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mononijikayu · 1 month

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night flower ─ ryomen sukuna.

Despite knowing the futility of his desires, The King of Curses couldn't suppress the ache in his heart. It was pathetic. When he thought he had long past any human desires, one thought of you shatters him whole. Everything of you was a ghost, a curse, his pain, his grief. All the things that should not be. Yet, he knew he was stuck with you. He can never bury you. Not even if he wanted to. Not even if he tried. And he hated it. He hated how this made him feel. And most of all, he hated you. He hated you, his untenable night flower.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Mentions of Character Death, Mention of Grief, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Mild Angst, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

kayu's playlist, side 400;

listen: night flower by ahn ye eun

note: i ended up changing the song, this was so emotional!!! this sukuna story blurb is an introduction to an upcoming chapter of us and them, which i will be writing soon!!! i had to write them because they're in my brain, having an angst life. anyway, i hope you're having a good day!!! please hydrate and take care of yourself, i love you!!! <3

HE DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD EVER BE POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO BE SO NOSTALGIC. Ryomen Sukuna moved with deliberate caution through the expansive compound, his steps measured and precise, as if treading on eggshells to avoid disturbing the slumbering inhabitants. In a place where every sound was magnified, he couldn't afford to make even the slightest noise.In the recesses of memory, Sukuna was haunted by the austere edicts of the Ryomen clan, their enforcement a testament to the severity of tradition. The memory of bamboo striking palm under curfew's shadow lingered, its echo dancing through the corridors of time.

Amidst the shroud of darkness and hushed whispers, Sukuna traversed the once-familiar paths of his ancestry. Each step carried the weight of disdain for the new moniker donned by his once-proud lineage. The rise of the Mikoto, descendants turned usurpers, cast a pall over the legacy of the Ryomen.

To Sukuna, this renaming was a grievous wound upon the honor of his clan, a desecration of their noble lineage. The Mikoto, in his eyes, were but pale imitations, lacking the fortitude and majesty that once defined the Ryomen's grandeur.

Yet, amidst his scorn, Sukuna was forced to confront his own culpability in the clan's decline. His defiance of tradition, his embrace of cursed power, had kindled a flame that consumed the Ryomen's glory. Now, as he treaded the silent halls of his forebears, the burden of his transgressions weighed heavily upon his spirit.

In the hallowed halls of the clan manor, Sukuna moved with the silent grace of a feline predator stalking its prey. Each step he took echoed with a quiet intensity, as if the very shadows themselves yielded to his presence. His senses, finely attuned to the symphony of the night, allowed him to discern the subtlest of sounds and movements in the darkness.

Like a nocturnal hunter, Sukuna prowled through the labyrinthine pathways of the manor, his movements fluid and deliberate. Every corner turned, every corridor traversed, was a testament to his instinctual prowess. The air around him seemed to hum with anticipation, as if the very walls whispered secrets only he could comprehend.

In this clandestine ballet of shadows and whispers, Sukuna was the undisputed master. His senses, sharpened by centuries of existence, guided him through the darkness with unwavering precision. And as he moved with silent purpose, a sense of primal satisfaction coursed through his veins, reminding him of the ancient power that pulsed within his being.

The body he inhabited belonged to a weary traveler, half-asleep and oblivious to the ancient being residing within. Itadori Yuuji was barely able to keep a hold of him, even in his slumber. And yet he supposed, it was the only reason he was alive. He scoffed. It was better than nothing. Better than being without a body. He’ll figure it out, he was certain. But until then, Sukuna's consciousness coexisted with the boy's, a symbiotic relationship born out of necessity rather than choice. He had seized control of the boy's form, driven by his insatiable hunger for power and dominance.

As he moved silently through the moonlit courtyard, Sukuna couldn't help but scoff at the mention of Kyoto, once known as Heian-kyo. Such trivialities held no significance to him; his existence transcended the petty concerns of mortals. He cared little for the names of cities or the passing of time—it was power and conquest that consumed his thoughts, driving him ever forward in his relentless pursuit of supremacy.

In the quiet of the night, amidst the ancient stones and whispering winds, Ryomen Sukuna found himself standing once more in the hallowed grounds of his past. The air was heavy with memories, echoes of a time long gone yet ever present in the recesses of his mind.

He had always known, deep down, that he would return to this place, his spirit inexorably drawn back to the land of the living with each cycle of rebirth. But to behold the familiar sights of his once-beloved home, to feel the earth beneath his feet and the cool night air against his skin—it stirred something within him that he could not name.

The landscape of his former home unfolded before him like a tapestry woven with threads of memory, each detail etched into the very fabric of his being. The ancient structures, weathered by the passage of time, stood as silent sentinels of a bygone era, their stone walls bearing witness to the centuries that had slipped away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and cherry blossoms, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that wafted through the narrow streets. Lanterns adorned with intricate patterns cast soft pools of light upon the cobblestone pathways, illuminating the way with a warm, inviting glow.

As Sukuna ventured deeper into the heart of his former domain, he passed by familiar landmarks that stirred memories long buried beneath the sands of time. The towering pagoda, its wooden beams weathered and worn, rose majestically against the night sky, a silent testament to the enduring legacy of his clan.

The sound of running water filled the air as Sukuna approached the tranquil gardens that had once been his sanctuary, a haven of peace amidst the chaos of the world. Koi fish swam lazily in the moonlit ponds, their graceful movements a reflection of the timeless tranquility that pervaded the sacred space.

But amidst the beauty and serenity of his former home, Sukuna felt an undeniable sense of melancholy tugging at his heartstrings. The memories of days long past weighed heavily upon him, a reminder of the fleeting nature of existence and the inevitability of change.

And yet, for all the pain and longing that his return had evoked, Ryomen Sukuna could not deny the undeniable pull of nostalgia, the bittersweet symphony of emotions that danced upon the winds of time. For in revisiting the echoes of his past, he found solace in the knowledge that some things remained unchanged, eternal in their immutable beauty.

In the ethereal glow of the moonlight, Ryomen Sukuna traversed the path of his past, each step a testament to the tumult raging within his immortal soul. The air was thick with the weight of centuries, bearing witness to the ebb and flow of time itself.

As Ryomen Sukuna wandered through the familiar alleyways of his former home, his steps faltered, caught in the delicate web of memories that enveloped his mind like a gentle breeze. Amidst the labyrinthine paths, he found himself transported back to moments shared with you, like fragile petals dancing upon the winds of his thoughts.

Pausing amidst the hushed stillness of the courtyard, Sukuna's gaze fell upon the scene before him. Though the landscape had changed, the essence of the place remained etched in his memory with crystalline clarity. Each stone, each flower, held echoes of the past, stirring dormant recollections within his soul.

In the tranquility of the courtyard, Sukuna's mind drifted back to a time long gone, a time when laughter filled the air and joy knew no bounds. He remembered the sound of your laughter, like music to his ears, as you danced with abandon in the gentle patter of raindrops. Your laughter, so pure and infectious, had once been the melody that accompanied his existence.

Yet, amidst the fleeting moments of happiness, Sukuna couldn't escape the shadows that loomed on the horizon, casting a pall over the memories of days gone by. Despite the passage of time and the trials they had faced, the memory of your laughter remained etched in his heart, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

As you gazed at him with those tender, doe-like eyes, a spark of excitement dancing within their depths, Sukuna found himself ensnared in the magnetic pull of your enthusiasm. Your invitation to dance in the rain stirred something within him, a flicker of longing amidst the depths of his stoicism.

Despite his usually composed exterior, Sukuna felt a ripple of uncertainty course through him at the thought of indulging in such carefree revelry. The notion of abandoning the constraints of propriety and embracing spontaneity tugged at the edges of his resolve, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed facade he wore.

With a hesitant brush of his free hand through his hair, Sukuna wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between the allure of your infectious enthusiasm and the weight of his own reservations. In that moment, suspended between reluctance and desire, he grappled with the choice before him, unsure of which path to tread.

"Come on, Sukuna, let's dance in the rain!" You called to him, the pitch of your voice boisterous with excitement. Rain hadn’t come in a few days. You and the other priestesses in the shrine had been begging the heavens for rain water, for the harvest. And you were gladdened, the gods had listened. And you now want to celebrate. You grinned. “Come!”

Your mischievous smile and playful insistence proved to be irresistible, gradually eroding Sukuna's resolve as he found himself drawn deeper into the whirlwind of your enthusiasm. Despite the furrow of his brows and the sheen of sweat upon his brow, he couldn't deny the tug of your infectious energy.

With each hesitant step forward, Sukuna's internal conflict became more palpable, his movements marked by a hesitant dance between desire and duty. His concern for your safety and reputation weighed heavily upon him, casting a shadow over the impulsive joy of the moment.

As you reveled in the downpour, heedless of the consequences to your brightly colored kimono or the mud that clung to your delicate attire, Sukuna felt a pang of guilt gnaw at his conscience. Your father's expectations loomed large in his mind, a constant reminder of the responsibility entrusted to him to safeguard your well-being.

Watching you frolic amidst the puddles, your laughter echoing through the air, Sukuna's heart clenched with a mixture of apprehension and admiration. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was failing in his duty, his anxiety mounting with each daring leap you took.

"I don't know about this, my lady.” He whispers back to you, as audible as he can. The rain fall was as loud as a drum beat. “You would get sick! And what if someone sees us? Without chaperones? My lady, your reputation–”

Your words resonated with a sense of spontaneity and freedom that he couldn't ignore, stirring something deep within him. You laughed and giggled, and then smiled ever so mischievously back at him. He looked at you as though you were mad, but you did not mind him very much, spinning about the puddles. He calls you, concerned about lacing his words. You look back at him, laughing once again.

"Who cares about what they’ll say, Sukuna? My reputation? I do not care! Let's live a little! Besides, when was the last time you did something spontaneous? There’s nothing to do today. We ought to enjoy today! Drop all you’re carrying, go on. Join me!”

Reluctantly, Sukuna allowed himself to be led into the open courtyard, his footsteps heavy with apprehension as he followed your lead. The cold rain pelted down upon him, each droplet a testament to the sky's tears, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from you. Your hand, heavy with the chill of the rain, tugged gently at his, pulling him further into the heart of the storm.

Despite his reservations, Sukuna found himself captivated by the warmth of your smile, a beacon of light amidst the darkness of the rain-soaked courtyard. He stumbled slightly, his footing uncertain on the slick pavement, but his eyes remained fixed on you, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your presence.

As you twirled and danced with abandon, your laughter ringing out like music in the night, Sukuna felt a sense of wonder wash over him. Your smile, radiant and full of life, seemed to illuminate the world around him, transforming the dreary landscape into a kaleidoscope of color and light.

At that moment, as the rain fell around them, Ryomen Sukuna felt as though he were standing beneath a canopy of stars, each one shining brightly in the vast expanse of the night sky. And in your smile, he found a warmth and brightness that eclipsed even the most brilliant of constellations, filling him with a sense of wonder and awe.

"Trust me, you won't regret it!" You tell him, as you two are cast into the expanse of the bright grayish skies. You stand in front of him, your kimono wrapping itself deeper into you as you smile at him. You looked up into the sky and felt the rain pour. Enjoying what little tranquility you have born into the rainy day.

As the rain continued to pour down upon him, each droplet a reminder of the world's relentless judgment, Sukuna felt a sense of vulnerability wash over him. Towering over your figure, the rain seemed to amplify his feelings of unease, magnifying his fears of being seen as inferior.

Despite his usual stoic demeanor, Sukuna's sullen expression softened into a tender gaze as he watched you, his heart stirring with emotions he could scarcely comprehend. In these quiet moments, when the world seemed to fade away and it was just the two of you, he allowed himself to entertain the fleeting hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there could be a place for him in your heart.

But the reality of their disparate stations in life weighed heavily on Sukuna's mind, reminding him of the vast chasm that separated them. He was but a servant, bound by duty and obligation, while you were the epitome of grace and privilege. He knew that he could never bridge that divide, never dare to speak the words of longing that echoed in the depths of his soul.

And so, Sukuna resigned himself to silence, keeping his feelings hidden behind a mask of stoicism and restraint. In the quiet moments between them, he found solace in the unspoken bond they shared, cherishing the fleeting moments of connection even as he kept his true desires locked away in the depths of his heart.

"This is ridiculous..." He mumbles under his breath, clutching his chest. He takes a deep breath.

As you twirled and danced in the rain, your laughter resonating through the empty courtyard, Sukuna found himself mesmerized by your infectious energy. Despite his initial reluctance, he couldn't help but be captivated by the joy that radiated from you with each movement.

Watching you laugh and dance, each step more carefree and uninhibited than the last, Sukuna couldn't help but marvel at your ability to enchant him time and time again. There was something inexplicably magnetic about you, something that drew him in and held him spellbound.

In that moment, as the rain continued to fall around them, Ryomen Sukuna found himself caught in the gravitational pull of your laughter and movement, unable to tear his gaze away. It was as if the world had faded into the background, leaving only the two of you and the symphony of raindrops as you danced beneath the stormy sky.

You laughed as you twirled and nearly fell into a puddle, catching Sukuna off guard as he rushed to you. You continued to laugh as he helped you up, his face contorted in concern. “Come on, Sukuna, let go of your worries and just enjoy the moment! This won’t last forever, now!”

