#i have so many thoughts about the nature of life and death and the universe

[girlscience]

BUT WHEN WILL I EXPERIENCE AN ANCIENT CALLING THE REQUIRES ME TO GIVE UP MY LIFE AND GO ON A LIFELONG QUEST FOR KNOWLEDGE AND PROTECTING INNOCENTS

[mononijikayu]

pretending as always — ryomen sukuna.

"Sukuna." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Do you ever think about us? About how things used to be?" He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned. "Things change. People change." "I know, I know." you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his hand resting on your waist. "But I miss it. I miss us. The way we were before… everything."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, cheating, unhappy marriage, crying, hurt, sadness, pain, character death, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of broken marriage, depiction of grief, depiction of cheating, depiction of death, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of misery, mention of loneliness, cheating husband! sukuna, long suffering wife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 10k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says 'things change, people change.'; the playlist for this chapter alone was just so angsty. like from i'm not the only one to glimpse of us, i really went through it writing this. i decided to write only one sad fic because i feel like putting out casual, together and thirty nine almost at the same time was just really criminal of me to do. so i hope you enjoy this, though!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 900;

if you want to, tip! <3

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

ANOTHER HUFF RELEASES FROM YOUR MOUTH. You don’t remember how many you’ve smoked today. But you were sure that it was beyond one pack. This was the only time you could be alone, to think for yourself. To have control. The control you’ve been craving for years and years, one that you will never truly have again. You didn’t need someone to see you out here, to tell you no, to worry about your health. You didn’t need that. Not right now. You needed to be alone. You needed silence. 

You sat on the balcony of your lavish penthouse, gazing out at the shimmering lights of Tokyo. The city was alive, vibrant, a testament to the empire your husband, Ryomen Sukuna, had built. He was the man behind the biggest conglomerate in Japan—a titan in the world of business, feared and respected in equal measure. And you were his wife. 

Once upon a time, you had been someone too. A doctor with a promising career, surrounded by friends, fulfilled by the life you had created with your own hands. Your days were spent saving lives, making a difference, and your nights were filled with laughter and tenderness with colleagues who had become family. You were driven, passionate, and proud of the work you did. But now, as you sat in the lap of luxury, the woman you once were seemed like a distant memory.

Now, you were just his wife. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t love him—you did. You loved him more than words could express. Sukuna was everything to you, and being his wife brought a kind of happiness you hadn’t known was possible. Yet, there was a gnawing emptiness, a void that had grown over the years. As much as you loved him, as much as he adored you in his own way, you knew the truth.

Ryomen Sukuna was not a man who could be kept down, not even for you. He was a force of nature, unstoppable, always striving for more, always looking beyond what he already had. His ambition was a double-edged sword, driving him to unimaginable heights but also pushing him further away from the simple life you sometimes yearned for. 

There were nights when he didn’t come home, when he was out sealing deals or attending extravagant parties where you were merely an accessory. You’d watch him from a distance, surrounded by admirers, his presence commanding attention wherever he went. He thrived in that world of power and influence, and you knew that no matter how much he loved you, that world would always be his first love.

You tried to be content with the life you had with him. After all, you had everything most people could only dream of—wealth, status, and the affections of a man who could have had anyone but chose you. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had lost yourself in the process. You weren’t the doctor anymore, the woman with her own dreams and aspirations. You were simply Mrs. Ryomen Sukuna, a title that came with its own set of expectations and sacrifices.

As the night grew darker, you wondered what it would take to feel like yourself again. Could you ever reclaim the life you had before Sukuna, or had you given up too much to ever go back? And if you did, would you lose him in the process? It was a question that haunted you, even as you curled up in the luxurious sheets of your bed, waiting for him to return home. You loved him. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough.

Your husband was a man to love—eccentric and electric, a living embodiment of wonder wrapped in the form of a man. His presence was magnetic, a force that drew people in, leaving them captivated by his every word, his every move. Ryomen Sukuna was a personality larger than life, his energy palpable, his enigma undeniable. He filled every room he entered, his laughter loud and contagious, a stark contrast to his own brother, Jin, who was quiet, composed, and unassuming.

Where Jin blended into the background, Sukuna demanded attention. Everyone who met him felt the spark, the electricity that seemed to radiate from him. He was unpredictable, always a step ahead, always thinking of the next big thing. His mind worked in ways that left others in awe, trying to keep up with the whirlwind that was his thoughts and ideas. Loving him was like holding onto a storm—thrilling, dangerous, and consuming.

But for all his vibrance and charm, Sukuna was still a man of cold realities. His work came first, always. No matter how much you wanted to be his priority, the empire he built was what he poured most of his energy into. He was often distant, consumed by the responsibilities that came with being the man at the top. Days would pass where you barely saw him, where his presence in your life felt more like a memory than a reality.

Yet, when he did give you his time, it was genuine and honest. Those rare moments were when you saw the man beneath the mask, the one who cared for you in his own complicated way. His touch was real, his words sincere, and in those fleeting minutes, you felt the depth of his love, even if it was buried under layers of ambition and duty.

There were nights, though, when he would come to bed, slipping under the covers beside you, and in those moments, he was truly yours. Those were the times you held onto, the nights where the world outside his office door ceased to exist, where the only thing that mattered was the feel of his warmth next to you.

His arm around your waist, his breath on your neck—these were the small, intimate moments that made the loneliness bearable. In the quiet of the night, Sukuna would pull you close, and for those few hours, he was just a man who loved his wife, not the untouchable titan he had become during the day.

But as the dawn approached, you knew he would slip away again, back into the world that demanded so much of him. Those nights were a bittersweet reminder that while he was yours, you would never fully have him. Still, you cherished them, holding onto the hope that maybe one day, the man who captivated the world would find his way back to you, not just in the shadows of the night, but in the light of day as well.

If you tried slyly, you could sometimes extract details about his life—small, fragmented pieces of the puzzle that was Ryomen Sukuna. A hint here, a passing comment there. But even after so many years of marriage, he wouldn’t budge.

He was a vault, his thoughts locked away in a place you couldn’t reach, no matter how hard you tried. There were times you sat across from him, watching his expressions, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on behind those sharp eyes, but he was impenetrable. You didn’t know what he was thinking half the time. 

And as the years passed, you began to realize a painful truth: you didn’t know this man anymore. He wasn’t the man you fell in love with, the one who had promised you the world with that charming smile and infectious energy. That man was a memory, fading with every passing day. The man you were married to now was a stranger, someone who wore Sukuna’s face but carried a weight and distance that hadn’t been there before. He was no longer wholly yours, not anymore.

But when he was—on those rare occasions when he let you in, when the walls came down just enough for you to feel the warmth beneath his cold exterior—those moments were everything. His exterior remained hard, a shield against the world and perhaps even against you, but in the quiet darkness of your bedroom, he softened.

The bed you shared became a pure and sacred shrine, a place where the outside world couldn’t reach, where only you and he existed. In that space, the burdens he carried were set aside, and for a fleeting moment, he was just a man, your husband, the one who still held pieces of your heart.

The warmth of his body against yours, the way he would pull you close as if you were his anchor—these were the moments that reminded you of the love that still lingered between you. It was as if, in that bed, time stood still, and the distance that had grown between you disappeared, leaving only the two of you, as you once were.

And though those moments were few and far between, they were enough to keep you holding on, hoping that perhaps, one day, the man you fell in love with would return to you, not just in the night, but in every aspect of your life together.

You lay beside him in the dark, feeling the weight of the silence between you. His arm was draped over your waist, his grip firm but gentle. It was one of those rare nights when he was fully present, when the business world he ruled seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. You turned slightly, your face inches from his, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might bridge the gap that had grown between you.

"Sukuna." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Do you ever think about us? About how things used to be?"

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned. "Things change. People change."

"I know, I know." you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his hand resting on your waist. "But I miss it. I miss us. The way we were before… everything."

His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker there—regret, maybe, or a trace of the man you once knew. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar unreadable expression.

"I’m still here. I always have been." he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I never left. And you know that."

"Physically, yes, I know. But I just….It’s just." you murmured, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice. "Sukuna, it’s like I don’t know you anymore. You’re not the man I married. You’re not the man who promised me the world. And I don’t know where he is. And I want him back.”

He didn’t flinch, but you felt the slight tension in his arm as he pulled you a little closer. "The world isn’t what it used to be. It won’t ever be what it was, you know that." he replied quietly. "And neither am I. And you know that too. But I’m still here. I’m still your husband.”

You sighed, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "But when you’re here, like this… it’s different. For just a moment, it feels like nothing’s changed. Like it’s just you and me, the way it used to be. I wish we could stay here, like this, forever."

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt his grip on you tighten, his thumb brushing softly against your skin as if to reassure you. "This bed, our bed…." he said slowly, his voice rougher than usual, "it’s our sanctuary. It’s the one place I can forget about everything else. But you know I can’t stay here forever. Not when the world calls me, not when it needs me.”

"I know that." you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. You needed him too. You needed your husband. And he will never see it. Not even when he tries. "But I can’t help wishing you would. That maybe, just once, you’d choose me over everything else. Like you used to.”

He was silent for a long moment, his breath warm against your hair. When he finally spoke, there was a softness in his voice that you rarely heard. "If I could, I would. You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded, that reminds me I’m still human. But I can’t give you all of me. Not anymore. I have things to do too.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall silently. "I just wish… I wish you’d let me in, Sukuna. I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. I want to know the man I’m sharing this bed with."

He didn’t answer right away, and you knew he wouldn’t. Instead, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture. "I’m here now, you know?" he whispered. "Let’s just… stay in this moment, just for tonight."

You nodded, unable to find the words to say anything more. You clung to him, holding onto the warmth of his body, the rare softness of his embrace, knowing that when morning came, he would be gone again—pulled back into the world that demanded so much of him. But for now, you had this, and it would have to be enough.

It sounds more romantic than it actually is in reality. What you shared with Sukuna was far from the idyllic love story others might imagine. It was a volatile existence, a solitary one. A lonely existence. There were no whispered secrets in the dark, no playful banter or stolen glances across the room. There were no soft gazes filled with unspoken affection, no tender moments that lingered long after they ended. With Sukuna, you got the raw, unfiltered version of him—a man stripped of any pretense or facade.

Sukuna was not a man of many words, and that held true even during the most intimate moments between you. He was silent, his focus intense, his mind seemingly elsewhere even as he was with you. There were no sweet nothings exchanged, no promises of forever whispered into your ear. He was a man of action, not words, and even less so when you were in bed together.

Yet, despite the lack of verbal communication, there was one thing he always maintained—eye contact. His gaze never wavered, never strayed from yours, and in those moments, you saw something in his eyes that you rarely saw anywhere else. His eyes were earnest, and that sincerity was the closest thing to vulnerability he ever allowed himself to show. It was as if, in those brief moments of connection, he was telling you without words what he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.

But even that small comfort was fleeting, a temporary solace in a relationship that often felt more like a battle than a partnership. You loved him, but it was a love laced with pain and longing, a love that left you feeling more alone than ever. Because while his eyes might have been honest, they also held a distance that you couldn’t bridge, a reminder that even in his most vulnerable moments, Sukuna was still just out of reach.

So you took what you could get—the warmth of his body against yours, the rare tenderness in his gaze—and tried to ignore the aching loneliness that gnawed at you in the silence that followed. Because at the end of the day, you knew that this was the only version of Sukuna you would ever truly have. And for better or worse, you had to make peace with that.

You lay there in the quiet aftermath, your body still humming from the intensity of it all. But as the warmth began to fade, reality seeped back in. The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid. There was no gentle touch, no soft embrace to pull you closer. Sukuna remained beside you, but there was a distance, an unspoken barrier that kept you apart even when you were lying inches away from each other.

This was your life—a series of fleeting connections punctuated by long stretches of solitude. You had learned to navigate this existence, to find comfort in the small moments, even if they were far from the grand romance you had once imagined. But it was a lonely existence, one that often left you feeling hollow, as if a piece of you had been carved out and left behind somewhere along the way.

There was no pillow talk with Sukuna, no lingering in the soft afterglow. Not like it used to be, when you greeted the morning light talking and talking. The man beside you was not one for such things. He was not the type to reach out and hold you close, to whisper sweet reassurances that everything would be okay. He simply wasn’t built that way, and you had long since stopped expecting him to be.

Instead, there was just the raw version of him—the man who was silent in his love, who showed it in ways that were hard to decipher, in ways that often left you questioning if it was there at all. His love wasn’t gentle or easy; it was fierce, consuming, and at times, almost indifferent. But it was there, hidden beneath layers of responsibility, power, and the iron will that had made him who he was.

Sukuna’s eyes were the only place where you could see that truth, where you could catch a glimpse of the man beneath the exterior. Even during sex, when his body was moving against yours with a deliberate intensity, his eyes stayed locked on yours, never wavering.

There was something disarming in that gaze, something that spoke of an honesty he couldn’t express any other way. It was in those moments, brief as they were, that you felt a connection, a thread of intimacy that tied you to him, even if it was fragile and frayed.

But as much as you clung to those moments, they were never enough to fill the void. The bed, which had once felt like a sanctuary, now seemed more like a cold, empty place where two strangers shared space but not lives. You would turn to face him, hoping for something—a word, a touch, anything to bridge the gap—but he remained still, his mind already miles away, lost in thoughts you could never reach.

And so you would close your eyes, trying to hold onto the fleeting warmth of his body next to yours, trying to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could live with the silence, the loneliness, the distance. Because at the end of the day, he was still the man you loved, the man who had once promised you the world.

But that promise had faded, just like the warmth that now ebbed away in the cold, empty silence of the room. And as much as it hurt, you knew that this was all there would ever be—a man you could never fully have, a love that was always just out of reach, and a life lived in the spaces between what was and what could have been.

You cry a lot about how life has let you suffer this way. The tears come in waves, usually in the quiet hours of the night when the weight of it all feels too heavy to bear. You cry for the life you thought you would have, for the love that feels like it's slipping through your fingers, for the man who promised you everything but gave you only fragments. The pain of it all has become a constant companion, a dull ache that lingers even in your happiest moments, because you know, deep down, that things will never be what you once dreamed they could be.

You knew about the women. You’ve always known. The whispers that reached your ears, the subtle changes in his demeanor, the way he would smell of a perfume that wasn’t yours. You knew about the women he took to hotels, the ones he wined and dined in the finest restaurants, the ones he spoiled with gifts and attention that you used to believe were reserved for you alone. You knew about the strip clubs, the fleeting kisses at bars, the meaningless trysts that filled the void you couldn’t seem to reach.

But knowing and seeing were two different things.

The image before you feels like a knife to the gut, twisting with a cruel precision. She’s beautiful, laughing at something Sukuna has whispered into her ear. They’re sitting too close, his hand resting on her thigh as though it belongs there.

His expression is relaxed, the mask he wears with you completely gone. This is who he really is, you think to yourself. You could feel this bitter realization curling in your chest. You feel like you were going to be sick.

For a moment, your legs threaten to give way beneath you. The restaurant is dimly lit, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware suddenly drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. You’ve been here before. It’s one of his favorites—one you thought was yours too, where he used to look at you with that same easy smile.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, urging you to flee, to turn away before the pain can deepen. You take a step back, and then another, the darkness of the entrance swallowing you whole as you move further from the scene. It’s as if you’re in a dream, your body moving on autopilot, one step after another, until you’re out on the street, the cool night air hitting your skin like a jolt.

You keep walking, eyes unfocused, the city lights blurring into a haze of colors. The truth is, you don’t know where you’re going. All you know is that you can’t stop moving. Because if you stop, if you allow yourself to think, to feel, the walls you’ve built around your heart will collapse, and you’ll be left with nothing but the agony of what you’ve lost. Or perhaps, of what you never truly had.

You knew everything. And yet, you pretended as always, especially when he came home. Because he always did. No matter how many nights he spent in the arms of someone else, no matter how many times he broke your heart with his affairs, he always came home to you. And you clung to that, as painful as it was, because it was the one thing you had left—the knowledge that, for whatever reason, he chose to come back to you.

You knew everything. And yet, you pretended as always, especially when he came home. Because he always did. No matter how many nights he spent in the arms of someone else, no matter how many times he broke your heart with his affairs, he always came home to you.

And you pathetically clung to that, as painful as it was, because it was the one thing you had left—the knowledge that, for whatever reason, he chose to come back to you. That he'll always choose to come back to you. And only you.

The sound of his key turning in the lock was your cue to slip the mask into place, smoothing out the cracks in your facade. You could hear the soft rustle of his coat as he shrugged it off, the faint smell of that foreign perfume clinging to the air. It was like a slap in the face, but you swallowed the bitterness down, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Hey.” he called out, his voice casual, as though nothing were amiss. As though he hadn’t just spent hours with someone else.

“Hey.” you replied, keeping your tone light, as if you hadn’t been waiting in silence, wondering who he was with, what she looked like, if she made him laugh the way you used to.

He stepped into the room, his gaze brushing over you, taking in the sight of you curled up on the couch with a book in your hands. It was a scene of domestic tranquility, one you’d perfected over the years. You’d become a master at hiding the turmoil beneath the surface, at pretending that everything was fine.

“How was your night?” you asked, the words slipping out easily, as if they weren’t laced with the weight of unspoken truths.

“Busy.” he replied, moving toward you. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, to savor the warmth of his presence. This was the part you held onto—the part where he came home, where he chose you, if only for a few fleeting hours. “Did a lot of meetings. It was dull. Like always.”

But even as he pulled away and headed to the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel the coldness seep back in, the emptiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew he’d be gone again tomorrow, off to chase whatever thrill he found in the arms of someone else. 

Still, you clung to that tiny thread of hope, the one that told you he would return. Because as long as he came home, as long as he kept choosing you, there was a part of you that could pretend—pretend that it was enough, that you were enough. You knew that you were tearing yourself apart. Apart from this man. But you were stuck. You didn’t know how to get out. Not when you can’t bear separation.

It was a cruel cycle, one that left you feeling shattered and hollow, but one you couldn’t break free from. You pretended because it was easier than confronting the truth, easier than acknowledging that the man you loved was also the man who was tearing you apart. You pretended because you wanted to believe that, despite everything, there was still something left between you, something worth holding on to.

Because as much as he hurt you, as much as he used other women to fill whatever void he was running from, you knew one thing with absolute certainty: he loved you. He might have been distant, cold, and unfaithful, but that love was there, buried beneath the layers of deceit and betrayal. It was a twisted, painful love, one that hurt more than it healed, but it was real. And that’s what made it so hard to walk away.

He loved you, and it hurt you. It hurt because that love wasn’t enough to stop him from seeking out others, from indulging in pleasures that had nothing to do with you. It hurt because that love didn’t protect you from the heartache, didn’t shield you from the loneliness that came from sharing a bed with someone who was only half there.

But it was love nonetheless, a sick, unadulterated, gut-wrenching love you can never truly escape even if you wanted to. and you clung to it with everything you had, because without it, you weren’t sure who you would be anymore.

So you cried, and you pretended, and you waited for him to finish his shower, knowing that when he did, you would smile, you would act as if nothing was wrong, as if your heart wasn’t breaking a little more each day. Because you loved him, too, and that love was the only thing holding you together, even as it threatened to tear you apart.

