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artist-issues · 4 months ago

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Let’s talk about this Mufasa movie.

No. Let’s not. Let’s just talk about Mufasa. This is going to be long because he’s a really good character and The Lion King is a really good movie.

Mufasa’s whole point, as a character, is to foil Simba. He’ s not just the stereotypical “great dad role model” character, or the “wise mentor who is ripped away” character.

He, as a character, is in the story because he is “Who Simba Really Is.”

Simba is our young protagonist. The whole point of Simba in the story is to start out “not yet grown into who he really is,” so that the story can teach him how to “grow into who he really is.”

So the audience needs to know “who is Simba and who is Simba supposed to be?” right at the beginning. Which is great, because all kids are trying to figure out the same question about themselves. So it’s relatable. But anyway, the storytellers make Mufasa the answer.

On a simple level, you can answer the question, “who is this Simba guy?” right off the bat in the movie with “the son of the King.” There’s the setting. There’s the set-up. There’s the title of the movie. That’s why the very first lion you’re introduced to in the movie is Mufasa, and it’s not a shot of a baby lion cub. It could have been. Lots of movies open with a shot of their main character. Encanto, for one.

Not The Lion King. The Lion King starts with, “you can’t know who Simba is without Mufasa, so Mufasa gets shown first.”

So okay, Mufasa is a King. Good to know. That’s obvious from the big rock he’s standing on and the way all the animals are coming toward him. But from there, they quickly establish a few more things about Mufasa. He smiles at this little bird that bows to him. He hugs the shaman-monkey. He goes from “big solemn lion” to “good and benevolent” immediately.

And then as it goes on, you learn more about Mufasa. He’s not an idiot; he knows Scar is up to no good, and he is very direct about it. He is not a naive dupe, trusting a schemer blindly. It’s more complicated than that. He is a better leader and a better guy than that. Mufasa knows Scar is his brother, and in a snappy little interaction with Zazu, storytellers make it clear that he worries about Scar; he knows he has good reason to worry, but hasn’t decided to give up on his brother.

Additionally, he is merciful to other dark creatures too. He beats the tar out of hyenas but doesn’t kill them. He rescues Zazu from Scar’s mouth. He scolds Simba but he does that, and more, to teach him. So what Mufasa is teaching us, according to what I just showed you the story says, is that A Good King, A Good Man (Lion, whatever) Is:

Authoritative - Makes decrees and makes decisions and yes, tells others what to do. Creates the structure his people live in.

Kind/Humble - Shows the same level of casual friendship to a revered shaman-recluse as he does a little self-important majordomo. (Humble because he’s not afraid to admit when he’s afraid if it’ll help his son.)

Teaches - Takes time out of the day to pass on what he’s learned to someone who is going to take his place—he’s not hoarding his own position or gatekeeping his life-experience-expertise. He’s not finding his identity in how he has this wealth of information that causes people to need him; he gives it away freely, purposefully.

Protects - Is willing to endanger himself and go to the trouble of defending creatures that are weaker than himself.

Shows Mercy - See Scar and the hyenas, who deserve death, but he doesn’t give it to them.

Prioritizes Family - The time he’s taking out of the day is for his son. And he follows up with his recluse of a brother instead of going, “that’s Scar, I know he don’t care about nobody but himself, his loss, not my problem.” And he extends trust to that brother, which is really just an example of gift-giving to a family member who’s done nothing to keep that trust.

Has Faith - Mufasa makes a point of not answering Simba’s question about “Will you always be there for me,” with just himself. He could’ve. Many parents do. Many parents are tempted to, to show their love. “Yes. You’ll always have me. I’ll always be there to answer your questions; I’ll always protect you, I’ll always be what you can count on, you’ll always find a need fulfilled in me.” But Mufasa doesn’t take that bait. He gives Simba an answer that is not “himself-based.” Not selfish. “Look at the stars.” I don’t care what ya’ll say. Mufasa has faith in something outside of himself. He says “and so will I,” but that’s after contextualizing himself within “something bigger than us.” (And oh my gosh, he doesn’t even answer with, “let me give you a lesson you’ll need for your whole life.” He doesn’t even take credit for this faith, for himself. He gives his own father the credit.)

And really, all of those traits can be summarized with the phrase: Lives His Life Sacrificially For Others.

That’s what a leader, a good father, a king, a good man, does. And pay attention: That is what Simba is supposed to be. Simba is supposed to be Mufasa. That’s who Simba really is, that’s where he’s supposed to go. There is a “real you.” But you have to agree with it and accept it, even though your natural bent is to give in to the illusion that you “don’t have to be that, you can choose who you are.”

Yeah, sure, in a sense you can reject Who You Really Are. You can spend your whole life playing pretend, like you’re not That. But you’ll be doing just that: playing pretend. Unfulfilled. Dissatisfied. Running from the misery that is the natural response to your silly game of pretend. Insisting that “there is no misery, this is what I want.”

Okay. Sure it is.

I’ll save Simba for another post.

The point is, Mufasa is a template for who Simba Really Is. Look at those traits. When it’s Simba’s turn to exemplify those traits, does he?

Act I: Is he authoritative? He tells characters what to. And he makes his own decisions—sometimes for good, sometimes bad. For example, he won’t let Zazu deter him from going to the elephant graveyard, so that’s a bad decision, but he does choose to go back and help Nala instead of running to save himself. Authoritative and protective. But it’s all misplaced because he doesn’t “Live His Life Sacrificially For Others.”