With a reluctant sigh, Sukuna felt himself succumbing to the irresistible allure of the moment. Despite his initial reservations and the weight of his concerns, he found himself swept up in the joy and spontaneity that surrounded him.

As he allowed himself to be drawn further into the dance, a rare smile began to tug at the corners of his lips, betraying the stoic facade he often wore. It was a small, hesitant expression, but one that spoke volumes about the emotions stirring within him.

"Fine, but just this once," Sukuna conceded, his voice laced with a mixture of reluctance and amusement. In that fleeting moment, as he surrendered to the whims of the rain and your infectious enthusiasm, Sukuna felt a sense of liberation wash over him, freeing him from the constraints of his own reservations.

As the rain continued to pour down, its rhythmic patter merging with the sounds of your laughter and the soft rustle of leaves, Sukuna felt the weight of the world slowly lifting from his shoulders. With each step he took, each twirl you shared, the barriers he had erected around his heart began to crumble, giving way to a newfound sense of freedom and joy.

Gone was the stoic demeanor he had worn like armor, replaced instead by an openness and vulnerability he had rarely allowed himself to display. In this moment, surrounded by the gentle embrace of the rain and the warmth of your presence, Sukuna felt truly alive.

Together, you danced amidst the droplets, your movements fluid and graceful, as if you were choreographing a dance with the elements themselves. The world around you faded into obscurity, the worries and cares of the outside world melting away in the face of the simple pleasure of the moment.

For Sukuna, who had known only the harshness of battle and the weight of his own past, this moment of respite was nothing short of a revelation. In your company, he found solace and peace, a fleeting glimpse of the happiness he had long believed to be beyond his reach. And as you danced together in the rain, lost in the beauty of the moment, Sukuna knew that he had found something truly precious: a connection that transcended time and circumstance, and a bond that would endure long after the rain had stopped falling.

In those fleeting moments, when the weight of his burdens momentarily lifted, Sukuna found himself immersed in a world of wonder and awe, captivated by the beauty unfolding before him. That night, when his village burned and he was left with nothing, you stood before him like a beacon of light in the darkness, offering him solace and sanctuary. Behind your eyes, he glimpsed the entire universe, and in that moment, you became his home.

You bestowed upon him a name, a sense of identity that he had never known before. With you, he found happiness, a fleeting but profound sense of joy that made him feel truly alive. Despite the tumultuous journey that followed, and the eventual rift that formed between them, Sukuna couldn't deny the impact you had on his life.

Even now, as he stood amidst the shadows of his past, Sukuna reflected on the world he had burned and subsequently rebirthed. Amidst all the chaos and destruction, he found purpose and beauty in the memories of his time with you. For Sukuna, life had meaning when you were by his side, and that truth remained etched in his heart, even as the sands of time continued to shift and change.

Despite the passage of centuries, the memory of your warm smile remained etched in Sukuna's mind like a sacred mantra, a beacon of light in the darkness of his existence. In those stolen moments of tranquility, he found solace in the knowledge that even in the midst of chaos and turmoil, there existed moments of fleeting happiness, like delicate blossoms scattered upon the winds of time.

As Sukuna stood amidst the haunting walls of his former home, the echoes of your laughter still reverberating in his mind, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of longing for the simplicity of days gone by. In those moments, when his obsession hadn't yet consumed him, life was free from the suffocating confines of power and strength—they were everything to the monster he once was.

In a world consumed by darkness, you had been his guiding light, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of his existence. Your presence reminded him of the beauty that still existed, even in the bleakest of times. But now, you were beyond his reach, lost to the depths of time and memory. Your soul had vanished, leaving only ashes in its wake.

As he paused before the ancestral resting place, his pulse quickened with a familiar intensity. This building, standing defiant against the passage of centuries, held the remnants of your existence. He knew you were here, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of history.

But even as he yearned for your return, Ryomen Sukuna couldn't deny the bitter truth: you were gone, forever beyond his grasp. The Gojo clan, in their final act of defiance, had reclaimed your body, leaving Sukuna to mourn the loss of his beloved once more. And overtime, your soul, which he had siphoned to keep forever, had gone and disappeared. His gaze narrowed.

If Sukuna was being honest with himself, he had no right to be here. Not after what he had done to the clan, not after what he had done to you. But it was fate. You both were marked by fate. You had said so yourself. There was none of you, without him. There was no soul at all, without the other half. He belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.

As Sukuna's words hung heavy in the air, you struggled to comprehend the weight of his confession. The revelation that he intended to leave, to abandon the safety of your clan and the familiarity of home, sent a shiver down your spine. Clutching your silk sleeve to your chest, you couldn't suppress the rising sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Why?" you implored, your voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and desperation. "What do you mean you intend to leave?"

Sukuna met your gaze with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil within his soul, his own eyes reflecting the conflict raging within. "I cannot stay," he confessed, his voice heavy with resignation. "This is not where I belong. This is not our clan. This is not home."

Your heart sank at his words, the gravity of his decision weighing heavily upon you. "But Sukuna, the Fujiwara are still a threat," you protested, shaking your head in disbelief. "They still have a bounty on your head. You cannot leave now, not when danger lurks at every turn."

"I cannot stay here... under the Gojo," Sukuna murmured, bitterness lacing his words like venom. The mere mention of the rival clan sent a chill down your spine. "What if they sell us to the Kamo? Or to the Zenin?"

The thought of falling into the hands of their enemies sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't deny the validity of Sukuna's concerns. Yet, the idea of him leaving, of facing the dangers of the world alone, filled you with a profound sense of dread.

As Sukuna's words cut through the air with a sharpness that stunned you, a sense of disbelief washed over you. His declaration, delivered with an intensity that left no room for argument, left you reeling, struggling to comprehend the depth of his mistrust.

"My husband would never do that—" you began, your voice faltering as you tried to reason with him, to bridge the chasm that seemed to widen between you with each passing moment.

"I do not trust him!" Sukuna's retort was swift, his voice tinged with an edge of desperation that startled both you and him. The realization of his own words seemed to hang heavy in the air, his breath catching in his throat as he lowered his head in a rare display of vulnerability. "I never will... You cannot force me to."

The weight of his refusal echoed in the silence that followed, leaving you grappling with the reality of his steadfast determination. As the head of your household, you had hoped your authority would carry weight, but Sukuna's unwavering resolve proved to be an immovable barrier.

"Not even as..." you trailed off, the words catching in your throat as you searched for a way to sway him, to appeal to the bond that once united you both.

"No." Sukuna's response was resolute, his head held high as he met your gaze with a steely determination that sent a shiver down your spine. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of emotions too complex to decipher, a glimpse into a soul that had been irrevocably changed by the passage of time and the weight of his own burdens.

This was not the Sukuna you once knew, you realized with a pang of sorrow. He was someone else entirely, a stranger to the depths of your heart. As the realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, you couldn't help but mourn the loss of the man you once loved, the man who had long since slipped away, leaving only a shadow of his former self behind. No, you think, there is only a curse. One that you carved into his soul. Revenge, that’s all that there is to him now.

The weight of Sukuna's plea hung heavy in the air, mingling with the bittersweet ache that tugged at your heartstrings. His offer of freedom and escape stirred a longing within you, igniting a spark of desire for a life unbound by duty and expectation.

"But where will you go?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the tumult of emotions swirling within you. The thought of Sukuna leaving, of embarking on a journey without you by his side, filled you with a sense of unease that threatened to consume you whole. "Where will you—"

As Sukuna's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch a fleeting caress against your skin, you felt a rush of warmth spread through you. His eyes, filled with a tender sadness that mirrored your own, searched your face as if seeking solace in the depths of your gaze.

"Come with me," he pleaded, his voice a soft whisper that reverberated in the quiet space between you. "We could roam the world together, free from the burdens of our past. We could carve out a new path, forge our own destiny."

Your heart constricted at his words, torn between the allure of adventure and the ties that bound you to this place. The image of a life lived on the road, hand in hand with Sukuna, danced tantalizingly at the edge of your consciousness, tempting you with its promise of liberation.

Tears welled in your eyes at Sukuna's completion of your unspoken words, his understanding piercing through the turmoil of emotions that churned within you. "I'm sorry... I..." Your voice faltered, unable to find the words to express the depths of your conflicted heart.

"I... I can't," you confessed, the words heavy with regret as you struggled to articulate the depth of your conflicting emotions. "I have a family now, Sukuna. My children... I cannot abandon them. Not even if I..." Your voice trailed off, unable to voice the unspoken truth that lingered between you—that even if you yearned to follow him, to lose yourself in the vast expanse of the world by his side, your responsibilities tethered you to this place, anchoring you to a life you had built from the ashes of your past.

"Not even if you want to."

As Sukuna's hand fell away from your cheek, a heavy silence settled between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and unfulfilled desires. His eyes, filled with a mixture of resignation and sorrow, bore into yours, conveying a silent understanding of the complexities of your situation.

"I see," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets. "Forgive me for asking."

With a heavy heart, Sukuna turned to leave, his departure casting a shadow over the sacred space between you. The air seemed to grow heavier in his absence, the lingering echo of his presence haunting you like a ghost.

In the wake of his departure, you were left grappling with a tumult of conflicting emotions. Part of you yearned to chase after him, to throw caution to the wind and follow him into the unknown. The allure of adventure and the promise of a life unfettered by the constraints of the mundane world beckoned to you, tempting you to abandon all else in pursuit of the elusive freedom he offered.

As the echoes of Sukuna's footsteps faded into the distance, reality came crashing back in full force, grounding you in the present moment. The weight of your responsibilities and the bonds of love that tied you to your home and family became palpable, reminding you of the life you had chosen and the commitments you held dear.

Though the allure of adventure and the promise of a life untethered from the constraints of the mundane world may have whispered tantalizingly in your ear, you knew that your true happiness lay in the simple joys of everyday life. Surrounded by the familiar comforts of home and the warmth of your loved ones, you found solace and contentment that transcended the call of the unknown.

In the end, it was the love and responsibilities that anchored you to this place, guiding your footsteps and shaping your destiny. While the world beyond may have held its allure, you found fulfillment in the bonds you shared and the life you had built.

But as the sun rose on the new day, casting its golden rays upon the world, news of the massacre of the Fujiwara clan reached your ears. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the implications. Ryomen Sukuna's journey was far from over—it had only just begun. And with a heavy heart, you knew that the world would never be the same again. He was not your Sukuna anymore. He was the King of Curses. And you cannot love a curse, not even if you wanted to.

The mere thought of standing before your final resting place, the solemn marker of your absence, sent a shiver down Sukuna's spine, a cold sensation that seemed to penetrate to the very core of his being. It was a stark reminder of the transient nature of life, a sobering confrontation with mortality that left him feeling strangely vulnerable.

For Sukuna, who had lived once more after thousands of years had passed, the encounter with your memory was a poignant reminder of the relentless march of time. Reborn into a vessel that barely contained his ancient power, he found himself grappling with the weight of his own existence and the echoes of his past.

Despite his attempts to distance himself from his human origins, to shed the vestiges of his former humanity, Sukuna couldn't help but feel the lingering connection to you. You, who had been his anchor in a world of chaos and darkness, remained a constant presence in his thoughts, a reminder of the humanity he had long abandoned.

Even as he stood on the precipice of oblivion, Sukuna found it impossible to consign your memory to the annals of history. In your absence, you remained etched in his mind, an indelible part of his being that refused to be forgotten, no matter how hard he tried.

As Sukuna stepped into the solemn confines of the ancestral shrine, a rush of memories flooded his mind, transporting him back to a time long past. The faces of those he once knew flickered in the dim light, each visage a testament to the passage of time and the inevitability of mortality.

His footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone floors as he made his way deeper into the shrine, the weight of his presence seeming to hang heavy in the air. Memories intertwined with the shadows, painting a vivid tapestry of days gone by.

Pausing before the grave of your father, Sukuna's gaze lingered, a mixture of reverence and regret coloring his expression. Your father had been a pillar of strength in the clan, a figure revered by all who knew him. And yet, even in death, his presence loomed large, a silent testament to the legacy he had left behind.

But it was when Sukuna's eyes fell upon your grave that time seemed to stand still. There, at the heart of the shrine, stood a full-life statue of you, radiant and eternal in its silent vigil. It was as if you had been frozen in time, your likeness preserved for eternity in marble and stone.

For Sukuna, gazing upon your statue was like confronting a ghost from his past, a haunting reminder of all that he had lost and all that he could never regain. There you stood, unchanged by the passage of centuries, a symbol of everything he could never be.

In that moment, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the life he had left behind, for the warmth of your smile and the comfort of your presence. But as he stood in the shadow of your statue, he knew that his fate was sealed, bound by the chains of his own making.

Your grave stood alone at the center of the shrine, a solitary figure in a sea of memories, worshiped for being all that Sukuna could not be. And as he marveled in the silence, he couldn't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen a different path, if he had chosen you over power and immortality. But it was too late for regrets now, too late to undo the choices that had brought him to this moment. All he could do was honor your memory and carry the weight of his sins for eternity.

