#memory suppression arc

[princesslizzyfnafton]

What’s this I heard about a tea party?

-@ghost-inthe-machine

@anominous-ominous invited me to a tea party…

I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are?

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[lkfarrout]

Why Stan Had to Get His Memory Back

For many of the episodes of Gravity Falls, there is a pattern where the physical supernatural beast or conflict being dealt with matches directly to some internal conflict that the character has. 

Examples:

In Double Dipper, Dipper wants to dance with Wendy but is getting in his own way with his overthinking and his list. This is shown physically by clones of himself turning on him.

In Carpet Diem, both twins are struggling to see from the other’s perspective and be more courteous with how they share a living space. They are physically forced to switch bodies to learn more about the other’s experiences. 

In Scary-oke, Dipper struggles to trust Stan and feels that Stan’s goal to protect him from the supernatural is unfair and unnecessary. Dipper then summons a bunch of zombies to prove a point. Him and Mabel must then rely heavily on Stan’s help to escape the zombies, and team up with him to finally defeat them.

Most character development in the more stand-alone episodes follows this format, but it’s harder to catch with the series-spanning character arcs like Stanley’s.

But before we get into that, one more less-obvious example:

Fiddleford’s internal conflict while working with Ford is that he had many traumatizing experiences that were causing him to suffer. But instead of having time and loving people around him to help him work through it, he had Ford continuously pushing him to work harder and finish the portal. This required him to suppress his feelings and pretend that those bad experiences did not exist. 

This is physically manifest by his creation of the memory gun. Which, in my opinion, does not completely erase memories in the way that Fiddleford intended and believed that it did. Instead, it only suppresses them. The memory gun takes whatever is written on it out of the person’s conscious mind and pushes it deep into their subconscious mind. Fiddleford still suffered the effects of his trauma - the fear, the paranoia - he only forgot the cause. And it drove him to insanity.

But when Dipper and Mabel help him remember, and when Ford finally apologizes for all that he did, Fiddleford is able to bring those feelings back to the surface and begin to work through them while surrounded by people that care about him. Ford explains in the journal that all of this helped Fiddleford begin to slowly return to his old self again. 

So, knowing that the memory gun only suppresses memories, let’s finally talk about Stanley:

When Bill first entered Stan’s mind while he was sleeping, he was inside of Stan’s subconscious mind, which contained all of his old memories and feelings and experiences. But when Bill enters Stan’s mind when he’s awake, he’s in his conscious mind - what Stan was currently thinking about at that moment. Which was, essentially, himself and Bill. His focus was entirely on himself defeating Bill. If, in order to be a hero, Stan’s conscious sense of self had to physically be erased along with Bill, what internal conflict of Stan’s does this represent?

Stan’s whole life he felt like a screw-up. Like a bad guy that would never be worth anything. That’s who he felt Stanley Pines was. So, in order to be a hero for his family, he felt that everything he used to be had to go away. He had to repress all of his past mistakes and screw-ups in order for his family to see him as a hero. He could not be both a hero and Stanley Pines because Stanley Pines was not a hero. 

Once Bill is gone, Stanley is a hero, but he isn’t Stanley Pines anymore. Until Mabel and the rest of the family start to talk about how wonderful he used to be. How the old Stanley wasn’t a screw up. How everything that he used to be was wonderful and good and they loved him for it - all of it. Once Stan accepted that he could be both a hero and be himself and be all of his past and be loved for it and not have to suppress it - it all came back. It came back because he realized he’s loved and accepted by others and he could finally accept himself. 

That’s why Stan had to get his memory back.

[mononijikayu]

tears are getting sober – gojo satoru

With a heavy heart, Gojo Satoru began to speak, his words a balm for the wounds that still lingered within him. He told you about his life over the past decade, the trials and tribulations he had faced, and the moments of joy that had flickered amidst the darkness. He talks as though you were still here. As though you were still alive. He teases one moment and he laughs about a memory the next. You were never dead to him. Not for one second in these past ten years did he get used to talking about you in the past tense. He thinks his brain can’t ever process the thought. He could never understand it. And he has come to accept it, after all this time. Nothing about it would ever come to be the past. You will always be his present. You will always be his future. He did not doubt that one second.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;

WARNING/s: Angst, One Sided Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Reminiscing;

masterlist

listen: tears are getting sober by victoria

note: i've been thinking about this for the past few days and i wrote this while on my online law class. this is the satoru pov of ghost of you!!! enjoy it!!! i hope you have a good day, i love you all!!!

HE THINKS LOVING SOMEONE IS A TOUGH JOB. As Satoru approached his twenty-eighth year, with the threshold of twenty-nine looming ever closer, he found himself grappling with the complexities of love and human connection. It wasn't that he didn't love others—of course he did. He was a human being, after all, with the same innate desires and needs as anyone else. Love was not just a luxury for him; it was a necessity, an essential part of his existence.

Yet, despite this fundamental longing for love and connection, Satoru couldn't shake the feeling of distance that seemed to separate him from those around him. Even in the company of close friends like Shoko and Yaga-sensei, he couldn't escape the sense of being an outsider, a solitary figure navigating a world that had grown increasingly unfamiliar.

He remembered a time when things had been different, when he had felt more human, more connected to those around him. There had been moments of genuine intimacy and camaraderie, moments when he had been able to express himself freely and without reservation. But as the years passed and the weight of responsibility bore down upon him, those moments grew fewer and farther between, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Now, on the cusp of another year, Satoru couldn't help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to that sense of connection, that feeling of being truly human. It was a longing that gnawed at him, a yearning for something he feared he might never recapture. And yet, deep down, he held onto the hope that someday, somehow, he would once again find himself among those who understood him, who accepted him for who he truly was.

Because during that time, he had a choice.

Because at the time, he can see Suguru smile.

Because at the time, you were still smiling alive.

There was never a moment when Satoru didn't love you. It was an all-encompassing feeling that seemed to permeate every facet of his being, impossible to ignore or suppress. Even if he had tried, he knew deep down that his love for you would persist, unwavering and unyielding. It was the kind of love that consumed him entirely, the kind that defied reason and logic.

As he reflected on his feelings, Satoru couldn't help but marvel at the power of young love. It was a force unlike any other, capable of transforming even the most mundane moments into something extraordinary. Even now, as he stood on the precipice of adulthood, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you, the center of his universe.

He vividly remembered the day he first laid eyes on you, a moment etched into his memory with startling clarity. It was a day like any other, until it wasn't. Everything changed the instant you walked into his life, your presence casting a vibrant spectrum of colors upon his once monochrome world.

The sight of you, adorned in your dark blue uniform with that bright yellow hoodie, was like a revelation to him. Suddenly, the world seemed to burst into bloom, vibrant and full of life. The delicate petals of chrysanthemums mirrored the rosy hue of your cheeks, while the golden rays of the sun felt warmer when filtered through your radiant smile.

In that moment, the confines of his existence melted away, replaced by a sense of boundless possibility and wonder. The four corners of the room no longer felt suffocating; instead, they expanded to accommodate the enormity of his newfound emotions.

From that day forward, you became his guiding light, his source of inspiration and joy. Every smile, every wave, every word exchanged between you was a testament to the profound connection you both shared. And as Satoru gazed upon you, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the color you had brought into his life, forever altering the course of his destiny.