Act 2: He’s not. Timon and Pumbaa tell him to do something and he goes along with it. Timon and Pumbaa claim an ancient tradition and his father’s lesson is stupid and Simba goes along with that. He’s no longer making decisions of his own accord, for anything but his own comfort.

The idea is, in Act 1, you see Simba has the same traits as Mufasa, budding inside of him. But they’re all misdirected, and they’re all twisted, because they’re missing one key ingredient: he’s supposed to use those traits in the context of “Live His Life Sacrificially For Others.” Simba doesn’t want to do that. Simba wants to do whatever he wants.

Sure, there’s a part of him that combines that motive with “I want to be like my dad.” But that part dies on the vine and turns sour when his father dies saving him.

So then in Act 2, not only is Simba clinging to “I’m going to live life all my way,” but he’s changed what that means by pushing the nugget of “I want to be like my dad/I WANT TO BE WHO I REALLY AM” completely away. Because it’s too hard, and he’s got shame tangled up in it.

And worse—he starts doing basically the opposite of all of Mufasa’s traits, all of the traits that make him Who He Really Is. He’s not prioritizing family—he’s abandoning them. He’s not protecting others—he runs from the idea of going back to help Nala. (tiny glimmer of it still being inside him because he does try to protect Pumbaa from her.) Kind and humble? No. It’s unkind to tell your best friend you won’t help her because you’re afraid. Humble, no, because humility is thinking of yourself less, not thinking less of yourself.

Ask the question. When Simba’s living in the jungle with Timon and Pumbaa, is he exemplifying any of the traits of Who He Really Is? Or is he doing his best to bury that?

But then after Mufasa reminds him of who he Really Is, and Rafiki shows him how to get his past out of the way so he can accept it, Simba goes back. Into Act 3 we go

Now. Does Simba exemplify Mufasa’s traits? Does Simba start becoming Who He Really Is? There’s not a lot of time left in the movie. Look at the traits, see if he does.

Authoritative? Yep, comes up with the plan to break in and get to Scar, doesn’t back down from the confrontation.

Kind and Humble? Yeah, he willingly admits the truth (he thought it was true) that makes him look bad to give his mom closure. He’s kind to Nala and to Timon and Pumbaa, admits his mistakes, when they come to help him. Hugs the old shaman who cracked him in the skull with a stick—just like Mufasa hugged Rafiki to show us kindness and humility at the beginning of the movie.

Teaches? We don’t really see an opportunity for him to do that yet at this point in the story and his life, give me a break.

But protects? You bet. That’s why he’s there for the confrontation in the first place. Shows mercy?

Yep.

Because he’s not like Scar. He knows who he is. THE POINT.

And when he runs in for the big confrontation, he doesn’t immediately leap on Scar and rip him to pieces. Even though the storytellers make sure to show us he clearly wants to.

Instead, he runs up to his mother to see if she’s all right and show her that he is. And again, he tells her the truth because that’s what she needs even if it’s not what she wants, and he’s learned not to run from what he’s “done.” And faith in something bigger than himself?

Yeah. His father’s voice comes through the clouds just before he decides to roar and claim his title. Through the clouds. Because that whole “we’re a part of something bigger, something more important than ourselves,” was always what he was missing. He was just thinking about himself.

And all of this is because Mufasa is the example of Who Simba Really Is: Lives His Life Sacrificially For Others. That’s Mufasa.

That’s Mufasa, in the story of The Lion King. That’s his purpose as a character, that’s who he is.

So now if you make a movie that’s just about him, what you should be doing is showing how he got there. How he accepted who he Really Is instead of choosing who he wants to be, on his own. And you should make his father, and learning humility, an enormous part of that. Because self-sacrifice is such a pillar of his character. It’s the whole thing.

What you should certainly not be doing is telling a story that ends with finding self-worth or a kid who makes a name for himself. I repeat: if the Mufasa live action movie ends with Mufasa doing anything that revolves around self, they got him wrong and they set him up nonsensically for the next movie.

He should have to decide whether or not he wants to believe his own father, because of that one line, “let me tell you something my father told me.” That shows that he accepted his father’s lesson. And what was his father’s lesson about? Faith. In something BIGGER THAN YOURSELF. So then Mufasa grows up to be a character who lives his life sacrificially for others, and you can trace the roots back to that: “I learned a lesson about something bigger than myself from someone who was not myself, and I humbly believed and accepted that lesson.”

I mean jeez, the line is: “LOOK AT THE STARS.” Whenever you feel alone. Whenever you’re wrapped up in who you are and who you’re not and failure and the idea of what you want to be, knock it off. Quit looking at yourself and look at something bigger than you. And then you’ll get “Understanding of Who You Really Are”—no matter what mistakes you’ve made, no matter how you’ve failed, no matter what your circumstances are—thrown in.

…Of course, the Lion King remake ruined him anyway by having the point be “I’m not worthless.” And that was never the point. But whatever. I’m rambling now. You get the idea.

Mufasa is exactly what he needs to be for the original The Lion King. He’s exactly what he needs to be for Simba’s story. Mufasa is awesome.

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mysteria157 · 3 months ago

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Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary:

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency.

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid.

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did.

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you.

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force.

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting.

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit.

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

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