The stairs creaked with every step, and you quickly wiped the tears from your cheeks, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You knew the routine by now—how to mask the pain, how to put on a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the steps, and you braced yourself, slipping into the role you had perfected over the years. He’d gotten out of the shower and dressed.

Sukuna walked back into the living room, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable as he walked in front of you. You could still smell the faint scent of a perfume that wasn’t yours, the remnants of a night you knew all too well. It was as if he was mocking you. It was as if he wanted you to know.  But you didn’t say anything. You never did.

“Did you have dinner yet?” you ask him, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “There’s still some soba I made for dinner.”

He hums in response, reaching for your hand, his touch warm but somehow distant. “Maybe later, I’ll heat it up myself. Let me stay here with you for a bit.”

You nod, pretending to be satisfied with his answer, even though you know it’s a lie. “Okay, that’s fine.”

You make some space for him to sit beside you, but instead, he lowers his head onto your lap, his body stretching out along the couch. The gesture is familiar, almost comforting, but tonight, it feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. You feel the bile rise in your throat as he closes his eyes, humming softly to himself, as if this moment is as peaceful for him as it is tormenting for you.

You force your fingers to move, to edge along the tips of his fuchsia-colored hair, the strands soft beneath your touch. The motion is automatic, a habit born from nights like these, where you pretended that everything was still okay. But as you purse your lips into a tight line, trying to keep your composure, you feel the tears threatening to spill over, the pain clawing at the walls you’ve built around your heart.

Not now, you tell yourself. Not now. You can’t break, not here, not while he’s with you.

You swallow hard, pushing down the surge of emotions that threaten to rise to the surface, and speak in a voice you barely recognize as your own. “You worked hard.”

He opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light of the room. “So did you.” he whispers, his tone soft, almost tender.

His words, if they were meant to comfort you, only deepen the ache inside you. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, forcing a small, hollow smile as you continue to stroke his hair. Because that’s all you can do—pretend that this moment is enough, that his presence here is enough to make up for all the nights he’s been away, all the lies you’ve told yourself just to keep going.

He closes his eyes again, sighing softly, and you watch him, your fingers never faltering in their gentle rhythm. And as you sit there, with his head in your lap and the soba cooling on the kitchen counter, you realize that this is what you’ve become—someone who is willing to live in the spaces he leaves behind, someone who clings to the small moments he offers, even when they’re built on a foundation of lies.

“I missed you, Sukuna.” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

“I know.” he replied to you, in a tone that knows. A tone that reveals it all. He knew that you know, you weren’t a fool. You were too smart for it. And yet, here you are. With him, his lying, selfish self, loved by you. “I’m here now.”

You nodded, knowing that was the most you would get from him. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, his breathing becoming more relaxed. You knew this was as close as he would come to letting you in, and you tried to take comfort in it, even though it wasn’t enough.

You lay there in silence, your hand still resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much it hurt, how much you wished things could be different. But you knew it wouldn’t change anything. He would always come home, but he would never truly be yours.

So you stayed quiet, pretending for him, for yourself, for the fragile love that still tied you to him, even as it slowly unraveled. You pretended that this was enough, that the fleeting moments of closeness were worth the nights spent alone, the tears shed in silence, the knowledge that he would never be wholly yours.

And in the dark, as you lay beside him, you let yourself believe the lie, if only for a little while. Because sometimes, pretending was the only thing that kept you going.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN YOU HEARD THOSE WORDS. The doctor's words echoed in your mind as you drove home, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. "A few months, at most," he'd said, and you'd nodded, thanked him even, before walking out of the clinic in a daze. The sky outside seemed unchanged, the world continuing its indifferent spin, while inside you, something had irrevocably shifted.

When you finally made it home, you sat down, the weight of everything settling onto your shoulders like a heavy blanket. The familiar surroundings seemed distant, like you were seeing them through a fog. The elegant decor, the soft lighting—everything was perfect, just as it always was, but it felt like a set piece now, like something you were watching from afar.

You tried to think of what you should do next, what anyone would do with such news. Should you cry? Scream? But nothing came. Instead, a strange sense of calm washed over you, like the stillness after a storm. Maybe this was it—God's way of freeing you from this misery, this life you’d never truly lived.

A miserable existence, that’s what it was. A life spent in the shadow of Ryomen Sukuna, the man who was everything to everyone, and nothing to you. The man who had captured your heart and soul, only to lock them away somewhere deep inside, where they withered, starved of the love you so desperately needed. You’d given everything to be his wife, to play the part in the perfect narrative he’d constructed, and in the process, you’d lost yourself.

The relief that bubbled up inside you was unexpected, but undeniable. You wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. No more pretending, no more aching for a love that would never be yours. No more nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why you weren’t enough. Soon, it would all be over. You wouldn’t have to endure this life, this love, for much longer.

You decided then and there—you wouldn’t tell him. What would be the point? He was a man consumed by his empire, by his power, and you were just another piece of his world, another part of his success. Telling him would only disrupt the perfect narrative he had written for himself, and you couldn’t bear to see the indifference in his eyes when he realized that your story was ending.

No, you would continue to be his wife. You would play your part until the very end, letting yourself fade quietly from the narrative, just as you had faded from his heart. And maybe, when it was all over, when you were gone, he might feel something—a twinge of regret, perhaps. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

In the stillness of your home, a peculiar sense of peace enveloped you. The silence was heavy, but it was a silence of your own making, one that spoke of an end and a release. You had loved Sukuna with a depth that was both profound and consuming. Your love for him was a force that had shaped your days and your nights, driving you to care for him in ways that went unnoticed and unappreciated. 

But as you faced the reality of your impending departure, a bittersweet calm settled over you. The weight of your unrequited love, the fatigue of constantly giving without receiving, was finally lifting. You had poured your heart into a relationship where your love was met with indifference and infidelity. You had tried to make him see, tried to make him understand, but in the end, the love you gave was never truly reciprocated in the way you had hoped.

Now, as the days dwindle and the finality of your situation becomes undeniable, you found a strange comfort in knowing that the end was near. The thought of liberation from a love that had only ever been one-sided was both heart-wrenching and soothing. You were tired of the endless cycle of giving and waiting, of hoping for something that would never come. And in the quiet of your home, you felt a sense of relief at the prospect of being free from this endless cycle of emotional exhaustion.

That night, when Sukuna returned home, you greeted him with a facade of normalcy. Despite the heavy burden of your knowledge, you smiled at him with a warmth that belied your inner turmoil. You continued to dote on him, serving him his favorite dishes with the same loving care you always had. Every gesture, every touch, every look was a continuation of the role you had played for so long.

You carried on as if nothing had changed, maintaining the pretense of a happy, loving wife. Your actions were deliberate, a final testament to the depth of your love and the extent of your sacrifice. You wanted to give him one last glimpse of the love he had taken for granted, to remind him of what he would be losing, even if he would never fully grasp it until it was too late.

You went through the motions of daily life, engaging with him, listening to his stories, laughing at his jokes. The facade was not just for him, but for yourself as well—a way to preserve a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of your emotions. You wanted to leave him with the memory of a wife who had loved him deeply, who had cared for him until the very end, despite everything.

In the quiet moments alone, after he had gone to bed, you would sit in the darkness, feeling the weight of your impending departure. You would reflect on the years you had spent loving him, on the moments of joy and sorrow that had shaped your relationship. And as you faced the end, you found a strange sort of solace in knowing that you would finally be free from the constraints of a love that had never truly been mutual.

The peace you felt was not without pain, but it was a relief nonetheless. You had loved Sukuna with all that you were, and now, as you prepared to leave, you took comfort in the knowledge that you would soon be free from the sadness and longing that had defined your existence.

Sukuna looked up from his plate, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He could see a flicker of something in your eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“You seem... unusually happy tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of both surprise and suspicion. “Is something going on?”

You met his gaze, a faint smile on your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s been a long time since we had a dinner like this, just the two of us.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed as he studied you. “Yeah, it has. We’ve been so wrapped up in our own worlds that it’s easy to forget what it was like before everything got so complicated.”

You nodded, your fingers nervously twisting the edge of your napkin. “I’ve missed this—being with you like this, without all the distractions and complications. It feels like a rare moment of normalcy in the chaos.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, but there was an edge of concern in his eyes. “You seem more at peace than usual. Is everything okay? You’ve been acting... different lately.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you. “I’ve just been reflecting on things. It’s strange how time changes everything, how we lose sight of what really matters until it’s almost too late.”

Sukuna’s gaze grew more intense, his unease palpable. “Reflecting on what? You’ve been acting like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “It’s just... I’ve been thinking about how we’ve lost touch with each other. How we’ve let life get in the way of what really matters.”

Sukuna’s eyes searched for yours, trying to grasp the depth of your words. “Are you saying there’s something wrong? Something you’re not telling me?”

You looked away, your smile faltering. “It’s not about something wrong. It’s about realizing that sometimes, we need to appreciate the moments we have, even if they’re fleeting.”

Sukuna’s confusion deepened, his concern growing. “You’re scaring me. Why are you talking like this? What’s going on?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart aching with the weight of the truth you couldn’t reveal. “I’ve just been feeling... reflective. It’s hard to explain, but I’m grateful for these moments, even if they’re all we have left.”

Sukuna reached out, his hand gently grasping yours. “Are you trying to tell me something? You’re acting like this is a goodbye.”

You pulled your hand away, the pain in your chest almost unbearable. “It’s not a goodbye. It’s just... a realization. I want to make the most of the time we have, to cherish these moments together.”

Sukuna’s face fell, his worry evident. “You’re making it sound like something terrible is happening. If there’s something you’re hiding, you need to tell me.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to smile through the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s not about hiding anything. It’s about acknowledging that even when things are difficult, we can still find moments of happiness. I wanted tonight to be one of those moments.”

Sukuna looked at you with a mixture of sadness and confusion, his frustration clear. “You’re not making any sense. Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

You stood up from the table, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. You smiled at him. And even at that moment, he noticed. He noticed it didn’t go up to your eyes. “I can’t. Not yet. I just needed you to understand that despite everything, I’ve always cherished our time together.”

Sukuna watched you with a heart heavy with concern and regret, as you walked away from the table. "Do you still want some wine?"

"No." Sukuna whispers under his breath. "I'm fine."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

YOU WERE GOOD AT PLAYING ROLES. Sukuna didn't suspect a thing. You continued playing your part, showing up at events, smiling when required, and being the perfect wife that the world expected you to be. He remained oblivious, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the subtle changes—the way your laughter had lost its warmth, the way your eyes seemed distant, even when you looked directly at him.

He carried on with his life, his empire growing ever larger, his influence spreading like wildfire. And on the side, there was her—the woman he met in secret, the one who made him feel alive in ways that you no longer could. He didn’t care to hide it anymore, not really. He knew you knew, but in his mind, it didn’t matter. You were his wife, his possession, and that was enough.

The restaurant was bathed in a warm, subdued light, its cozy ambiance a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Sukuna's heart. He sat across from his date, his smirk easy, a deliberate mask concealing the turbulent emotions beneath. His eyes roamed lazily over the flickering candlelight, his drink half-empty, the conversation flowing smoothly. It was supposed to be an escape, a fleeting distraction from the complexities of his life.

The phone buzzed on the table, its vibration slightly jarring against the relaxed hum of the evening. Sukuna glanced at it, a shadow of irritation crossing his features. He almost ignored it, but a nagging instinct—something primal and insistent—prompted him to check. The screen lit up with an urgent message, and as he read the words, his smirk faltered, replaced by a sudden, unsettling pallor.

His hand trembled slightly as he answered the call that followed.

“Mr. Sukuna, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your evening. There’s been an emergency. Your wife—she’s collapsed and has been rushed to the hospital. The situation is very serious. You need to come immediately.”

Sukuna’s mind reeled, struggling to process the gravity of the message. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, a cacophony of fear and disbelief.  “What? No, that can’t be right. Are you sure? What happened?” His usual bravado turned into worrisome, strained whispers. “My wife was healthy when I left her at home.”

“Yes, I’m certain. She was rushed in a couple of minutes ago. The doctors are doing everything they can, but it’s critical. Please come to the hospital right away.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Sukuna staring blankly at his phone. The realization of what he had just heard began to sink in, each beat of his heart echoing with a growing dread. Without a word, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Suku? What’s going on? Where are you going?” Her face is a mask of confusion and concern. “Suku–”

 “I—I have to go. It’s an emergency.” His voice barely more than a whisper, laden with panic.

He didn’t wait for any further questions or explanations. His mind was a chaotic whirl of thoughts as he left the restaurant, the cool night air doing little to calm the storm inside him. The drive to the hospital was a blur, the city lights streaking by in a disorienting haze. Every turn, every red light seemed to stretch time, amplifying his growing sense of dread.

Inside the emergency room, the atmosphere was clinical and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the evening he had just left behind. The cacophony of beeping monitors and hurried voices created a symphony of chaos that matched his inner turmoil. He pushed past the reception desk, barely acknowledging the questions they asked him. All he could think about was reaching you, seeing you, and holding onto whatever fragments of hope remained.

“Sir, you need to wait here. We’re in the middle of an emergency procedure.” The nurse said firmly, as Sukuna tried to approach.

Sukuna’s eyes fixed on the form lying still on the gurney, a sight that twisted his insides with a profound ache. The resuscitation efforts were intense, a desperate dance between life and death. He felt a profound sense of helplessness, the cold efficiency of the medical staff contrasting sharply with his own emotional chaos.

 “Please, I need to be with her. I have to—” His voice breaking, a raw plea. “Please let me through—”

“Sir, we need to focus on the procedure. You can’t be in the way.”

Sukuna was forced to retreat, his heart sinking as he slumped against the wall, his fists clenched in frustration and fear. The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. He stared at the closed doors of the emergency room, the gnawing fear that he might lose you forever consuming him.

In the cold, stark hallway of the hospital, Sukuna felt his world unraveling. The veneer of control and dominance he had always relied on was gone, replaced by a gut-wrenching vulnerability he had never before experienced. He was left alone with his thoughts, confronting the painful truth that he had been given a chance to face his own failures and regrets.

Everything they could, they tried—but it wasn’t enough. He could see it in their eyes, in the frantic movements that were becoming more desperate by the second. He shouted at them, his voice rising to a roar, demanding they do something, anything. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless, wasn’t used to being afraid. But in that moment, as he watched you lying there, unmoving, unresponsive, fear gripped him in a way it never had before.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not now, not when he’d taken you for granted for so long. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been there, always been his, and he’d never truly appreciated it. And now, as he watched the life drain from you, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—genuine, bone-deep terror.

When the nurses finally stopped, when they turned to him with those solemn expressions, he knew. They didn’t have to say a word. He pushed past them anyway, falling to his knees beside your bed, his hand grasping yours, still warm but lifeless. You were slipping through his fingers. He didn’t want to free you — not yet. He needs you. He still wants you.

“Don’t do this, not yet.” he whispered, his voice breaking, something it never did. “You can’t leave me. You don’t get to leave me.”

But you were already gone. The silence in the room was deafening, and for the first time in his life, Ryomen Sukuna felt utterly and completely helpless. 

Sukuna stayed by your side long after the nurses and doctors left the room, long after the machines were turned off, and the sterile, mechanical sounds faded into an unbearable silence. He gripped your hand tightly, as if somehow, by sheer force of will, he could pull you back from the brink, undo what had just happened. But the truth was inescapable—you were gone.

The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to the agony that churned inside him. Sukuna, the man who had always been in control, who had never feared anything or anyone, was now paralyzed by a fear so intense it consumed him. He had never imagined a moment like this, a moment where he would lose something so irreplaceable.

Memories flashed through his mind—moments he had dismissed, overlooked, or taken for granted. The way you would smile at him when he came home, the quiet dinners you shared, the way you had always been there, even when he hadn’t deserved it. He had grown so used to your presence that he never considered what it would be like without you.

He had thought he could live his life as he pleased, that you would always be there, in the background, silently enduring whatever he put you through. But now, with you gone, the enormity of his loss hit him with full force. It wasn’t just that you were gone—it was that you were gone because of him. He had driven you to this, with his neglect, his infidelity, his arrogance.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in years, Sukuna felt the sting of tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried—if he ever had. But now, the tears came unbidden, a raw and overwhelming response to the pain that was tearing him apart. He had lost you, and it was his fault. There was no one else to blame, no way to undo what he had done.

He thought about all the things he would never get to say to you, all the apologies that would never leave his lips. He had always believed he had time—time to make things right, time to explain, time to finally show you that you mattered to him. But now, that time was gone, and with it, any chance of redemption.

Sukuna stayed there, holding your hand, until the nurses gently told him that he had to let go, that it was time to say goodbye. He didn’t want to—he wasn’t ready to. But he knew there was no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, he released your hand, feeling a cold emptiness settle into the space where you had once been.

As he walked out of the hospital, the reality of his life without you began to sink in. The thought of returning to his grand, empty house—one that had always been a symbol of his success, his power—now felt like walking into a tomb. You were no longer there to greet him, no longer there to fill the space with your presence.

And for the first time, Sukuna understood what it meant to be truly alone. All the wealth, the power, the women—none of it mattered anymore. The one thing that had truly mattered was gone, and he was left with nothing but the echo of his own regrets.

As he stepped into his car, the weight of your absence pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity. He had never been afraid of anything before. But now, as he faced a future without you, he was terrified.

Sukuna sat in the driver’s seat of his car, the door still open as if he might somehow find the strength to run back into the hospital and reverse what had happened. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, and the first sob broke through his defenses, ragged and harsh. He slammed his fists against the wheel, the sound echoing in the empty garage, the pain in his chest mirroring the bruising force of his punches.

Each hit was a release, a desperate attempt to rid himself of the unbearable grief and regret that had settled over him like a heavy fog. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision, and he felt a profound sense of helplessness that he had never known. He had always been in control, always been the one to dictate terms, to manipulate situations to his favor. But now, as he sat there, he was powerless, unable to change anything, unable to bring you back.

In the midst of his torment, memories began to flood back—painful, vivid recollections that he had buried under layers of indifference and self-absorption. He remembered the way you would spend hours in the kitchen, cooking meals with a dedication that went beyond mere obligation. You had always taken care of him, preparing dishes that you knew he loved, ensuring the fridge was stocked with his favorite foods.

He could picture you now, in the kitchen of your shared home, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, your face focused and serene. The way you’d hum softly to yourself, the warmth of the kitchen contrasting with the coldness that seemed to have crept into his heart over the years. Every meal you made was a labor of love, a testament to the care and consideration you had for him, even when he had taken it all for granted.

And then there were the times you’d prepare extra food, stock the fridge with ready-made meals, knowing that his schedule was unpredictable, that he might be too busy to eat properly. You’d filled the refrigerator with care, making sure he would have something to sustain him, even when you couldn’t be there. 

He should have noticed the subtle changes in your routine. The house had been unusually pristine lately, the surfaces spotless, the floors immaculate. It wasn’t like you to maintain such a high level of cleanliness without a reason. It was as if you had been preparing the space, ensuring that everything was in perfect order, as if you were orchestrating a smooth transition for him, even after you were gone.