The mission briefing room was abuzz with excitement as Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you gathered around the table, eagerly awaiting your first assignment as a team. Yaga-sensei had to work hard to stop the gossiping from all of you. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, each of you eager to prove yourselves in the field. Much so, he and Suguru—who realized that they were polar opposites of the other, began to think of each other as the only rivals worth having. Satoru thinks he can one up the guy with the bangs. He could do it properly too.

As the mission details were laid out before you, Satoru couldn't help but steal glances in your direction, his heart racing with a mixture of nerves and excitement. You and Shoko were conversing about how best to provide support and defense while Suguru busied himself with asking Yaga–sensei about the best ways to conduct offense campaigns.

He had been looking forward to this moment ever since he had learned that you would be joining their team, and now that it was finally here, he found himself feeling more determined than ever to make a good impression.

With the mission parameters set, the four of you set out into the night, the cool breeze of autumn stirring the leaves as you made your way through the city streets. The mission itself went off without a hitch, each of you working together seamlessly to accomplish your objectives.

You and Suguru both gained new cursed creatures, which made you quite happy. You like having good friends in these creatures, you said. Somehow it reminded you of Pokemon. He didn’t say anything, he liked Digimon too. But he supposed, if you ask him one day—he’d watch Pokemon for you.

As you made your way back to Jujutsu High, all of you were too exhausted to come discuss any dinner plans. Shoko suggested you guys stop by a convenient store. This is the one of few times Satoru’s ever been to a convenient store.

Before, he had been far more confused than anything else, no one would expect the head of the Gojo Clan to know about the outer world beyond what he’s been told. But now that he has experienced it, he found his way around it. It felt like a comfort, he supposed, that he’s able to do this at all. 

Satoru found himself beside you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Shoko was by the counter, pushing a fake ID with a grin on her face. Suguru was just behind her, his face unimpressed about her rule breaking in order to buy some cigarettes. 

"Hey," Satoru said, his voice soft as he fell into step beside you. "Great job back there. You really held your own out there."

You returned his smile, feeling a sense of pride swell within you at his words. "Thanks, Gojo–kun," you replied, your voice warm with gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without your guidance."

Satoru's heart skipped a beat at your words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the sight of your smile. “You know you don’t have to call me so formally. Aren’t we friends?”

You look up to him again, away from the sandwich section. You blink at him. “Hm?”

“You call Geto and Ieiri by their first names.” 

“And?”

“Why not me?” 

You blink again, and then you laugh at him. He could feel more warmth emit through his body. Your laughter was such a beautiful sound. Far more gorgeous than the temple bells he heard in all his life. You were so beautiful. 

“You could just ask me, you know.” You replied to him, smiling at him. “If that’s what you like, Gojo–kun–”

“Satoru,”

“Satoru–kun,” You corrected yourself, eyeing his happy gaze. “Then you should call me by my name too, you know?”

His lips slowly quivered into a smile, his dark peering shades lowering to reveal his eyes. “You have yourself a deal!”

As you browse the aisles together, you both share your opinions about different types of food. You liked a lot of savory dishes, Satoru loved really sweet things — which you had in common, in a sense. But well, you preferred dark chocolate to his sweet milk choco. You liked matcha and coffee more than you liked choco and strawberry milk.

But you both expressed a good love for mochi ice cream. You told Satoru that you’ve had it since you were a kid and you’ve never looked back since. Satoru’s continually eaten it since he discovered it a couple of months ago.  

You got everything you wanted by then, Satoru insisting he should pay for your basket even though you were arguing with him that you had enough money to cover your expenses. But that had become a bad idea because then Shoko had goaded him with ‘What about us, Satoru?’ followed by Suguru’s lips quivering in a Cheshire grin in the back. Satoru did not care. He thinks he could pay for all your meals for the rest of his life and he would be happy — because you pouted at him that way. And it was adorable.

Satoru couldn't help but feel a sense of nervous excitement building within him. As you all walked towards the train station, he started reaching for his own plastic bag as he kept up to your pace. He reached out to grab a box, offering it to you with a small smile. You looked at him as you both stopped for a moment, Shoko and Suguru lost in their conversation as they walked in front of you both.

"I thought you might like these," He said, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “I didn’t know which brand you liked best. But this is my favorite. Consider it a reward for a job well done."

Your orbs shone like stars. “You didn’t have to, Satoru–kun.”

“I bought this for you.”  He tells her, tenderly. “You can enjoy it.”

You accepted the box slowly with a grateful smile, your eyes meeting him as you thanked him. In that moment, Satoru felt his heart swell with affection, the warmth of your smile sending a rush of happiness coursing through him. You opened the box and looked at him and grinned. You pull out one mochi container and give it to him. It was his turn to blink.

“It’s not fun to eat it alone.” You grinned wider, taking one and putting the box inside your plastic bag. You remove it from the container and start munching into the mochi. You looked at him encouragingly. “Go on, Satoru–kun!”

As the two of you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the taste of victory and the sweetness of mochi ice cream lingering on your lips, Satoru couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for the future. And as he stole glances in your direction, he knew that this was only the beginning of something truly special.

Satoru sat alone in his room, a single mochi resting delicately between his fingers as he stared off into the distance. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves outside his window and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on his desk. But in the silence, his thoughts were consumed by one thing and one thing only—you.

As he brought the mochi to his lips, his mind wandered to memories of you, your laughter echoing in his ears like a sweet melody. He remembered the way your eyes would light up with joy whenever you indulged in your favorite treat, the happiness radiating from you like a beacon of light in his life.

But now, as he savored the familiar taste of the mochi, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The once sweet flavor seemed to have lost its luster, the simple pleasure of indulging in his favorite snack now tinged with a bitter aftertaste.

With a sigh, Satoru set the mochi aside, his appetite suddenly vanished as he found himself consumed by thoughts of you. He missed the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you would brighten up his darkest days with just a simple gesture or word.

Closing his eyes, Satoru allowed himself to bask in the memories of your time together, his heart heavy with longing. He missed you more than words could express, and in that moment, he realized just how much he craved your presence in his life.

As the minutes ticked by, Satoru remained lost in thought, his mind drifting back to the memories of you. And as he sat alone in his room, the taste of the mochi still lingering on his lips, he couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness gnawing at his heart—a longing for the sweetness of your presence that he feared he may never taste again.

As Satoru reflected on the passage of time, he couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the days gone by. It had been a decade since you left, yet in his heart, it felt as though it were just yesterday. Time may have marched on, but for him, it would always be 2007—a year etched into his memory like a precious gem.

In his mind's eye, he could still see you as clearly as if you were standing before him, your laughter echoing in his ears and your smile lighting up his world. Despite the years that had passed, he knew that a part of him would always be with you, forever frozen in that moment in time.

And he wasn't alone in his longing. Suguru, too, harbored a deep affection for you, his heartache mirroring Satoru's own. They had both loved you fiercely, with a passion that transcended time and distance. And even now, a decade later, the memories of you still lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what once was and what could have been.

As Satoru gazed out at the world beyond, he couldn't help but wonder if you ever thought of them, if you ever longed for the warmth of their embrace as much as they longed for yours. In his heart, he knew that some bonds were unbreakable, woven together by the threads of love and longing that refused to be severed by the passage of time.

And so, as the years stretched out before him, Satoru held onto the memories of you, cherishing them like precious treasures. For in his heart, he knew that no matter where life took him, a part of him would always belong to you, just as a part of you would always belong to him.

