think Percy is going to be facing a lot of difficult choices. Choices that will justify him being bitter towards the gods. Choices that will justify him becoming like Luke, the same way Annabeth could've been Medusa in another life.
And isn't that kind of the point?
Percy is not Luke. He's not like them. He has every single reason to turn his back on the gods. He has every single reason to overthrow them. But he doesn't. Every single day, every single decision, Percy chooses to not be like Luke. But he gets it. He understands why Luke did what he did.
The writers are writing the show with the knowledge of what is to come. Percy's bitter, but he's not Luke.
He's going to be given reasons to be bitter and it starts with the pearls. But what will make Percy different? What will make him better?
#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo tv show#percy series#annabeth chase#grover underwood#sally jackson#luke castellan#pjo spoilers#poseidon#pjo poseidon#media analysis
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You know what? I’m still mad about Papa Archeron getting a portrait while Nesta didn’t.
Nothing stokes my rage like that poor excuse of a parent being glorified in death while his eldest daughter is lambasted for not parenting his children for him. Despite the fact that he was the Archeron sister’s only living parent, the responsibility of parenting more often than not seemed to be placed on Nesta. Strange isn’t it? That the child was deemed more culpable for failing to parent than her LITERAL FATHER who mind you, fucked off to who knows where in the middle of a conflict only to return and be tragically murdered by the big bad villain.
But that’s not all. Papa Archeron dying saves SJM some major brain gymnastics. Because he died suddenly and tragically, he never has to answer for his failures as a parent. He’ll never have to face his daughters and make the effort to fight his wrongs because he conveniently was able to take the easy way out. Because of this, the lion’s share of culpability gets placed on Nesta’s shoulders (and don’t get me wrong, Nesta has failed her sisters before but not to the degree that their father did) where she is then left to suffer the consequences of her Father’s negligence.
Listen, I’m not about to claim that Nesta wasn’t bitchy and ungrateful towards Feyre during ACOTAR and a few more instances throughout the series. Objectively Nesta has been cruel and unkind to her younger sister when it was completely uncalled for. But I take issue with the fact that Nesta is held responsible for things that were ultimately her father’s fault and he.d to a much higher standard than many of the male characters in the series.
Nesta was far from perfect as an older sister, but she still made efforts to mend her relationship with Feyre during ACOTAR and ACOMAF before becoming the main scapegoat of the inner circle. You know what I never see? Rhysand or any members of the IC speaking ill of papa Archeron or expressing any anger whatsoever that he failed his daughters during an extremely vulnerable period of their lives. But you know what I do see? Every IC member judging Nesta so harshly and treating her so callously for her failure to protect and nurture Feyre while they were living in poverty. And yet, who is blamed for Feyre’s illiteracy? Who is blamed for Feyre’s decision to hunt in the woods when their father was RIGHT THERE?
Let’s be real here, Nesta receives more in-text and out of text criticism than Papa Archeron for two reasons. Firstly, Nesta is an actual character while Papa Archeron is a plot device used to explain why the sisters are in such a poor situation. HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A FIRST NAME! So how can I possibly engage with his character in a meaningful way when his characterization has as much substance as a pile of cobwebs.
Secondly, Nesta is assumed to be more culpable in the neglect of Feyre’s safety and education because it was expected that she take up all the maternal duties to compensate for her Father’s absence. Even though Papa Archeron was there physically, there is little evidence that he contributed to any community building in their family or made any attempts at mediating conflicts between his daughters. As a father, there isn’t much expectation on him as a parent while for Nesta there is. Nesta’s refusal to be parentified was a subversion of the expectation that she would become a sacrificial parental figure to her sisters (despite only being a few years older than them). As such, Nesta’s refusal was viewed as more offensive and wrong than Papa Archeron because it was a resistance to rigid gendered expectations being forced upon her.
And then we come to the ultimate conclusion of Nesta’s lack of a portrait. Papa Archeron gets to die a hero and have his daughters honour his memory while Nesta has to live with the consequences. Nesta is the one who was there and yet she’s punished tenfold on a much larger scale by a clique of immortal fairies with no sense of proportionality when it comes to wrongdoings.