The closets were tidier than usual, the clothes organized and neatly hung. He realized now that you had cleaned out your own belongings with quiet efficiency, not because you were preparing to leave in the conventional sense, but because you wanted to spare him the burden. You had sorted through your things, reducing the mess he would have to deal with, thinking ahead so that your death wouldn’t leave him grappling with the physical remnants of your life.

The laundry was always done, the baskets emptied and folded with a care that went beyond routine. You had taken care of it all, ensuring that he wouldn’t be confronted with chores and tasks that might remind him of the void you were leaving behind. The house had been more than just clean—it had been meticulously arranged to make his life easier, to ensure that the practicalities of your absence wouldn’t add to his grief.

In the midst of his grief, the realization struck him with the force of a revelation. You had been planning for this moment all along, your every action a carefully orchestrated preparation for the inevitable. You had thought of everything—how the house should be, how his daily life should continue without disruption, how he might cope with the void you would leave behind.

And yet, despite all your foresight, he had been so absorbed in his own world, so blind to your quiet efforts, that he hadn’t seen what you were doing. He had been wrapped up in his own needs, his own desires, oblivious to the depth of your sacrifice.

Now, as he sat there in the car, the weight of his regret felt almost unbearable. You had given him a gift of love so profound, so selfless, and he had only realized it in the harshest of moments. He had been given a chance to appreciate you, to see how deeply you cared, but it had come too late.

The house was prepared, the chores managed, the meals cooked—all to make sure that your departure wouldn’t add to his burden. And all he could do now was mourn the loss of someone who had loved him so completely, while he had remained unaware of the full extent of their care.

The realization hit him with a crushing weight. You had been preparing him—preparing him for a future without you. You had known, on some level, that your time was limited, and you had tried to make things easier for him, to ensure he wouldn’t be left entirely lost when you were gone. You had left behind a legacy of care and love, even in your absence.

The tears flowed more freely now, each one a testament to the depth of his regret. The sight of the empty kitchen at home, the pristine rows of shelves, the meticulously arranged pantry—all these things that once seemed so ordinary now felt like a poignant reminder of the love he had squandered. You had been his rock, his constant, and he had never truly valued it until it was too late.

Sukuna’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, his grief palpable in the confined space of the car. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of his own making, surrounded by the memories of what he had lost and the realization of how profoundly he had failed you. The realization of your love, the sacrifices you had made, and the undeniable truth that he had only seen it all now, when it was too late, was a torment unlike anything he had ever known.

He sank forward, resting his head on the steering wheel, letting the tears fall harder than before, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He wished he could turn back time, could undo the mistakes he had made, could tell you how much you meant to him. But all he was left with was the crushing weight of his actions, the echoes of your love, and the empty space where you once were.

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[headspace-hotel]

some times i see people talking about the Earth and climate change saying things like "now i know it is difficult to deal with utter hopelessness, terror, and visiting the thoughts of death"

and it's like wow I am so deeply sorry about the suffering. but...concern. Concern. Tell me, am I missing something important? Why do I feel a sense of hope for our planet? Am I a lonely fool? Have I been consumed by naïveté and misguided optimism?

That would be weird. It feels weird. It feels like I would be well suited to despair. My natural temperament is Mortal Terror making my body crushed for a thousand years at the bottom of the deepest trenches of the ocean. I've thought before "I can't live any more. This exceeds the tensile strength of the human spirit."

And then? After irreversible catastrophic failure of the soul, there is...what?

We try to imagine the future where we fight to save our home and it is very painful. The resistance feels so small and the machine of death feels so vast. But something's missing.

Everyone else is missing—the plants, trees, bugs, beasts, and creatures. Hello? Are the other humans seeing this? Nature wants you to know that she is not a princess in a tower. Look! Look at the chaos moving through every cell! Iterating! Adapting! Becoming! Thriving! Watch the pollinators tirelessly at work, observe the mycorrhizal network in the forest floor distributing the rich fruits of decay and photosynthesis for every inhabitant! Pay attention! We belong here too. They feed and shelter us, give us the very air we breathe, and in return we plant and propagate, cull, thin, and burn, shape, trample, till, shepherd and sprout seeds. Our species can look toward the future, to the world of our descendants. We can call every plant and animal by name and teach our children to use and care for them responsibly. We can feel this anger, pain, and grief on behalf of the family of Life, OUR family, and we can love the smallest beetle and the humblest moss.

Look at it! This thing is nothing like me, it does not benefit me, it has no use or purpose for me, but LOOK at it! Look at its intricate structure! Look at the marvelousness of its behaviors and biological functions! Look at its uniqueness throughout the whole universe! Look at it, and see its infinite value!

I saved a baby tree from the scorching hot gravel of a parking lot. I watched it grow and thrive in the hands of its caretaker. Many more followed, trees and herbs and flowers, rescued and carefully placed in cups and old tubs that once held yogurt and sour cream. This is so strange, I thought. They're everywhere, offering themselves for free, and no one thinks to take them. Everyone thinks transplanting a tree is hard and that nothing grows on the edge of the pavement but weeds. But it's so easy??? This is weird. Plant Nurseries Hate Her: Get Free Plants With This One Weird Trick.

I protected an old barren garden patch where nothing had thrived from being mowed and weed-whacked, and transplanted little plants that I found. I marveled at the bees that came. Chicory bloomed, then asters and goldenrod. I shed actual tears over a spicebush swallowtail. I ordered some milkweed from the internet, and the monarchs came for them. Less then twenty-five bucks for a divine experience like this. Wow, everyone else really needs to know!

I started volunteering at a nature center, and was allowed to transplant flowers where they sprouted in inopportune locations. I collected tons of seeds all fall and winter long.

There is much, much more, all of it bigger than I ever would have imagined. But this spring there were more birds, in number and in species, than I'd ever seen in my back yard before. Chickadees, swallows, finches, nuthatches, jays, cardinals, warblers, sparrows, woodpeckers of every kind...I remembered just a couple years prior when all I ever saw out there was a couple grackles or starlings or robins, with the occasional sparrow. Those birds come in flocks rather than couples now. And then the bumblebee arrived. An American bumblebee, endangered now, a queen. For a few days she was always out there, would fly out and buzz around me when I came out to tend to my now-innumerable plants. It's nesting time for them. She chose this place I was creating. She saw that this place would take care of her.

A week ago, I discovered wild strawberries growing in my Mamaw's driveway. I found lyreleaf sage growing beside a gravel road. I've become a master of transplanting; I took several of each home. Yesterday, I saw a tiny, metallic blue bee, an Osmia mason bee. Today, I saw an oriole and a strange, very fancy fly. I see something new almost every day. Every day I am being irreversibly changed as a person. How did I ever fail to see how much this matters?

I said I feel hope...do I feel it? I don't think it's a feeling, I think it's a practice. It's being part of our communities and our ecosystems. Nature's interconnectedness is both reality and example: to survive, we take care of one another. And when one member of the community helps another thrive, it creates a cascade that increases the thriving of all. Just by existing, you help us all survive.

You can only take care of so many plants before you have to give some away. You can only hold so much knowledge before you have to give it away. I gave seeds to a dozen different flowers to my next-door neighbor and she invited me inside and wouldn't let me leave without food, and we talked about plants and trees. A family friend lets me have goats' milk and heirloom vegetables in exchange for help around the farm, and I listen to him talk about trees, bugs, and soil and learn so much I feel like I'm about to explode from knowledge.

Being a caretaker is unavoidably a community-oriented, community-forming thing. You can't grow plants all by yourself. Your garden will make too many tomatoes. Share them. Your milkweed will make hundreds and hundreds of seeds. Spread them. Wild blackberries invite you to take and eat. Your lonely retired neighbor invites you to talk and keep her company. Once you grow delicious fruits or little oak trees, you always have a reason to greet someone and say, "Look, it is a gift!"

We're not alone. We are not separate. We take care of each other. Every species, every individual. A single action of caretaking creates a cascade effect of thriving. A single unapologetic love for a creature creates a blossom of curiosity and fascination in everyone surrounding. It's so powerful.

As my chemical romance says "I am not afraid to keep on living"

[silliewrites]

If I could save time in a bottle...

summary: [Platonic Logan Howlett x gn!reader/ famillial dynamics} After the passing of your parent figure some years ago, your friend Wade comes back from a deadly mission with a replica of him. You also soon learn that someone that is definitely not Wade has something to do with the mess that is currently the resting place of that loved one. Finally, you and the ‘worst’ Wolverine find you are on the road to healing together.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: angst and comfort, grief, strong language, brief mention of child death (in worst! Logan's universe), spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine as well as Logan (2017), the bye bye bye scene is treated as grave desecration (which i mean,it is… but reader is naturally gonna see nothing humorous about it)

a/n: This is a bit of a mess because I never write, yet I have so many feelings and thoughts I had to do something with them. Not having seen a platonic fic of this kind anywhere I guess I had to make one. Also..I did some basic research on the general deadpool canon yet..I’m not entirely informed, having not watched deadpool 2… let’s hope for the best

--------------

 You used to be the youngest student in the X mansion back in the day, just a child having mutated under life altering circumstances, the usual. 

 It was Logan who found you. He was your rock during and after the traumatizing event of your mutation, taking you in and placing you in the arms of the X-men and thanks to him they became your family.

 You saw him no less than as a father. Despite his brooding, harsh exterior it was never difficult for you to see that he cared.

 He never shot you down when you knocked on his door in the middle of the night, sobbing after another brutal nightmare. He took you seriously when you talked about your fears and worries. He saved you and helped you stand on your feet more times than you could count.

 Seeing death and bad things happen to your family of mutants always hurt viciously but when Logan died it felt like something you would never get over.

  With your abilities generally under control, you chose to avoid actively partaking in X men work (Not that you refused your assistance, if someone called for you specifically. It had better be very urgent though.)

 So you tried to find a rhythm of what resembled a normal life for the most part, a decent job and some good friends. That was what he would have wanted, no, said he wanted for you.

 You kept ties with Laura too, having bonded over your shared grief, the man having died in her arms after all. She was some years younger than you and you were happy to consider her a good friend, the younger sibling type.

 Some years ago she had disappeared, causing you yet another source of anxiety. Turns out she herself had been banished to the Void. The relief you felt when Wade came back from that limbo hell while managing to bring her back too, was immense. You have never hugged anyone tighter than Laura the day you saw her again.

 Speaking of Wade, through this and that, you had also become acquaintances. He had needed your assistance when he was forming his X force crew and you had hesitantly accepted, making it clear that this would be an one-time thing. 

 He seemed to be a "Wolverine fanboy" in his own words which caused him to bombard you with childish questions about him until you very firmly made him aware of your boundaries. There was a time and place to talk about Logan.

When that shitshow was over with, you did not mind him considering you your friend. Sure, he was a bit much for you, not a huge fan of his 'humor' but seeing him in moderation was not unpleasant…Alright, maybe you did enjoy his company and friendship, it was as simple as that.

  After a chat with him, you learned that the rent in his apartment building was relatively cheap for New York standards, so when it was time to move out of your previous place, that was where you went.

 Then the damn timeline thing happened. You were pretty confused as to how exactly the events played out, not being involved, thankfully. But the crazy fucker did it, he saved the universe from extinction apparently. And not exactly by himself.

 Logan was there. Not your Logan but apparently a variant of him was necessary to pull the mission off.

 And now that version of him was Wade's roommate. Great. Perfect. Definitely something easy for you to process in the days to come.

--------------

 You first saw them after the mission on your way to catch a cab to the airport. It was that time of the trimester when you were to visit him. Bleak yet you longed to see him and speak to him, even if he was resting under the earth. 

 Wade had the decency to explain everything to you once it was decided that Logan’s variant would be staying. He knew that you never really stopped grieving and you appreciated the warning that basically an almost exact replica of your dead father figure would now roam around your earth.

Almost exact, because according to Wade, this Logan was more of a dick, more crude and erratic, apparently rendered by his extra layers of grief and hatred. Partially understandable but you would not accept that as an excuse if he said something cruel in front of you, you would probably introduce him to your interesting mutative abilities. You let Wade know so that he could warn mr stick-up-his-ass. Wade more than happy to accept, still assured you that with the life or death mission being over, Logan was attempting to be more approachable.

 The feelings this new reality brewed in you were..mixed, to say the least.

 You made eye contact with Wade from across the street and of course he shot up from the bench he was sitting on, dropping his half eaten sandwich to the ground, moving his arms vigorously in the air, catching not only your attention but any other passerby's. 

 Even though your stomach turned at having to face the him, you wanted to check up on Wade after all this madness he went through. And on his friend as well, you supposed.

 You looked both ways before passing the street and before you knew it, Wade’s arms wrapped around your neck. You patted his back with one hand, unable to help the choking sounds that left you. 

 “It’s so good to see you, my little honey pumpkin bear!” He squealed excitedly while squeezing the dear life out of you. He really thought he’d never see his friends again, huh.

“Oof, yeah Wade, it’s really nice to see you too, please just-” You broke free of his hold and held an arm’s distance between the two of you. You patted his arm and gave him a small but genuine smile. “Really glad you’re ok. Not that I expected anything le-”

 Your words slowly died out when your gaze met Logan’s. He was sitting on the bench observing the interaction silently. He looked just like you remembered him, minus some differences. Well, obviously he was supposed to be the same person yet..he was not.

 He looked up at you, brows furrowed while his eyes scanned through your face before flashing with what seemed like recognition (Not that you knew what it was he was seeing) He seemed tense and his mouth gaped before he turned his attention to the ground. 

 Wade naturally noticed the uncomfortable tension between the two of you and he decided to chime in quickly.

“Ah, yes this is the Wolverine I had to kidnap to help me with the time ripper bullshit and oh boy, did he deliver!” 

 You kept your eyes on the Variant, forcing yourself into a polite smile (that resembled more of an awkward line) and you extended your hand to him, causing him to lift his gaze at you again.

“Nice to meet you...Logan. Thank you for your help with unscrewing our timeline” You said as pleasantly as you could and he took your hand after a moment of hesitation, shaking it with a gentle firm and a silent nod. 

His presence..It made your stomach turn. Feeling the threat of your vision getting watery, you quickly averted your gaze away from the two, as subtle as you could manage. 

“I..Wade, m’ sorry, would love to sit a bit more but I have to go-”

“Hey wait, tomorrow we’ll be having a get-together to celebrate the un-fuckery of the universe, a partEy if you will! Everyone will be there, Al will be making that terrible casserole you really like also!”

You gave him a melancholic smile, genuinely sad you would not be able to attend. Logan’s variant was back to looking at the ground.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I won’t make it, I’m afraid. I’m going to the airport right now actually, will be off for the next three days. Gotta see someone..”

“Ooooh” Wade whistled while wiggling his brows “and is that someone maybe a super hot sexy mysterious boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Or theyfriend? Or-” 

“Heh, nope. Nothing like that unfortunately.”

“Sure, sure, keep your secrets, you ankle biter, but promise to pass by the apartment once you’re back, we gotta catch up!”

You nodded. “Of course. See you then.” 

 Two days later you found yourself back in New York in a rush, in front of Wade’s apartment door, ready to invent a way that would actually exterminate him.

--------------

 Nothing prepared you for the mess you saw in what was supposed to be Logan’s resting place. 

 The snow had ceased completely. With a simple look his grave was undug and the makeshift X was missing. When you approached, the little fresh snow that had fallen last night was covering various types of debris. Some type of fight had taken place and someone had collected the bodies in a rush yet they did not bother with what you spotted after closer inspection and some digging with your hands. 

 Metallic looking appendages…These were…

You looked inside the open grave. The snow had barely covered the remains in there and it was obvious they were not even half of what they were supposed to be.

 You suppressed the violent urge to vomit. Someone had taken him out, violated his remains and as if in a haste, threw them back in.

 You dug through the snow with bare hands around the grave. A fragment here. A fragment there. The spine. What was left of the cranium. White hot rage.

You called Laura with shaking hands. Offended would be an understatement for how she sounded, as well, unaware of who could have possibly caused this. Why were you even calling her, poor girl was in the void for a while now, what could she possibly do or know?

You hung up with the intention of looking through the situation a bit more and catching her up later.

  While trying to stay calm and focusing all your mental energy on collecting, wiping and gently placing the remains back in the hole, it clicked.

 Wade. 

 From the few words you two had exchanged ever since he was back, you gathered he turned every stone to find “a Wolverine” to assist him. Yet you could not imagine what the everloving fuck would he defile your Wolverine’s grave for and what caused him to spread his bones all over like fucking confetti.

  You would not stand for this. Just because Wade saved the stupid timeline, he did not automatically become immune to the most extraordinary ass whooping of the century. If he had something to do with this, you would not forgive him easily, if at all

--------------

 After taking a deep breath, you rang the bell. Tapping your foot on the ground, you heard some mumbling and shuffling before the door opened.

 Wade made a surprised expression that resembled a caricature.

“Sweet baby cakes! You're back already? Come on in, I was just thinking about starting a gossip girl marathon. Again!”

 Wade's cheerful expression fell almost immediately when you stayed still for a moment too long, not responding.

 Althea did not seem to be home. Good.

 Wade's expression morphed into one of concern.

“Pumpkin, is everything-”

“Wade. Guess where I just came back from.”

You took a slow step forward, dropping you backpack to the floor.

“Erm..a male stripclub full of hot babes?”

“North Dakota.”

“Don't you say! Did North Dakota had any good male strip-” He stopped himself before realization hit him. “And..may I ask..what was it you were doing in North-”

“You know very well what.”

Wade put his hands in front of him defensively and closed the door. “Hey Pumpkin, why don't you just sit so that we can-”

“Shut. Up.” You whispered.

“When I got to his grave, someone had completely messed it up. Signs of fighting around. Do you happen to have anything to do with that?” You said in a dangerously low voice, eyes glued on him.

 Wade, whose mouth formed into an awkward line, clearly not having a reasonably enough excuse to give you.

“Er, you see, um remember when I was looking for a Logan, well I started my search with the OG, you know, just to make sure he was dead dead and unfortunately he was and um then you see err the TVA showed up and um-”

He stopped when you put your hands on your face, squeezing it while a muffled screech of rage escaped you. 

“You motherfucking, with no semblance of decency, insensitive prick. You defiled Logan's remains and used them as a shield, throwing them around like toys? And you have the nerve to come back home and look me in the eye after the fact? To look Laura in the eye? Do you not have any fucking shame? Am I simply an afterthought to you?”

Silence. You could not see through the tears. With shaky hands you pulled out of your pocket a tiny clothed item and you carefully unwrapped the cover to reveal a small metallic fragment.

“You may think everything's a fucking game but that man was my family, and worst part is you know this very damn well! How dare you!”

“You have every right to be angry, just let me-”

 You grabbed the first object you could reach, which was a half empty bottle of liquor and threw it across the room, causing it to smash angrily on the wall of the living room. Wade winced slightly before groaning in frustration.

With that, a bedroom shot open and an alarmed Logan variant made an appearance, claws already out.