And just as Suguru cursed you back to life,

You left and cursed Satoru back to life too.

He would never love anyone like he loved you.

He lived, just as Suguru does, to remember you.

Because that’s all he could ever truly do.

HE WAS SURE YOU WERE THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE. As Satoru wrestled with his emotions, a tumultuous storm raged within him, tearing at the seams of his heart with every passing moment. He knew better than to say anything to you, for he believed that you deserved nothing but boundless happiness. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find true happiness with him, knowing the burden of his past and the shadows that loomed over his future.

In his eyes, you were a free spirit, a radiant gem in a world filled with darkness and uncertainty. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing you trapped in the confines of his world, shackled by the political machinations of the clans and the dangers that lurked at every corner. Even if you were to reciprocate his feelings, he feared that you would be sacrificing too much of yourself in the process.

The specter of his father's untimely demise and his mother's constant struggles loomed large in Satoru's mind, a grim reminder of the dangers that surrounded him. He knew that he could protect you, that he was the strongest among them. But he couldn't shake the feeling that you deserved so much more—a life free from the shadows that haunted his own existence.

And so, Satoru resigned himself to loving you from afar, content to cherish you as a friend and companion. He found solace in the knowledge that he could still keep you in his life, even if it meant keeping his own feelings hidden deep within his heart. For him, your happiness was paramount, and if loving you from a distance was the price he had to pay, then so be it.

When you confided in him about your feelings for Suguru, Satoru felt no malice or jealousy in his heart. Instead, he embraced your words with a sense of understanding and acceptance, knowing that your happiness was all that truly mattered. And as he watched you walk away, his heart heavy with unspoken longing, he couldn't help but silently wish for your happiness, even if it meant sacrificing his own.

You four were sent on a mission again — not too much of a hassle, considering it was just a minor deity and no one was injured, which Shoko seemed pleased about. She and Suguru were getting the camp site’s benches ready, so you all could eat dinner together. It was rare to be in such places, so you all decided that this was an opportune moment to eat some of the extra packed meals you brought along.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the tranquil waters of the lake as you and Satoru sat together on the grassy bank, the gentle breeze ruffling your hair. It was a peaceful afternoon, the perfect setting for a heart-to-heart conversation.

As you gazed out at the shimmering water, a sense of nervousness fluttered in your chest, your thoughts consumed by the confession you had been holding onto for so long. Taking a deep breath, you turned to Satoru, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Satoru, there's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice hesitant as you searched for the right words. "I... I think I've fallen in love with Suguru."

Satoru's expression softened at your words, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and understanding. He had suspected as much, yet hearing you say it out loud still came as a shock. But despite the pang of heartache that echoed in his chest, he knew that your happiness was paramount.

"Really?" Satoru replied, his voice gentle as he reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "That's wonderful news, you know? Suguru is a great guy, and I can see why you've fallen for him."

Your heart swelled with gratitude at Satoru's supportive words, a sense of relief washing over you as you realized that you had made the right decision in confiding in him. His encouragement gave you the strength you needed to finally take the next step in your journey.

"Yeah, he really is," you replied, a smile spreading across your face as you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. "I've been thinking about telling him how I feel, and I think today might be the day."

Satoru nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with genuine warmth as he squeezed your shoulder gently. "You should go for it," he encouraged, his voice filled with sincerity. "Life's too short to hold back your feelings. And who knows? Maybe Suguru feels the same way about you."

With Satoru's words of encouragement ringing in your ears, you felt a renewed sense of determination wash over you. Taking a deep breath, you stood up from the grassy bank, ready to seize the moment and finally confess your feelings to Suguru.

"Thanks, Satoru," you said, turning to face him with a grateful smile. "I couldn't have done this without you."

As you walked away, the weight of your confession lingered in the air, casting a shadow over Satoru's heart. He watched you go with a bittersweet smile, his own feelings swirling beneath the surface like a tempestuous sea. Every step you took towards Suguru felt like a dagger through his heart, each moment a painful reminder of what could have been.

But despite the ache in his chest, Satoru knew that he had to push his own feelings aside for the sake of your happiness. He had always been there for you, offering unwavering support and encouragement whenever you needed it. And now, as you embarked on this new chapter of your life, he couldn't bear to let his own pain stand in the way.

So he plastered on a smile, masking the turmoil within as he watched you disappear from view. Deep down, he longed to hold you back, to tell you how he truly felt. But he knew that now wasn't the time—not when your heart was set on someone else.

Instead, Satoru forced himself to focus on the positives, finding solace in the knowledge that you were pursuing your own happiness. He reminded himself that he had played a part in helping you find the courage to confess your feelings to Suguru, and for that, he felt a sense of pride.

But as he turned away from the lake, the ache in his heart remained, a constant reminder of the love he had kept hidden for so long. And though he knew that he would always cherish the memories of your time together, he couldn't help but wonder what could have been if he had been brave enough to confess his own feelings to you.

‘No,’ He thought to himself as he took a deep breath. ‘It’s better this way. There’s no one I trust more than him. Suguru would be good. It’s better this way.’

As Satoru grappled with his inner turmoil, he often sought solace in the mantra that he had no regrets. Yet, as he reflected on the choices he had made, a nagging sense of remorse crept into his heart. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should have told you the truth, should have confessed his feelings before it was too late.

In hindsight, he couldn't help but wonder how things might have been different if he had been brave enough to lay bare his heart to you. Perhaps you would still be alive, by his side, sharing in the joys and sorrows of life together. But now, as he looked back on the past, he knew that dwelling on such thoughts was futile.

It was too late for "what ifs" and regrets now. The past was set in stone, immutable and unchangeable. All he could do was carry the weight of his unspoken feelings and forge ahead, determined to honor your memory in the best way he knew how.

And so, despite the ache in his heart and the burden of his silent regrets, Satoru resolved to live each day to the fullest, cherishing the memories of your time together and carrying your spirit with him wherever he went. For in the end, he knew that dwelling on the past would only serve to hold him back from embracing the future that lay ahead.

You were too far for him to reach and too far for him to love.

You were like that when you were alive and now even in death.

But he thinks he will never love anyone else as he had loved you.

In this life and in the next and the other one after that, it’s only you.

In that next life, he hopes that he could finally tell you everything. 

HE MEMORIZED EVERY MOMENT HE HAD WITH YOU. As Satoru's mind replayed the harrowing scene of finding you that fateful day, the vivid imagery seared into his memory with agonizing clarity. Your blood, a stark contrast against the dark cavern walls, painted a gruesome picture of the tragedy that had unfolded. It coated the steep stairs, pooling around your lifeless form, a haunting testament to the violence that had taken place.

As Satoru stood frozen amidst the horror of the scene before him, the weight of the moment bore down upon him like a suffocating blanket, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable heaviness. The sight and smell of your blood, mingled with Riko's, assaulted his senses, leaving him reeling with a nauseating mixture of shock and despair. 

Your blood, brighter than any ruby stone he had ever seen, stained the ground beneath him, a vivid reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded in the depths of the cavern. It coated his shoes, a tangible testament to the violence that had torn through your lives with merciless force.