#anti sjm#pro nesta#anti nessian#anti ic#anti rhysand#sjm critical#acosf thoughts#acotar#nesta deserves better#nesta archeron
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Ellie’s memory of the golfing scene and what it tells us about her.
🚨spoilers for tlou2🚨
I think Ellie’s flashback to Joel’s death is very telling of how she internalized the event and the meaning she applied to his death. It’s also a good demonstration of her relationship to autonomy. Let’s break down the elements that were inconsistent with the actual event:
The stairs/hallway are much longer than they were. This suggests a sense of helplessness, an inability to get there fast enough. Joel is constantly out of reach.
There is blood on the floor outside of the door. Not entirely certain on this one but my hunch is that she blames herself for not seeing more obvious signs of violence/not knowing something was wrong sooner.
The door is locked, another roadblock in her path to Joel. She can’t access him, she can’t help, he needs her and she isn’t there.
Most importantly. Joel yells “Ellie, help me” (which he didn’t in the actual scene, he just screams. He doesn’t say a word in the actual scene)
Ellie hearing Joel scream for her help, calling for her while being horribly beaten, and her being repeatedly impeded on her way to him suggests that what she took away from his death is that she wasn’t enough. They always helped each other, always had each others backs, always got up. Ellie views his death as a failure. She was too slow, too weak, not smart enough to save him. She failed him when he needed her most. She is absolutely helpless to save him, just like she was helpless to save Riley, Tess, Sam, and Jessie (and Marlene, and humanity, and and and-).
Once again, Ellie makes a decision (staying with Riley, going to the fireflies, staying with Joel, being the cure, trying to forgive Joel) and once again her autonomy and ability to find closure is ripped from her.
This is the inciting incident of tlou pt2, this is the moment where Ellie’s whole world shatters the same way Joel’s did at the start of pt1. Ellie enters into the same cycle (which I like to call the “Joel cycle” because… yeah.) that he did, and throughout pt2 she stays in the “20 years later” phase of the cycle. She is changed, she has lost her light, lost what she fought for. She lost her chance to genuinely forgive Joel and rebuild their relationship. She is stuck in a gruelling and violent world that she has no anchor in, at least not anymore. His death is so sudden and so incredibly violent that it practically gave her (and me as well, tbh) whiplash. She’s in a state of total shock.
On another devastating note, this is one of the three times in tlou that we see Ellie beg (that I remember). The first is begging Joel to get up at the university of Eastern Colorado, the second is begging him to get up and for Abby to stop, and the third is begging Abby to not kill Dina because she’s pregnant. (Two times she begs Joel to get up, one time he doesn’t. Two times she begs Abby to spare her family and one time she does. What a beautifully haunting contrast)
To wrap up, every person creates an internal narrative, a story of their life that is crafted from their context and lived experiences. The meaning we derive from those experiences doesn’t always reflect the truth, and that can sometimes bite us in the ass majorly when we experience a traumatic event. We tend to want to find someone or something to assign blame to, some reason or rationale to why it happened. We tell stories. We write them in our minds about ourselves and what happens to us and what that says about us.
But Ellie is wrong. Joel’s death happened in response to a conscious and willing choice he made. It is in no way her fault, and there was absolutely no way for her to know or to stop what was happening. I think Ellie knows that much on an intellectual level, It just doesn’t change how devastated she is over the whole event. It can’t change the fact that she FEELS as though this was all her fault, that Joel did what he did to save her, that she could have saved him. That she should have.