“What the fuck is hap-”

 He stopped in his tracks seeing it was just you. He probably had already heard your yelling earlier yet it did not answer any questions about what was going on.

“What the hell, kid?” he said with a subtle hint of alarm.

 You take a step towards him, looking up at his face, paying no mind to his blades that were now retreating back inside. God, how it hurt to stare right into his features. Feeling a wave of nausea, you picked up your bag and turned your back to the two men.

 “Wait, can't we just talk about this?” Wade said

 “No, you ruined my week enough” You mumbled bitterly before exiting his apartment. Week, more like, year.

--------------

 The roof of the building was pretty nice, you always preferred it when you wanted some time to yourself outside the walls of your apartment. You rarely ever saw any other tenant there, especially in the late afternoons.

 This is where you found yourself that night, elbows supported on the railing, observing the busy street from above while sipping on bad beer.

 How you wished he was there right now. How you wished for one more simple moment with him, where you could just be in his presence once again, chat about nonsense or simply sit in comfortable silence next to him. 

 What would he think of you as the person you were trying to become? Would he be proud of you? 

 How you wished he would put his hand on your shoulder comfortingly right now.   

 You missed him. So much.

A high pitched creak came from the direction of the heavy door behind you, causing you to jump a little and instinctively wipe the fresh tears that you just then realized were running down your face.

 “Sorry, kid, did I scare you? They mustn't have oiled this door in fucking ever..” There was Logan, the new one. Whatever entity was reading your thoughts a moment prior must be finding your misery hilarious.

 “Hope I’m not bothering you”

 “No, no. I don’t own the rooftop..” You mumbled softly, turning your attention back on the street, trying to ignore the feeling of clear tension he brought with him. You swore to God, if he was about to make a crass comment..

 He came to stand next to you, mimicking the position of your elbows on the railing. He himself was holding a glass, filled with one most likely alcoholic liquid.

 “That asshole told me everything about the grave thing. If I were you, I would have torn him apart.”

 “I’m sure you already know this isn’t possible by any means”

 Logan huffed. “Oh, believe me, I do. I’ve tried at least three times”

 You gave a noncommittal nod, trying not to focus too much the gruff voice you always found so comforting.

 “...You know..You existed in my timeline too” He mumbled before gulping a generous sip of his drink.

 That made you look up at him, surprised. “I…did?”

“Oh, yes you did. Lively little brat you were.” He said with a laugh you could only describe as melancholic. He said it like it hurt.

“You went through so much for a child. And you did cry quite often ‘cause of it, yet you were still so..” He seized, taking a heavy breath and emptying his glass. “So full of life. A good kid.” The city lights reflecting on his eyes, making it easier for you to see how watery they were.

“I..assume I…”

You were interrupted by another one of those devastating low laughs that made your heart ache.

“Yeah. You were among them. Those fuckers did not even spare a fucking child. I was the one who got you with the X-men and it ended in..” He hissed through his teeth and half closed mouth. He took a moment to collect himself and breathed out.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” You whispered genuinely. You didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t be, …sorry, didn't mean to make it about myself.”

“You didn’t, really!” 

 A moment of awkward silence before you decided to share your piece.

“My Logan, er, you..I suppose it’s more or less the same as it was in your world but..you were like a…You were the closest I ever felt to a parent. I grew up because of you and..yeah, when I was around 17, you died.” It was almost funny how much you oversimplified those statements but it was the best you could manage at the given moment.

 He nodded, listening intently.

“I’m sure that..If he saw how you grew into who you are today, doing your own thing, in spite of the mutation shit and all…he wouldn’t change a thing about how all these fucking events went down..”

“You..think so?”

He chuckled, giving you a small smile, tired but genuine.

“Hell, I know so.” he said. You could tell. You could tell that he desperately wished this was how the events played out in his own world, with the other you alive and a bright future ahead of them.

 You hesitated for a moment, not sure if what you were about to say would be too much for him. Then again, it was him who approached you with this vulnerable conversation. 

“For what it's worth I would… they would want you to keep on living. Not forget them, not at all. Just..be. Be a person. Make friends and..live.”

 He looked you in the eye for a second, before averting your gaze and looking anywhere but you. This was hard for him. But he was trying.

 He patted your back firmly. “Thanks, kid.” It was a very simple thing you told him yet you could not possibly know what it meant to him. 

You thought that maybe you got what you wished for. Not exactly and certainly not ideally. But you and this Logan had something in common. Maybe, you could help and comfort each other in a way nobody else possibly could. 

 “Y’ know..I'm glad you got to stay, Logan.”

 A smile. “I'm glad to be here, kiddo.”

A pause. 

“How long do you think I should make Wade do my laundry for? Y'know. For retribution?”

“Oh, six months at least, bub..” 

You stayed for a couple hours chatting above the restless city, topics including but not limited to work, university and acquaintances.

Your pain was soothed a tiny bit and you hoped Logan's was too. You had a lot of time ahead of you to work on that further, after all.

[vimzu]

shoutout to three other people who fw this ship.

I have so many thoughts about them. You can read them under the cut below. If not, I hope you'll enjoy the art!

The reason I made this an AU is because I wanted to make my own specific spin on them.

A pairing between these two fascinates me. And not really in "I can fix him" way, but in a "kindness untangles the deep rooted knots of apathy and misery" way. Because that's what the Axolotl, at least in my interpretation, is: an incarnation of selfless, relentless gentleness, compassion and goodwill. An immovable object to Bills unstoppable force. He can't be manipulated by Bill, as he has no way to get an upper hand on him, no tricks up his sleeve, no control over him. His words don't hurt him as they would anyone else, nothing he can come up with can truly waver Axs resolve to be kind to everything in the multiverse, including him.

In this AU I lean heavily into the concept that Ax is THE God of this world. He was there before everything and he was the one to mold existence into reality. Naturally, he has a unique outlook on the world. His love is all-encompassing, but it's not personal, per se. It is a love a God would have for their creation: they know everything has it's place, they've put it there with meticulous care, and even though the concept of karma exists in this universe, it doesn't mean that the wicked, the vile, the reprehensible has no place in this world. On the contrary, actually. Without this balance, everything would lose its meaning. What is it like to experience joy for someone who doesn't know sorrow? What good would order do if there was no chaos?

But even though Ax's love is undeniably unconventional, saying that he is indifferent to Bill, or that he is nothing special to him in the grand scheme of things would be a lie. If you heard that one audio which goes "loving the doctor is like loving the stars", then think back to that. Bill occupies a niche that no one has ever occupied before in Axs mind. He is way more willing to show his love for Bill openly and unabashedly, he does things for him he has never done for anyone, period. And while it was something that gave Bill trouble at first, when he eventually realized this, he was more than okay with the way Ax expressed his adoration. Not because he's "settling" or anything of the sort, but because this type of love isn't something he consideres as something lesser or not enough for him. He feels happy and content in their relationship, even if to get there they've had to face many hardships.

But to circle back to the universal balance I was talking about before, one deed Ax absolutely finds unacceptable is when someone deliberately messes with it and skews it, making themselves and everyone around them wretchedly unhappy.

This is the primary reason why he sent Bill to therapy: he was a danger to everyone around him and himself not because he was "bad", necessarily, but because he purposefully went off the deep end and made everyone's lives a living hell. He chose to be evil in abundance, becoming his own tormentor in the process without even realizing it. He lied until he couldn't tell what was a lie anymore, until agony became his happiness.

Ax's secondary reason for his decision was Bills own request. He invoked his name, he wanted to escape death through rebirth, and Ax obliged. The problem is this: for reincarnation to be feasible, a person must have good karma. While Ax loves everyone equally regardless, this is a law that cannot be broken. There is nothing explicitly wrong with living your life as someone less than charitable. If it is done in moderation, if your actions help keep the universal balance, or if you or others don't disproportionately suffer because of it, it's fair game. As was already stated, it is even necessary for some people to be this way. This doesn't mean, however, that those who indulged in such acts are eligible for rebirth right away. Its easy to be cruel, so having rebirth be a kind of reward for doing good deeds sounds fair.

The problem with this whole conundrum lies a little beneath the surface. Bill, despite what he says, what he believes, is the least suitable person for this kind of treatment. Even if he genuinely wants to get better and be reborn deep down, the Theraprism approach is only actively making him worse, as it tries to make an entirely different person out of him. They try to break him down so they can help him in shaping himself back up as someone new and healed. And this type of deconstruction works for some, but it is actively detrimental to Bills mental state.

After an undisclosed amount of time Ax notices this and realizes that he has made a mistake, so he decides on a different approach. He shifts the focus away from carmic rehabilitation and onto identifying and working through the underlying reasons for why Bill is miserable. He does so by pulling Bill out of the Theraprism and into his domain, where they begin to coexist. What does the trick, in the end, is Axs unrelenting kindness, but I may expand on this aspect of their relationship better in a different post.

This is basically the jist of it. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[room-surprise]

EXTERNAL INFLUENCES IN DUNGEON MESHI: INDIAN PHILOSOPHY

(SPOILERS FOR DUNGEON MESHI BELOW)

We know that Ryoko Kui spent considerable time at the beginning of working on Dungeon Meshi doing research and planning the series. Kui constantly references real world culture, history and mythology, but she also occasionally references real-world philosophy.

The story of Dungeon Meshi is full of philosophical questions about the joy and privilege of being alive, the inevitability of death and loss, the importance of taking care of yourself and your loved ones, and the purpose and true nature of desire. Kui explores these issues through the plot, the characters, and even the fundamental building blocks that make up her fictional fantasy world. Though it’s impossible to say without Kui making a statement on the issue, I believe Dungeon Meshi reflects many elements of ancient Indian philosophy and religion.

It’s possible that Kui just finds these ideas interesting to write about, but doesn’t have any personal affiliation with either religion, however I would not be at all surprised if I learned that Kui is a Buddhist, or has personal experience with Buddhism, since it’s one of the major religions in Japan.

I could write many essays trying to explain these extremely complex concepts, and I know that my understanding of them is imperfect, but I’ll do my best to explain them in as simple a way as possible to illustrate how these ideas may have influenced Kui’s work.

HINDUISM

Hinduism is the third-largest religion in the world and originates in India. The term Hinduism is a huge umbrella that encompasses many diverse systems of thought, but they have some shared theological elements, and share many ancient texts and myths.

According to Classical Hindu belief, there are four core goals in human life, and they are the pursuit of dharma, artha, kama, and moksha.

Dharma is the natural order of the universe, and also one’s obligation to carry out their part in it. It is the pursuit and execution of one’s inherent nature and true calling, playing one’s role in the cosmic order.

Artha is the resources needed for an individual’s material well-being. A central premise of Hindu philosophy is that every person should live a joyous, pleasurable and fulfilling life, where every person's needs are acknowledged and fulfilled. A person's needs can only be fulfilled when sufficient means are available.

Kama is sensory, emotional, and aesthetic pleasure. Often misinterpreted to only mean “sexual desire”, kama is any kind of enjoyment derived from one or more of the five senses, including things like having sex, eating, listening to music, or admiring a painting. The pursuit of kama is considered an essential part of healthy human life, as long as it is in balance with the pursuit of the three other goals.

Moksha is peace, release, nirvana, and ultimate enlightenment. Moksha is freedom from ignorance through self-knowledge and true understanding of the universe, and the end of the inevitable suffering caused by the struggle of being alive. When one has reached true enlightenment, has nothing more to learn or understand about the universe, and has let go of all earthly desires, they have attained moksha, and they will not be reborn again. In Hinduism’s ancient texts, moksha is seen as achievable through the same techniques used to practice dharma, for example self-reflection and self-control. Moksha is sometimes described as self-discipline that is so perfect that it becomes unconscious behavior.

The core conflict of Hinduism is the eternal struggle between the material and immaterial world. It is often said that all of the material world is “an illusion,” and what this means is that all good and bad things will inevitably end, because the material world is finite. On the one hand, this is sad, because everything good in life will one day cease to exist, but on the other hand, this is reassuring, because all of the bad things will eventually end as well, and if one can accept this, they will be at peace.

The central debate of Hinduism is, which is more important: Satisfying your needs as a living thing, having a good life as a productive member of society, serving yourself, your family, and the world by participating in it the way nature intended? Or is it rejecting desire and attachment, discovering the true nature of existence, realizing the impermanence of material things, and that one can only escape the suffering that comes from the struggle of life by accepting that death and loss are inevitable?

There is no set answer to this question, and most believers of Hinduism tend to strike a balance between the two extremes simply because that’s what happens when a person leads a normal, average life, however there are also those who believe that pursuing extremes will lead to ultimate enlightenment and final release as well.

BUDDHISM

Buddhism is an Indian religion and philosophical tradition that originated in the 5th century BCE, based on teachings attributed to religious teacher the Buddha. It is the world's fourth-largest religion and though it began in India, it has spread throughout all of Asia and has played a major role in Asian culture and spirituality, eventually spreading to the West beginning in the 20th century.

Buddhism is partially derived from the same worldview and philosophical belief system as Hinduism, and the main difference is that the Buddha taught that there is a “middle way” that all people should strive to attain, and that the excesses of asceticism (total self-denial) or hedonism (total self-indulgence) practiced by some Hindus could not lead a person to moksha/enlightenment/release from suffering.

Buddhism teaches that the primary source of suffering in life is caused by misperception or ignorance of two truths; nothing is permanent, and there is no individual self.

Buddhists believe that dukkha (suffering) is an innate characteristic of life, and it is manifested in trying to “have” or “keep” things, due to fear of loss and suffering. Dukkha is caused by desire. Dukkha can be ended by ceasing to feel desire through achieving enlightenment and understanding that everything is a temporary illusion.

There are many, many other differences between Hinduism and Buddhism, but these elements are the ones that I think are most relevant to Kui’s work.

Extreme hedonism involves seeking sensual pleasure without any limits. This could just be indulging in what people would consider “normal” pleasures, like food, sex, drugs and the arts, but it can also involve doing things which are considered socially repugnant, either literally or by taking part in symbolic rituals that represent these acts. Some examples are holding religious meetings in forbidden places, consuming forbidden substances (including human flesh), using human bones as tools, or engaging in sex with partners who are considered socially unacceptable (unclean, wrong gender, too young, too old, related to the practitioner). Again, these acts may be done literally or symbolically.

Extreme ascetic practices involve anything that torments the physical body, and some examples are meditation without breathing, the total suppression of bodily movement, refusing to lay down, tearing out the hair, going naked, wearing rough and painful clothing, laying on a mat of thorns, or starving oneself.

HOW THIS CONNECTS TO DUNGEON MESHI

Kui’s most emphasized message in Dungeon Meshi is that being alive is a fleeting, temporary experience that once lost, cannot truly be regained, and is therefore precious in its rarity. Kui also tells us that to be alive means to desire things, that one cannot exist without the other, that desire is essential for life. This reflects the four core goals of human life in Hinduism and Buddhism, but also could be a criticism of some aspects of these philosophies.

I think Kui’s story shows the logical functionality of the four core goals: only characters who properly take care of themselves, and who accept the risk of suffering are able to thrive and experience joy. I think Kui agrees with the Buddhist stance that neither extreme hedonism nor extreme self-denial can lead to enlightenment and ultimate bliss… But I also think that Kui may be saying that ultimate bliss is an illusion, and that the greatest bliss can only be found while a person is still alive, experiencing both loss and desire as a living being.

Kui tells us living things should strive to remain alive, no matter how difficult living may be sometimes, because taking part in life is inherently valuable. All joy and happiness comes from being alive and sharing that precious, limited life with the people around you, and knowing that happiness is finite and must be savored.

Dungeon Meshi tells us souls exist, but never tells us where they go or what happens after death. I think this is very intentional, because Kui doesn’t want readers to think that the characters can just give up and be happy in their next life, or in an afterlife.

There is resurrection in Dungeon Meshi, but thematically there are really no true “second chances.” Although in-universe society views revival as an unambiguous good and moral imperative, Kui repeatedly reminds us of its unnatural and dangerous nature. Although reviving Falin is a central goal of the story, it is only when Laios and Marcille are able to let go of her that the revival finally works… And after the manga’s ending, Kui tells us Falin leaves Laios and Marcille behind to travel the world alone, which essentially makes her dead to them anyway, since she is absent from their lives.

At the same time, Kui tells us that trying to prevent death, or avoid all suffering and loss is a foolish quest that will never end in happiness, because loss and suffering are inevitable and must someday be endured as part of the cycle of life. Happiness cannot exist without suffering, just like the joy of eating requires the existence of hunger, and even starvation.

Kui equates eating with desire itself, using it as a metaphor to describe anything a living creature might want, Kui also views the literal act of eating as the deepest, most fundamental desire of a living thing, the desire that all other desires are built on top of. If a living thing doesn’t eat, it will not have the energy necessary to engage with any other part of life. Toshiro, Mithrun, and Kabru are all examples of this in the story: They don’t take care of themselves and they actively avoid eating, and as a result they suffer from weakness, and struggle to realize their other desires.

Kui suggests that the key difference between being alive or dead is whether or not someone experiences desire. If you are alive, even if you feel empty and cannot identify your desires like Mithrun, you still have desires because you would be dead without them. The living body desires to breathe, to eat, to sleep, even if a person has become numb, or rejected those desires either to punish themselves, or out of a lack of self-love.

Sometimes, we have to do things which are painful and unpleasant, in order to enjoy the good things that make us happy. I believe Kui is telling us that giving up, falling into despair, and refusing to participate in life is not a viable solution either.

The demon only learns to experience desire by entering into and existing in the material, finite world. This experience intoxicates the demon, and it becomes addicted to feeling both the suffering of desire, and the satisfaction of having it fulfilled. This unnatural situation is what endangers the Dungeon Meshi world, and it’s only by purging the demon of this ability to desire that the world can be saved. The demon is like a corrupted Buddha that must give up its desires in order to return to the peaceful existence it had before it was corrupted.

The demon curses Laios to never achieve his greatest desires at the end of the manga, which manifests in several ways, such as losing his monstrous form, Falin choosing to leave after she’s revived, and being unable to get close to monsters because they are afraid of him. In some ways you could compare Laios to a Bodhisattva, a person who tries to aid others in finding nirvana/moksha, even if it prolongs their own suffering and prevents them from finding personal release. Laios gives the demon peace, but Laios himself will never be able to satisfy his desires, and must eventually come to accept his loss and move on with his life.

(This is an excerpt from Chapter 3 of my Real World Cultural and Linguistic influences in Dungeon Meshi essay.)

[youremyheaven]

Mrigashira: The Price of Speaking The Truth

I have been studying the themes and patterns of Mrigashira nakshatra for a while and I thought it's time I made a post about the same.