As he gazes at the statue, the resemblance to your visage is striking, almost intimidating. You had a way of lingering in his thoughts, even after two thousand years had passed, remaining a haunting presence he couldn't shake. Strangely, he finds comfort in your ghostly presence; he doesn't want to escape you, if he's honest with himself. His hands reach out tentatively, mirroring the tenderness you once possessed as they brush against the cold stone.

It lacks your warmth, yet he tries to conjure the memory of it, knowing your warmth was synonymous with life itself. It's a challenge to forget you; you were unforgettable. He acknowledges that as a man like him, he has no right to mourn—he's no longer truly human. But with you, it's different; you transcended mere humanity. You were his world, his curse, and the ache of longing for you remains.

As Sukuna stands in the solemn presence of the statue, his mind becomes a battlefield of swirling emotions, each thought a tempest threatening to consume him. Amidst the stillness of the shrine, a whisper of a thought passes through his consciousness like a fleeting breeze, stirring the depths of his soul.

He wonders, with a heavy heart, if you would ever grant him the chance to speak to you again, even if only in the ethereal realm of dreams. The weight of his transgressions hangs heavy upon him, a burden he bears with aching regret and remorse.

His thoughts drift to the possibility of forgiveness, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf him. Would you, he wonders, find it in your heart to forgive him for all he had done? Could you look past the sins of his past and see the man he longs to become?

And then, in the quiet recesses of his mind, another question emerges, tentative yet hopeful: Would you meet him in another life, in another time, and love him again? The notion fills him with both trepidation and longing, a desire for redemption intertwined with the fear of repeating past mistakes.

As the King of Curses stands before the imposing statue, its silent gaze casting a solemn shadow over the shrine, he grapples with the weight of his own existence. In the hallowed stillness of the sacred space, amidst the echoes of his tumultuous thoughts, he seeks solace, a fleeting respite from the ceaseless turmoil that churns within him.

Fickle hope flickers like a distant flame in the darkness of his heart, as he silently pleads for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of forgiveness in the face of his countless transgressions. But even as he yearns for reconciliation, a bitter truth gnaws at the edges of his consciousness: he knows he will never humble himself, never stoop to beg for your mercy. A king does not bend his knees. It was all too late. And you would never hope for it from him. You knew him too well.

For the King of Curses, pride is both his armor and his downfall, a barrier that shields him from the vulnerability of human emotion, yet also isolates him in his eternal solitude. He knows he can never be with you, not in this life or any other, for curses are not meant to know the warmth of love or the tender embrace of redemption.

In the depths of his despair, he acknowledges the irreparable chasm that separates him from you, an insurmountable divide between the angelic purity of your soul and the infernal darkness that consumes his own. He resigns himself to the harsh reality of his existence: a flower in the night, destined to yearn for the unreachable glow of the moon, while knowing that his true salvation lies forever beyond his grasp, bathed in the radiant light of the distant sun.

"Sukuna..." The sound of your voice, soft and gentle, echoes in his mind, stirring something deep within him. “Sukuna….”

As Sukuna stands in the sacred confines of the shrine, grappling with the weight of his emotions, he feels the gravity of his words hanging heavy in the air like incense smoke, swirling around him in ethereal wisps. The question lingers, a delicate thread woven into the fabric of his thoughts, as he waits with bated breath for a response that may never come.

"Would you ever let me speak to you again?" His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible above the hallowed silence of the shrine. The words escape his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for absolution in the face of his tumultuous past. "Will you, my little night flower?"

The stillness of the shrine remains unbroken, the only sound the soft echo of his own voice reverberating off the ancient stone walls. Yet, despite the absence of a tangible answer, Sukuna can't help but sense a presence, a ghostly whisper of your essence lingering in the sacred space.

Closing his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna offers a silent prayer to the heavens knowing full well that the gods would never accept the prayer of an infidel. He could care less about their judgments. Yet, in the depths of his heart, he harbors the belief that if his words were to reach anywhere, it would be in your arms, wherever you may be. In the quiet sanctuary of the shrine, surrounded by the echoes of his own longing, he clings to the fragile hope that perhaps, somewhere in the depths of eternity, you're listening, ready to grant him the solace and redemption he so desperately seeks.

As the moon wanes overhead, casting its ethereal glow upon the shrine, Sukuna remains, allowing your memory to haunt him. If it means just one more night with you, he is willing to endure the torment of your ghostly presence. Though weary from his journey, he finds solace in the thought of being in your presence once more, even if only in his dreams.

As he kneels before you, the lilac crystal adorning the shrine gleams softly in the moonlight, casting a delicate hue upon the scene. In this moment, Ryomen Sukuna finds a semblance of peace, a fleeting respite from the turmoil of his immortal existence. Perhaps, he muses, this is all there is to be—an eternal dance between curses and prayers, between love and longing.

When the sun rose, he let the boy have control.

Ryomen Sukuna let himself stand within his realm.

Loneliness seeping in, the night drifting away with you.

For you only belong in the wide sky, his night flower.

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probablyhuntersmom · 1 year

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An Uncommonly Discussed Trauma Symptom

Disclaimer: This is in no way a substitute for therapy: it’s only psychoeducation. Please consult a therapist and/or hotline and get the help you need if you are experiencing mental health difficulties, especially if experiencing distress or issues that feel unmanageable.

Warnings: Mentions and discussion of suicidal ideation, death, abuse and violence.

Special thanks to @ashanimus and @childlikegoblinqueen

Ever heard of "the sense of a foreshortened future"?

If you have suffered trauma over a sustained and long enough period of time, you may find that you can't imagine yourself living long. You can't see yourself reaching milestones, because it hardly makes sense to your mind that you can go on for that long...given how much you have felt like you've escaped danger, given just how many close calls you have had in life.

Yet the sense of a foreshortened future is a separate thing from suicidality.

If you have both of those together though, it really isn't fun because they may feed one another in a cycle, in the way that symptoms under the same mental health condition have the potential to do the same.

It isn't a desire for pain to end (which is what suicidality is), more so a generated expectation that takes root, and a framework which a survivor tries to fit their experiences into, with the goal to get things to make as much sense as can be. Because it's often the easier thing to devise a simple formula, to feel certainty and to manage one's expectations: rather than embrace the grey areas of uncertainty about how life will turn out.

It's almost as if this feeling of a foreshortened future is in a tug-of-war match between what appears to be solid reasoning, and a person's natural survival instinct along with the hunger for a meaningful life.

This symptom isn't on the *official* criteria for a psychiatrist or clinical psychologist to make any diagnoses, it is not listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5) or International Classification of Diseases, 10th Revision (ICD-10). But informally it is sometimes categorized as an avoidance symptom under both PTSD and Complex PTSD, and also under longer-term depression.

(however, I think it can extend to other conditions. The key criteria is it emerges from repeatedly experiencing horrible things until it makes sense in one's head to expect themselves not to last much longer)

If you hop onto Google Scholar to find proper research about it, the findings are very scarce because it's hard to define it, empirically measure it and quantify it in the first place.

Again, it's not the same as suicidal ideation because a foreshortened-future view is an expectation, while the latter is about a desire.

I wasn't taught about this symptom in any training and supervision before becoming a licensed therapist, nor did any of my own therapists bring it up as psychoeducation when I saw them. It was only through online articles on informal websites that I stumbled upon the phrase and it all clicked for my long-term experiences.

But I feel it is good knowledge for anyone providing psychotherapy to bear in mind.

In The Owl House, the grimwalker lore weaved into Hunter's arc, can shockingly be linked with this symptom, symbolically and thematically.

But the show's age rating means it would likely be too dark for the writing team to explicitly incorporate it into Hunter's dialogue.

Hunter was a lamb marked for the slaughter early on.

He has questioned his survival and ability to thrive.

The following article on Psychology Today describes Belos's long-term influence on Hunter pretty well and provides info that strengthens the points I'm making in this whole post:

Link

It's bad enough that before Hunter and Luz found Belos's mindscape, he struggled with the fear of failure to the extent that there was already the raging inner battle between his primal survival instinct and the already knackered part of him that sought eternal rest from his suffering (showing up as suicidal thoughts):

Fast forward a number of episodes...and we see the looming horrors in Hollow Mind that culminated in Hunter's discovery of what his predecessors went through:

followed by permanent rejection by his parental figure:

The power held by a foreshortened-future view, and its potential to isolate you - to make you feel like you're invisible, or a ghost - can be strong.

What Hunter said to Gus in the following screencaps sums up what it feels like pretty well:

In the context of having an abuser, it emerges from the negative beliefs they impose on you. It gets tricky if those beliefs are internalized, and which may remain internalized even after you get to safety and away from said abuser. Internalized until they become what you expect of your life.

It's about those thoughts which you know in your rational mind are lies, but you feel their apparent truth. They go more silent when you practice self-care but they return to try and reel you in again, and to a degree, they succeed in getting you to believe them all over again, before you renounce them once more.

Being in the C-PTSD Club along with Hunter, I personally experience the feeling of a foreshortened future as a voice deep down which almost always says that life feels too long and it therefore feels absolutely weird, like it doesn't make sense. Life feels too long, contrary to that commonly heard cheesy quote, "Life is too short to blah blah blah".

When I reached milestone birthdays like my 21st, it was confusing and made me irritable, feeling an itch deep down that I could not scratch.

The voice asks me why the heck I'm still around when it apparently doesn't make sense. It's a pervading feeling which can be pretty annoying, though I have it far enough in the background that it's like noise instead of being a source of distress.

It's not the easiest thing to explain this, but Hunter may have confusing thoughts creeping into his head like "Caleb didn't last long, why would I?" whereby such thoughts have a strange feel to them. They aren't exactly hard rules, nor are they distant enough that they can be easily brushed aside. Brain hurty, emotions spooky.

After the horror of this night:

I can definitely see Hunter wrestling with this symptom from time to time. No doubt. It was a major loss of autonomy and control that would significantly aggravate what was already brewing deep down.

I'm doubtful that the crew even established this on purpose (unless they actually consulted trauma experts and/or experienced mental health practitioners), but...this one symptom ties in with grimwalker lore so perfectly...it's hella fascinating that all Hunter's predecessors' lives (including Caleb's) were cut short. Prematurely.

They came with an expiry date set by their abuser: something very characteristic of this foreshortened future feeling, though not unique to survivors of abusive home environments (e.g. if you experienced natural disasters over many years, yet had a loving family, you could also feel like you may not live long). And Hunter's experience of seeing the grimwalker graveyard in Hollow Mind is a shockingly visceral and visual metaphor to symbolize a concept like this, which matches perfectly with his symptomology as a Complex PTSD survivor.

The battle for inner peace has a high price: it is ongoing, and extends beyond him being physically free from Belos. Because Hunter can't just trim away the Belos-related memories from his earliest years and formative years. He can't forget, but he can choose to give those memories less attention, and choose not to let them take the steering wheel in the long-term.

In my opinion, the possession scenes don't just portray the physical experience of an abuser returning to try regaining control or restoring the status quo of having the survivor in their grasp.

The scenes also represent the abuser's imprint upon the survivor that lasts beyond the duration for which Belos is present in Hunter's life. Belos is the kind of abuser that is so insidious that he knows he could leave some marks that outlast his directly physical presence, in the event that he meets his own end. He would have definitely thought about this. Leaving the kind of grisly reminders that won't ever technically fade away (not to be confused with how they can certainly "fade further into the background" via therapy, new positive experiences and the support of loved ones).

For example, the patterns of the permanent scars on Hunter look so much like the patterns on Philip's own face and body. When possessed, the markings were dark green, later faded to the colour of scar tissue once Belos leaves his body.

As we all know, it's hella sad to imagine Hunter having to look at himself in mirrors throughout the rest of his life. It was awful enough that he had the haircut-related panic attack.

If we tie all that back to the symptom of a foreshortened-future view: Hunter might be left with a spooky nebulous feeling (that will alternate between coming back to haunt him, and subsiding) that he too has some expiry date that is different from how the people around him naturally and confidently expect to live a substantially long life. As a cult survivor with C-PTSD, Hunter can't afford the luxury of those natural expectations.

I don't mean that he might plan a day in the future to end his own life, not at all. But he may have a strange ghostly expectation of how long more he has till his life may come to an end, and he wouldn't be sure of how this subconscious expectation came about.

The darker days of navigating the confusing mess of his complex trauma may feel like exhaustion from paddling and swimming to keep your head above water to breathe.

Speaking of water and drowning, plus the theme of sinking down vs. rising back up above the water surface...the fact that Camila jumped in to bring him back up, his friends helped to pull him out, and Flapjack passes new life to him...this is also some crazy powerful symbolism for surviving complex trauma.

Falling back on a support network, your "tribe", that won't abandon you.

My other Hunter analyses (link) go into more detail about his support network and why he needs it.

I was talking to a friend about all this: she has relevant lived experience and mentioned that poor Hunter would reach a milestone birthday and perhaps cry at least a bit on that day, maybe even during the birthday party: out of sheer confusion. The confusion would be silently screaming "But...this doesn't...make sense?". And he might feel confusing waves of darker emotions along with a strange sense of joy.

He may make a decision to start a family with Willow, and a confused questioning voice will bother him now and then with "How are you still here, doing this and living to see this?".