#this isn’t a new thought#like I’m p much just stating what happened in the game#this is not some super deep meta analysis of tlou#it’s just.#Ellie’s relationship to autonomy is so so so good#ellie the last of us#joel the last of us#ellie williams#joel miller#tlou series#tlou show#tlou1#tlou spoilers#tlou analysis#I have SO MANY drafts that are like. walls of text#we’re talking Great Wall of China long#tlou2#basically what I said in previous posts about how ellie picked up Joel’s stoic attitude and emotional constipation.#ellie’s screams lolol. my heart breaking in real time.#joel goes golfing HD!!!#the way her voice breaks as she begs… OWIE#Neil druckmann needs to pay for my therapy fr!!#I edited this because it had some… really bad grammatical errors#syntax??? what’s that????#anyway normally I don’t put much thought or effort into my actual wording of Tumblr posts#because like maybe 10 people will see it. who cares.#but this one is one I actually care a bit about and this whole thing could be written about in so much more depth.#so I went in and tried to clean it up a bit and added some thoughts.#tlou#the last of us
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Just thinkin' about how showing your companions the Force in KotOR II is about healing, about teaching them to confront their traumas and cope with them in a healthy way, and on a Dark Side run, it's about yanking on that trauma and twisting it until it becomes all that they are.
Atton is a goddamn mess of a person. The war wrecked him and shaped him into a sadistic monster who committed mega war crimes until he met the one Jedi who forced him to see what he'd become. And instead of taking any responsibility, he bolted, coping by drowning out the world and doing his damnedest not to feel. The Exile forces him to stop running and confront himself – to face all those emotions he chopped up into little pieces and wore like masks, his guilt, his hate, his fear. I don't think Atton ever thinks of himself as a Jedi; him learning to use the Force is him learning not to be afraid of it, and himself, anymore. Atton decides he's going to finally try to do something with his life – maybe not for goodness' sake, but because he owes that last Jedi that much. And a DS Exile extinguishes whatever seeds of decency she planted, destroys his last remaining shreds of idealism, and convinces him not to fear himself in a much, much scarier way.
Bao-Dur is a genuinely good guy, but he's shackled by guilt. It's not straightforward, and it'd maybe be easier for him to deal with it if it was - Bao-Dur simultaneously regrets and doesn't regret what he did. He believes... not necessarily that Malachor had to happen, but that the war needed to end. But he's horrified that it was his hands and his mind that conceived the Mass Shadow Generator, can never banish the sight of so much death at his hand. And he can't reconcile how what drove him in the war was pure hatred, and the galaxy treats him like his service was a noble thing when he knows it was anything but. That rage hasn't left him even though he tried to move on and turn his hands towards kinder things. Through the Force, he's able to move on and at last find peace – but a DS Exile convinces him to give into his anger and let retribution rule him completely.
Mira is at her heart a scared little girl trying desperately to prove to herself that she's tough and capable – that she's over everything she's lost, that she's not alone and afraid. She tries not to care about anyone, because the galaxy certainly doesn't give a shit, but she does despite herself. A LS Exile teaches her how to come to terms with the things that hound her, and in that, find true strength. A DS Exile teaches her to cover up that fear by preying on others so that nobody ever has the chance to hurt her again, and convincing herself that hardness means strength until it becomes true.
Brianna has tried to find purpose in servitude, but she's isolated in an otherwise tight-knit unit. She's desperate to prove herself, but she's never good enough for anyone, and she knows why she continues to fail even as she's unable to let the source go. A LS Exile teaches her to transcend those concerns and be true to herself above all else – not only to follow her own path, but to find strength and value in herself, for the first time in her life. What Atris thinks, what her sisters think, is immaterial. A DS Exile doesn't free her from her mindset of servitude so much as twist her loyalties. That Brianna instead becomes convinced she's better than her sisters, better than Atris, and takes her anger out on her ex-family and beyond – becoming driven by scorn, seeing nothing but the failures of the Jedi to live up to their own standards.
Mical lost his future at a young age – something that probably saved his life, considering everything that happened in the following years, but which left him trailing in the shadow of the Jedi seeking answers nobody could give. He wants to believe in the Jedi Order, but recent history has left him with far too much evidence to the contrary. A LS Exile acknowledges the flaws of the Jedi teachings, even personifies those flaws through their history, but convinces him through their actions that their core still rings true and is worth striving for. A DS Exile utterly demolishes his faith in the same manner. Mical takes the Exile's fall as yet another betrayal by the Jedi, but it's the hardest hitting yet - this sheer debasement of the figure he idolized most. It finally extinguishes his idealism, even gnawing away at the compassion that defines him until he's yet another soulless cog in the Republic machine.