The myth associated with Mrigashira involves Daksha, the son of Brahma. Daksha organized a grand Yajna (a ritual) but intentionally avoided inviting his daughter Sati’s husband, Shiva, whom he despised. Sati went to the ritual without Shiva’s consent, where Daksha insulted her and Shiva. Sati couldn’t bear the humiliation and jumped into the sacrificial fire. Upon learning of Sati’s death, Shiva became furious and destroyed Daksha’s yajna. Yagya, the presiding sage, turned into a deer and ran away, but Shiva caught up and killed him. His head became the Mrigashira nakshatra, which symbolizes sacrifice. (there are multiple myths associated with each nakshatra and another myth about Mrigashira involves Rohini, Brahma's favourite daughter leaving heaven to escape Brahma's incestual interest in her and taking the form of a deer on earth)

From this myth, we know that making a sacrifice for doing the right thing is a theme in the lives of these natives (Yagya was only overseeing the ceremony, he did nothing wrong, he never insulted Shiva, he was just doing his job). Another prominent theme is escaping someone's wrath or escaping to seek safety.

The yoni animal of Mrigashira is a serpent.

Serpents feature prominently in many mythologies and are commonly associated with renewal and transformation.

The ouroboros represented in this picture is a serpent eating its own tail. Carl Jung, saw this as a basic mandala of alchemy and said:

"The alchemists, who in their own way knew more about the nature of the individuation process than we moderns do, expressed this paradox through the symbol of the Ouroboros, the snake that eats its own tail. The Ouroboros has been said to have a meaning of infinity or wholeness. In the age-old image of the Ouroboros lies the thought of devouring oneself and turning oneself into a circulatory process, for it was clear to the more astute alchemists that the prima materia of the art was the man himself. The Ouroboros is a dramatic symbol of the integration and assimilation of the opposite, i.e. of the shadow. This 'feedback' process is at the same time a symbol of immortality since it is said of the Ouroboros that he slays himself and brings himself to life, fertilizes himself, and gives birth to himself. He symbolizes the One, who proceeds from the clash of opposites, and he, therefore, constitutes the secret of the prima materia which unquestionably stems from man's unconscious."

It speaks of human nature and how we must consume the opposites within ourselves to integrate into one whole being. Every nakshatra serves a cosmic purpose. Each nakshatra is a journey forward, its every step in the process of discovery. If you look at the standard descriptions of some naks, some are explicitly negative and others are overwhelmingly positive, while this is a simplistic understanding of nakshatras, it does point to how to retain balance in this universe, we need all kinds of energies, light and dark, good and bad, but every nakshatra contains within themselves these opposites, like the yin & yang symbol which shows a balance between two opposites with a portion of the opposite element in each section.

In Taoism, distinctions between good and bad, along with other dichotomous moral judgments, are perceptual, not real; so, the duality of yin and yang is an indivisible whole.

The serpent then can be seen as a representation of the eternal truth of reality, that all is one.

Truth telling is the purpose of the serpent in mythology and this is universally true across mythologies from different parts of the world.

This also seems to be innately tied to the nature of Mrigashira natives who speak their truth or make sacrifices to expose the truth. A simpler manifestation is how blunt and straightforward these natives can be.

Edward Snowden- Mrigashira Stellium in 1h (Sun, Mars & Rahu)

In 2013, Snowden revealed evidence of a shocking global surveillance programme run by the USA’s National Security Agency (NSA) and the UK’s Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) which have been monitoring the internet and phone activity of hundreds of millions of people across the world.

The Internet itself was allowed to spread at a magnanimous pace and reach people all over the globe because it serves the interests of people in positions of power by allowing them to track and monitor us, inundate us into a permanent state of distraction with ads and useless content, that fill the pockets of the already rich. It wasn't some lucky happenstance incident, the internet exists for a very malicious reason and if you read about reports from the 90s when the internet was still at a nascent stage you would know that many people called out this bs. In an occult sense, the internet is an all-pervading manifestation of Maya or illusion. It wraps itself into our reality and there's no escaping it, it becomes harder and harder to see the truth and most people are so completely immersed in this illusion, believing it to be real.

Like the serpent that lured Eve out of paradise, a Mrigashira native, Snowden became the harbinger of an era where we now know that companies including Facebook, Google and Microsoft were forced to hand over customer data under secret orders from the NSA. And that the NSA recorded, stored and analysed ‘metadata’ relating to every single telephone call and text message transmitted in Mexico, Kenya and the Philippines.

Several major companies including Apple, Google and WhatsApp have improved the default security and encryption provided to users. Greater consumer pressure has pushed the industry to strengthen its approach to protecting users’ privacy.

We know how algorithms work, we know that our user data is being tracked, we know why we see targeted ads. We know that most content out there is an ad in disguise. Still, we have no real choice in the matter (except maybe clicking the "reject all cookies" button lol), we're forced to stay in a state where despite knowing that something is deeply wrong with society we still have to participate in it. This is Rohini, who had to stay with her father Brahma in the celestial heavens even though he made incestual advances towards her.

In Mrigashira, the truth dawns on you and you have no choice but to act. The reason Rohini ruled by the Moon is connected to manipulation is because these natives cannot exit their unideal situations safely, they are forced to stay and to survive, they must manipulate their reality. Their freedom is curbed. Even if irl, there are no restraints, these natives feel restrained within, so leaving isn't an option for them, they stay and make things worse to cope or in hopes of changing things.

Mrigashira is Mars ruled and is the first Mars ruled nakshatra. Mars is all about taking action and marching forward. The truth can set you free only if you let it and Mrigashira natives deeply understand this. They are determined to remove themselves from these circumstances and stand in their truth. It may not always be literal but this pattern of setting boundaries, establishing a distance between what is "false" and what is "true" is deeply tied to the nature of Mrigashira.

Snowden sought asylum in Russia where he lives to this day. Being in exile or having to escape your home is also Mrigashira coded simply because the home is a toxic/unsafe/unhealthy place for the Mrigashira native to be. I have talked about it before but Mrigashira is connected to the story of Rapunzel.

Naomi Klein, Mrigashira Moon is an author, social activist, and filmmaker known for her political analyses; support of ecofeminism, organized labour, and leftism; and criticism of corporate globalization, fascism, ecofascism and capitalism.

Her book No Logo which came out in 1999 is a landmark book that exposes the evils of corporate globalization and franchises and how the Global South are being exploited to fatten the pockets of companies in the Global North. It greatly expanded the growing anti-capitalist consciousness and anti-corporate activism in the decades since. Here's a video where she explains her research. Its chilling to think this was made over 2 decades ago considering how all these things still persist in society and now hurt people more than ever.

Honestly, all her books are amazing exposé work and that's on her Mrigashira Moon.

Louis Pasteur- Mrigashira Moon

He was a French chemist, pharmacist and microbiologist renowned for his discoveries of the principles of vaccination, microbial fermentation, and pasteurization (named after him). His research in chemistry led to remarkable breakthroughs in the understanding of the causes and prevention of diseases, which laid down the foundations of hygiene, public health and much of modern medicine. Pasteur's works are credited with saving millions of lives through the development of vaccines for rabies and anthrax. 

He was a very controversial figure in his lifetime who was known for deceiving people.

This article explains it well. Here's an excerpt from the article:

"His most famous experiment was on a young boy, Joseph Meister, who had been bitten by a rabid dog and was doomed to death, and whose mother pleaded with Pasteur to treat him. Pasteur reported that he had previously used his rabies vaccine on 50 dogs without a single failure.

Again, the laboratory notebooks show that this account was misleading. Pasteur had tested a vaccine on dogs, but it was prepared by a completely different method than the one he used for the vaccine given to Meister, and he had no conclusive animal results to show that the vaccine worked. But he had guessed right."

Pasteur often lied to get his way and used "deception" to advance his practice. It is ethically questionable for sure but the work he did has helped millions of people and one could say it was all for the greater good.

He disproved the then prevailing notion of spontaneous generation (it was believed that any exposure to air anywhere causes the generation of living organisms) through his experiments and was initially disbelieved and ridiculed until his experiments began to be accepted as true and was recognised by the scientific community.

Mrigashira natives often have a tendency to gauge things or call people out on things even when that thing/person is widely accepted. The native may get flak for it and be shunned for it but eventually their ideas become widely accepted and everyone sees the truth. They may or may not get credit for this. They see the truth before others do.

Aldous Huxley- Mrigashira Rising

He was an author and philosopher who is best known for his novel Brave New World although he has written over 50 books. Brave New World (the title itself is very Mrigashira core, don't you think?)

The idea that government control is dehumanizing is the overarching theme. In Brave New World the government controls every aspect of the citizens' lives. They are created and born in a government lab. They are raised in a government facility while learning society's values.

It was published in 1932 and lets just say that the audience wasn't ready for such an alarming dystopian tale.

A notable critic of Brave New World was the author H.G. Wells, whose 1923 novel Men Like Gods (a book about a man who visits a utopian world and then returns to earth) had been an inspiration of sorts to Huxley, who told a friend in 1931 that he was writing a novel about the “the horror of the Wellsian Utopia and a revolt against it.” Wells said, “A writer of the standing of Aldous Huxley has no right to betray the future as he did in that book.”

H.G Wells was known for his utopian visions that permeated nearly all of his published work. Interestingly, he was a Shravana Rising. The thing is, Wells never used these utopian visions to criticize the reality of the world we live in, it was more of a "look how good things could be ughhh". This once again reflects Moon's nature which is idealistic but not practical or rooted in confronting situations as they are, if you ask them for a solution to the war, they'll say "if only everyone could get along and we could all stop killing each other" instead of saying "the power imbalance between nations is alarming, they create crises in other nations, put puppet governments in place, exploit them for their own benefits and when it no longer serves their interests, leaves the people to deal with the mess themselves". The former is a more emotional response but it also comes down to Lunar nature believing things are that simple, that if everybody could get along, then everything would be okay. its basically not a solution but a nice thought. I have made posts in the past about Moon dominance and manipulation but what i had failed to mention is that the reason Moon dominants resort to manipulation is because they lack the ability to think in concrete, tangible, practical terms since Moon is tied to the emotional mind which is incapable of rationality or logic. They have to manipulate because they do not know how to think critically. Being guided by your emotions is not reliable or healthy which is why Moon dominance often results in toxicity and manipulation as they are emotionally reacting to what is said instead of responding with their mind or logic.

Wells himself later said about his novel Men Like Gods, "It did not horrify or frighten, was not much of a success, and by that time, I had tired of talking in playful parables to a world engaged in destroying itself."

Do you notice how passive his tone is? He speaks as though he is not part of this world and that all he can do is merely observe its self-destruction (if not writing "playful parables" to it lol??). He thought his book was a flop because it did not "horrify" or "frighten" people (implying that, thats what sells) when the reality is that its more effective to read about the horrors prevailing our society that we are ignorant of instead of reading 300 pages about a perfect alternate reality where everything is wonderful. one calls to action, another encourages passive daydreaming. This further differentiates the nature of Mrigashira vs Moon dominant natives (Mrigashira follows Rohini's fall from heaven or realising the truth).

"There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception"- Aldous Huxley, Mrigashira Rising

George Carlin, Moon (conjunct Ketu) in Mrigashira

Here's an excerpt of something he said that has stuck with me and exemplifies the truth telling nature of Mrigashira.

"But there’s a reason. There’s a reason. There’s a reason for this, there’s a reason education SUCKS, and it’s the same reason that it will never, ever, ever be fixed. It’s never gonna get any better. Don’t look for it. Be happy with what you got. Because the owners of this country don't want that. I'm talking about the real owners now, the real owners, the big wealthy business interests that control things and make all the important decisions. Forget the politicians. The politicians are put there to give you the idea that you have freedom of choice. You don't. You have no choice. You have owners. They own you. They own everything. They own all the important land. They own and control the corporations. They’ve long since bought and paid for the senate, the congress, the state houses, the city halls, they got the judges in their back pockets and they own all the big media companies so they control just about all of the news and information you get to hear. They got you by the balls. They spend billions of dollars every year lobbying, lobbying, to get what they want. Well, we know what they want. They want more for themselves and less for everybody else, but I'll tell you what they don’t want: They don’t want a population of citizens capable of critical thinking. They don’t want well informed, well educated people capable of critical thinking. They’re not interested in that. That doesn’t help them. Thats against their interests. Thats right.

They don’t want people who are smart enough to sit around a kitchen table to figure out how badly they’re getting fucked by a system that threw them overboard 30 fucking years ago. They don’t want that. You know what they want? They want obedient workers. Obedient workers. People who are just smart enough to run the machines and do the paperwork, and just dumb enough to passively accept all these increasingly shittier jobs with the lower pay, the longer hours, the reduced benefits, the end of overtime and the vanishing pension that disappears the minute you go to collect it, and now they’re coming for your Social Security money. They want your retirement money. They want it back so they can give it to their criminal friends on Wall Street, and you know something? They’ll get it. They’ll get it all from you, sooner or later, 'cause they own this fucking place. It's a big club, and you ain’t in it. You and I are not in the big club.

And by the way, it's the same big club they use to beat you over the head with all day long when they tell you what to believe. All day long beating you over the head in their media telling you what to believe, what to think and what to buy. The table is tilted folks. The game is rigged, and nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to care. Good honest hard-working people -- white collar, blue collar, it doesn’t matter what color shirt you have on -- good honest hard-working people continue -- these are people of modest means -- continue to elect these rich cocksuckers who don’t give a fuck about them. They don’t give a fuck about you. They don’t give a fuck about you. They don't care about you at all -- at all -- at all. And nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to care. That's what the owners count on; the fact that Americans will probably remain willfully ignorant of the big red, white and blue dick that's being jammed up their assholes everyday. Because the owners of this country know the truth: it's called the American Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it."

Mrigashira natives are the most likely to be critical of society, modern living, capitalism etc among other things. They see through to the truth of things and thus feel dissatisfied and disappointed with the world. There is a reason they say "ignorance is bliss", those whose eyes are veiled, can tune out of all this cacophony of living and pretend everything is fine. Mrigashira natives have to live with the weight of knowing.

Jules Verne- Mrigashira Rising

He is widely regarded as the father of science fiction and his works have inspired a generation of scientists like the pioneering submarine designer Simon Lake, Igor Sikorsky who often quoted Verne and cited his Robur the Conqueror as the inspiration for his invention of the first successful helicopter, the rocketry innovators Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, Robert Goddard, and Hermann Oberth are all known to have taken their inspiration from Verne's From the Earth to the Moon.

Edwin Hubble, the American astronomer, was in his youth fascinated by Verne's novels, especially From the Earth to the Moon and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Their influence was so strong that, like Verne, Hubble gave up the career path in law that his father intended for him, setting off instead to pursue his passion for science.

Jules Verne lived in the 19th century (he passed away in 1905, aged 77) but he described technologies that would later be invented (some were directly inspired by what he had written). He had prophetic vision some would say he had described submarines, helicopters, the moon landing, holograms, newscasts, space travel, video conferencing,

“In the Year 2889, instead of being printed, the Earth Chronicle is every morning spoken to subscribers, who, from interesting conversations with reporters, statesmen and scientists, learn the news of the day,”

He even made political observations that have since materialised,

In one of his later works, called The Purchase of the North Pole, an auction is held for rights to the North Pole. The mysterious buyer who wins out over a number of national governments is a private company with a plan to fire off a giant cannon will jolt the planet and change the tilt of Earth’s axis, adjust the length of the days and climates around the earth, and melt the polar ice caps. With the Arctic melted, the execs planned to mine the north pole for coal and make a fortune. This is more or less what is currently happening lol

He invented a new genre to talk about things that did not yet exist. This is tied to Mrigashira's quest for truth and imagining possibilities.

Kanye West, Mrigashira Sun

Do I think Kanye is problematic? Extremely. Do I think he's also telling the truth on some occasions especially when he's trying to expose Hollywood or the system? Yes, I do

This is a bit of a tangent but we have seen time and time again how mental illness has been weaponized against people (ex: Britney Spears) to control them (Mariah Carey also speaks about it in her memoir), I do think a great number of celebrities are victims of this because their management/people in their lives benefit from exploiting them (would it not be vvv scary knowing that your career is what pays the bills of a whole crew of people? they depend on you to live? what if they're greedy or evil? what happens to you then?) so I wholeheartedly believe Kanye when he says "people are trying to conspire against him for telling the truth" (look at how many whistleblowers have been killed and had their deaths written off as suicides).

Sometimes I wonder if he's deliberately ruining his public image so that he just comes across as a crazy guy saying crazy shit that no one takes seriously. This is a safe option for him because if he appeared to be a normal sober serious guy exposing the system he might get killed. Deception is also a huge part of Mrigashira's truth telling.

Who can forget him exposing Taylor on that phone call? lol

Anyway, I want to make it clear that I don't condone or endorse any of Kanye's politics or most of the vile hateful garbage he spews.

Amy Winehouse-Mrigashira Rising

Amy was known for how candid and straightforward she was. If you listen to this song, you can tell how frank and honest the lyrics are?? (its about women who try to score rich men). Amy was always so real and unapologetically herself.

Pamela Anderson, Mrigashira Rising

She's such an icon and such a dignified woman after everything she's been through. She came forward to speak her truth and take control of her narrative. Unfortunately not many women in her position can or will do this. She empowers sooo many others by standing up for herself and speaking her truth.

Mia Khalifa, Ketu in Mrigashira (a lot of people ask me why I include placements other than the big 3 and the reason I use Ketu specifically is because it is a karmic planet and Ketu's position in the birth chart is thought to indicate ties to previous lifetimes. It represents life experiences and knowledge that people may carry from past incarnations. Yes, I am aware that Ketu is a generational planet and people born across the same year have the same Ketu placement but the reason why Ketu placement is significant especially in the charts of accomplished people is because they are channelling the collective unconscious and I believe that in order to receive recognition for the work you do, you have to skilfully channel your Ketu as it represents your latent creativity and potential that connects you to the whole)

whew went off on a tangent 🤪(me with everything i post lmao)

Mia Khalifa has come forward exposing the porn industry and calling out its predatory nature and has candidly spoken about how she was "intimidated" into doing her infamous hijab scene and that her toxic ex husband encouraged her to pursue porn. I hope Mia heals from everything but she's sooo brave for calling out people/society/porn industry on their toxicity, misogyny, double standards when the same men who fap to her porn are the ones calling her a whore (she made a mistake when she was 20 and has been out of the business for 10 years at this point, at what point will we let her move on with her life and shed this image for good?)

Nicole Kidman- Mrigashira Sun

who can forget this iconic interview when Nicole exposed the truth behind her meeting with Jimmy lol, he was so sh00k

She starred in the 2003 movie Dogville where she plays the daughter of a mob boss who runs away because she cannot stand the stuff they do (running away because they can't accept the circumstance they are in is a prominent Mrigashira theme). Its an arthouse film about the nature of evil and it shows how after Nicole's character has run away to Dogville, she has to provide labor for the community in order to be allowed to stay (Mrigashira natives making a "sacrifice") and ultimately towards the end after enduring a lot of abuse, Nicole's character destroys the whole place.