(...also, when is his birthday...? Is it documented in some Emperor's Coven records that they will find..? Even the mere concept of having a birthday is messed up for him to think about, given the purpose behind his creation)

Complex trauma changes its survivors' relationships with the world, not just with people, and this can even apply to their relationships with things like joy and how joy is experienced.

Flapjack's absence would have bred survivor's guilt. It might translate into Hunter questioning whether he is worth the love and effort his friends put in for him. This feeling could emerge at random moments over the years in his life.

Visually, I feel that these two frames - the lighting (which I'd say is unique among all his scenes because they are parts of his arc that stand out so much), his pose, his expression - somehow capture the experience of how complex trauma is chronic and long-term:

The currently most known C-PTSD memoir out there, What My Bones Know by journalist Stephanie Foo, has some content that I feel matches nicely with what Hunter is experiencing in the two separate scenes above.

The author describes something she calls "the dread" (if you get the book, it's first mentioned on page 51). I would call it the amalgamation of multiple things such as shame, the fear of impending harm, self-doubt where you question whether you did something wrong, fearing that someone hates you, etc.

And basically, good lord my poor boy in the first screenshot..with that expression of suspecting what he thought was Belos's presence in the room: something about it fits the book author's words, feeling like she was "on the precipice of fucking everything up".

That's certainly something that would cross Hunter's mind multiple times as he processes the worst night of his life. That he could have done something to prevent all that.

With so much pre-existing worry that his friends and family might actually hate him, the possession scenes and Flapjack's death would definitely shake his foundation and I'm sure he isn't past this kind of ingrained thought pattern at all:

Second, the book author calls C-PTSD a shapeshifting "beast" (page 316). And when she fights it, she must use a different strategy depending on what form it takes, and that it will keep coming back from time to time in another form. Which is why there is a particular exhaustion one feels from having to adapt to each battle.

For Hunter, the second screencap of him fighting Belos's coercion in a direct physical manner is the first of many battles he has to win in his mind, even after Belos is gone for good. Outlasting whatever invisible assailant is trying to get him, as he faces inevitable episodes of being retraumatized in the future: these are called emotional flashbacks (one of the symptoms of C-PTSD).

Being a survivor of complex trauma who experiences a weird sense of time via a foreshortened-future view, can feel like being on the outside looking in.

But! To end this meta on a hopeful note, I should reiterate something from my most recent long meta about Retraumatization vs. Self-Soothing, the first part of Hunter's important speech in Thanks to Them touches on wild magic and palisman. Wild magic represents freedom, while palismen (quoting the Bat Queen) represent close bonds in relationships, emotion, and conviction.

Applying this to how we can navigate the swampy waters of a foreshortened-future view, Hunter can use his newfound freedom and sense of agency to create the story he'd like to tell about his life. It is pretty much impossible to avoid bringing beliefs from our young formative years into adulthood. But expectations (which have a direct link with emotions we end up feeling) of ourselves and of life can be altered over time, so they become less rigid and instead more open to new possibilities.

He has an inquisitive mind which is a big plus point in understanding the impact of what he has been through, and I have full faith that he'll do just fine in that regard because of the courage we have seen in him.

Among the hobbies he explores in the future, flyer derby will be one example of an excellent outlet for him because of its physicality: trauma and grief are not only emotional battlegrounds but also highly physical ones. The body is also very much involved e.g. feeling the lead-like weight of depressive moods in one's body, feeling the physical tension of hypervigilance, etc.

It's fantastic that he has Luz, Willow, Gus and company, he will have a very meaningful career, and he'll have everyone else in his large found family.

His story...his heart...his resilience and vitality...it's all truly inspirational.

We might learn even more about the grimwalkers in the finale and that would undoubtedly prompt me to do a shorter Part 2 on top of this meta.

#toh analysis #toh hunter #grimwalkers #the owl house #loz writes a meta #huntlow

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posletsvet · 7 months

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Satoru Gojo and the Infinity That Sets Him Apart

Throught the flashback arc that opens JJK'S second season, the story goes to great lengths to make us sympathize with Geto. We are privy to the inner workings of his mind when he faces personal catastrophes of his youth, and it grants us a profound insight into how his mental/emotional state deteriorates in response to a painful realization that later comes to define his entire life. Gege found a way to turn Geto's tendency to internalize his experiences into a narrative tool, the mechanics of his Cursed Technique becoming an apt metaphor for it, and that's one truly astonishing writing.

But what about Gojo? After all, it's his memories that play out before our eye as he daydreams, and Geto is no longer an active force in the narrative, so the arc should be introduced in the first place to shed some light on Satoru's character and highlight certain aspects of it. However, while the narrative goes out of its way to humanize Geto by exposing his interiority to the audience, it seems to bit by bit deny readers access to Gojo's mind until Satoru is entirely closed off emotionally at the end of Hidden Inventory Arc. From that point on, any reading of his words and actions can be as good as the other since personal interpretation is all that is left to us to try and understand what lies behind the appearances (I guess that's precisely why there are so many widely different, conflicting interpretations of Gojo out there). What process Gojo's character undergoes throughout his past arc is, essentially, dehumanization.

Let's take a look at Gojo as he is in the main, present timeline. Pretty much as any other person in Gojo's vicinity, the audience can only observe him from the outside, always held at an arm's length away from his interior thoughts and emotions. Whenever we do get an insight into his mind, it's mostly for a solely practical purpose of keeping the readers informed about the direction which the fight is about to take, with Satoru's internal monologues consisting almost completely of him dryly strategizing against his opponents.

Even Gojo's design is set to dehumanize him, teasing the audience with how much it conceals and how little it allows us to derive from what we see. Plain black clothes, long sleeves, long trousers, high collar. Barely any skin exposed, scarce detail, completely colourless expression. To crown it all, his blindfold -- we do not get to see his eyes. Eyes mirror the soul, they communicate emotion which our words fail to. Eye contact is a primal tool of non-verbal communication because of how much our eyes alone can give away about our feelings. With Gojo's eyes perpetually hidden under his ever-present blindfold, there's an additional layer of protection, another hindrance to our understanding of his state of mind. A simple piece of cloth adds to the distance preventing access to Gojo's direct perspective, as impenetrable as trying to look through a blindfold would be for anyone but Gojo himself. The same could be applied even to his height: people around him are required to reach up with their gaze in order to look him in the face. Once again, this choice in his design strives to communicate one thing: you cannot meet him at his level, there is a palpable distance between where he stands and where you are. Everything about Gojo feels almost impersonal, evasive, further increasing the extent of his alienation.

There's an interesting connection found between Gojo's technique, his need to cover his eyes and the narrative distance that does not allow us to get any closer to his character. It's precisely when Gojo puts his mind to perfecting his usage of the Limitless that an unbreachable impediment settles between him and the people around, resulting in him and Geto from that point on being forever unable to get through to each other. With his technique taking a toll on his body by becoming more overwhelming to use after such a rapid increase in power, it's also when Gojo starts to wear his shades all the time. And whereas before we were allowed to look past the tanned spectacles and see his eyes, read the emotion in them, now we're denied even that much. It's probably a short after Geto's defection when Satoru switches to a blindfold, indicating how he completely shuts off emotionally. Just as Geto's Curse Manipulation stands as a metaphor for him repressing his feelings till the breaking point, Gojo's mental state is reflected through the physical appearance, too. Him physically distancing himself from everything within the world around him with his Limitless technique sustaining an uncrossable invisible barrier around him and his blindfold hiding his eyes from the viewer is also how his emotional detachment is established on the meta level of the narrative.

Since Geto's defection, Gojo's defenses are breached in the main timeline just once, and that is during Shibuya Incident Arc. It's barely a coincidence that, as the Limitless falls short and the ever-present physical distance is crossed sharply with the Prison Realm reaching Gojo, the emotional distance is immeadiately eliminated, too.

All defenses down and the memories of his youth flooding through the cracks, Gojo suddenly isn't numb to all the hurt of his past mistakes and what it cost him and the people around him; all the ache of losing his best friend not once but twice and being utterly unable to do anything about it still weighs on him. Neither is numb to all of it the reader, not anymore. The narrative 'catches up' to Gojo at this moment. It was an alienating, almost inhumane experience to never get a sight of Gojo's emotions when it mattered the most, at the pivotal events of his life which come to shape him as a character and as a person. We were simply denied that intimacy. But with Satoru's physical body made within reach and his mind suddenly transparent, laid bare, the delayed heartbreak is alive and present as ever. The weakness of his human heart is exposed, but it required crossing the Infinity to get to his heart.

The physical distance is only breached because the emotional one is eliminated beforehand. However, we finally get to catch a glimpse of Gojo's true feelings because something within the world was able to reach him physically, penetrating through his Limitless technique. The two are the sides of the one coin, they go hand in hand within the narrative, ultimately rendered inseperable by it. At the end of the day, the body is the soul and the soul is the body.

I've started writing all this well before the spoilers for the last chapter came out, but what we see in it, at least how I personally take it, speaks in favour of pretty much everything I've been talking about above. It's somewhat notorious how little emotional impact Gojo's fight against Sukuna lands. Until now. Until Gojo's Infinity utterly fails to prevent his body from taking the damage. Once again we gain insight into his interiority the instance he's physically exposed to the world. With Gojo's invulnerability ultimately overcome, the narrative grants us access to his inner feelings and thoughts one last time. Satoru's heart is an aching wound split open one last time.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk analysis #jjk meta #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #alright i'm posting it just to get it over with #i'm so exhausted and overwhelmed with what we saw in the spoilers this week #emotionally stunted head in my hands you know the drill #god i wish i never got into this manga #not when something like this makes so much sense narrative-wise #it's unbearable #the implications i was trying to pull off here is probably incomprehensible #but i don't have it in me right now to care

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catboydogma · 3 months

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highly sought after

wc: 651

notes: this is not crack but perhaps more like crack's bastard nephew-cousin or something. i got tired of not writing and decided to enjoy myself and knock out a 15-min sprint instead :) hopefully more to follow since i would LIKE to do this every night however. enjoy? enjoy.

summary:

Cody and Fox have some nice relaxing bonding together. OR: what if you had a line of plushes marketed after you and all the people around you were shiteating smartasses

cross-posted to ao3

“These items are highly sought after,” Cody said dryly, keeping his eyes forward and his hands behind his back.

A furious-sounding pause followed.

“You’re fucking with me,” Fox said through gritted teeth. He looked like he was about to punch his fist through the flimsy glass wall in front of him, brows furrowed in a deep scowl and teeth bared. Cody amused himself for a few seconds by imagining Fox with a ruff of raised spines like a massiff’s doing a threat display.

“Commander,” Cody said, injecting his voice with as much solemnity as he could muster on short notice and while fighting off the shit-eating grin that was threatening, “I have never told a falsehood in my life.”

“You motherfucker,” Fox hissed. He looked like he was about to pop a vein. His eyes were glazed with fury and his grip was tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

“Their value may very well be unsurpassable.” Cody clasped Fox on the shoulder firmly, eyes still fixed straight ahead.

In front of him, Fox lost his tenuous grip on CC-3636 Commander Wolffe™ Grand Army of the Republic ActionPlush®! The top-heavy stuffed toy, with its gray-painted stuffed felt helmet the same size as the rest of the body, tumbled back to the bottom of its prison.

Fox howled in inarticulate rage.

Cody squeezed his shoulder a little more firmly in encouragement. “You’ll get him nex—”

“You jinxed me!” Fox batted at Cody’s hand on his shoulder and jabbed his thumb at the green “go” button again and again, furiously goading it into whirring back to life. The tickets Cody had indulgently fed into it five minutes ago were good for one more round.

“Better make it count,” Cody said pleasantly, unmoved by Fox’s elbow bruising the tender spot just below his floating ribs. “Better get it in one shot.”

“Not. One. Word.” Fox’s growl nearly vibrated the ground under their feet and his face was starting to approach the “alarming” side of the spectrum of blotchy maroon. He slowly inhaled, like a sniper about to line up a shot, and leaned forward until his nose was pressed against the glass.

The mechanism jerked to life. The rubber-tipped claws opened and closed, testing, as Fox toggled the squeaky joystick with infinitesimal adjustments. It lowered. Fox let out all his breath in one long, slow exhale, letting the claws close around the bulbous head of their vod. The felt dimpled slightly. It lifted.

It held.

Fox didn’t waver for a second, smoothly guiding the claw back to the corner where the chute lay waiting. Cody found himself nearly leaning forward to match. Fox wasn’t breathing any longer: his hands were still enough to make a CMO jealous, and his face was completely smooth, like an ARC about to take an impossible shot.

The claws jerked open. Cody preemptively winced—but against all odds, the misshapen plush toy managed to fall at just the right angle into the nearly too-small chute—none of the legs caught, as they had the first time, and the head was angled just so it didn’t bounce off the side and back into its glass cage, as it had the fifth time, and the felt scrap blaster held outstretched in one spherical “hand” didn’t even make the toy jam halfway down the chute, as it had the eighth time.

A soft thup heralded their vod’s arrival. Fox let loose a primal howl of exultant triumph, voice nearly cracking with its pitch and volume. Cody discretely winced, then held open the flap of the machine so Fox could reach in and grab his bounty.