And Visas is already attuned to the Force, but a LS Exile gives her hope for the galaxy and teaches her of the beautiful little moments of connection and the greatness people can achieve together, where she'd become convinced that life was pain and the only thing any being could aspire to was an end to the suffering. What she witnesses is strong enough for her to come to terms with the death of Katarr and choose to keep going despite all that's happened. And a DS Exile... doesn't. They reaffirm her desolation and then give her the callous end she sought.
The Exile themselves went for ten years avoiding connections, and then the Force thrusts them back into the role of a leader – a role they've got decidedly mixed feelings about, when it was literally their empathy that caused their self-destruction in the Mandalorian Wars. Major YMMV on how you characterize your Exile's motives, but the way I saw it, a DS Exile isn't going to be hurt again. They're not going to get attached to their soldiers – they've made that mistake before and it brought them nothing. They know how to say the right words to get people to fight and to die for them, and that's all it is. And for a LS Exile... they know the danger of caring, but they won't allow it to stop them from living any longer, not after they've spent ten years dead to themselves. And it's the human connections they form that heals them, that allows for them to touch the Force once more.
Obviously a DS Exile is bad and they should feel bad. For a LS one, though - the Jedi Council's repudiation of your powers at the end of the game used to really bother me until this part clicked. You're all a bunch of broken people who find each other and learn to move on. Even if you're drawing them in with freaky black hole space magic, they are genuinely better off for your presence, and it's because of who you are as a person, not any way you've molded them through the Force.
#kotor#kotor 2#kotor ii#atton rand#bao-dur#visas marr#mira#handmaiden#mical#disciple#the exile#jedi exile
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Once again my mind is plagued with Sideshow Bob brainrot and I must infodump about him for a bit to clear it.
This is a sorta continuation of this post where I ramble about how prison warped Bob’s personality.
While I often consider doing a more structured series of Sideshow Bob reviews, I have nothing concrete planned at the moment, so posts like these will remain sporadic. However, I am rather open for more discussion with those who dare ask.
The focus today is on Sideshow Bob’s defining character trait.
There are many popular labels used for Sideshow Bob that fail to paint a full picture because the very opposites of those aspects are also true to his character.
Highly educated with a great capacity for idiocy. Sophisticated with bouts of unhinged rage. A mastermind whose plans never work. A murderous psychopath who’s never actually murdered anyone and has attempted to reform. A villain who has saved the day, more than once. A failure that never gives up.
All of these apply but I feel he has a more comprehensive character trait. One that remains true in every appearance, exemplified in all of his actions and downfalls.
Above everything else, and I say this with the utmost affection, Bob is an attention whore.
Bob needs an audience like he needs air to breathe. All the world’s a stage and he lives to perform. He's pathetically desperate for your reaction, whether it’s praise, scorn, fear, or a laugh. He’ll sing, act, tell jokes, contort his body, or share the details of his cunning scheme with you, even if it jeopardizes everything he’s worked for, in exchange for a fleeting moment of recognition.
He wants to be seen, heard, known, understood, celebrated.
Don’t we all.
But his craving for validation can never be satisfied, which led him down this road of suffering.
In the flashback in “Brother from Another Series”, during the sidekick audition, Bob looks a bit more composed than usual.
This is the earliest moment in his life that we witness. He’s hiding all his iconic hair in a hat and presents himself with dignity and poise; is this where he gets bit by the acting bug and everything changes for him? Doubtful, since his mother is a famous actress and he probably grew up in a home that valued the arts. I think he might have been repressing a lot of his more comical tendencies at this point, then unleashed them due to an unexpected pie to the face. Bob is angry at first, but within seconds relishes having an audience’s approval. All it took was Krusty calling him a “genius” and Bob’s fate was sealed.
In “Krusty Gets Busted,” it’s up to interpretation if Bob genuinely wanted to solve Bart’s problem out of the goodness in his heart, or if his ego demanded that he prove to his audience what a good role model and host he can be.
In” Sideshow Bob Roberts,” he charms everyone in town with his silver tongue, but is still so insecure about how he’s perceived that he feels he has to cheat to win the election.