But amidst the horror, there was a poignant sense of sacrifice and bravery that lingered in the air. You clung to Riko with every last bit of strength and warmth you possessed, a selfless act of protection that spoke volumes of your innate goodness. Satoru had always known you to be a good person, perhaps too good for the cruel and unforgiving world of Jujutsu sorcery. He had feared for your safety, knowing that your tender heart could easily become a target in a world devoid of mercy.

The realization that you had died protecting another, that you had given your life to save someone else, sent a shiver down Satoru's spine. Died. Lived. The words echoed in his mind, their meaning lost in the unfathomable depths of grief and disbelief. They were both past tense, both irrevocably done, leaving him grappling with the unbearable finality of your loss.

In that moment, Satoru felt the overwhelming urge to scream, to lash out against the cruel injustice of it all. But as he stood frozen in place, his body trembling with suppressed emotion, he knew that there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. All he could do was bear witness to the devastating aftermath of your sacrifice, haunted by the knowledge that he had lost you forever.

For Satoru, who had always known himself to be the honored one, a god among men, the scene before him was a brutal awakening. Despite his divinity, he stood immobilized, his mind unable to process the enormity of the loss before him. You lay cold and lifeless, your once bright eyes now devoid of the light that had captivated him so.

As he knelt beside you, his heart heavy with grief, Satoru felt the weight of his own mortality pressing down upon him. In that moment, he shed the facade of godhood, allowing himself to embrace the raw humanity of his emotions. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he mourned the loss of everything good in his life, stolen from him in the blink of an eye.

And as he grieved over your lifeless form, Satoru realized the bitter truth that even his godlike powers were powerless to bring you back from the brink of death. In that moment of profound sorrow, he was just a man, left to mourn the loss of the one he had loved so dearly, forever haunted by the knowledge that he could never bring you back to life.

As the days passed and the reality of your absence settled in, Satoru couldn't help but notice the profound impact your death had on Suguru. It was as if a darkness had descended upon his once bright and vibrant friend, twisting him into something unrecognizable. Satoru watched in horror as Suguru's grief morphed into madness, consuming him with a relentless fury that knew no bounds.

It was Suguru who had led the charge to burn the village to the ground, a devastating act of vengeance fueled by the pain of losing you. And as the flames engulfed the once peaceful streets, Satoru felt a sense of helplessness wash over him, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop the chaos and destruction that Suguru had unleashed.

But perhaps the most haunting moment came when Suguru turned to him, eyes burning with a fierce intensity, and posed a question that would haunt Satoru for years to come. "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru?" Suguru's voice was like a whisper in the darkness, his words laden with a weight that Satoru could hardly bear. "Or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?"

It was a question that cut to the core of his identity, forcing Satoru to confront the very essence of who he was. And as he grappled with the weight of Suguru's words, a sense of panic began to claw its way up from the depths of his soul.

In the solitude of his bedroom, Satoru was overcome by a wave of overwhelming emotion, his chest tightening with each labored breath as tears streamed down his face. He cried out for you, his voice choked with anguish and longing, as he reached out for the comfort that could never be found.

In that moment of profound despair, Satoru realized just how deeply he had loved you, and how your absence had left a void in his heart that could never be filled. And as he lay there, trembling and broken, he knew that he would spend the rest of his days haunted by the memory of your loss, forever yearning for the one he could never have again.

The weight of his grief was like an anchor, dragging Satoru down into the depths of despair. With each passing day, the pain of your absence grew more unbearable, a constant reminder of all that he had lost. The thought of leaving to find you crossed his mind more than once, a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating grip of his sorrow. But every time he entertained the idea, he was met with the haunting memory of your eyes, filled with judgment, disapproval, and above all, hurt.

In those moments, Satoru realized that he could never bear to be the cause of your pain. The mere thought of seeing the disappointment in your gaze was enough to send a shiver down his spine, a stark reminder of the love and compassion that had always flowed between you. He couldn't bear to imagine you grieving for him, carrying the burden of his loss on your shoulders.

No, Satoru knew that he couldn't allow himself to wallow in self-pity and despair, not when your memory was still so fresh in his mind. He owed it to you to honor your legacy, to live his life in a way that would make you proud. Despite the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume him, he resolved to carry on, to strive for nothing less than your happiness.

For in the end, that was all that truly mattered to him—to see you smiling, to hear your laughter, to know that you were safe and content. And so, with renewed determination, Satoru vowed to carry your memory with him always, a guiding light in the darkness of his grief.

And so as those tears dried each and every day.

Your picture was tucked away in his inner pockets.

He thinks he had to live on, so that you could live on.

He thinks that he stays alive for you, no matter what.

SATORU THINKS HE REMEMBERS YOU LIKE THIS. On that rare day off, when the usual hustle and bustle of Jujutsu missions seemed to fade into the background, you and Satoru found yourselves with an unexpected opportunity to spend time together. With Suguru and Shoko occupied elsewhere and Haibara and Nanami tied up with their own commitments, it was just the two of you left to fend for yourselves.

As you pleaded with Satoru to accompany you on a day of exploration, he initially feigned reluctance, claiming he had other things to attend to. But your persistence wore down his defenses, and soon enough, he found himself agreeing to join you on your adventure.

Despite his protests, Satoru couldn't deny the excitement that bubbled within him at the prospect of spending the day with you. Your infectious enthusiasm and boundless energy were like magnets, drawing him irresistibly towards you.

Dressed in vibrant pastel hues that seemed to complement your radiant personality, you looked utterly captivating in Satoru's eyes. He couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat at the sight of you, a rush of warmth flooding his chest as he marveled at your beauty.

As you set out together, exploring the nooks and crannies of the world outside the confines of the Jujutsu world, Satoru found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you. Every laugh, every smile, every twinkle in your eye seemed to etch itself into his memory, imprinting itself upon his heart in indelible ink.

Despite the uncertainty and chaos that often defined their lives as Jujutsu sorcerers, in that moment, everything seemed perfect. It was just the two of them, lost in the magic of the day, reveling in each other's company and the simple joy of being alive. And as Satoru watched you, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the precious moments they shared together, and the gift of your presence in his life.

As you and Satoru ventured deeper into the botanical garden, the serenity of the surroundings enveloped you like a comforting embrace. Each step you took seemed to lead you further away from the chaos of the world outside, immersing you in a tranquil oasis of greenery and blossoms.

The air was redolent with the delicate fragrance of flowers in full bloom, their perfumed scents mingling together to create a symphony of olfactory delight. Every inhalation fills your lungs with the sweet perfume of roses, lilies, and jasmine, transporting you to a realm of pure sensory bliss.

Sunlight filtered through the lush canopy overhead, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the verdant foliage below. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze provided a soothing soundtrack to your leisurely stroll, accompanied by the occasional chirp of a distant bird or the soft hum of buzzing insects.

As you meandered along the winding paths, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty that surrounded you. Vibrant bursts of color greeted your eyes at every turn, as though nature itself were putting on a dazzling display just for you.

You reached out to touch the velvety petals of a blooming rose, marveling at the delicate intricacy of its design. Satoru watched you with a fond smile, his own eyes alight with appreciation for the natural splendor that surrounded you.

Together, you continued to explore the botanical garden, each moment filled with a sense of peace and tranquility that seemed to wash away the cares of the world. In this enchanted sanctuary, time seemed to stand still, allowing you to savor every precious moment spent in each other's company amidst the beauty of nature.