“What now?” Cody asked when Fox had the plush Wolffe in his hand, pretending to throttle its nearly non-existent neck for imagined crimes.

“Now I wait until the 104th is docked at Coruscant again,” Fox said with a smile that displayed every one of his pearly whites.

#a heat rash in the shape of the show me state #commander fox #commander cody #fluff #humor #tcw #tcw fanfiction #tcw fanfic #fanfiction #sw fanfic #clone troopers #like ... don't tell me a plush of ur commander or perhaps lieutenant wouldn't be a hot fucking commodity in ur battalion.#don't tell me those things aren't going for insane contraband bartering system in the absolute depths of the 104th.#there's a cody plush. and? it's slightly smaller than wolffe's.

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khruschevshoe · 5 months

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OFMD Critique: Izzy Hands, "Burying Your Cripples," and That Fucking Finale

(Note: this is a cleaned-up/expanded version of a post I made earlier regarding disability rep in this show bc I was chatting with @itswhatyougive and @notthewriteryourelookingfor about "Burying Your Gays" and the parallels with the "Burying Your Cripples" trope in media, which is often more insidious because people are less primed to notice it and call it out.

Also, although I am analyzing a trope in media in the most unbiased way I can, I am going to get angry. Because this is a show that did its job at making us care about its characters and their portrayals and you can't get mad at me that I did just that.)

On a fourth note when it comes to the problems with the writing in this season of ofmd...the handling of disability. Because good God.

To preface this before anyone jumps down my throat about getting upset: I am disabled myself, both physically and mentally. I carry a small laundry list of mild to moderate conditions that impair my daily functions. I understand what it is like to desire to see characters that carry disabilities similar and dissimilar to my own onscreen. I also understand that there ARE multiple disabled characters in OFMD (ex. Jackie with her wooden hand, Ed with his knee brace, Pete with his cleft palate, Lucius with his mentioned bad back/wooden finger). I UNDERSTAND that these were all generally handled decently well, incorporated without drawing attention to them (although the disappearance of Ed's knee brace was strange to me in season 2, even that I could get with bc personally I only need to use my cane when my knee flares bad and can walk perfectly normally the rest of the time without an aid).

Which is all to say: the way that Izzy's death was written is insidiously (likely unconsciously, but still) ableist. His entire arc this season revolves around community and recovering from trauma and accepting himself both in a queer sense and a DISTINCTLY DISABLED sense. The way he remarks upon his own disability and his acceptance of himself and the way that the show is written to have his crew member ACCOMODATE him joyfully as an EXPLICIT SYMBOL OF LOVE was a breath of fresh air when it comes to disabled characters. I also enjoyed the way that he pokes fun at it occasionally in the same way that I do with my coworkers/friends (joking "oh really, you're going to ask an invalid to do that?" *gestures at my cane*).

But that ending. God, that fucking ending. *vehemently taps table* The fact that this character who opens up, who is accepted for both sides of his identity after dragging himself through the fucking pits over them, is killed. BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID COULD BE SEEN BY THE ENEMY. BECAUSE HE WAS SEEN AS UNIQUELY VULNERABLE. And then they FUCKING PULL HIS MOBILITY AID, the very symbol of his acceptance, from his FUCKING BODY SO HE CANNOT BE BURIED WHOLE?

I'm sorry. I really am. I don't mean to get furious about this. But as a disabled person who saw such hope in this character, who saw a storyline about a part of myself that is rarely displayed onscreen (that slow acceptance of the part of yourself you considered broken + the acknowledgement of love by your family/community in the form of loving accommodation without complaint), this hurt me at a very primal level that I didn't know I could be hurt at.

Bringing this back around to the "Burying Your Cripples" trope: the reason why an ending like this is so horrifying is because it is very much telling you that you can have a healing arc, that you can finally find yourself accommodation and acceptance, and it doesn't matter. Your disability will be the thing that kills you.

To people who say that this ending is justified because sometimes death is just random like that, that saying that death makes healing not worth it, I get what you're saying. In real life, of course you're right.

But this is a CLOSED NARRATIVE. It is a story with BEATS that MATTER, made of decisions by writers who had to purposefully decide to put scenes together. There's a reason they're called "arcs"- they're supposed to aim at a specific point. IF YOU LET EVERY CHARACTER IN A SHOW LIVE THROUGH THINGS THAT SHOULD HAVE KILLED THEM EXCEPT FOR THE DISABLED CHARACTER, YOU ARE MAKING A FUCKING POINT WHETHER YOU REALIZE IT OR NOT. Izzy's death is not showing "random chance" or "the risks of piracy"- HE DIED BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID WAS VISIBLE.

Lemme repeat that: costume concepts showed that the original design of Izzy's naval outfit covered his wooden hoof. It was a conscious decision to have the shot of the naval officer looking down at Izzy's leg, at his exposed leg, and pinpointing him as the weak one despite there being entire scenes dedicated to showing that he was still as strong as the rest of them. In a show where the budget and runtime was restricted, not a single shot or costume decision was on accident. They had to pay more to green screen in that leg.

If Castiel went to superhell because of his gay confession for Dean, then I cannot think of a clearer way to Bury Your Cripples than having Izzy die because someone saw his mobility aid.

Do I think they did this on purpose? Well, no more on purpose than David Jenkins looking at Izzy's Hayes-Code-era gay coding/arc and saying that he knew that Izzy would have to die because that's what characters like that do. No more on purpose than saying that the mentor character had to die because that's what characters like that do.

Izzy's disability was visible, was the cause of his death, because "that's what happens" to pirates who gain disabilities. They are weaker. They are more at risk.

I'm sorry, but fuck that.

Fuck the idea that in a show that created a careful space in its narrative (for a season and a half at least) for queerness to be treated ahistorically kindly, that often disregarded geographic, historical, and medical accuracy to tell a compelling story, and that purposefully provided racial and body diversity while calling out racism, that the disabled character getting offed is a "kind ending." It's not. It never has been. And I'm tired of accepting that sort of thing.

I am SO GLAD that fanfic exists with better depictions of disabled arcs/endings in OFMD bc I don't know if I could recover otherwise. Hope my fellow disabled folk out there are recovering as well, and that they understand that there is positivity to be made out of poison- it just wasn't what the finale gave us.

#disability representation #ofmd critical #meta #izzy hands #2x08 mermen #ofmd 2x08 #rant #analysis #burying your cripples #actually disabled #lucius spriggs #spanish jackie #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 finale #fanfic #costume design

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raayllum · 2 months

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Been thinking about it partially as I come closer to it in fanon S6 / divergences where what I'm writing (in prose with zero constraints) vs what I think the show is actually more likely to do (such as in this case) with the Celestial elves because like

If we look at it just from a storytelling standpoint, there's a few things we want to take into consideration.

Why Skywing elves?

Despite being an aspiring and then full fledged Sky mage for most of the series (5 seasons) as his defining... career trait? with Ocean only added at the end, Callum's attachment to the Sky arcanum is incredibly important from a thematic standpoint. I talked about this in more detail in terms of how TDP writes from theme to begin with, but it would not surprise me if a lot of the series fell into place after decisions were made regarding "mage boy has Sky-Freedom powers" and "big endgame big bad is Stars and Destiny embodied," i.e. like what kind of dragon Zym would be in order for Callum to have a reason to sacrifice his primal stone, why have Callum learn Sky magic first, etc etc.

The Celestial Elves, presumably, could've been any group of elves. We know from Tales of Xadia that Sunfire elves had a chant about warding off dangerous Star dragons from the Great Orb, and that Karim-Pharos are poised to be future pawns, so there is a decent link there. It also could've been cool if the Celestial elves had had elves from all over, showing both intergroup workings and that the Stars were bringing them together in some manner.

If Sky and Skywing elves by thematic extension represent Freedom, then it makes sense for these to be Skywing elves who have perhaps forsaken notions of freedom for ideas of pre-determinism or destiny, i.e. our circumstances beset all of our choices, or that fate/destiny is real and unchangeable. To have the same arcanum and similar abilities as Callum, but to already be warped to Aaravos' will / thematic graces of destiny and fate - to amplify what he's scared of and to accentuate what he might become (at least in terms of what he's scared to become).

On that note, I think it makes sense for them

To be Antagonists

Partially this is because of precedent. Most elves, when in groups, have been more antagonistic with one or two rising to the forefront to be allies. We see this in arc 1 with Moonshadow and Sunfire elves, with the majority being antagonists especially at first (the assassins, the Sunfire soldiers) with Rayla, Lujanne, and eventually Janai being allies / exceptions - even if the Sunfire elves as a whole quickly switch to being allies as of 3x08/09. We see this again in S4 with the Drakewood Earthblood elves being mostly antagonists, Terry as more of a grey area, and only N'than (and possibly Mukho the Mushroom mage?) being downright allies. This would mean that Astrid and maybe another Startouch elf might be more sy

Plot / Misc Reasons

Of course, the biggest reason for the Celestial elves to exist is to, presumably, give exposition regarding Startouch elves to the main characters and to extradite subsequent views / philosophy about Star magic and the arcanum (arcana?). If they are loyal to Aaravos, they would likely provide a perspective on Startouch elves different than one Callum might be coming in with and give more credence / context to Claudia's assertions of Aaravos as well, given that she's the one character currently with a positive view of him. It also doesn't seem they can entirely be good guys given their 1) isolationist nature and 2) having not one but two super OP objects that the protagonists definitely need. While they may not end up being villains, I think we can somewhat safely assume they will initially be obstacles, if only in giving tests (of love) like another certain Startouch elf...

#tdp #the dragon prince #tdp theory #worldbuilding #predictions #s6 speculation #arc 2 #mini meta

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deadstaticolivia · 1 month

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Undead Unluck week 2024 day 2: Favorite scene/moment

Spoilers ahead for anime only’s

Oh boy this one was hard. Undead Unluck are filled with SO many amazing moments that it’s really hard to define “my favorite” I chose multiple moments when I was first reading the manga that really got me on the edge of my seat and super hyped (story wise and character wise) These are in no particular order so I’ll list this chronologically.

1. Andy fully stating his feelings to Fuuko

You know I had to start off with Anfuu. I’m so crazy about them and their development. They’ve truly made each other better in so many ways. We already knew the Andy had feeling for Fuuko since the “What if” situation in the book during the Autumn arc but this is the first time Andy had fully opened up about his feelings about her (despite her not knowing what he said). This is HUGE for Andy as a character because it’s been a long time since Andy cared for anyone this much since the crew in the 1800’s. At first Andy didn’t really care about fuuko on such a deep level yet. Yeah he wanted to use her to die at first but by spending enough time with her it literally changed his ENTIRE outlook on the world, life and death. Protecting her had just been apart of his job to help him die to seduce and protect her but now he WANTS to protect and even seduce her because he fell in love. GAHHH THEY MAKE ME CRAZYYYY

2. Fuuko coming to get Spring

Fuuko a kindheartedness has always stuck out to me. For her it was always a weakness since she was hurting the people she loved. Her ability to weaponize it is amazing. The bravery it takes to feel affectionate to the enemy, get attached, and then witness their death is beautiful and sad all in one. The affection she has for spring is real and it introduces a whole new concept of an Uma liking humans (aside from clothy) I know later on to imbue an enemy she hates like the 10 master rules and god she uses her soul but taking that first step into caring for an Uma when no other union member or past Negator (aside from past ishiin) did is a testament to her bravery and kindheartedness

3. Everyone saying Fuukos name as the timer counts down

This moment had me on the edge of my seat that it had me saying fuuko like everyone else. The love, connection and trust they all have for each other always gets me. They all put their full support into her ability. The trust that fuukos kind heart will help them in the next loop. The willingness to bet EVERYTHING on fuuko wrings my heart strings. Plus this scene of everyone still alive and moving using their abilities to save her is just so cool

4. Fuuko’s cold rage

Seeing Fuuko who is known for her kind heart, filled with such genuine hate and Greif was heart breaking but so badass. She lost EVERYTHING. All the hard work that she and everyone in the union put in was for nothing. All the deaths she witnessed were just some game. Then in a split secound she comes back full of determination. Fuuko knows she doesn’t have time to grieve so her immediate snap back to “I will plan everything out to give everyone a better and I’ll still defeat you.” As Luna states in this scene that she emulates Juiz so much also is amazing cause I’m a sucker for parallels

5. Andy is on the Sun

THIS REVEAL WAS CRAZY. I thought he was out gathering artifacts to help but clearly I was completely wrong. I already wrote me first initial thoughts on this so I’ll just copy and paste here:

Andy so desperately wants to protect fuuko down to his very SOUL that it basically becomes a primal instinct for him. Also the fact his place on the sun is always facing the earth to watch over her and everyone else

Theres sooooo many other scene I could talk about but I’m getting tired of writing

#could you tell I was getting tired as I kept writing #undead unluck #uuweek2024

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troperrific · 5 months

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/ekuoto chapter 52 spoilers/

Warning: discussion about sensitive topics, usual ekuoto stuff.

Hahaha, holy shit, hahahaha!!

This chapter was just about as horribly wonderful and wonderfully horrible as I’d expected and hoped it’d be!