In “Cape Feare,” Bart compliments his voice and he’s all too eager to boast his musical talent.
In “Sideshow Bob’s Last Gleaming,” being called “smart” is enough to let his guard down.
He needs constant reassurance that he’s smart, talented, and loved.
I believe that in “Black Widower”, Bob’s courting of Selma wasn’t a ruse, at least not at first. They probably had nothing in common (certainly wouldn’t bond over media taste) except that both were painfully lonely. They fell fast in what they thought was love because they showed each other the slightest bit of affection, then opened the floodgates of built up feelings that had nowhere else to go. But realizing there would always be another man in her life more important than him, MacGyver, any love Bob felt towards Selma evaporated.
Combine this pettiness with his freshly warped sense of morality courtesy of Springfield Penitentiary, and he would find this sudden violent hatred justifiable. But everything has to be a spectacle with Bob, so of course he would end things with a heckin’ fiery explosion.
As we have established, Bob is prone to self-sabotage. He can be unbearably pretentious, so he struggles finding others that share his passions.
But Bob isn’t a gatekeeper for these interests. He would love nothing more than to discuss art, music, literature and theater and convince others to appreciate them as well. He has a desire to teach, and finds fulfillment when he helms his own educational program with an audience willing to listen and cheer him on. He doesn’t have such luck with his peers, who tend to throw his books back at him.
In the episode “The Man Who Grew Too Much”, Homer mentions Mozart’s name and you can tell Bob is ready to drop everything and gush about a special interest, but Homer then reveals that he doesn’t really care.
So imagine being in an incredibly niche fandom with no one but the void to hear your headcanons or fan favorites. That’s Bob's predicament, but he’s persistent (and maniacal).
Little brother Cecil is similar, but he’s more likely to back down when the audience doesn’t indulge him.
It is left to our imagination what their childhood was like. Their mother might have encouraged them both to pursue theater, but did either of them ever feel pride in their accomplishments? Is there a reason Cecil gives up and Bob can’t be stopped?
Perhaps Bob leans into the villain role because he’s convinced himself he was born for it (give him credit, he does play it cartoonishly well), but when the tables turn he’s equally as enthusiastic playing the part of a noble hero. He seems unable to turn off the dramatics either way. There have been a few moments when he admits he does not want to commit to a violent act, and you could argue it’s because deep down he knows he’s playing a character that he's taken too far and that it isn’t his true self, or maybe he's horrified his true self is a monster and he’d rather play a different character as a means to contain it (I am not referring to moments from “Day of the Jackanapes” or “The Great Louse Detective”, moreso “The Man Who Grew Too Much”, “Gone Boy”, and “Bobby It’s Cold Outside”). His instincts during these moments seem to be to run away.
But Bob can’t live secluded in his lil lighthouse forever, even if it means no one gets hurt and he would be free.
Prison made him crazy. Isolation would destroy him.
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eavesdropping.
twilight advent calendar day three: Pick one deceased Twilight character to draw or tell us more about. How would the Twilight universe be different if they were still alive? (prompts here).
1927. Great Falls, Montana.
After eleven years and a handful of moves, Edward still could not fathom why Carlisle insisted on forcing the two of them to travel by train. It was torturous, the heartbeats pounding against his skull for hours and hours, incessant thoughts, the smell of intoxicating blood rising at a fever pitch. This failure to understand Carlisle’s motivations meant he had refused to speak to Carlisle for the past six hours. When the train finally lurched into the station Edward hardly glanced back to see if Carlisle followed as he bounded through the car and onto the platform, desperate for fresh air.
Edward made his way through the platform of the small train depot, working his way through businessmen with irritating thoughts. He was unable to focus in on anyone in particular’s thoughts, or any specific conversation, nor did he care to, this is how he found a toddler nearly colliding with him.
He managed to dodge the small child in the nick of time, saving the child’s skull from shattering against his kneecap. Where was this child’s parents? The child instead face-planted on the brick platform. The sickeningly sweet smell of blood came seconds after the snap of cartilage.
He gulped down venom, he would not murder a toddler in cold blood.