Jim Carrey- Mrigashira Moon

He is hella problematic for sure but he has this existential side to him where he is always dropping truthbombs. Remember this iconic video where he says NYFW is meaningless lmfao

Parveen Babi, Mrigashira Moon

Parveen Babi was a Bollywood superstar in the 70s and 80s. In 1977, she started dating the filmmaker Mahesh Bhatt (he has a reputation for being vile, crass asshole) and he insisted that she go to a psychiatrist following which she was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. I cannot comment on whether or not Miss Babi was misdiagnosed but what is apparent is that her relationship with Bhatt took a severe toll on her mental health, there are tons of people who've said he's kind of a psychopath, so I don't doubt that he may have gaslit and abused Babi to a point where she may have lost her sanity. For the rest of her career she struggled with episodes of debilitating paranoia, delusion and violent aggression. She once even blamed Amitabh Bachchan (the biggest star in India) for being her biggest adversary and claimed that he was trying to kill her (I know this sounds delusional but we do not know what kind of relationship they had with each other or what might have led her to believe that she was in potential danger, its cruel to dismiss everything someone says as "oh but she's mentally ill").

Babi quit acting and was a recluse in her later years. She died alone in her apartment when she was 51 and her body was only found 3 days later. Mahesh Bhatt helped organise her funereal when nobody else stepped forward to even claim her body at the hospital. Her life is a tragedy and a cautionary tale.

Mrigashiras are doubtful of absolutely everything. They do not trust people easy AT ALL. They question absolutely everybody's motive and whilst this can create thought provoking and interesting art and make a person inquisitive, honest etc, it can also be exhausting and draining to constantly be on guard and watch your own back.

“Slowly, one by one, I lost trust in everybody and everything around me,” Babi wrote. “Have you ever wondered what it is like to function in life, distrusting everything and everybody? We trust most of the things and people around us without questioning. We trust the food we eat, the water we drink, the air we breathe...It is impossible to function in life without trusting. And that is precisely what happened to me.”- Parveen Babi

Mrigashira natives are prone to paranoia and feeling unsafe (this ties back to their mythology) and I truly feel for them :(((

Oppenheimer- Mrigashira Rising

Oppenheimer’s infamous meeting with Truman took place in October 1945. It did not go well: Oppenheimer failed to convince the president of the need for international control of atomic energy, while Truman confidently stated the Soviets would never get the bomb. Getting nowhere, Oppenheimer really did confess his guilt over the Manhattan Project, which turned Truman’s stomach.

Oppenheimer's morality is dubious and questionable etc etc but it is known and clear that he felt guilty for the role he played and the destruction that was caused as a direct result of his research. He stood up for what was true, although unsuccessfully.

Khloe Kardashian-Mrigashira Moon

Khloe has always been praised for being "real" and honest. She has opened up about a lot of different things and had this to say about having a baby via surrogacy:

“But a surrogate process – Kim knows – is very hard for me. It’s a mindf***. It is really the weirdest thing,” she bravely shares about her nine-month-old cherub, Tatum. “I do feel less connected. People do say it takes a minute to feel connected but Kim said hers was easy. This is not easy. I definitely was in a state of shock from my entire experience in general,” she said. “I felt really guilty that this woman just had my baby and I take the baby and go to another room and you are separated. It felt like such a transactional experience because it is not about him. I wish someone was honest about surrogacy and the difference of it. But it doesn’t mean it is bad or good. It is just very different.”

Compared to the kind of stuff that all the other Kardash-Jenners say this is a rare and sincere moment of truth telling.

John Cena Mrigashira Moon and Rising

He is known for his honest, humble and sincere personality.

In an interview about the Meltzer rating system, Cena honestly said:

“So how do I put this… I am much more concerned when I perform for WWE in how the audience as a whole feels about my performance rather than one individual trying to grade me in a level of stars. Not that it doesn’t matter, because that is a great way for those to try and get equity and try to get noticed. It’s a great ranking system and I do appreciate it. I’m not knocking critics. I’m just saying my process is to make sure that everyone who paid a ticket had a great night. And if that gets me a zero star match, I still know in my heart of hearts that I entertained my audience that night.”

if you type in John Cena honesty into google so many articles pop up lol, i guess thats a great thing to be known for. Zero bullshit that's Mrigashira for you

I hope this post was interesting and informativexx

thanks for reading<3

[shalomniscient]

6am thoughts are thoughting… been thinking about this quote—

So take my tags, and I’ll take yours, and if I die in this shitty fucking war don’t tell them we switched; let me be buried under your name—and some fifty years from now, you can be buried under mine.

tempestaurora. 2019. “let me be buried under your name”. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021290

—and naturally thought of acheron and her ‘borrowed name’ because like. what if it was yours.

‘origin’ is not a blade to be unsheathed for fickle reasons. it was forged in the blood of millions, a symbol of an endless struggle against fate itself. the only time ‘origin’ should reveal its cutting edge to the world is to invoke ‘end’.

and yet, sometimes, she unsheathes it anyway—if only to delve into those fractured memories stored within the scabbard and see your face once more.

the memory flickers and ripples as she watches from outside, the ghost of her future watching the life of her past. she’s sitting next to you—alive, breathing, beautiful you—as the both of you sit on the balcony of an abandoned apartment. she remembers this mission well; it was a simple scouting one, observing the movement of the oni, and you had even brought peaches with you.

she watches herself watch you as you bite into the soft, overripe fruit, the juice trickling down your chin. a smile creeps onto her younger face—you’ve always been a messy eater. your expression scrunches up as she reaches out to wipe away the spilled sweetness, but you let her do so anyway. a beat of silence passes between you both, but you break it first.

“hey, ▇▇▇?” you hum, and her current self lets the sound of you saying her true name wash over her. there are many vices in the universe, but none will ever be as potent to her as you.

“yes?” her past self answers, a curious look on her face. in the dim light of the storm-shrouded sky, her red horns gleam like rubies. her heart jumps the same way it always has when you turn to look at her.

“let’s switch tags,” you say. your expression is one she can’t really read, at least not back then, and her hand that had been on your face falls. her past self tilts her head in curiousity.

“switch… tags? why?”

you eyes flicker back to the fruit in your hand. it’s falling apart, sticky flesh heavy with sweetness turning mushy and falling to the cold, damp concrete. “i dunno,” you answer after a while. “i just… feel like it, i think. if i gotta die in this stupid fucking war, then i wanna be buried under your name.”

she should have known, then. you’d always been strangely perceptive—it shouldn’t have surprised her that some part of you anticipated your own death. but that past her had only indulged you with a smile, because she had never been able to say no to you. she slips her tags off from around her neck, then loops it around yours, and you do the same. you take the oppurtunity of being so close to her to kiss her, and she giggles. you taste like peaches.

that day, she became ‘acheron’, and you became ▇▇▇. and not even a week later, it is the name they engrave on your tombstone.

(it’s fitting, really. because when you died, so did she.)

in reality, acheron lets ‘origin’ slip back into its scabbard with a click. her umbrella lies discarded on the ground, and the downpour soaks her form, but that’s alright.

at least like this, she can pretend that the tears slipping down her cheeks is nothing more than just the rain.

[joannechocolat]

On Turning 60

When I was a child, someone told me: “Every life is a story.” I used to wonder what mine would be like; what adventures I would have. My favourite stories were from Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book, which my grandfather used to read to me:  thus I imagined my own story as a forest adventure in which I would run wild with my friends, and pick fruit by the wayside. I never imagined growing old, just as I never imagined the adults around me ever being young. And death, if I thought of it at all, was a monster that kept to the shadows, and never dared to show its face outside of the scariest stories.

I was four years old when I first encountered the monster. It was in France, when my great-grandmother died, having been taken suddenly ill as she and I were playing a game. I still remember that suddenness, and my mother’s tears, and the whispers of “not in front of the children”, and the various well-meaning relatives trying in their different ways, to explain to me why I shouldn’t be sad, how at sixty-five, Mémée was old, how death was completely natural, and that she was watching us from above. These stories varied considerably, from the fanciful to the macabre. Even at four, it didn’t take long for me to understand that the grown-ups were as much in the dark as I was about the whole affair. Children are analytical. They process information according to what they have been told. And at four, I concluded, both with certainty and a singular horror, that Mémée’s story was over, that death happened to everyone, and that I had more or less sixty years of life before it happened to me. For years after that, I would lie awake at night and think of the monster waiting for me in the dark, and tell myself that sixty years was a very, very long time, and that this suffocating fear would pass with age and experience.

Now I’m approaching sixty. At sixty, we’re meant to examine our lives, and think about mortality. And yes, it seems like a very long time. It also feels as if no time at all has passed since the night my great-grandmother died, and I first encountered the truth that lives at the heart of all fairytales. That was when I decided, with relentless, childish logic, that if death was the ultimate monster, then perhaps I could only hope to keep them at bay with stories.

And so I began to tell stories, first to myself, in secret, and then to anyone who would listen. Of course it took me a long, long time to understand that what I was really doing was trying to make sense of the world. In a universe of chaos, stories give a shape to our lives. They teach us to believe in love; to mistrust what is too easily won; to know that every stranger could be a deity in disguise. They teach us that happy endings exist; that kindness can sometimes bring reward; that life, like so many of the stories we read as children, is a journey through the woods, where anything can happen.

This is the advice I’d give my younger self, if I could. Life is like a story with a beginning, a middle, an end. It is not always as structured or as ordered as a story might be, and some are longer than others, but the journey is ours in part to direct. We can choose the paths we take, the places in which to linger. We can choose the people we travel with, the ones we make a part of our lives. Choose wisely, I would tell my younger self at the start of my journey; not everyone who seems friendly is a friend. True friends are not easy to come by; always cherish the ones you find. And bear in mind that the journey matters more than the destination. We live in a world where everything seems focussed on the future; events to plan; deadlines to meet; months and seasons flashing by. Time seems to accelerate as we get older; and yet there are ways to slow it down. We don’t have to rush through everything in order to rush through something else. We can exist in the moment. Stop. Pick the flowers. Feel the sun. Remember we only pass this way once, and that every step is a privilege.

These woods are filled with obstacles, and challenges, and wonder. Not all paths through it are easy. Stay curious, I would tell myself. Never stop asking questions. Wear your achievements lightly, and don’t be afraid of failure. Failures are a sign you tried; markers on the road to success. And as a teacher of 15 years, one thing I have learnt is this: There are no teachers, just pupils. We are able to learn from every angle, every stage of our lives. Elders may speak from experience, but some of the most important things I have learnt have been from younger people. Bringing up my son has been the lesson of a lifetime; I learn new things from him every day. So take your lessons where you can, and pay them back to others in kind. And don’t be afraid to make mistakes: mistakes are part of your story too, every one a lesson learnt, every one a challenge.

Nor should you fear the changes that time imposes on us. Change is what drives your story. Sometimes it brings grief and loss; sometimes, unexpected joy. And don’t be ashamed of the signs of age: in a world in which youth is prized far above experience, it’s all too easy to feel diminished by wrinkles and imperfections. But your body is a living map of everything you have experienced. Everything leaves marks on you. Childbirth; laughter; damage; grief. Be proud of those marks. They are proof that you have lived. When I look at my face now I see the faces of my family. I see my mother, my grandmother. I carry their stories inside me, coiled as tight as DNA. And I have told them again and again, just as they were told to me. We process the world through stories. We learn to live through stories. Through stories we connect with the past and understand where we came from. I mostly know my great-grandmother from stories my mother told me. The story of the day she died; her life in rural, wartime France; her recipes; her sayings; her jokes. Through stories, my son can know her, even though they never met. And of course, you know her too: she was the prototype for Armande, the fierce old woman in Chocolat. Through stories, people can live on, and be loved and understood. This is one of the things I have learnt on my journey through the woods; perhaps the most important thing: Remember to tell your stories.

Now, after many stories, I’m reaching that part of the forest where monsters lurk in the darkness. Three years ago, I had a brush with a monster I called Mr C - an aggressive kind of cancer, which luckily was found early. I survived that encounter, thanks to the care and vigilance of the NHS, but one of the lessons it taught me is that life is fragile, and precious, and short - much shorter than we imagine. Over the past few years I have lost too many loved ones to Mr C. One of them was my grandfather. Another was my oldest friend. Some were writers: Iain Banks, Jenny Diski, Graham Joyce. I have carried their stories with me, just as I carry the stories of my parents and grandparents. I hope my son will do the same. We stay alive through stories.

But right now, at sixty, I don’t feel old. I doubt anyone who loves stories really ever does. I remember Ray Bradbury telling me, at 81, that when he looked in the mirror, he saw a ten-year old boy with inexplicably white hair. And he was still writing–furiously, sublimely - till the day he died. I can relate: time is speeding up, and there are stories left to tell. I sometimes find myself trying to calculate how many I’ll have time to get down, especially as they’re still popping up like mushrooms all around me. I am more conscious of time passing by. I feel the change of the seasons in a way I didn’t before. But my walk in the woods has been beautiful. I have fulfilled my greatest dreams. I do what I love for a living. I’ve travelled the world, and had many adventures, and met many interesting people. I’m married to someone I love, who loves me. I have a son who makes me proud, and who I love more than words can say. I’ve faced down monsters, and survived. I’ve learnt a lot, sometimes the hard way. But as the French author Jules Renard (a favourite of my grandfather’s) once said: “Aim to die with regrets, not remorse.” I think I’m on the right side of that. And in spite of what I thought at four, approaching sixty is nothing to fear. There are still unwritten chapters to my story to be lived; places to discover, new things to learn. I mean to explore all those things, and more. I want to climb mountains. To travel through space. To see the depths of the ocean. Some of those things I may never know except in stories, but books are the way in which we live our many alternative, possible lives. I feel I’m just beginning to understand what matters to me; to find my equilibrium in this vast, bewildering world. For so many years, being sixty felt like the end of a journey. Now I see that it’s only another clearing in the woods. Maybe I’ll sit here awhile. Enjoy the sunshine. Pick the fruit. But soon I’ll be on my way again, picking up stories wherever I go. Because no story ever ends, not really. It just travels somewhere else, picked up by another storyteller. So, to whoever picks up my story, good luck with it. Maybe give me a wave. But for now, I think I’ve seen a path at the end of the clearing. It’s new, and therefore exciting, and promises adventure. I think I’ll follow it awhile; see what fruits are growing there. Stories flourish along these paths. Let’s see which ones I can find. After all, that’s what I do. And those monsters won’t defeat themselves.

[spikezonebby]

hi !! saw requests for song fics are open, may I request something angsty with fem!human!reader x megatron (idw) to ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey ? 🥹 <3 thank you in advancee

Young and Beautiful (IDW Megatron x Fem!Human!reader)

Word count: 1,070

Eighty years. Humans lived for a measly eighty years.

You change right before Megatron’s optics. Your hair grays, your skin sags, your bones grow thinner. Like the very universe was sapping you away from him. Vector Prime alone could grant him all the time he needed to write a poem about all of the moments he lived with you.

But how could he begin to write when every time he picked up his stylus, you were that much further from him? He longed to capture the feeling of you and immortalize it in a data pad, but then you’d touch your tiny, soft servo along his gray bottom lip plate and take him away. Remind him that you were his moment. Here for a second, gone in a blink.

You flare, you flicker, you fade.

You asked him once, if he’d love you even after you weren’t so soft. You weren’t so pretty. And your mind wasn’t as intact as it once was.

Megatron’s answer was immediate.

“Even once the spark of your life extinguishes, and I won’t stop even for a klik after.”

You may have lamented the way time and age changed you, but Megatron learns to see unique beauty in it. There was something beautiful in a life lived so long that you COULD age, it was a promise of peace and resilience. You lived, you fought, you came back again and again. A force so strong that it took time itself to put you down.

Megatron thought that was romantic. Not in the way of kisses in summer or dancing in the moonlight, but the cosmic way. In the way that atoms and space dust collect together and become new stars, or how he realizes, in the grand scheme of things, so, so many tiny and nearly impossible things had to happen for you to be his.

As you grew older, you grew more rapt by his poetry. You blamed it on growing old and sentimental, he argued you were always sentimental. You had always found it fascinating, but Megatron believed that perhaps you took some comfort in it.

“Do you think, because I love you… I’ll be there in the Afterspark waiting for you?”

You were resting against his neck cables, curled up between his shoulder armor and helm vents like a tiny glitch mouse. The ardent heat of energon pulsing up the lines of his throat felt good and helped soothe some of the arthritis in your hands. He had to rest his chin on his servo, propping his helm up at an angle to keep from squishing you, but he hadn’t the spark to stop you.

It’s a question that he’d pondered many times. For he who often pondered the nature of all things grand, the question of life after death was a philosophist’s energon and mineral tablets. 

“You do not have a spark,” He points out, shifting his helm minutely to a position slightly more comfortable for you to tuck yourself under, “So I would not expect you to be held to the same rules and expectations of Primus.”

“But, your God is real.” You raise as a counterpoint, “Any proof that various human gods are real could be considered dubious at best.”

“That is a point for the high queries of gods, but what of your lack-there-of spark?”

“What is a spark but life?” You offer, gesturing with your hands and making the round shape of a spark before your breast. Megatron loathed to move you from your warm perch, so instead he tips the data pad in his servo so he can see your tiny reflection. You look comfortable, hidden securely in his collar fairings. “Perhaps I DO have a spark, but it’s simply just a different form. After all, energy cannot be destroyed. It merely changes form.”

You chuckle, knocking your knuckles against his neck cables. “Julius Robert Mayer.”

“A human philosopher?” Megatron asks, setting his datapad aside to instead settle for reaching up and touching his digit to your lap. You take the hint immediately, and hold his huge digit between your two itty bitty hands. 

“Founder of the laws of energy conservation. Suppose most of us are philosophers in some way, though.”

You have to be, with lives so short and bright. Megatron keeps that thought private to himself, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You were feeling thinner and thinner these days. He hoped you ate well enough.

“So, what have we come to the conclusion of in this conversation?” You prompt, bringing back your point, “That there is no true way to say I do not have a spark, and that it’s ultimately far more likely that Primus and his Afterspark wait for me than say… The Christian or Hebrew concept of God.”

“For there are too many to count.”

“For there are too many to count.” You agree, “But it is the most commonly applicable and the most similar to Primus.”

“But,” Megatron clicks his glossa, a smile coming to his face. He loved it so  when he could have these in-depth conversations with you. “That is also dismissing that humanity is a much younger culture than Cybertron was. Perhaps you will find proof that these things are indeed true, or perhaps something you had not even considered. Perhaps in the afterlife, you will have a veritable plethora of ‘heavens’ to choose from.”

“Then I’d choose to wait for you.” You say, “Or I’d choose some religion where I’d be reborn and I could fall in love with you again.”

“You could live again, redo all of the things you had missed. Unmake all of your mistakes.”

“You talk as if I considered you a mistake.”

He feels your tiny, cool lips press to the pulsing line of energon that is connected directly to his spark chamber. You laugh, giddy and sounding just as young as you were when he first met you. There’s a well of emotion there in his chest and, if not for millions of years of carefully cultivated control, he might have sobbed.

Instead, he settles for curling the whole of his huge, warm servo against your body, and recording this moment for all of time. The moment he writes on his spark that you wanted to be his in any life.

“I suppose it is not a mistake then, if you do not regret it.”

[onskepa]

Hiii friend!! Could i get a Norm adopts the Sarentu ask kids and also Spider? In this universe the timeline is a bit different, right after the final battle of A1 the Sarentu are still kids and after Ahari’s death, Alma manages to help them escape and send them far away ( aka to where the omatikaya live) so Mercer can’t get to them. And there Norm adopts them after he had already adopted Spider. And then siblings shenanigans ensue.