As you strolled hand in hand, Satoru couldn't help but notice the way your eyes lit up with wonder at the sight of each new flower you encountered. He found himself captivated by the joy reflected in your expression, a stark contrast to the darkness that often clouded his own thoughts.

At one point, you paused in front of a bed of sunflowers, your favorite flowers, and exclaimed in delight at their cheerful appearance. Satoru watched you with a fond smile, taking in the way the golden petals seemed to dance in the gentle breeze, illuminated by the warm rays of the sun.

"What is it about sunflowers that you love so much?" he asked, genuinely curious to hear your thoughts. He admired the way your face lit up as you spoke about the flowers, your passion and enthusiasm shining through with every word.

You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you explained, "Sunflowers always remind me of hope and resilience. No matter how dark things may seem, they always find a way to turn towards the sun, seeking out its warmth and light. I find that incredibly inspiring."

Satoru listened intently, his heart swelling with warmth at the sincerity of your words. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the botanical garden and the company of someone he cherished deeply, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him.

As you continued your leisurely stroll through the garden, Satoru found himself feeling grateful for the simple moments of joy that you brought into his life. In your presence, he felt a glimmer of hope and optimism, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty to be found in the world. And for that, he was truly grateful.

In those ten years, not a day had gone by without Gojo Satoru thinking of you, longing for the warmth of your smile and the gentle touch of your hand. Your absence weighed heavily on his soul, a constant reminder of the void that had been left behind when you departed from this world.

As he stood before your grave, surrounded by a sea of sunflowers swaying in the breeze, Satoru felt a wave of bittersweet nostalgia wash over him. The vibrant blooms seemed to echo the radiant spirit you had embodied in life, their golden petals a testament to the joy and beauty you had brought into his world.

With trembling fingers, Satoru traced the letters of your name etched into the stone, each stroke a silent prayer for your peace and happiness in the afterlife. Though he couldn't bring himself to admit it, a part of him still clung to the hope that somehow, someway, you were still out there, watching over him from afar.

But deep down, Satoru knew the truth. You were gone, forever beyond his reach, and no amount of longing or regret could change that fact. And so, with a heavy heart, he bowed his head in silent reverence, offering up a silent vow to honor your memory for as long as he lived.

In that moment, amidst the sunflowers and the gentle rustle of leaves, Gojo Satoru found solace in the quiet beauty of your final resting place. And as he stood there, lost in his memories. Memories that were dried and gone, leaves that had seen autumn over and over. Memories that had gotten him through the coldest whispers of winter and frostbite.

As Satoru knelt before your grave, he couldn't shake the haunting realization that your soul was bound to this earth, tethered to Suguru by an unbreakable bond of love and guilt. He had messaged Suguru, informing him of your final resting place near Gojo Manor, but he knew deep down that Suguru wouldn't visit you. Not out of lack of care, but out of overwhelming guilt and remorse for the role he played in your tragic demise.

Suguru had loved you too much to let you go, and in his desperation to protect you, he had unwittingly sealed your fate. Your body lay here, beneath the soft earth and sunflower blooms, but your soul was intertwined with Suguru's, trapped in a perpetual cycle of longing and regret. He liked to believe that you split your soul, that somehow you gave him a part of you. To feel that he would not truly be alone. But he knew better than that. He was deluding himself. Still, he did not care. He promised to take care of you. And he would. He’d always take care of you, as he had these past ten years. As he would all his life.

As Satoru gazed upon your grave, a sense of profound sadness washed over him, mingling with the guilt and remorse that weighed heavily on his own heart. He had failed to protect you, failed to keep you safe from harm, and now he was left to mourn your loss in silence. No one truly could love you like he and Suguru had. No one knows this pain other than his best friend. 

"Hey there," he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Ten years... feels like a lifetime."

With a heavy heart, Gojo Satoru began to speak, his words a balm for the wounds that still lingered within him. He told you about his life over the past decade, the trials and tribulations he had faced, and the moments of joy that had flickered amidst the darkness. He talks as though you were still here. As though you were still alive. He teases one moment and he laughs about a memory the next. You were never dead to him. Not for one second in these past ten years did he get used to talking about you in the past tense.

He thinks his brain can’t ever process the thought. He could never understand it. And he has come to accept it, after all this time. Nothing about it would ever come to be the past. You will always be his present. You will always be his future. He did not doubt that one second.

"I've been doing my best to honor your memory," he confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "But it's never easy, you know? Sometimes, it feels like I'm just going through the motions, pretending that everything's okay when it's not."

As he spoke, Satoru's hand reached up to his silk bandages, lifting it away to reveal the vibrant blue eyes that had long been hidden from the world. You have loved his eyes at one point. You told him how they remind you of the blue sky in summer. Yet now that you were gone, he couldn't find it in his heart to let the world witness them again.

For a moment, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let his guard down and show you the depths of his pain. You were the one person, besides Suguru, that saw every facet of him. Perhaps you will always the the person left in this world, even when you weren't here anymore, that will see such side of him. You were the person he could only ever be so truthful to.

"I miss you," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "Every day, in every way, I miss you. And I wish... I wish I could turn back time, change the course of fate, and bring you back to me. But I know that's not possible."

With a heavy sigh, Satoru replaced his blindfold, shielding his eyes once more from the world. But as he rose to his feet and prepared to leave, a sense of peace settled over him. Though you were gone, your memory would live on in his heart forever, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume him.

"Rest well, my dear," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your headstone. "I'll always be here, watching over you. And I promise... I'll never forget you."

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // SEVENTEEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Now that you have regained your memories, you and Bian must set off in search of allies.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.6k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: hey…how y’all doing…sorry this chapter is so blech it’s a little transition thing so that the next arc can finally start in full LMAO i don’t really like it but it does what it has to

You threw the book away from you, earning a surprised squawk from Bian. She flapped her wings and drew back, the feathers of her crest standing on end in an attempt to look intimidating before smoothing down as she realized there was no imminent threat. Then, she cocked her head at you, cooing in confusion.

“That half-witted, self-involved, traitorous excuse for a person!” you said to her. “That — that — well, he is lucky I’ve only realized who I am now that I have already run away, or else I’d march to the palace and kill him myself!”

The Princess of the Earth Kingdom. The Princess of the Earth Kingdom. That was who you really were. The Soldiers of Agni had not been the ones to destroy the wing of the Earth Palace, you had. They were not the ones who had been vastly outnumbered in the face of opposition, you were. And the royal family of the Earth Kingdom had not entirely been killed during the coup, because you were still alive.

But — but did that mean Kuei was dead? Had they gone into Ba Sing Se and found him and murdered him? Your dear brother…there was such a low chance that he would’ve survived on his own, and an even lower chance that he would’ve escaped notice. Not with his bumbling, innocent worldview. Not with Bosco constantly at his side, drawing attention without even trying. Not without any way to defend himself, no bending or weapons or guards to speak of.

Then it had been meaningless. You had given up your life for nothing. Kuei was dead. The Avatar was dead — or, if he was not quite yet dead, then he would soon fall again at Princess Azula’s hands. Ba Sing Se had been conquered by the Fire Nation, and all the while you had been lounging around in the palace of the very country that had stolen your home, attending its school and befriending its people.