“My apologies, sir,” a woman said behind Edward. He turned to glance at her, she was kneeling to pick up the child. Ah, there was the child’s parent. “He fails to watch where he’s going when he is excited,” she explained, examining her son’s face. She wiped his tears with a maternal fondness Edward longed to remember and Edward found it difficult to continue to blame the child for being careless in his excitement.
“It was my fault. I was the one who failed to be observant” Edward said as she got to her feet, the child on her hip. She gave him a grateful smile, her attention still on her injured son.
“Do we know each other?” She asked. “Your face is quite familiar.” Her thoughts were thinking of his gold eyes in particular, the face she recognized was not his but the man who created him. It was clearly Carlisle’s face, even if it was an image clouded by decades of human memories and fairly inaccurate.
‘Say no, please,’ Carlisle thought, closer than Edward thought.
“I don’t believe so,” Edward smiled. The woman thought it was terrifying, he thought the blood gushing out of her child’s nose was terrifying. “I must have one of those faces. Have a nice day.”
“You as well. Apologies again,” she said as he began to walk away.
Edward found a spot in the shadows, along the station wall, as he waited for Carlisle who was currently trying to hide his face with a scarf, while also trying far too hard to see the mystery woman’s face.
“Does your nose still hurt?” The woman asked her son, whose nose was thankfully beginning to stop bleeding. He nodded, burrowing his head into his mother’s shoulder. She kissed the top of his head, paying no mind to the stain that would tarnish her dress.
Most days the grief for parents he had long forgotten was an ignorable ache, in moments like that it felt like a gaping wound.
‘Was it me she recognized? ’ Carlisle thought, a hand on Edward’s shoulder breaking him from his thoughts.
Edward nodded, watching as two more children rushed to the woman as she approached. The oldest, a boy, could not be older than six. The second oldest was maybe four, a blonde girl, who strongly resembled the man standing against the station wall. She greeted the children with pure glee, thoughts full of how different they all looked since she had last seen them. She knelt to properly hug them, letting the broken-nosed toddler free as he squirmed. The eldest two children elbowed each other to be the first to greet their mother.
“A former patient?” Edward asked, realizing the rosy interpretation of this scene was not solely his own but also belonging to the man standing next to him.
‘Yes,’ Carlisle mentally responded, thoughts of a teenager with a broken leg and a boisterous laugh. ‘Frankly, she is one of the ones I have wondered about most often. Her aspirations were quite admirable.’
“What’s her name?”
‘Esme Platt. Although I presume it’s no longer Platt,’ Carlisle thought, his eyes focused on the man greeting her. If Edward did not know better he would say Carlisle was judging the man. ‘At least she made it out West.’
The two stood unnoticed on the opposite side of the platform, for some reason content to watch the family exchange pleasantries and ‘I missed you’s from afar. When the greetings were done the three children, now tired of the novelty of their mother’s return took off into the depot, arm in arm.
“Goodbye,” Esme laughed, turning her attention to the man who was still waiting to greet her.
"Walk calmly and stay in the station," the man called sternly after them. The children stopped running and proceeded in a polite pace. “I may have promised them we would stop for ice cream if they would be nice to each other,” he explained. Esme laughed, as he took her luggage.
"I thought you did not believe in bribery."
"Lillie hid a frog in Joe's pillowcase, which preceded to start a battle. I was desperate."
‘Where did she travel to? ’ Carlisle mentally asked. Edward refrained from teasing him over the sudden interest in humans’ lives, more accurately the sudden interest in one human’s life, a human he had self-admittedly ‘wondered about most often.’
“Her family, an emergency of some sort. I can only see glimpses of a woman who looks like her sobbing.”
‘For how long?’
“A month, I believe.”
‘And her husband did not accompany her,’ Carlisle thought to himself, Edward was confident there was judgment behind that thought.
“How is Mary?” Esme’s husband asked, throwing her bags over one shoulder, offering her his free elbow which she immediately took.
Esme sighed. “I believe she will be fine, eventually.”
“I am sure she will. And how are you?” He asked as they began to walk into the depot.