First things first, dang Mr. Priest is terrifying this chapter. He turned the tables on Asmodeus in so many ways and there’s so, so much to unpack.

The way Mr. Priest echoes and throws Asmodeus’ words right back at her, the way he aggressively ignores her choice (her “consent”) to retreat/get away from the fight (he slammed the door!!) and forces her to “take” his anger anyway- it all mirrors what Asmodeus put him through in the best and worst way possible.

Mr. Priest’s violence towards Asmodeus isn't sexual (as in, this isn't rape in a literal sense), nor is his enjoyment of getting back at her (as in, this isn't sexual gratification). But the mirrored actions/words and the one-sided “pleasure” of violence should still evoke, in part, the horror of Asmodeus’ attempted rape towards Mr. Priest.

It’s very reminescent of domestic violence too, which, if you remember Mr. Priest's flashbacks and what "Aria" told him, make this even more fucked-up than it already is.

Of course, there is a certain sense of catharsis to be found in this mirrored violence, in seeing Asmodeus get a taste of her own medicine. The reader can see where Mr. Priest is coming from, and after an entire arc of seeing Asmodeus’ manipulation, anticipating the worst AND witnessing the worst in chapter 51, one can appreciate the irony applied here, even while simultaneously feeling horrified.

Rip Asmodeus' thighs. And she even did her leg days properly too...

I think Arima-sensei manages to achieve a good balance in their writing, when it comes to making “revenge scenes” both cathartic and horrifying/fucked-up. I also like the way they use innuendo and subtext in the narrative- it’s great! I liked how they did those things in the Beelzebub arc/Part 3 and I like how they did it here. And both aspects are enhanced with Fukuyama-sensei’s art- the facial expressions were particularly good in this chapter.

(something something the interplay between violence and sex and hunger, something something primal urges and passion, life and death, something something)

Speaking of expressions…!

I really love these two in particular.

Just what do they mean, I wonder… the first one takes place between two maniacal, rage-fueled grins. It appears alongside Mr. Priest’s new halo (which I’ll get to in a moment) and it’s such a curious expression.

Is it a sad, resigned smile? Has he come to accept and embrace his role as the “Child of Hope” because he’s “learned” what “wanting a normal life” leads to? Maybe he’s thinking “Well, what did I expect?” regarding the good things that happened to him this past month, all a trap laid by Asmodeus.

Is it a regretful one? Does he regret believing another fake victim? Does he regret his good intentions and well-intentioned actions and trust, as they’ve backfired on him again?

Is it a relived one? Did something click and he’s convinced himself he no longer needs a normal life? Is this relief a future one? Has he gone full-circle into wanting to martyrize himself again?

Whatever that expression means, it looks like whatever Mr. Priest felt or realized at the moment allowed him to (temporarily?) reach new heights regarding his holy powers.

(And right as he’s at his most violent too… Mammon would be proud.)

Also, his halo… that’s one fancy halo. I tried to research a little and found some interesting facts about different artistic depictions of halos.

From what I can tell, his halo looks a little like a dodecagon (a polygon with 12 sides) or maybe a tridecagon (polygon with 13 sides). It also has multiple rings within it, with little… arrows/rays of light(?) and stars/particles(?) adorning it.

According to these sites, a polygonal halo (usually an hexagon, and sometimes referred to as a Nimbus a Pans) is often used to depict allegorical figures, many times a personification of a Virtue.

The little arrows cutting through the halo could very well be rays of light. In this case, it could also be a rayed halo. This type of halo is apparently often combined with others, and is usually attributed to a member of the Trinity.

Finally, the number twelve and the presence of what appears to be a bunch of little stars could be a reference to the starred halo. This halo is almost solely drawn on the Virgin Mary, depicting the Immaculate Conception or being a reference to Revelation 12:1.

(As if the line about reviving people and Beelzebub mock-crucifying him wasn’t enough lol. Makes me wonder about Mr. Priest’s mom though. Since we’ve only vaguely seen his father.)

But who knows. Maybe it's a reference to a piece of art?

It’s just something to think about. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning. Maybe it’s just rule of cool. Hopefully it’ll be both.

Also, this has nothing to do with this chapter’s commentary, but this small research made realize that Leah’s triangular halo wasn’t just an aesthetic choice to go with her cubes forming circles (lol).

The triangular halo is also used to indicate a member of the Trinity. She’s invoking their power, so it fits. But y’know, makes me wonder if there’s gonna be a third…

Back to Mr. Priest’s smiles. I wanna talk about this:

Friendship ended with Mammon, Mr. Priest is the funniest ekuoto character now.

Just what is “beautiful”, Mr. Priest?

Is he marveling at his own strength? Is he glad he’s reached a new height like Mammon did? Is the fact that he’s so strong he could “end up destroying everything” beautiful?

Is this self-acceptance, something similar to Leviathan’s own epiphany back at Part 2?

Or is this a new-found joy in seeing the fragility of life? Maybe he’s seeing beauty in the fact he’s “feeling almighty” as he’s “earned the right to end another’s life” (and promptly give it back if he chose to), something akin to Beelzebub’s thoughts on human nature.

Is it all of the above? Something else?

Hm.

It’s very worrisome. Even moreso because it’s followed by this:

It’s okay, guys! Mr. Priest has gathered all seven Dragon Balls, he can just wish Kuririn back to life!!

Coldest line in the story so far. What the actual fuck, Mr. Priest? (No jokes, I love this, please continue to freak me out more, Mr. Priest).

Also, this is quite in line with the way the Demon Lord’s have acted so far, isn't it? Who cares?? He’s gonna do what he wants right now, who cares about casualties? He can just bring everyone back??

Ah, but it also echoes what he probably heard in his memories from his father and from Abbot Nicholas (chapter 31). “So? You will heal anyway” and “So? You won’t starve”.

Mr. Priest is very funny, actually.

And speaking of funny…

No high-school romcom manga is over without a good ol' kabedon!... Er, doordon...? Gates-of-Hell-don...? Rodindon...! forgive me

Mr. Priest invented a new memetic kabedon.

But really, this has been kinda of a pattern with the Demon Lords so far: they approach Mr. Priest out of their own accord, hurt him (by deceiving/fighting /triggering him) because they want something out of him (a challenge, a friend, a hunt, an answer) and then they usually try to leave, on their terms, once they’re satisfied.

It almost went like this at the end of his second fight against Mammon. It did go like this at the end of his first fight against Beelzebub.

(It also went like this when he fought Leviathan, but considering we don’t know how he feels about her and the fight after the arc, I hesitate to add her in this ‘list’).

You see, I do think that the Demon Lord’s did/do want to help Mr. Priest in some way or another, whether that’s by teaching him their “wisdom” or “freeing” him from his duties/Church-aligned morality. I do! I genuinely do!

But just as they want to help him, they also want something from him. Their motivations do have a certain selfishness to them.

I’ve seen lot of readers joke that the demons want to give Mr. Priest therapy, but I’d argue it’s more accurate to say that the demons are using Mr. Priest for their therapy.

The Demon Lords always seem to want to prove something to themselves while fighting Mr. Priest. They want answers. And it’s because Mr. Priest is the “Child of Hope” (the strongest exorcist, the most righteous, the purest soul) that they seek those answers.

And part of their fondness towards him, to me, seem to hinge on that title and on the expectations and projections that the Demon Lords seem to put on him.

In short: they also have used Mr. Priest for their own benefit, despite whatever good intentions they might’ve had or whatever connection they might’ve felt, and then they dared to refuse him any sort of satisfaction.

Or at least, that’s probably how the boy sees it.

No wonder Mr. Priest is pissed.

On that note, the scene where Mr. Priest goes all creepy between Asmodeus’ (literally) thunder thighs…

I take it that this can be interpreted both figuratively and literally.

Figuratively, in the sense that the Demon Lords project so much shit on him, they don’t know him as well as they think they do. Yes, even when they’ve been briefly inside his head. But also because he really isn’t in the “right” state of mind.

And literally… well, because he has a head buddy, apparently.

I’ll just leave these cool theory posts here. Go read them, they’re great.

To finish these very short thoughts about the chapter (sarcasm), about Asmodeus and Sarah…

I also love this panel. What a great expression. She looks like she’s about cry. She makes me want to cry. And slap her. And cry.

There’s a lot to be said and analyzed about this relationship (which I will do, a bit more throughly, later): about how Asmodeus wanted Sarah to fight back and to defy her fate and her family, about how Asmodeus seemingly couldn’t fathom the idea of having a consensual physical relationship with Sarah (or anyone?), about how Asmodeus equated Sarah retaliating against her first abusive husband to Mr. Priest (and Sarah too) retaliating against her…

But I want to focus on Asmodeus’ “epiphany” about what she wanted to confirm to herself.

…I really do enjoy how the 7 Deadly Sins are written in this series. It’s not just that the author wants to say something with their portrayal and that they’re thematically consistent and interesting…

They’re… very entertaining and complex characters, I think. There’s always a good balance between all the characteristics one can expect from memorable antagonists. Like, they’re charismatic and fun and charming, they’re scary (in all kinds of ways!!) and awful and really fucking vile at times, and, deep, deep down, they’re… pitiful. Pathetic.

They’re very, very pathetic. And I like that.

And this… this has kinda proved to me what I’ve suspected for a while.

The Demon Lords, against all odds, have very little to no ambition when it comes to a relationship with a human, don’t they?

They’re willing to settle for the barest scraps. I wouldn’t say that they’re completely okay with things never working out… but if there was a bare minimum of love there, then maybe it’s not bad that it didn’t work out…

Even Leviathan, who desperately wants friends and readily admits her loneliness, is okay with ending things with Mr. Priest with a fight.

As a Demon Lord should.

I mean they’re monsters!! They’ve accepted that they’re monsters, and it’s not something they can help anyway, right?! They can’t help their monstrous nature, their monstrous bodies, so it’s better to embrace them!! It’s not something they can help, right, so it’s better to give up, right?!

Right…?

(It's at this point that you gotta stop and wonder about their incessant babbling about the nature of men/women/humans/demons... they're originally angels- or in Leviathan's case, a being blessed by God- after all...)

It’s a form of comfort, I suppose, to realize that no matter what you did, things wouldn’t have changed for the better. Sometimes, wondering about “what-ifs” can be the greatest torture of all.

Sometimes giving up, specially on yourself, can be the greatest sin of all.

Asmodeus originally wondered if, had she taken those men’s places, had she been the one to rape Sarah (because, again, Asmodeus can’t seem to be able to separate any sort of sexual relationship/act from sexual violence/rape/sin, and likely because, to Asmodeus, if Sarah’s being forced to marry, it’ll be rape anyway, so Asmodeus might as well have been the one to take Sarah) if she could’ve made Sarah happy.

Asmodeus wondered if she could’ve made Sarah chose her over her filial duties.

But she didn’t. She wouldn’t.

It's insane!! Actually, it's not even about Sarah choosing Asmodeus anymore! She can't even imagine that!! I wonder, does Asmodeus think that, because Sarah didn't "fight hard enough", that meant she didn't want her? That it meant Sarah would never have been with her willingly?

Of course she wouldn’t, why would she? Asmodeus is a monster, right? She would’ve hated her anyway, right? Even if Asmodeus had ripped away Sarah's ability to choose, she still woudn't have picked Asmodeus. Sarah would never have been hers, no matter what Asmodeus did or didn't do!! So it’s better that things ended how they did, right?

After all…

…

Anyway, with the arc coming to an end real soon, I wonder how things will wrap-up.

…I’m reaaaally dreading the fact that we haven’t gotten “Masses of Trash- Part 2” yet. Is it gonna be in this arc?

…….Is it gonna be in another future arc?

“Erase all with a flick of the wrist”, indeed.

#troperrific talks #ekuoto tag #make the exorcist fall in love #at this point I wonder if the Demon Lords aren’t just suffering from the worst case #of Catholic Guilt (TM) ever coupled with #the worst case of daddy issues festering for millennia #anyway go off Mr. Priest your edgelord phase amuses me

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blood-mocha-latte · 3 months

Note

Drabble request: Hildane Greek AU (achilles*nudgenudgewinkwink*)

linh my darling i stared at this long and hard and nearly died writing it but it is here. it is rather ambivalent and could be paralleling greek mythology, or it could be greek mythology. it’s up to the reader to decide ;)

—

“Would you run now?”

Andy paused, his hands still warmed and oil-slick at Eddie's back, knotted from stress and ache. After a moment he continued on, digging the heels of his hands into muscle, gathering up a soft noise of relief in his palms.

“What do you mean?” He asked, straightening from where he sat, either knee bracketing Eddie’s hips, to find the bottle of oil once more. Eddie laid on his stomach, cheek pressed to his forearms, eyes closed. He hummed, soft and gentle, as Andy pressed into the divots of his shoulders.

“I mean,” He said, and his words curved kindly around his accent. “Would you try to run away from this, if you knew what it was?”

This and it, Andy knew, wasn’t him or Eddie. Or him and Eddie. This was the war. This was their dead boys, their broken boys, their rusting spears and swords against a stone fortress.

Andy dipped down and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Eddie’s neck, thinking.