“Ursa,” you seethed, getting up and pacing restlessly, the ground shaking with your every step as your long-suppressed bending flared to life and ran wildly out of control. “A prisoner of the Earth Kingdom’s. Hilarious. Hilarious. Tortured for Fire Nation secrets! What a great story, huh, Bian? Lifted directly from Seven Soldiers of Agni, I’d wager! And all the while, I was his prisoner, and I didn’t even know it! I — I spoke so kindly to the person who ordered my execution…”

The ground stopped shaking as your anger faded, replaced with a bout of the mourning you had not yet been allowed to feel. Mourning for your brother, who you would never see again. Mourning for those days you had spent with Lee and Mushi, which were the few in which you had truly been happy. Mourning for your subjects, who were now in the grasp of the Fire Nation, likely under even more oppressive conditions than before.

“What can I even do now?” you whispered, though you had no illusions that anyone would answer. There was no Quynh to advise you this time. You had to do it yourself. You had to make the decisions.

Yet, you had attempted such a thing before, hadn’t you? You had tried to do the right thing back in the Earth Palace. You had sacrificed yourself to save your brother, to buy your kingdom time, but you had been ultimately unsuccessful. The only decisions you had ever made for yourself had been the wrong ones. So how could you be sure that the next ones you made would not be more of the same? How could you be sure when there was such a high probability that you would once again choose incorrectly?

“I am lost,” you admitted to Bian, a tear rolling down your cheek, followed by another, and then another. “I am utterly lost. I have nary a clue where to go next.”

Bian blinked at you. She was the only one around who you could talk to, but of course, you should not have expected her to be able to talk back. She wasn’t a spirit in the way of Quynh. She was just a regular, if not spectacularly bred and incredibly intelligent, bird.

There was no point in dawdling about hopelessly. Once the sun rose properly, Jia-Li would awaken and realize that you were gone for good. And then — and then you could expect the worst. There was no way that the Fire Nation would allow you to live, not now that you knew your true identity. There was no way Prince Zuko would allow you to jeopardize him like that. You had only this one night before the royal forces were sent after you.

“I have to find allies,” you said as you attempted to calm yourself by recounting the supplies you had brought with you.

It was the most important thing. If you wanted a chance at retaking your kingdom, then you needed people on your side, people who had the strength to back you up in that endeavor. A few days ago, the only allies you could claim to have had were Jia-Li and Ty Lee, but the situation had changed drastically, and now, they could both be considered nothing but enemies.

Your best chance lay in finding Katara, Sokka, and the rest of the Southern Water Tribe forces. Although their fleet was nothing magnificent, it was at least a starting point, one which you desperately needed. From there, you would take their advice into consideration as you tried to figure out a way to regain your kingdom from the clutches of the Fire Nation.

You slept fitfully, restlessly, awakening often and gazing up at the moon before uneasily convincing yourself to rest for just a little longer. The effect was that by the time the blazing sun began to rise in the cloudless sky, you were no less exhausted than you had been when it had set.

“We must be off,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder and whistling for Bian, who had flown off some minutes ago to hunt. When she did not appear immediately, you whistled again, holding out your arm for her to perch on. “Bian! We hardly have the time for this!”

There was a furious shriek, and then Bian tumbled out of the air, one of her wings bent at an awkward angle as a raven eagle dove after her with claws outstretched. Although she could not fly, she still snapped at her foe, her fearsome beak bloody around the corners, a streak of red upon the raven eagle’s breast where she must’ve been able to catch him.

“Bian!” you shouted, racing over to catch her and holding her to your chest as the raven eagle pulled out of its dive, too cowardly to face a foe so much larger than it. It screeched at you in contempt before soaring up out of the forest and out of view. You ignored it, setting Bian on the ground and using the ends of your sleeves to wipe at her beak. “Why would you do that? Why did you challenge that awful bird?”

Bian offered you her leg. At first, you thought she was trying to show you another injury, but beyond her broken wing, she seemed to have escaped the scuffle unscathed. Seconds later, you realized she was clutching a rolled up scroll tightly in her claws, only relinquishing it when you pressed on it with your pointer finger.

“Where did you find this?” you said. It was sealed with the stamp of the Fire Nation military, though you doubted that that raven eagle had any association with the army. Likely it had intercepted some official communications, and Bian, who had after all once been a Fire Nation bird, had attacked him for the treachery.

There wasn’t much written on the note, but for you, who had just regained your memories, it was yet another foundation-shaking statement.

The Avatar lives. Alert the Fire Lord immediately.

The Avatar was alive. Aang was alive, and he must’ve hale, for such an urgent letter to be sent off to the military, which meant that there was hope. If — if you could just reach him before Princess Azula did, then there was hope. Returning to Ba Sing Se would not be such a fever dream if you had the Avatar at your side, and you scooped Bian back into your arms, kissing her between her eyes.

“You always bring me such lovely things, Bian,” you said. She cooed at you plaintively, and you winced in dismay as you realized her wing hung uselessly at her side, her body shaking in your hands from the pain of the destruction of her frail bones. “And this is the thanks you receive. From what I recall, there is a village nearby, and there should be someone who can treat you in it. We will do that first, and from there, we will figure out some way to find the Avatar.”

Strangely, as you trekked through the forest, you found yourself grateful for your enrollment at the academy. This was exactly the kind of situation you had run drills for, and whereas in your years as the princess of the Earth Kingdom you would’ve run out of breath or fallen or underwent some other, similar calamity, your time as Ursa of the Fire Nation had prepared you for this.

It was the last gift Prince Zuko had given you, unwittingly though it may have been. By sending you to that school, he had inadvertently prepared you to be his most dangerous enemy — made more dangerous for the fact that he must have believed you still loved him, or at least held enough affection for him that you’d excuse his actions upon coming to know of them.

You didn’t excuse them. How could you? He had taken everything from you, and then he had dragged you back to his nation without any care for how it might make you feel. What selfishness! What ignorance! What folly! It was blindness on his part, to imagine that a bear could flourish in a land of phoenixes, to truly believe that you could’ve been happy in the Fire Nation for any extended amount of time.

You made it to the village by noon, and though there was no reason for anyone there to recognize you, you ducked your head as you raced to the post office, where all mail brought to the village was kept to be sorted and distributed into mailboxes. Because of the large influx of messenger hawks that went back and forth from the post office, you were more likely to find help for Bian there than anyone else.

“Excuse me, postmaster, sir,” you said, bowing at the man who was sitting at the counter behind piles of letters. “Might I trouble you for a moment?”

“What is it?” he said gruffly, clearly irritated by your request. You wilted at the unsaid rebuke, but then you straightened your shoulders again. It didn’t matter if the man was annoyed — Bian needed help, and you would get it for her.

“My hawk, I think her wing is broken,” you said, placing Bian on the counter and shushing her when she tried to flap away in vain. The postmaster squinted at her.

“She’s a fine example of the species,” he said, a note of suspicion entering his tone. “Where’d you find such a lovely creature? And why’d you let her get in this condition? Birds such as her are meant to be ornaments, symbols of status, not actual messengers.”

Yet another thing Prince Zuko had neglected to tell you. Well, this you could not blame him for; Bian was not the sort to sit around and be a status symbol. Flying and working and fighting were a part of her nature, and she would be miserable without those outlets for her energy.

“She’s mine,” you said. “I got her in the capital city. You know that they only sell the finest of wares there. Though, of course, I could not afford a hawk for mere decorative purposes, so it’s true that I use her to send my letters.”

The postmaster scoffed. “Idiot.”