Without a word to each other Edward and Carlisle began to slowly trail behind the couple, staying far enough away they could not be accused of eavesdropping or stalking.
“Deliriously happy to be home. I missed you all terribly,” Esme smiled.
“Despite the children’s short greeting, we are all glad to have you back."
“Were they awful?”
“They were fine. On an unrelated note, I do believe we have too many of them. I suggest we sell Lillie,” he laughed, glancing down at his wife, pausing when he saw her face, “What does that expression mean?”
“I am not wearing an expression," she said, but well aware her lie was unconvincing she quickly added, "we will discuss it later.”
“Esme.”
She sighed, chewing her bottom lip as she decided the best manner to break her news. “In a few months, we may, potentially, have too many children… by one more.”
“Are you positive?”
She nodded, seemingly unenthused by this news. “I did not wish to tell you here but, I fainted one evening and Mary dragged me to the hospital, and it appears we will soon have enough children to form a baseball team.”
The man stopped in his tracks, finding the confines of proper society quite limiting at that moment and the urge to kiss his wife quite strong. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Arthur, we are in public,” Esme chided, her feigned dismay betrayed by her own smile. “You are not cross?”
‘Why would he be cross?’ Carlisle thought.
“Heavens no. Why would I? This is a gift.”
She scoffed as if her reasons for dismay could not be any plainer. “We can hardly afford the three we have. I am dreadfully old. I could not work for months when I was pregnant with Henry. And now, everything with Mary and her children.” She waved a hand to represent all the reasons he should be upset about the situation.
“It will work out, Esme,” Arthur said definitively, leading them to where their three children were playing peacefully on a bench.
“Since when are you an optimist?” Esme laughed.
Before Arthur could respond the children launched in to a chant for the ice cream they had been promised. The couple laughed, Esme lifting the blood caked toddler onto her hip, as the two oldest led their parents outside both prattling on about the dessert they were looking forward to.
“I surmise Montana is no longer an option,” Edward said after a minute of silence.
“I suppose not,” Carlisle sighed, turning to look at the large map on the wall. “Would you like to choose our next destination?”
#twilightadvent23#esme platt#esme's son#carlisle cullen#edward cullen#my stories#this isn't telling you any more about esme's son but more about what esme's life would have been like i suppose oops#i'm hoping hirsch doesn't feel like a watered down carlisle he appears in the piano teacher and is of course in the au draft i've been#working on but six years in i think he would be less grouchy than in the piano teacher but also i'm still figuring out his role
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leo trauma this, cjj trauma that. and youre absolutely right, but what about literally everyone else trauma!
you cant tell me raph isnt traumatized after getting his shell pierced and his plastron cracked and sacrifcing himself in order to save leo, after getting his mind invaded by the krang with the sole goal of hurting his family and then subsequently getting possessed by krang (both of which looked extremely painful) and forced to attack his family and then nearly kill leo, after ripping krang bits off his eye
you cant tell me donnie isnt traumatized after being much more than others painfully aware of just how dire the situation with the krang was because theyve never had to use the escape pods before, after getting his battle shell destroyed and nearly getting killed without it before getting swooped into the death trap that has become of the turtle tank where he along with mikey was seconds away from being crushed before april came in to save the day; after fusing with an alien spaceship which might not have been painful, but looked very disturbing to him personally nonetheless (at least before he rejoiced at the fact of becoming one with a cool piece of tech)
you cant tell me mikey isnt traumatized after trying time and time again to channel his mystic powers to save his family, after his repeated failures to do so endangering his family, after, first, being the reason for the destruction of donnie’s battle shell and, second, being the one to take it off at the krang ship, which does not make him responsible for any damage donnie may have suffered, but he could very well end up feeling like he let those things happen, like it was his fault
you cant tell me april isnt traumatized after nearly getting killed by the krang (and what if she hadnt found the herbicide prior to the apocalypse? im sure thats something she considered in the aftermath), after getting attacked by possessed raph, her brother, and getting majorly knocked out (you’ll notice, donnie immediately checks on her looking extremely concerned when she lands on the ground, and she doesnt get up for a good while)
not to mention leo’s sacrifice. raph was Convinced hes gone. remember the “Mikey, it’s over”? hes literally hopeless and putting on a brave face in an attempt to help his brothers cope with this massive loss. you ever notice that donnie hasnt said a single word since leo announced his plan and until the epilogue scene? much to think about! and what about mikey finally managing to channel his mystic powers and pulling leo out? might seem like a good thing, but do you have any idea what a feat like that does to your psyche? what if this attempt failed like all the ones before it and leo stayed in the prison dimension to die? what if it killed mikey, just like it did in the future? which, of course, present mikey could not have known about but the yellow cracks in his arms were very well visible, so it wouldnt be a reach to assume he at least considered the possibility of it killing him. and what about april and splinter, watching helplessly from the ground as their brother and son disappears? and we dont know how long it took for the whole gang to reunite, so they also spent a much longer time convinced leo was gone
to reiterate, obviously leo and cjj have gone through a LOT and are severely traumatized as a result. but lets not forget the rest of the family just because they didnt break every bone in their bodies, but broke only a few instead.