“No.” He admitted, gentle. He never really tried to run, at all, when the war had started. But he supposed that the nature of both the separate entities of life and survival reared their own heads in the form of a beast. He swallowed, and his chest felt heavy with it. “No, I wouldn’t run.”

Eddie stretched out, lithe, against the sheet that he laid on. Nothing more than a scrappy bit of cut canvas, it provided the closest thing that either of them had to a bed and kept the dirt and sand and mud tamped down.

The tent was a luxury, an ingenious rarity afforded to them only by their boys as a gift, and accepted by Andy only because of Eddie.

He worried about Eddie, perhaps more than he had any right to. Eddie began to move to roll over, all gold and curls, and Andy got off of his back, leaning to sit back, legs crossed under him, resting on his palms.

He was helpless to do anything but watch as Eddie sat up with a hum, rolling his bare shoulders and letting his neck arc in a gentle circle. He was helpless to lean forward and press his lips to Eddie’s pulse point, his jugular, down to his collarbones.

Eddie huffed a gentle laugh at that, his hand rising to cradle the back of Andy’s head, a half-embrace as Andy kissed the hinge of his jaw.

“You sure you don’t belong to Aphrodite, Skip?” Eddie asked him, lips to Andy’s forehead and lightly amused, and Andy pressed a final kiss to the skin over his heart before pulling back, Eddie’s fingers laced together against the nape of his neck.

“I’m sure.” Andy murmured, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s and breathing around the gentle, overwhelming sense of wholeness that embraced him fully; embraced him whenever he looked at Eddie. Looked at him, thought of him, knew of him.

It hit him sometimes. All at once, like a spearhead against armor. What he was willing to do for this man. What he was willing to kill, to hurt, to maim. The fear of losing Eddie Jones was a heavy, bitter layer against his tongue and heart that was a thousand times deeper and more primal than the fear Andy held of dying himself.

(And Gods, if he must die, let him die after Andy so that he never has to live in a world where his love’s smile wasn’t the entire sun.)

It was a selfish thought, and one that brought him back to himself, as sober as a thousand branches, a billion oceans. Eddie noticed, of course, as his fingers moved to cradle Andy’s jaw, to tilt up his face and press a questioning kiss to the jut of his cheekbone.

Do you ache? It seemed to ask, and Andy caught Eddie’s fingers with his own hand, opening it from its half-curled fist like the petals of a flower to press a kiss to the center of his palm, an almost absent gesture that calmed him.

“I’m alright.” Andy said softly, and his admission seemed to curl at the edges, like the fine paper of a letter. It wasn’t a lie, truly, because Andy could not ache.

Never physically, and, when with Eddie, never in his chest. Metal shattered upon him, and it was the sword that was broken so long as what he loved and protected above all remained safe.

The joke, of course, being that Eddie would need his protection at all.

A boy brighter than the sun, a boy that’s the child of it.

“Do you feel better?” He asked, careful and warm, and Eddie just hummed, pressed parted lips to Andy’s own before pulling away entirely, rising to his feet with a soft exhale.

“You could be a healer.” He said, arching his arms above his head in a lodge stretch, curls falling away from his face as his eyes seemed to glow in the light of a hidden moon. It made Andy almost smile, a graceless curve of his lips.

“To you, maybe.” He said, and hoped almost desperately for it to be true. That he could hold the man in front of him together with bloody hands so that he’d never break, so that he’d be as impervious as Andy himself.

The tent was small, and Eddie rose only to put away the oil, to check the security of the blessed tent, hiding them, protecting them in the most simple way it could from others eyes, from the war that saved and for no true cause that deserved the life that moved around him, within him.

“You’re thinking so loudly, a deaf man could hear you.” Eddie said softly, padding the short distance back to Andy and kneeling, arms wrapping around Andy’s chest, face going to the crux of his neck. Andy leaned back into him, let himself close his eyes.

“Only ever of you.” He promised, a gentle breath. Eddie hummed, and it felt like a laugh where his lips pressed to the skin of Andy’s shoulder. He smelled of oil, of sweat and dirt. Andy almost wished to fall back into him entirely.

“The boy of war belongs to the goddess Aphrodite.” Eddie teased him, a murmur against the shell of his ear. Andy huffed, almost a laugh, turning his head to kiss Eddie once more.

“Don’t tell war that.” He said lightly, as Eddie traced soft shapes along his bare skin. “That’s how it will fell me.”

#rie writes #i kind of adore this ngl i had fun writing it #the pacific #andy haldane #andrew ack ack haldane #eddie hillbilly jones #eddie jones #hilldane #andyeddie #hbo war

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beetlebethwrites · 3 months

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Also, i honestly commend your writing of Matt, ngl.

Not in a mean or backhanded way, but people actually having a primal rage over them means you're at least writing them with depth enough so that people actually feel real emotions with them, good or bad.

Which is normal if you're writing flawed characters like him, who aren't the epitome of "weekly therapy sessions". It might be a little unpopular of an opinion, but i think you're writing them well.

I mean, everyone has a route with very different character arcs and themes, i assume, large part of Matt's is his immaturity emotionally, his toxic positivity, which i struggle with sometime, and have gotten heat for some other people for expressing.

Which is why i'll do his route first. Not to say that some people's Mcs aren't justified to dislike him or take shit from him, but i feel like that's what makes him such as complex either.

I mean, all the ROs have their problems, Matt's just seem to be more personal because his issues might affect Romanced!Mc in a deeper level. Esp because of the messy friend group dynamic, and being Eve's ex who's not completely over her, some might not feel like they're the priority when they get into a situationship with him.

I'm sure it'll be explored in his route, so i'm just waiting on it!

This is literally it! I have a deep adoration for characters who are flawed and Matt is one of those. He's one of my favourite characters to write when the group are all together because his relationship to the others is so nuanced.

Anyway, I hope you continue to like YLAF as it goes forward and thank you for reading! 💛

#coldmilkshakearcade #answered <3

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agent-of-sam · 1 month

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My Big Rambling List of Perrin Thoughts

@toastandjamie asked for thoughts on Perrin's arc and the subsequent essay felt too big to be a comment so I made my own post.

Note it's not really an essay and more just a jumbled list of impressions from someone who tried and failed to complete a re read of the series.

The Gentle Giant thing is technically true but I think it's a misleading place to start with Perrin. The term feels more accurate for Loial who is both physically larger and less inclined to violence. And I do think there's some deliberate paralleling between the two as Loial spends a fair amount of time in Perrin's storyline. As an Ogier Loial is Pure Nature and Pure Creation, while Perrin's Wolfbrother connection is…something something, Primal Man, domestication of wolves as the man's first step towards civilization, something something idk.

In terms of personality, Perrin is deliberate and pragmatic. He's a good problem-solver, able to break things down into logical steps and can often surprise people by seeing to the core of an issue or by approaching it from an unexpected direction. But like all the Emond's Fielders this comes with a unique set of blind spots, biases, and hypocrisies. Perrin, in particular, feels like a very linear thinker who thus struggles with problems that don't have clear answers. (waves vaguely at his entire relationship with Faile). Thematically, as other people have said, I think Perrin's "arc" isn't a distinct line. It's a journey towards acceptance both about himself and about how the world works. Am I a Wolf or Man? Both. Am I Peaceful or Violent? Both. Is it Wrong to Kill? Yes but sometimes you have to do it anyway. How will I know when it's Right? You won't but you'll have to make a decision and follow through. How will I know when to Stop? When it feels right.

He's a character who fundamentally wants clear rules and structured morality and demonstrable cause and effect and the world won't line up the way he wants.

I think he's the character who holds on longest to his old life and his old identity, at least among the guys. Like, Rand is never "happy" about being the Dragon Reborn but once it's proven he commits to it, hell or high water. Mat is famous for loudly proclaiming he's something other than what he clearly is. Perrin choosing to leave Rand in Tear and go back to the Two Rivers is described as a physical tearing as he resists the pull of Ta'veren. He insists he's a simple blacksmith even as people are calling him Lord Goldeneyes and waving his banner and the Two Rivers is literally changing and modernizing around him. -I think there's something about acceptance as a theme in all the characters. Pushing against Fate and the Pattern and the world telling them who they are, trying to change them. Except, the Pattern didn't change them. They were always who they were, they just didn't know it until the journey revealed it to them. Whether they like the revelation or not is irrelevant. Rand was always going to channel eventually. So were Egwene and Nynaeve, probably. The Wolves were always going to find Perrin. Most of them eventually come to a sort of subconscious realization that they, ironically, have the most agency when they choose to go with the flow instead of trying to swim upstream. I think Perrin, with his specific brand of quit stubbornness, takes the longest to actually reach that turning point.

This next part might all be projection but In terms of writing style, I think there's something to the idea the Perrin operates with a certain separation from his own emotions. Rand angsts, he pushes down his feelings but he stills feels them. Mat's got his whole comedic irony thing going on. I think Perrin straight-up doesn't register his emotions 90% of the time. Which doesn't mean they aren't there, he's just kind of blind to them until something big happens and then suddenly it's a tidal wave. It tracks for someone who's like, "To figure out this situation I must be direct and logical. First step is to put my personal feeling into a box because they aren't relevant right now." And it works so you do that for every problem. And over a lifetime you kind of just…lose the ability to regulate. Your emotional responses become Nothing or Way Too Much. Everything in the box gets mushed together into a big soup.

I think he's got anger issues, but in that specific way where he's an exploder. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. No big deal. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. It's fine. Oh, look an Aiel Man in a cage. I don't like that." Then things get a bit blurry and suddenly he's got a bloody axe and there's a bunch of dead White Cloaks all around.

And for that kind of person the sort of primal, instinctual sensations he gets from the wolves is euphoric and terrifying.

For Perrin emotions literally become sensations at some point? The wolves communicate by psychically bombarding each other with images and scents and emotions. Then he gets his scent powers and Faile's jealousy is a hot spiky feeling that stabs at his nose and Aram's growing resentment and fanaticism is this itchy, alien smell that Perrin finds literally repulsive. But he can't smell himself so it's always this intrusive, upsetting sensory overload?

Anyway, it's a writing approach that I think fundamentally doesn't appeal to some people because there's less to grab onto and also what's there is simultaneously very big but also very direct and kind of "exactly what it says on the tin". Because Jordan can be a very subtle writer when he wants to be but, conversely, he can also be incredibly blunt sometimes. And I think he's at his most blunt when writing Perrin. Probably because that's just who Perrin is. Perrin's not a metaphor guy and he's not a philosophy guy. For Perrin a thing is a thing or it's not and if it's not then it's not worth thinking about. Or so he tells himself.

It also falls into Jordan's gender stuff where it's leans into a very Plain-Spoken Salt-of-the-Earth Man Does not Understand Complicated Thing Like Women or Human Emotions. I think, like a lot of Jordan's Gender and specifically Masculinity stuff, if you look at the series as a whole it's a functional critique showing the pitfalls and drawbacks of those kinds of mentalities both on a societal level and on a personal level. But it also takes 12 books to get there and, while it's hard to say exactly how various character arcs would have ended if Jordan had lived to finish the series himself, I think as a writer he favored slowly sliding people into place rather than big epiphany moments. And there is a large modern audience that either doesn't have the patience or just fundamentally isn't interested in that kind of story. Which is fair, I guess.

But I love Perrin. He's my guy. That's it, that's my essay.

#wheel of time #wheel of time books #wheel of time spoilers #perrin aybara

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maifazcomics · 4 months

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After a little discussion i had about if the ARG is important to understand and appreciate Sea of Stars and the Saboverse as a whole, i have some thoughs

Mainly that: no, you don't need to read the ARG

It was always planned as something only for the most hardcore of fans, the ones actively searching for more stuff

There are only three informations that are at the moment ARG exclusive:

- the Demon King in The Messenger (AKA Dweller of Strife + the Acolytes) is a pale copy, and the real one's remnants are inside Clockwork Castle

- Resh'an and Aephorul were lovers, and created the Elixir of Life to escape until society accepted them

- the Shopkeeper is a woman, and she descended from The Watchmaker

The rest is just community fluff and Resh'an being incredibly emo, nothing essential

I feel like these informations are important, but they just weren't able to be explored yet.

Continued ramblings below:

About the DK, with Picnic Panic being part of a planned three-act DLC (Barma'thazël's Revenge) that they stopped working to prioritize Sea of Stars, and the final one presumably having you reach Clockwork Castle, this could have been explored there. Or maybe in another game. We still have 3 more books to go, in the end

Shoppy descending from the Watchmaker... with the DLC being called "Throes of the Watchmaker", this has the potencial to be explored there. Or not. They are characters so far apart, HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS APART, knowing this information would change your whole perception about the games? This only happens because of the curse of knowing stuff lol, and as someone that knows I would like to see this being explored. But my point is that this isn't fundamental.