OOOOOOOOOOOH~!!! YES YES YES~!! TIME FOR NORM TO SHINE ON THIS ONE! HOPE YOU ENJOY~!

P.S: The sarentu player is named paw in this story , also paw and telisi are girls. Yefti is mute and a boy!

-------------

Full house

Norm was just norm. A skinny, nerdy guy with a huge fascination with anything foreign and new. He was just as normal as his name. Norm. He is not much of a warrior like his best friend, or a snappy, demanding director like his old friend and mentor Grace. Yes he is strong when needed to be, not afraid to be in the front lines when it is called. 

He is not a lot of things. That much is certain. What norm is, is a nature loving, gentle soul, loyal, respectful, kinda, and above all, loving. 

What norm is not, or more over, what he never thought he would ever be, is a parent. 

Not a parent to one child, he never expected he would be a parent to 9 children.

One human, and 8 na’vi children.

“You’re kidding” norm says, not really believing what he just heard. 

“I am not, believe me norm, I almost didn't believe it at first either” Jake says. 

“No, I have to hear it myself. Replay it” norm says, max nods, replaying a message they were sent just an hour ago. 

It was an audio, a bit scuffled but loud and clear was the voice of a woman. 

“Hello? This is Alma Cortez. I am a researcher and Co director of TAP. An education branch of the RDA. I don't have a lot of time but I am seeking help from the RDA rebels, more specifically Jake sully, aka Toruk Makto, and Grace Agustine. There are na’vi children here being held against their will. They need help and I alone cannot do it. I need-God damn it! Grace if you are hearing this, please! I need your help! They are not all dead! I repeat! The Sarentu children are alive!” 

Norm can say he has been into battles and raids enough times to see some patterns, alternatives, can even predict how it will end. Call it cheesy but he is the man of loyalty and would do anything to protect those he cares about. 

Among the people he has come to care about more than his own life, was his newly adopted son that enjoy being called “spider” 

Bright, crazy, and will try different ways to kill himself simply by being curious of the world he was born in. A walking happy, stress inducing little being spider is for Norm. Full of surprises, and norm enjoys that. 

The biggest surprise was him being born. 

And norm is always grateful for that, always thanking Eywa everyday. Yup, parenthood sure is something not many today plan for. 

“Well, each of us can watch over him, like that old saying goes, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’” Max suggests. A group of the science guys have found baby spiders in the old dormitories for the female soldiers. Only a few months old, skinny little guy. 

It wasn't long before they did a DNA scan of who he belonged to. The results were both scary yet unsurprising. It was after that many did not wish to get involved with the baby. 

“I will do it” , the norm says, more like announcing it. 

Picking up spider, wrapping him up in his little blankie, he says it again, “I will be his parent” 

“Does this count as a reverse kidnapping?” Max asks. 

It was night, using nature to cover the scorpion plane, waiting for an important package. Jake, Norm, Trudy, Max and Grace were all waiting patiently for Alma to come to them with the sarentu children that were being held within the human facility. 

“I see it as a rescue mission” Trudy says, her eyes not being away from her port. 

“It is a rescue mission” Grace affirms, her eyes scanning through the foliage for any movement. Being silent and listening carefully for any sounds of footsteps. Her concentration was a bit out of character for her. None have seen her this serious before. 

“It will be a huge cultural shock to these poor kids” max says, filling out the silence of the soundless night. 

“Cultural? More of a world shock, metal walls and holograms is all they ever knew” Jake replies. All of them have heard the tragic news of a fallen na’vi clan, how there were no survivors and even more tragic there was no way to help them. Grace was more hit on a personal level, felt more helpless, as feeling that it was somehow her fault when really it wasn't. 

“They will struggle, a lot of struggling, getting back to their roots and relearn everything. It's very sad " Norm comments. His thoughts drift to spider, thinking what it would have been like for his son. To be brainwashed and never been allowed to do things that he was born to do. A hell no child should go through. 

“I know I am thinking ahead but…..who will take in these kids?” Trudy asks suddenly. 

“Hi! Im spider! And I am your big brother!” little spider proudly points to himself as he talks to the newly arrived na’vi children. He was so excited to meet them the moment norm told him who was coming. New friends and new siblings! 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jake asks, he and his friends huddle on the farthest corner of the old hells gate. Everyone watching the sarentu children carefully. 

“They seem very comfortable with spider” Max points out. 

“Its because he is human, didn't you see their faces? Seeing native na’vi? They looked horrified, "Grace whispers. 

“STAY AWAY!! LEAVE US ALONE!!”

“ENGLISH!! WE DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU!!”

“THEY ARE GOING TO KILL US!!” 

8 sarentu children huddled together, tears flowing down from their eyes, little bodies trembling in fear. Circling the younger ones, as they all scream and cry in utter terror. Surrounding them was what was supposed to be a welcoming celebration to these unfortunate children. What was supposed to be loving, cheerful, and harmouns, the children only feared things that they don't understand. 

And what they dont understand is the native na’vi are right in front of them, speaking in a language they dont understand.

“And what is your name…?” Norm asks softly to the sniffling children, after what felt like forever with a touch of a miracle, the sarentu children have calmed down. A great thanks to Norm. Using his already experience with spider, he flawlessly managed to gather the 8 children and have them stop crying. 

“M-my name is nor…” the little boy stutters out as he wipes away his tears. Holding hands with little teylan and ri’nela. 

“That is a wonderful name, and you” norm compliments as he turns to one of the little girls. Looking down shyly as she plays with her hands, “my name is paw….”

“Im t-telisi….” another little girl says, being slightly more confident. Holding her hand was one of the older children. He was trying to look tough, brave and tall. Norm knew he too was scared inside but rather not show it. 

“This is Yuayt….and-” 

“ACHOO!!” 

Telisi was cut off from a sneeze, coming from another little girl. 

“And she is okni, she gets sick easily,” Telisi informs. 

Okni was rubbing her nose when another little boy, ripping a piece of his shirt to wipe her nose. 

“And that is yefti….” 

Norm took a good look at all of the sarentu children. He was about the make the more bizarre choice ever in his life. Perhaps more bizarre than all of the bizarre ideas. He was gonna make all of these sarentu children into Spellman children.

“Come on slow pokes!!” 

“Yeah! I'm smaller yet faster than any of you!!” 

“Telisi! Spider! Be Careful!” 

9 little spellman children were exploring the vast forest that was now their forever home. There is always an adventure to explore, little mysteries to solve and skills to hone. 

Spider and Telisi make way for their other siblings as they fearlessly go ahead. Not far behind was nor and ri’nela with teylan between them. Nor trying his best to keep while ri’nela takes her sweet time. Behind them yuayt giving okni a piggyback right while paw was holding okni’s hand and yefti being comfortably silent beside them. 

“Feeling any better okni?” paw asks, giving her sister a gentle squeeze on her hand. Okni nods, giving a reassuring smile. 

“That medicine better work, or else we will use the medicine that humans use” yuayt says. 

Paw frowns a bit, “don't be like that, the tsahik is a master of healing. It is her life's job, why do you still doubt her skills?” she asks her brother. Yefti also gives a disapproving look to his brother. 

“It's been a year already and Okni is still sick. In my eyes, there hasn't been any changes” yuayt replies. 

“She stopped having accidents at night. Not puking as much and can now sleep through the night without any interruptions. I see that as major progress” yefti signs. Trying to points out the positive outcomes from mo’ats medicines. 

“He is right, and okni can eat more now!” paw adds. 

“Not enough” yuayt scoffs. 

“Dont be meanie” okni whispers as she gently pokes her brother's cheek. 

Yuayt stopped complaining after that. 

“Spider! Telisi! Slow down! Ma’eywa!” nor shouts, giving up on telling his siblings to not go that far ahead. 

Ri’nela giggles as she helps Teylan go over a big tree root. 

“It is futile brother, they are just too energetic” she says. Nor sighs, she is right. Out of everyone, his two older siblings are such a chaotic duo. They were slowing down for the other trio to catch up. 

Teylan looks over to see yefti and smiles, “YEEYEE!!” he shouts excitedly. 

Yefti smiles, seeing his baby brother and runs over to him. Teylan reaches out his little arms, wanting to be picked up, to which yefti happily complies. 

“You spoil him brother” nor says. 

Yefti merely shrugs, “it makes him happy. Also he wants to copy okni” he signs. 

“Speaking of, I can carry okni if you are getting tired yuayt” ri’nela offers as her brother gets closer. 

Yuayt shakes his head, “im fine, okni is lighter than that little fatty” 

Okni hit him in the back of the head, “done be a meanie, teylan isnt fat, just squishy” she gently scolds. 

“Eerr….teylan’s appetite is growing…” paw says. 

“Its fine, with all the running and climbing, he won't be squishy forever” ri’nela says as she gives teylan a playful pinch on his chubby cheeks. 

“He won't if yefti keeps carrying him like a baby” nor comments. 

“Teylan is a baby” yefti signs. 

“I'm gonna beat you spider man!!” telisi teases. 

“NEVER!!! They don't call me monkey boy for nothing!!” spider shouts. 

Both laugh and cheer to their hearts content as they run through the vast forest, not caring to stop. Letting the wind hit their faces, overcoming any obstacle and quick thinking. 

Climbing to the floating mountains do they see their goal. 

“I'm gonna win~!!” telisi shouts enthusiastically. 

Spider summoned all his strength and went even faster, going past telisi and makes the leap of faith. 

“SPIDER!!!” his sister screams, stopping to witness him jump from the edge of the cliff and flying towards the nearest landing. 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” 

 Spider braced for impact, his side landing first on the rocky ground. Grunting in pain, and a bit dizzy, he shakly gets up. Dusting off the dirt and rubble, he laughs. 

“HA!!! I WIN!!” he cheers. 

Telisi shakes her head, huffing loudly. 

“Dad is going to skin you…” 

“OOOOOOOWW!! OWOWOWOWOW!!!” the spider squeaks in pain. 

Ri’nela sighs, trying to gently tend to his bruising and scratches. 

“You are lucky dad is busy with Jake, he will be very angry when he finds out what you did” she scolds her big brother. 

Spider chuckles a bit, “I couldn't let telisi beat me, my record would be broken” 

“I like competition brother, but never when it comes to risking our lives” telisi shouts across from the room they are in. 

Okni hears spider in pain, and quietly goes over to him, silently offering some of her medicine. Spider gently denies. 

“I'm ok sis. Don't waste your medicine, you need it more than I do” 

Okni slight frowns. Offering it again. 

“Spider is right. It is not easy for the tsahik to make that medicine, okni. Only you can use it” ri’nela says as she adds the last bandaged on spider’s side. 

“Kiri can make some. We can ask her” okni finally speaks, clutching her herb pouch. 

“Kiri is too busy looking at pretty flowers to make medicine” yuayt scoffs. He and teylan were messing with some old technology equipment. More like yuayt trying to make sure no small piece gets into teylan’s mouth. 

“Can anything positive come out of your snarky mouth?” nor asks a bit sarcastically. Earning a glare from yuayt, “When you stop bitching like a-” 

“Ok that's enough you two” spider interrupts what could be another round of word fighting. 

Yuayt rolls his eyes, lifting teylan from the table, handing him over to yefti who gladly accepts. Grabbing his knife and gun, he makes his way to the exit. The other kids following his movement. 

“And where are you going?” telisi asks. 

“Somewhere” yuayt replies and leaves. 

Almost everyone shakes their head. 

“I will get the fire started, no doubt he is coming back with some good yerik” ri’nela informs. Telisi and Paw quickly helped her.

Norm walks into his home after saying his nightly farewells to Jake and his family. It was a long day with so many things to do, but happy he will come home to his kids. Chuckling to himself, norm cant help but smile widely. It has been a year since the kids were rescued from the hellish TAP facility and already have grown so much. 

A lot has happened, overcoming trauma is not an easy thing. The Sarentu children were easily scared when starting to live here. Scared about everything, even seeing other na’vi. Norm still couldnt believe a lot has progressed over one year. Though not all is perfect and not every wound is healed. 

There is still a lot left to do for these kids, his kids. 

And speaking of his kids, norm opens the door and- 

“TOO MUCH SALT IS BAD!!” 

“NO! IT MAKES IT TASTY!!” 

“WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THAT?!”

“FROM YOUR ASS! WHERE ELSE IDIOT! THE KITCHEN!” 

Yup, another round of spellman chaos. 

“HEY!” 

All the spellman children stopped what they were doing and stared at norm. 

“DAD!!” they all cheered. Forgetting about their argument, everyone ran towards their father. Jumping on him, hugging him, shouting so many things at the same time. 

“Easy! One at a time!” He tries to settle down the kids. 

“Dad! Nor added too much salt into the stew!” 

“So what?!” 

“Daaaaaaaaaaad!! Yuayt called nor a bitch again!” 

“Dad dad dad!!! Spider did a dumb move today!!” 

“Why are you snitching on me!? Dad I know who telisi’s crush is” 

“DON'T YOU DARE!!”

“OK OK!! QUIET DOWN!!” norm shouts. 

Everyone dispersed, giving norm room to get up and observe what is going on. From the smell and obvious pot cooking, it smelled like yerik meat stew. Knowing instantly, norm turns to yauyt. 

“Did you hunt today?” he asks. 

Yuayt shrugs, “why ask if you already know the answer” 

Yefti slapped his arm, “really?” he signs. 

Paw tugged on norms shirt, eagerly wanting to say something. 

“Yes paw?” norm turns to her. 

“Can we watch a movie after eating?” she asks, trying to look cute to convince him. Ruffling her hair, norm smiles, “lets eat first then we shall se

“Dad,” Telisi calls. Now turning to her, norm lets her continue. 

“Spider jumped off a cliff and almost died” she tattles. 

“SPIDER WHAT?!” 

“SNITCHES GET STITCHES!!” spider warns. 

“WHO IS WEARING THE STITCHES RIGHT NOW?!”

“Finally…..” norm can breathe in relaxation. After a hearty meal the food coma hit everyone. 

Norm tucks little teylan between paw and yefti. Beside paw was Okni, who was also beside yuat. On the other side of yefti was nor and ri’nela. Spider and Telisi were sleeping over their other sleeping siblings. As if to protect them even as they slumber through the night. 

Norm quietly observes the children. Everyday he gives his best, gives his thanks as he couldnt believe his luck. 9 beautiful children. Chaotic and rowdy but good kids. 

Many wonder how norm does it. Every time he is asked, “how do you do it?” or “have you lost your mind yet?” 

Many times was norm close to losing his mind, but knows better. Constantly reminding himself that his children could have been in worse situations. That they wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the call for help. 

Jake at times would say “got a full house there norm” 

Yeah, he was right. A single man trying to raise 9 kids does insane, lunatic, but norm enjoys all of it. And there is nothing in this world or the next would norm trade it for anything. His kids are not just sarentu or human kids, no, they are spellman children and norm be damned if others say anything else. 

Aaaaaaaand that is it for this one! This fic took me a good while because I was trying to get every scrap of information about the other sarentu children. See what personalities I can create.

Until the other sarentu children are properly shown in the frontiers, this is what I cam up with. So I hope you guys enjoyed it! Until next time! See ya!

[in1-nutshell]

Hi, I have a new idea for a TFP character.

Jack, Raf and Miko go to school with Susan Farmfield or as the whole school knows her (a nerd who is crazy about space, aliens and conspiracy theories).

She could talk about these topics for hours, it was she who ran the very site from which Raf constantly deleted photos of Bumblebee and red energon, she always studied the former battlefields between Autobots and Decepticons trying to take photos and collect all sorts of metal fragments and various minerals.

I also thought that making Susan an enemy of the trinity would be very interesting and funny, since children naturally do not want their autobot friends to become known to the whole world, and their classmate, in turn, knowing about their connection with aliens, suspects that they are helping them in their plans to take over the world and that is why they prevent her from showing the truth to the world.

And I also would like to add a small tragic twist to her story.

Maybe the fascination with aliens and space was a common hobby between her and her grandfather, who died a long time ago, and maybe her grandfather was just as mocked as she was, and for her to confirm the existence of aliens is important not only to show that she was right but to show that her grandfather was not an idiot or crazy.

And so every time Jack, Rafe, and Miko clean up all the evidence and make her look like a joke in front of all of Jasper, she feels incredibly sad because she thinks she let her grandfather down, but at the end of the day she just tries even harder to find new evidence.

I hope you like my idea.

FINALLY! I had seen this request before and never got to it cause it disappeared!

The reign of Susan shall begin!

Hope you enjoy!

Jack, Miko, and Raf vs Susan Farmfield

SFW, Platonic, Mention of death, Slight Angst, Human reader

TFP

Like the Autobots, the kids had an enemy of their own.

Someone from school.

Believe it or not, it wasn’t Vince.

Well, Vince a bully, but he wasn’t their main enemy.

That title belonged to Susan Farmfield.

Did she push them around?

No.

Did she ever threaten them?

Not really.

Did she ever commit a crime?

Not that they know of at least.

Susan wasn’t even that strong.

She was just the school conspiracy girl.

The nerd for space and alien life.

The same nerd that ran a website that the crew was all too familiar with erasing the bots existence from.

Raf on his computer at the base. Raf: “And done! That was the last picture Bumblebee!” Bumblebee: “Beep bop beep! (Thanks, Raf!)” PING! Raf looking at his screen: “Oh come on!” Jack and Miko coming to his side. Jack: “What is it?” Raf showing them the screen with new pictures of Smokescreen, Bumblebee and Arcee. Miko groaning: “Susan.” Jack and Raf: “Susan.” Bumblebee: “Beep? (Susan?)” Raf: “She’s a girl in our school that runs the website that we have to clean when you guys’ photos come up.” Miko: “She’s, our Nemesis!” Jack: “Not nemesis Miko. Just…” Miko: “She is our Nemesis Jack! She’s gonna try and take over the world at this point!” Jack: “I think that might be an overexaggeration. Susan isn’t all bad.” Miko: “Have you sat by her when the topic of space or aliens comes up? Talk to me when you’ve done that.”

Susan did indeed run the website.

It was her baby in a way.

It was a way to express herself.

To try and show the world that her deceased Grampa was right.

That there WAS life out there.

Like her, Grampa was also mocked and ridiculed for most of his life for believing in the unknown, for believing that humans were not alone in this vast universe.

Oh, how Susan loved her Grampa.

She still remembered those nights when he’d take her into the desert with his telescope and sleeping bags.

When he passed, Susan vowed to continue her search for aliens and the unknown, no matter how much it hurt her.

No matter how many hits or jabs it took.