#turtlepost#rottmnt#rottmnt spoilers#rottmnt movie spoilers#please dont take this as hate i just want people to acknowledge that nobody was left unaffected by the events of the movie#you dont have to draw tons of fanart or write fics about them! just dont make it look like they didnt suffer too#yes i went back to this post just to change casey to cjj shut up i have principles!!
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yesterday i watched When Evil Lurks, which is a recent argentinian horror film i found out about for reasons entirely unrelated to being argentinian (this rotten tomatoes article ranks it as the best horror film of 2023)
it's at first glance a simple plot, demonic possession in tiny rural town, guy tries to save his family from it, but with an interesting-to-me twist on that, which is that
demonic possession is a recognised phenomenon. The government has standard protocols to deal with it; having actually encountered an instance of demonic possession is rare, but basic things about what to do and not do are common knowledge.
when the main character tells people about the demon, the answer isn't "demon aren't real", it's "how would you, a random hick, recognise a possessed person if you saw one" or "nah, demons are a big city thing, we live in the ass-end of nowhere, there can't be one here".
which leads to a theme of the film; the horror isn't coming from an outside-context event nobody was prepared for, but rather people who should know better acting short-sightedly and failing to deal with a problem they totally could have.
a woman reports her son has been possessed. everyone knows this means a demon is trying to be born into the world, and if they don't kill it (carefully, properly, using specialised equipment and trained professionals) there will be dire consequences (not fully specified, but lots of people die merely in the process of the demon being born). The 'cleaner' (professional demon-killer) doesn't get there for a year. it's not clear why; one wealthy landowner speculates the whole thing was meant to screw with him, and I don't think he's right but clearly something comparably fucked up is going on, even if it's impersonal institutional failure rather than politicking. and because they took too long, the demon has grown in power, its influence has spread, and it mind controls someone into ambushing and killing the cleaner as the starting event of the plot.
the main characters get dragged into a plan where, well, the government isn't dealing with it, so let's just carry the possessed person a few hundred kilometres away (he cannot move under his own power) and make it someone else's problem. everyone has the background to know this is predictably a terrible idea that makes everything worse.
one of the standard things-everyone-knows about demons is you should not use guns against them. nevertheless people keep pointing guns at the various manifestations of demonic activity, while people are yelling at them not to.
in i think fitting accordance to this theme, the protagonists fail. the demon is born, with unclear implications for the general area though certainly bad ones. they failed because they are human and selfish and short-sighted, and also because the entire institutional structure that should be doing better than that let the problem fester.
there's a clear element of contagion to how demonic influence spreads; if you're in contact with the possessed at all, you're supposed to abandon everything you own and burn your clothes (this being part of the reason why it's a terrible idea to move the possessed). if one where to subscribe to the school of thought where every horror monster is a metaphor for a societal problem, this obviously suggests the covid pandemic as the Social Issue We Are Exploring Today
...but I don't, and I think that's a limited reading. i think it's about something broader than that, about individual human weaknesses and how they lead to collective failures. or at least that's what I get out of it.
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