And Shoppy's gender... people misgendering her after playing The Messenger bothers me, but it isn't the devs fault IMO. They never use pronouns with her in the game for a reason (iirc Thierry said he didn't want anyone to assuming stuff about the Shopkeep, and that's one of the main reasons behind him writing first in English and having ENG as the only canon language), and people using he/him are taking that out of their asses. Just a one minute Google Search and you find that information, you don't need to read all the ARG logs

There are other stuff like Primals or Shoppy being the first Messenger, the Artificer giving the scroll to Monk that Bowman got because she got transformed into the Queen of Quills and then gave to Ninja, or the entirety of Void Logic being explained and still making us confused to this day, and this is all fluff. Like for real, all that was needed to be in The Messenger for the BIG LORE is already there, and for Sea of Stars too

And for the big elephant in the room, Resh'an and Aephorul being really gay for each other. This is something not even the ARG explored further! Resh'an said that at February 2019, when we didn't even knew who a Fleshmancer/Aephorul was, then when he got to tell the community about him Resh'an explicitely said that he didn't want to elaborate further on his personal past with Aephorul. And with Sea of Stars, we got a taste of that, but it was only their introduction to the world!!!

More like anything else, this feels like something to be explored on the next books (just explaining this better, Thierry Boulanger, aka Creative Director and Writer and some other stuff, has come and said that his dream is to tell this grand story in 5 arcs/books (books because Sabotage works directly with Resh'an, translating the books he writes into videogames) book 1 being TM and book 2 being SOS). This narrative, at least for me, feels like it is about them. About these "gods", the harm they created to this world, and how Resh'an wants to redeem Aephorul. It feels... like a slow burn. And that's why i think they didn't want to tell this right now

Like, Time Shards. We didn't have much lore about them in TM, then SOS comes and BOOM, Time Shards indicate the presence of a timeloop. And maybe Resh'an created them too?? This recontextualizes the nature of the Messenger narrative. And them being More Than Friends can be that too, both for the general public and the Lore Nerds. We still don't know about their society back then, or if the flashback cutscene was pre or post elixir, or why specifically Aephorul became evil, etc. This all feels intentional, ya know

The rest of the ARG is just a bunch of fun interactions the characters and the community had, and a buuuunch of foreshadowing to what we get to see in Sea of Stars. Either Clockwork Concierge (AI Core) hinting about his past with Caël and the Kids, Arty saying he was a robot, or Resh'an literally infodumping about the Guardian Gods, Dwellers and World Eaters. We see all of this in Sea of Stars, and that's amazing!!!! It's so cool to see all of that being real, and that makes me confident that all of this unresolved stuff is something thar Sabotage wants to make real too

/rant over

But would i recommend reading the ARG? oh sure i do. It's very fun. The narrative framing of the games being books written by The Archivist and SaboTeam working for him is so interesting. And also, we get tons of insight into Resh'an's mind and how he's just extremely depressed, how he misses Aephorul and yearns for being loved but doesn't know how to deal with that when people love him back

Also Clocko's adorable

---

EDIT: After chatting with someone, they pointed something about Shoppy's gender that is really relevant to bring out. Yeah yeah, Sabotage wrote the game with English in mind and in ENG they didn't pronoun her at all. But two things

First: in many languages got translated into, including Quebecóis which is a script Thierry himself wrote, since you need to gender stuff, the Shopkeeper got treated as male because of defaulting. So if you played the game on those languages, and didn't follow any stuff related to it, you just assumed Shoppy was a man and moved on with your life.

Which, by the way, is something I MYSELF made. I stopped following the ARG in 2019, so I didn't see the conclusion about her gender for years until some months before SOS came out. And as something I still haven't told, I come from the forbidden land of Brazil, and the PTBR translation of TM is one that suffers from that, so I defaulted her as a dude for years and years

And second: even if you played the game directly on english, if you speak a language that also does the male-defaulting, you probably did that too, and that is not your fault

In the end, this isn't anyone's fault. I may have been too mad at seeing native english speaking redditors calling her a dude? Yeah maybe. But yeahhhhh we live in a society in the end, and them being explicit on the text about her gender on the future would help that at lot

Thankfully on the easter egg she's referred as a woman on SOS in PTBR, which is GREAT

#sea of stars #the messenger #resh'an #aephorul #the shopkeeper #long ass rant #random saboverse thoughts

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randommusingsstuff · 1 year

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Devi, Ben, and the Power of Happy Endings

Never Have I Ever is about to go down in the history books as one of the most thematically rich coming of age stories produced in the streaming era.

While the thought of parting from my beloved, Devi Vishwakumar, makes me want to curl into a fetal position, I’ve been struck with the sudden inspiration to document my predictions. Every wild, outrageous opinion.

Maybe this post will be nothing more than fodder for your morning coffee Tumblr scroll, but my hope is that it will convey a sense of optimism. Not only do I think that Never Have I Ever will have an explicitly romantic ending for Ben and Devi, I think that it fundamentally has to. But we still have a long journey ahead.

1. Devi: T-minus 5 Seconds to Heartbreak

This is Devi Vishwakumar, walking into school for her first day of senior year, smiling like the lovestruck nerd that she is, having finally figured out that she wants to be with Ben.

I mean, just look at her gloat! This is the gloat of someone who is ready to join forces with her soulmate so they can terrorize the school with their combined obnoxiousness!

Only to walk in and see this:

Oh Ben... To quote the great Logan Echolls, “no one writes songs about the ones that come easy”.

2. To boink, or not to boink?

I’m not convinced that Ben and Devi had sex.

Now, hold on-

Let me first caveat and say that Never Have I Ever always manages to surprise me. While I can pick out the broad narrative strokes and character arcs they are aiming for, they manage to awe and delight me with the details.

I think that following through on the “one free boink” scene is the more interesting route, but it also makes the writers’ jobs much, much harder.

I cannot fathom Ben and Devi having sex and then Ben immediately rebounding to Margot. That level of womanizing would make Paxton Hall-Yoshida tremble in his tiny swim shorts. In order to keep the audience on Ben’s side, the writers would have to spend a considerable amount of time unpacking his trauma and explaining his perspective. It’s not impossible, but I’m dubious.

The show never rewards Devi for making a decision based on her own insecurities. She wants to have sex with Ben, but her catalyst for getting there is the sext Fabiola accidently sends to her instead of Addison (i.e Devi is insecure about being the only virgin in her friend group left).

Maitreyi confirmed that season 4 would pick up immediately where season 3 left off. Do I think we’re getting play-by-play? An under-the-cover post boink scene? Them starting to make-out then something happening? I’m betting on the latter.

3. The Ben Problem

Picture this:

Mid make-out, Devi casually lets slip that she is staying at Sherman Oaks for senior year. Suddenly, sex with the love of his life is an actual relationship that he has to contend with. All the trauma and pain from season 2 comes flooding back. And it’s important to remember that Ben was deeply traumatized from the events of season 2.

His actual brain catches up with his er… primal instincts, and they agree to see where things go. It's just vague enough that Devi thinks they’re going to be together, but Ben is scared. Scared of being more in love with her than he already is and scared of being hurt again. He goes with the safer option of neglecting his feelings, because his arc of vulnerability has yet to be fully actualized.

This manages to set up the same conflict and angst between Ben and Devi and give Ben a starting point to make amends without having him abandon Devi right after she has sex for the first time.

It’s a much more palatable fallout for the “one free boink scene”, but I digress.

4. Never Have I Ever... Been a Wallflower

We catch up with Paxton in episode 3, narrated by Gigi Hadid, and he’s kind of shy?

He has always used his popularity as a crutch and now has to grapple with his new identity. Much like Devi and Ben, Paxton’s insecurities are an ongoing battle, as he realizes that his choice to go to college was partially defined by his desire to escape the “dumb jock” label. Tucked away in his dorm room, watching life pass him by, he realizes that he doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone else. He can pursue his athletic aspirations and still defy the labels that people have placed on him. By the end of the episode, Paxton makes the decision to come back to Sherman Oaks as a swim coach assistant.

I’ll admit, I think it’s a strange choice to reignite Devi and Paxton’s romance by making him a faculty member at the school. The writers might as well hold up a big red sign that says, “The only reason we can think of for Devi and Paxton to interact is if they are stuck in high school together”.

But I want to make one thing clear: I do not think this undoes his arc from season 3. To realize that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you have to is a very natural extension of gaining personal liberty.

And I, for one, am proud of him.

Also, I’m getting season 2 vibes from this scene.

Devi and Paxton fans can probably expect callbacks, sweet moments, a kiss, and an emphasis on how important they have been to each other's personal growth.

5. Where are Ben and Devi?

Hidden behind a Michael Cimino-sized red herring. They are going to give us as little as they possibly can about Ben and Devi during promo season. The same way they have in *checks notes* every single season prior.

I’ve written about this before, but it is integral to their individual arcs that they are honest about their love for each other. It is the bedrock of the story. But between Michael Cimino’s washboard abs and closing out Paxton and Devi’s arc in a way that feels satisfying and emotionally resonant, I don’t think we’ll be seeing Ben and Devi’s domestic bliss phase.

Put another way: The love triangle and push-and-pull romance is not a side story, it’s a source of narrative conflict that’s integral to the plot. Would you resolve the final battle in a fantasy series three episodes before the finale? Resolving the Ben and Devi plot early would be like sucking all of the tension out of the story. It would not give us the euphoric high of Ben and Devi blurting out that they love each other at the eleventh hour after trying to suppress their feelings. The show has always saved these big moments for finales, and this season will be no different.

But for anyone worried that Ben and Devi will be fighting the entire season, I think we’re in for our most Benvi-centric season yet, filled with great moments and their trademark banter.

They go to New York to visit colleges. Neither of them admits it, but they are relieved to know that they will remain constants in each others’ lives.

They study for finals together while bantering, skirting around the topic of prom, and just generally being the only two idiots who don’t know they are in love. *Buries self under 10 pounds of cement*

This time, Ben asks her to dance. The angst, unspoken feelings and tension are palpable.

They fight over valedictorian and it’s practically foreplay. Devi wins, and Ben is proud of her, underscoring his growth and ability to put aside his competitive nature to be supportive.

And that is just a fraction of what’s in store for our obnoxious, loveable nerds.

6. 🎶 It's the circle of life 🎶

“Hey, gods. It's Devi Vishwakumar, your favorite Hindu girl in the San Fernando Valley. What's a-poppin'? It's the first day of school, and I thought we should have a check in. I think we can all agree that last year sucked for a number of reasons. So I thought of a few ways you guys can make it up to me.”

“One: I'd like to be invited to a party with alcohol and hard drugs. I'm not gonna do them. I'd just like the opportunity to say: ‘No cocaine for me, thanks. I'm good.’”

John Mcenroe Voice: Devi, you seem a little drunk.

“Two: I'd love for my arm hair to thin out. I know it's an Indian thing, but my forearms look like the frigging floor of a barber shop.”

The mehndi on her hands symbolizes her love for her family and heritage. Juxtaposed with her western clothes, it signifies her acceptance of her intersectionality.

“And lastly, most importantly, I'd really, really like a boyfriend, but not some nerd from one of AP classes.”

The picture that I want to get my hands on is currently stashed away in Netflix’s top-secret headquarters, but I’ll settle for this one of Ben’s adorable, dopey smile.

7. The Finale: Why Devi and Ben Must Have an Unambiguously Happy Ending

For the longest time, I believed that Never Have I Ever would go the way of its spiritual successor Crazy-Ex Girlfriend and give Devi the “I choose myself” ending” with hints of her ending up with Ben in the future.

It was only when watching the season 3 finale that I realized how wrong I was. In fact, I was so fundamentally wrong that I overlooked the obvious: Never Have I Ever has never done anything halfway. The writers of Never Have I Ever know something about the audience that we often fail to recognize ourselves, which is that we desperately want a happy ending.

Season one could have ended with Devi’s heartfelt goodbye to her father and reconciliation with her mother. What do we get instead? A sweeping, romantic shot of Malibu while Devi and Ben share their first kiss.

In the season 2 finale, Devi proclaims that she will not settle for “some weird secret thing behind closed doors” and that she wants to be “someone's public girlfriend.” And what does she get? Exactly what she wants.

But it’s only in season 3 when this pattern becomes apparent. The season could have easily ended with her deciding to stay at Sherman Oaks. We had already said our farewell to Paxton, and gotten this chemistry-choked, almost-love-confession between our favourite dorks:

And we think that maybe, just maybe, the season will end with Devi single and ready for her senior year. But the show says “subtlety be damned”. It demands a triumphant ending, with Devi showing up at Ben’s door, leading to what will certainly be one of the most intimate moments in the entire show.

Tonally, the story makes bold choices, and the reaction from fans is always electric. In a world of being told “no” and being conditioned to temper our expectations, Never Have I Ever is like a warm hug reminding us that even the most broken people can heal and find love.

And this brings us back to “the Ben problem”, the idea is that he must overcome his fear and confess his love to Devi. And Devi, in turn, must love herself before being able to embrace her narrative mirror.

On a show that prides itself on big endings, escapism, and romance it seems unfathomable, and almost cruel, for Devi and Ben to be in love and not be together.

The writers do not want people finishing the show, shrugging, and saying “that was a realistic ending.” They want us to watch the finale with grins too big for our faces, our hearts bursting with excitement. They want us to know that all of Ben and Devi’s suffering over the past four seasons meant something, that when Devi finally makes the right decisions, she “will find someone who loves her exactly as she is.”

Love, unvarnished and without fear. That is the true narrative promise of Never Have I Ever.

#never have i ever #benvi #ben x devi #nhie #benvi meta #devi vishwakumar #ben gross

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