Susan walking through the halls and spots Miko: “Hi Miko! How’s your day been?” Miko groans and walks away. Susan a bit dejected: “Oh, you’re busy. We’ll catch up later, okay? Remember we still have the project due next week!” Later at lunch… Susan spots Raf sitting by himself in the lunchroom. She goes and sits beside him: “Hey Raf! I heard your model car got crushed. You need some help fixing it? I know a bit about machines—” Raf nervously standing up: “Sorry Susan but I got a—a thing to do now! Bye!” Susan sighs as she is left alone at the table. Later… Susan is looking through her polaroid camera when she sees Jack drop something. Susan hurriedly picks up his pencil pouch and runs up to him. Susan: “Jack! Jack, you drop your pencil pouch!” Jack already mounted on Arcee stop. Jack: “Oh. Didn’t even notice it fell. Thanks.” Susan smiles and has an idea. She takes out her camera: “Is it okay if I take a picture of you and your bike? I need a reference for my—” PING! SMASH! SPLASH! Arcee reeves her engine and using her sidebars, knocks the camera from Susan’s hands. Then crushes it with her front tires, in the process splashes dirty puddle water on Susan before speeding off with Jack. Jack: “Woah! Arcee! Was that necessary?” Arcee: “Miko said she was your nemesis, right? Besides she’s probably going to put it on that blog of her’s. The least phots the better Jack.” Susan, wet from the puddle, looks down at her smashed camera: “…project…” Susan pulls out her laminated folder of the polaroid photos. Susan: “At least I got the important stuff.”

But jokes on the kids, because with every beating, mocking, taunting, at the end of the day Susan Farmfield is as stubborn as her grandpa and is NOT GIVING UP ANYTIME SOON!

[otaku553]

The blessed (and their shadow)

Galacta Knight and my hero of yore oc, Nebula :) I have many thoughts about them if you want to read!

OK SO some of you might remember two of my old headcanons (which are very relevant for the characterization of nebula)

The four matters are kind of like the alchemical Aristotelian elements where they exist in a square or diamond with 2 attributes for each. The Aristotelian elements are fire, air, water, earth, (very familiar I'm sure) and fire and air are considered hot, while water and earth are cold. Fire and earth are dry, while water and air are wet (if i remember correctly). So on the scales of moisture and temperature, each of the elements lead into each other but are distinct and separate. Now, with heart, dream, soul, and dark matter, I have a similar idea but with different scales. Heart and dream correspond to positivity (in emotions) and dark and soul correspond to negativity. Then, heart and soul correspond to activeness, while dark and dream correspond to passiveness. I believe this is slightly different from my old headcanon where each of the matters corresponded to a different attribute, though this is less of a change and more of a rotation of 45 degrees. This is very relevant to Galacta and Nebula in particular, since they are in my au/headcanons the heroes of yore corresponding to heart matter and dream matter respectively.

The masks that Astrals wear act as a barrier or separation between the Astral and their duties as a warrior. Astrals tend to look younger than they actually are, and are often perceived as pure souls of light and positivity due to the nature of their origin. Therefore, when they become a Knight or a warrior, they also gain a mask to separate themselves (or their purity and sanctity) from the violence and brutality of war.

Now, even though the four heroes of yore theoretically have saved the universe at least once by sealing Void, I'm guessing that saving the universe wasn't the only thing their powers were used for. Oftentimes great power comes with the danger of use for political goals, which leads to war and such, and I wouldn't be surprised if the heroes were also participants in war, but as overwhelming forces of power and strength that demoralized the enemy. In any case, this creates an interesting dichotomy between the way the heroes are perceived by those they protect as paragons of light and goodness, as opposed to whatever atrocities they might commit on the battlefield.

Between the four heroes, there is also likely an imbalance in the public perception based on their matter correspondences. Negativity and positivity are often assigned arbitrary moral values that say that being positive is good, and so Galacta Knight and Nebula Knight are in a unique position of being heroes among heroes due to their positive alignment. However, whereas Galacta Knight acts as a true role model and paragon, Nebula Knight sees themselves as a shadow of sorts and thinks they lack the qualification to call themself a "good person."

Whereas Galacta Knight values all life, as an astral that feeds off of active positivity, Nebula Knight values rest and relaxation. Galacta Knight feels the weight of every life they take on the battlefield, and feels immense guilt for taking life, which they see as beautiful. Nebula, on the other hand, thinks that on the battlefield, there is probably no greater rest than death.

They do have somewhat of a moral compass, however, since they do realize quickly that this is wrong of them, seeing as death only begets greater sorrow and no one should have to die in the first place. But this also makes them realize that they are not qualified to be a good person since they don't quite care all that much about the lives they're taking.

Added to Galacta's status already as a hero above heroes, this makes Nebula raise Galacta to a high moral standard, and a sort of pedestal above themself. They do not feel like they are on equal footing with Galacta, who is genuinely good, whereas Galacta sees no difference between the two of them and in fact considers Nebula as a truer equal than the other heroes because of the societal expectation for both of them to be paragons.

This leads to Nebula taking off their mask when going into battle because if the mask only exists as a way to separate the pure and good astral from the ruthless and violent warrior, then Nebula believes that for them, this distinction does not exist. Eventually, Galacta and the other heroes get worried enough that Nebula puts the mask back on to appease them, but the scars from that time still remain.

Nebula is sort of my character for exploring the morality of the heroes :) Though Nebula considers themself to not be a good person, ironically, by taking off their mask, they are the only hero that truly confronts and acknowledges what they do without any barrier to absolve their guilt. Taking on responsibility for their own actions without averting their eyes from it is something only they can do for a while. Though they may not feel the full weight of remorse for their actions, they are definitely feeling it in the way that their self worth is damaged by closer evaluation of their own morals.

[thephoenixandthecrocodile]

Adar the All Father

I’m still mourning the death of Adar, our All Father, maybe the most beautiful character in Rings of Power so far.

When we first meet Adar, we are introduced not to a dark lord or powerful general. We are introduced to a grieving father who loves his children. When we lose Adar, we lose not a dark lord or general. We lose a grieving father who would have risked everything to protect his children – even sacrifice them to escape enslavement.

Before Rings of Power, I never thought I would cry at the loss of an Uruk or even consider the tragic nature of the Uruk race. Even now, after watching the first two seasons of Rings of Power it is hard for me to think of Adar and the Uruks as villains. Yes, they did terrible things to the Southlanders and attacking Eregion wasn’t great, but they were not the actions of villains. They were the actions of a desperate father and his children who wanted to find a safe home. One of the greatest tragedies of season 2 (and maybe all of Middle-Earth in the Rings of Power universe) is that the Elves would never seriously work alongside Adar in destroying Sauron. For most Elves, Adar and the Uruks were synonymous with Sauron and Morgoth and Adar knew better than to expect any kindness from them (despite reaching to Arondir, Galadriel, and Elrond during both seasons).

Joseph Mawle, the actor who played Adar in season one, must receive the most credit for creating the Adar we know and love. Mawle created the mystique, the internal pain, the despairing love for his children, the hopeless desire for peace, and the unwanted, but familiar ruthlessness to achieve his goals. When we first meet Adar, we learn first about his love for his children, his bittersweet memories of his Elven life, and his unstoppable commitment to provide his children with a home. His conversation with Arondir is soft and sad and mesmerizing, intriguing us all with this strange introduction of one of the first Uruks. He is not the mindless, cruel animal we are used to. This father of the Uruks knows love, knows sacrifice, and knows how to yearn for peace.

His children trust him unquestionably because he gives them a vision and the hope for a future where they can live and exist without fear or pain. He tells them they are loved and deserve life as much as any other race. They are not animals destined for extermination. They are people and they will claim a homeland for themselves, damn all who dare stand in their way.

Mawle’s Adar gives his Uruks a dignity that was missing from any of the previous LOTR related adaptions and is one of the reasons he became a fan favorite. One of Tolkien’s core tenets in LOTRs is the power of mercy and pity and giving people the choice to do the right thing, even when previously they’ve only caused harm and pain. We want Adar and his children to find a home. We want Adar and his children to escape Sauron’s clutches. But we also don’t want the Southlanders to lose their home.

The battle between the Southlanders and the Uruks is supposed to serve as proof that Adar is still a servant of Morgoth. He does not plan to share this land with anyone. He does not approve the Southlanders with any sort of deal or compromise. He invites and he kills and he decimates the land so only Uruks can call it home. Many of our heroes are caught in his rampage and are endangered or wounded by his actions. Yet, is the destruction of the Southlands the act of a villain or it is more of a Magneto-esque act of liberation based on the knowledge that no one would ever willingly accept Adar and his children? Adar does not attempt the peaceful methods because no one ever used peaceful methods with Uruks. It is a lost cause because of the prejudices and racism of Middle-Earth. Why should he care for those who would kill his children as first sight? Mawle’s Adar is not interested in justifying his actions. Instead, he turns the mirror on the heroes of our story and reveals they are just as violent and bloodthirsty as Morgoth, especially our main heroine Galadriel. Is she someone he can find a compromise with? Is Waldreg, who really wants to serve Sauron, Adar’s prime enemy? The Elven commanders of the Watch?

No, there is no one willing to treat with Uruks and so the Uruks will do what they do best and claim the land that has been overrun by their enemies.

               Mawle’s Adar suffered under Morgoth and it is a pain he cares for the rest of his life. Unlike most characters who have undergone extreme torture, the pain is represented by a scar or “flashbacks”, but Mawle’s Adar walks as if his entire body is in pain all the time. His movements are stiff and calculated, as if every movement sets his nerves on fire. He bears himself with the angry pride of someone who has never been welcomed anywhere, but he is worth as much respect as the High King in Lindon damn it!

               Finally Mawle’s Adar is queer because he subverts many expectations one would have from a male character, whether he be a hero or a villain. He is soft spoken, gentle with his prisoners, loving with his children, and cries when they die. His acceptance of his Urukness when all others think it’s wrong. His demand for a place for his children when all others think they are disgusting animals. His refusal to accept definitions placed upon him and his children by others. His celebration in what others deem to be macabre or disgusting. He also has chemistry with every character he interacts with (no matter their gender)

               In season 2, Adar is played by Sam Hazeldine who does a fantastic job add layers of complication to Adar’s character while still referencing the core components defined by Mawle. The first episode of season two starts with Sauron (played by Jack Lowden) selling himself as Morgoth’s successor to a gathering of Uruks. Adar is there and it’s clear Sauron thinks Adar is on his side. However, Adar betrays Sauron and he and his children “kill” Sauron. In this episode, we see the same pain, the same weariness, and the same love for his children that Mawle portrayed, but we also see Hazeldine’s addition of deep-seated rage for Sauron, rage over his own fate now that Morgoth is gone.

               When we see Adar in the present, he is sitting on his throne, with his big sword, surrounded by Uruks, and he is powerful. His presence has changed from the almost elemental spirit like quality Mawle personified to a stronger, more present, more dangerous presence. It’s almost as if now that he has achieved his goal of a homeland, he is on edge, waiting for it to be taken away. This Adar is still in constant pain, still queer as hell, but more determined and leans into his old role as a ruthless general/warrior.

               When he finds out Sauron is alive, we see Adar response to a severe trauma trigger that clouds all thoughts of peace and compassion. Similar to Galadriel’s reaction to Sauron in the finale, Adar cannot live in a world where Sauron still exists. He is not safe. He has too much anger to ignore. He has scores to settle. He has children to protect. He cannot wait in Mordor for Sauron to play everyone else for fools. He knows Sauron will come for him and his children. It is better to hit him now when he is weakest. And so he gathers his children and his marches to war once more – despite the misgivings and doubts of a handful of Uruks.

               Once Adar discovers Sauron has made Eregion his home, Adar writes off the entire city and its people. Similar to the fate of the Southlanders, Adar doesn’t care what happens to those who stand between him and his goal. He will destroy the tormenter of his children, even if he has to destroy the most beautiful city of all Elvendom. When he reunites with Galadriel, we see that Adar can be as manipulative and cruel as Sauron. He plays her like a fiddle to get all the information he needs and then he uses her to trap Elrond into his own morality conundrum. While he is still gentle and charming when dealing with both Galadriel and Elrond (flirting with both of them the entire time. Seriously, he calls Elrond beautiful and stares at Galadriel with heart eyes as she threatens him as knife point), they are just tools to use against his real enemy Sauron. His drive to destroy Sauron taints even his love for his children. He sends them wave after wave against Eregion’s defenses, watching them die in the hundreds and sends in Damrod, a troll who kills just anyone and anything in his way – Uruk and Elf alike.

               In one of the most heartbreaking moments in the show, after a particularly costly charge, Glug, one of his children, says “Father, you said you love us.”

               Adar turns and replies, “With all that is left of my heart. Too much to let you be slaves to Sauron.”                In his moment of fear and trauma and pain, he can only see the extremes: either his children are enslaved by Sauron or they die but are at least free from Sauron’s control. He cries as he says goodbye to the dead and dying Uruk, forced to face the terrible price they must pay to be safe. Galadriel sees his tears and, maybe, in that moment she understands who her true enemy is: Sauron, not the victims of Sauron and Morgoth’s cruelty.

Sam’s Adar is the battered spouse who desperately tried to escape their abusive partner and instead learns that the world doesn’t care about the plight of the abused. The world will cast you back to your abuser because “that’s where you belong.”

               In the finale, Adar, wearing Neya, Galadriel’s ring, reverts to the man he was before Morgoth. An Elf with a “meaningless name. A name given to him” Adar is the name he earned and one he wants to keep. Nenya, whose power in the show is to heal and provide visions, gives Adar the first true hint of hope he has had since before Morgoth. He realizes his rage and his trauma turned him into Sauron’s puppet, as Sauron intended, and he realizes he’s lost the trust of his children, but even in the midst of all that darkness there is still hope. Nenya represents hope. Galadriel, who tells Adar that if he helps her defeat Sauron, there will be a place for his children, represents hope. Even though she admits she has killed more of his children than any Elf alive, he forgives her.

               “I forgive you. No more flames. No more darkness.” He tells her as he hands her the ring, “Let us heal Middle-earth and create a lasting peace between the Elves and the Uruks.”

After handing her the ring, he reverts to his true form, Adar the Father of the Uruks.

A wounded Glug is brought to him and he bends down, begging his son for forgiveness. Glug tells it’s too late and Adar replies, “It’s never too late. Not even for me. And not for you, my son.”

And Glug stabs him, followed by several other Uruks. Sauron appears and watches with smug satisfaction as Adar is killed by his own beloved children. Even in death, Adar is only considered about his children, calling out to them in Black Speech, but it’s not enough. He may have found peace within himself and with Galadriel, but he couldn’t undo his betrayal of his own children.

In anger and trauma of his own, Glug saw his father as an enemy, as the wolf in sheep’s clothing, as someone who claimed to be different but was just as ruthless and terrible as Morgoth. In Sauron, he found someone who was kind and made grand promises and was the original creators of the Uruks. And so, Glug took his chance and doomed his entire race to enslavement.

Adar and the dream of a free Uruk race may have died in the finale, but Adar lives on in our hearts and as an inspiration for everyone struggling with their own darkness, their own strangeness, and a society that does not want them or respect them. I hope he also continues to live on in the hearts of the Uruk. They may, by and large be enslaved by Sauron, but I hope we see just how tenuous Sauron’s hold truly is. I hope we see small Uruk rebellions and whispered stories of Adar and Glug and their dreams of peace. I believe in the book, the Uruks complain about their lot and hate the fact that they have to answer to the Nine Wraith as well as Sauron. Maybe Sauron needed the Nine to keep order amongst the ranks of a disgruntled mass of Uruks who stubbornly preserve the memory and hope of a better world – someday. And maybe that is just one more dream Sauron tries to twist and corrupt to suit his own purposes, which is why the Uruks never truly break away from him. But I hope we see that internal struggle through the remaining seasons. And I hope, we as a fandom, can imagine a Middle-Earth after Sauron’s fall, where Aragorn, Eomer, and their descendants learn from the mistakes of the past and finally see the Uruks as Morgoth’s and Sauron’s victims and Adar’s children can finally know peace.

Thank you Joseph Mawle, Same Hazeldine, JD Payne, and Patrick McKay for brings such a beautiful and inspiring character to life.

[stirringwinds]

are there certain visual themes or imagery you yourself particularly associate with yao as an artist or writer? i'm trying to visualize the nations better...

hmmm, interesting question. i like incorporating nature imagery into the hetalias, especially old nations like yao. there's something mythical and compelling about the sense of age and vastness that evokes. these are some (non-exhaustive) thoughts i've had:

a. i always associate yao with rivers and water; the Yellow River in particular, which is often seen as the "cradle" of Chinese civilisation (but of course, there's also the Yangtze, and the Pearl River too). rivers are life-giving but also untameable, powerful and dangerous—the Yellow River's fertile silt birthed agriculture and civilisation, but its destructive floods have claimed uncounted lives over the millennia of Chinese history. and...that's kind of how yao is, as a nation and an empire, towards others of their kind. the source of cultural and artistic innovations, but also death. water can be fluid, life-giving and nurturing, but also as treacherous as a torrential flood sweeping everything away, no?

like the Yellow River's relationship with humanity, yao's impact on world history feels to me like this duality of life and death; peace and warfare; mentor, empire, conqueror... it's like, yao's been a teacher to many others but...i don't think their predominant image of him is as a warm and nurturing figure. maybe more so with his own people, but less so with other nations. being the old warlord he is, he'd say certain things very matter-of-factly (especially to yong-soo and kiku), about how power is the only language their kind universally understands, or about history being written by the victors (when we consider how the only surviving written sources about certain periods of asian history are only chinese ones...), inasmuch he'd talk about the importance of confucian virtue, integrity and humility on other occasions.

b. for obvious reasons; dragons—they and rivers both have that overlapping association of being serpentine, powerful and untameable. in contrast to how european dragons often took on villainous roles and were harbingers of disaster, it's important to note chinese dragons usually have far more positive cultural connotations. they symbolise prosperity, fortune and are guardians; often associated with power over water (so again; Yao and rivers and water.) many dragons are associated with a particular river or sea. they're also believed to have powers over the weather and were often prayed to. after all, the capriciousness of the rains ruled people's lives so much through natural disasters or made a difference between a bountiful harvest and a famine. so, i think at various points in history his people might also have understood him as a literal dragon (spirit/deity) walking around in a human guise. dragons are also a visual staple of chinese culture, from statues to jewellery. at the same time: while they're auspicious symbols—dragons can of course have aggressive and far less benign connotations if we consider how they became symbols of the emperor—and thus chinese imperial power and dominion over others. he evokes majesty, but also dread from that perspective.

c. plum blossoms: much like the sakura in japanese culture, plum blossoms are one beloved motif you'll see showing up in chinese art and literature throughout history. they're elegant and ethereal, also a symbol of both transience and renewal in a way, i'd say—their blossoms wither and die, but they come back each year. there's also that saying about how without a bitter cold, you won't have the sweet fragrance of plum blossoms, because they start blooming in winter. that's...very yao to me. china, as an idea, makes me think of a lot of elegant and refined traditional culture (like poetry or paintings) which plum blossoms recall—but i also think of humbler themes—the simpler idea of someone and something who is enduring, adaptable and resilient. who endures the harshest weather time and time again until spring arrives, the way my (peasant) ancestors probably did, carving their way through all the hardships of chinese history. yao might appear refined in an indulgent, wealthy way when he's dressed in his finest silk hanfu or a smart western suit in the modern day—but if you shake his hand, his palms are always callused and you can just see the weight (and hard-won experience) of centuries in his gaze.