“Look, is it possible for her to be healed?” you said, rolling your eyes when he bent to inspect Bian’s wing. “That’s all I’m asking for, sir.”

Now that you remembered who you were, it felt odd to be so deferential to a person who you outranked so vastly. Unfortunately, at least for now, everyone thought you were nothing but another common girl, which meant that just about any person you conversed with had to be addressed with respect.

“She’ll be alright in a couple of weeks,” he said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a piece of cloth, wrapping it around Bian’s wing so that it was flush to her body. “You’ll have to carry her around and take care of her in the meantime, but as long as you’re willing to do that, she’ll be able to fly again soon enough. It’ll be like she was never injured.”

“Yes, of course,” you said, sighing in relief at the thought that she would make a full recovery. “Thank you for your help. Did you hear, Bian? You’ll be okay.”

“You named her Bian?” the postmaster said. “What, have you been engaging with the colony trash?”

“Pardon?” you said. “What did you just say?”

“The colonies are such a blight on the Fire Nation,” he said. “Infecting even good and proper girls like you with their backwards customs and words. It’s a disgrace.”

The colonies was the general term used to refer to the Earth Kingdom villages which had fallen to Fire Nation rule. You had never been to any, but from what you had gathered, they were hotbeds of strife and inequality, where the Fire Nation soldiers lorded over the native Earth Kingdom citizens.

Of course — you had not realized it when you had given it to her, but Bian’s name was Earth Kingdom, so the postmaster was not entirely incorrect in guessing that you were from the colonies or had spent some days there. That was not what you were so horrified by — it was the latter part of his accusation, the notion of the Earth Kingdom citizens infecting the Fire Nation, which you took offense to.

Your people were not the invaders. Your people were not the aggressors. Your people had been living in peace until the Fire Nation attacked. If there was any blight, it was them, those destructive forces who burnt and burnt until the world fell to their feet. They were the stain upon the earth, so on what moral authority could this postmaster stand and claim that you were the disgraceful ones?

“Hm,” you said, though you longed to shout at him. There would be no gain from a burst of anger, though. It would only serve to give away your disguise, and you could not have that, not when you were still close enough to the capital that you could be easily tracked down by Prince Zuko and his ilk if you made even a single misstep. “Maybe so.”

“Do you need anything else? I’ll suffer pay cuts if I don’t get this mail sorted by evening,” the postmaster said.

“Pay cuts? You’re a government employee, aren’t you? Your pay shouldn’t be cut without extreme circumstances demanding it,” you said.

“It’s a new policy that Fire Lord Ozai’s put into place,” the postmaster said. “Those not performing to expected capacity will be punished, even though expected capacity is such an unrealistic goal. I haven’t seen my family in a week! I’ve just been sorting mail, mail, and more mail! But, ah, that’s not to say I’m complaining. All hail the royal family!”

“All hail the royal family,” you repeated, as was customary, even though the words were sour on your tongue. “Though that’s certainly a strange development.”

“It’s fine,” the postmaster said. “The Fire Lord is right, as per usual. If even one piece of a machine is not running smoothly, then the entire construction is forfeit. Maybe it doesn’t seem important, but if I am deficient in my work, then the entire nation will be that much delayed.”

“Very well,” you said. “If that’s how you wish to view it, I shan’t stop you. In fact, I’ll leave you to it, though not without a final question: is there any kind of transport that I can take to get somewhere else?”

“Depends on where you want to go,” he said, hunching over the pile of mail again and beginning to sort once more, eyes flicking up to meet yours when he spoke and then returning to his task immediately after.

“I’m not sure,” you said. “Just somewhere far from here.”

Belatedly, you realized you probably sounded even more suspicious, which was not a good thing, considering the postmaster was already likely questioning you, but luckily, he did not say anything beyond humming.

“I know of a couple that’s rented a carriage to take them to some southern hospital. You could probably ask to go along with them,” he said.

You brightened. The south was as good of a place to start as any; either way, it was in a different direction from the capital city, so even if the trip did not take you to the Avatar, it would deposit you in a place that was further from Prince Zuko’s reach than you were at present.

“Thank you,” you said. “And where might I find them?”

“The town square, most likely,” he said.

“Farewell, then,” you said, tucking Bian under your arm as you raced off. She did not protest, closing her eyes and enjoying the breeze as you sprinted towards the town square, hoping you would not miss the rental carriage’s departure.

As you skidded to a stop in front of a fountain, you huffed in relief when you saw a pregnant woman standing beside a man with a bag slung across his back. Though you had no description to go off of, you were willing to bet money that they were the couple that the postmaster had been referring to, and, after taking a second to catch your breath, you put on your best smile and walked over to bow at the couple.

“Hello, sir, madam,” you said. “I heard from the postmaster that you’ve rented a carriage to go to a southern hospital.”

“Yes, we did. It should be arriving soon,” the woman said.

“Why?” the man said warily, shifting so that he was standing half in front of the woman protectively.

“If you are not opposed, I should like to join you on your journey,” you said, poking Bian in the side. She squawked at you in indignation, and though you momentarily felt bad for bothering her when she was already injured, the noise served to draw the couple’s attention to her. Giving them a winning smile, you brandished Bian in front of you. “As you can see, my messenger hawk is injured. I am hoping to go to that same hospital and seek medical care for her.”

Bian cocked her head at them, blinking in a way that you could only pray they found charming. The man and woman exchanged looks.

“I didn’t know they treated animals, too,” the woman said, rubbing her stomach unsurely.

“Given the state of the, um, economy, they’ve expanded their client base,” you said, batting your own eyelashes. “I shall recompense you upon arrival, naturally.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” the man said, though you doubted he trusted you any.

“Thank you, sir. I promise you will not regret this!” you said.

“I sure hope not,” he said. Bian nipped your hand, and you shook your head before setting her on your shoulder, though not without reprimanding her for the impolite behavior.

“You won’t!”

The carriage rolled into the square only minutes later, and you thanked Quynh internally for sending you into the town at just the right time. Only a bit of a delay and you would’ve been stuck traveling by foot, but instead you would be making your way across the Fire Nation in relative style, taking up your own bench in the carriage and letting Bian rest atop your bags beside you.

“So, what’s your name?” the woman said as the carriage rolled off. You almost responded with Ursa out of habit, but you stopped yourself just in time. You didn’t want to wear anything associated with Prince Zuko, not even a name, and if the couple happened to be questioned at any point, then you did not want your well-known moniker to fall from their lips.

“Jia-Li,” you said easily, borrowing the first Fire Nation name you could think of, apologizing to your likely-frantic roommate as you did so. You had no specific quarrel with her, after all. One day, eventually, when she joined her nation’s army and became your enemy in full, you would not think of her so fondly, but for the moment, she was nothing more than a girl who had been kind to you. Your friend. “My name is Jia-Li.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she said.

“Thank you,” you said. You recognized that you probably ought to ask them for their names in return, but you did not. They were, after all, doing you a great favor by letting you ride in the carriage with them, and you would not repay their kindness with understanding.

If you knew their names, then you could incriminate them as accomplices in your escape, should you ever be captured or otherwise under duress. No, unawareness was the best policy. Maybe you’d seem ruder for it, but it was for their own good that you did so.

“I’m due to give birth soon,” the woman said after an awkward moment where no one spoke. “That’s why we’re going to the southern hospital, you see.”

“Do you expect complications?” you said.

“Every woman in my line has died in childbirth,” she said. “My mother, and her mother before her, and hers before her, so on and so forth. It’s like a curse. We’re hoping that, with the advancements in medicine that have taken place recently, there’s a chance I won’t fall victim to it as well. The southern hospital is supposedly the best in all the Fire Nation — we’ve been on the waitlist for an appointment for months.”

“Oh,” you said, staring out of the window at the scenery flashing by. “My mother died in childbirth as well. I suppose we have that in common.”

Or maybe not. Maybe Sokka’s hunch had been right and Long Feng had had some hand in her death, too. Maybe childbirth was just an easy way to explain her demise, which would’ve been unnatural in any other circumstance. You wouldn’t put it past the scheming Grand Secretariat and his Dai Li underlings, who had proven they would do anything for just a little bit more power.

That was the first thing you’d do, you vowed. As soon as you had your kingdom back, you would put every single one of those horrible people that had had a hand in your parents’ deaths and Ba Sing Se’s fall on trial. None of them would be spared. Even if it took days, you would bring each of them to justice. Perhaps it was a vindictive thought to have, but it made you feel better to think it, so you did not allow anything resembling a conscience to demand you stop.

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

“I mourn who she might’ve been,” you said. “But not who she was. I never knew her, after all. Though I thank you for it, you should save your concern for those in direr need.”

The closer and closer you got to the southern hospital, the more the man fretted, fussing over his wife, who seemed to be perpetually near tears. You did not blame either of them; the prospect of the woman’s possibly imminent death was sickening for you, too, and you did not even know her that well.

It was mystifying to you. If she knew that she had such a high chance of dying while giving birth, why had she chosen to conceive? It made no sense. It was an entirely avoidable form of death, and despite the insensitive nature of the query, you posed the question to her.

“Because,” she said without even taking the time to think, squeezing her husband’s hand, “there’s a chance.”

“A chance?” you said.

“A chance,” she affirmed. “That I’ll survive. That our baby will be healthy. That we can have the family we’ve dreamed of. It’s a small chance, admittedly. Maybe even a minuscule one. Most people call us insane for risking it. I’m sure you think the same. But the truth is that, as long as that chance exists, I have to rely on it. We have to.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?” you said.

“Maybe not to some,” she said. “Everyone has to decide what they value, and then they just have to do what they can in pursuit of that thing.”

You were silent for a second, swallowing, gathering your thoughts, finding boldness in the anonymity of the conversation. They did not know you, and you did not know them, and it gave you the confidence to say something you would not dare vocalize to anyone else.

“What if a person values two things that are in conflict?” you said. “Say, their home and someone they love. What then?”

It was the man who spoke up this time. “If they really love that person, then they’ll do as that person wishes, even if it’s difficult. Even if it means they can’t have something else they desire.”

He glanced at the woman when he spoke, and you realized that he must have been speaking from personal experience.

“I see,” you said. “I guess it must be like that.”

It was a confirmation of what you had thought — that Prince Zuko had never loved you, not like you had loved him. You had given him everything, had allowed him through Quynh’s Door, and all the while, he had felt nothing for you. He had been pretending. You had told him the way to get into the palace, and he had seized the opportunity you had presented him with.

That was all you were to him. That was all you had ever been. An opportunity. A key. A door. What a stupid girl you were, to think he had ever thought of you as anything but Princess Y/N, his very own entrance to the Earth Palace.

“We’re really worried,” the man confided in you as the woman slept. “It took so long for the hospital to agree to see us, and longer to find a rental carriage willing to travel so far. If anything happens and we’re late to the appointment, I’m afraid they’ll turn us away. As it is, we’ll probably arrive with only an hour to spare.”

“I’m sure there won’t be any issues,” you said. Almost on cue, the carriage caught on something, and then it rolled to a stop. You swore under your breath before pursing your lips, not wanting to seem even impoliter than you already had.

“What’s happening?” the man said in a panic, pulling the curtains back and peering out the window. His wife woke with a start, glancing around, still dazed.

“What’s going on?” she echoed.

“By my estimates, it’s a routine stop. Perhaps one of the dragon moose grew tired and needed to be given water. There’s nothing to fret about,” you soothed, though you had no clue whether that was the truth or not. “I’m sure we’ll get going in just a few moments.”

The carriage door opened, and the driver entered, hunching over to fit in the doorway as he looked at you all with a grave expression.

“It seems we’ve hit someone,” he said.

“What?” the man shrieked.

“As in, they’re dead?” you said.

“No, they’re living, but they’re demanding payment for the injuries and trauma,” he said.

“Go on, then,” you said. “Pay them.”

“The company I work for doesn’t give us extra allowance for accidents,” the driver said. “It’s stated in the terms of the contract that passengers are responsible for additional fees incurred during the trip.”

“Just negotiating is going to take a while,” the man said, pale-faced. “Not to mention any savings we didn’t waste on hiring you are meant to pay for the hospital visit. We don’t have any extra!”

“You’ve possibly wounded the child for life,” the carriage driver said dully. “Yet you’re still being stingy?”

You frowned as you watched the back and forth, the way the woman’s eyes had widened and grown glossy with tears, the way the man’s fists were clenched to disguise the trembling of his hands. Though the situation was so different, you were reminded of Ba Sing Se. Here, too, the ordinary people were suffering. And here, too, though they were not your people, you felt a sense of duty prevailing in you, commanding you to help.

“I’ll deal with it,” you said. “You, just get them to the hospital as soon as possible. They have an appointment that they cannot miss.”

“But Jia-Li, what about your bird?” the woman said.

“Eh?” you said. She pointed at Bian. “Oh, we’ll, um, find another doctor nearby. You ought to worry only for your own condition, madam.”

“Thank you, miss,” the man said.

“Consider this my payment for the ride and the advice,” you said. “I thank you for both, and I pray that your child may be born with a good spirit and a healthy mother. May Agni be with you always.”

“You as well,” the woman said.

“We won’t ever forget what you’ve done for us,” the man promised you. “This may be the last time we meet, but we’ll remember you.”

You smiled at them, picking up your bag of things in one hand and Bian in the other.

“I’ll think of you often,” you promised, kicking the door shut behind you and hopping off the carriage, waving at the carriage driver to indicate that he could leave without you before turning to the scene of the wreck — only to find that there was no wreck, just a familiar boy standing and staring at you with a dropped jaw.

“Princess — Princess — Princess Y/N? Is that really you?” he said.

Your bag fell from your hands in shock as you comprehended who you were looking at. Placing Bian on the ground, you took a step forward, reaching your hands out, trying to ascertain if he was real or not.

“Sokka?” you said. “Sokka, what are you doing here? Why do I always encounter you in these strange, random places?”

“I should be asking you the same question!” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead right now?”

“Yes,” you said, and then you were throwing your arms around him and hugging him tightly, so relieved to finally have found one true ally, one person who knew who you really were. His own arms wound around your back, and unbidden, your lower lip began to tremble as the safety of his embrace finally allowed you to unabashedly weep. “Yes, I should be dead. I thought I was dead.”

“Looks like your brother threw a fit over nothing,” a new voice said — Toph! It was Toph, springing to her feet from where she had been lying in the road, dusting herself off. “I mean, honestly, I get that he was sad and all, but an escape is not exactly the moment to throw yourself to the ground and bawl and dramatically swear you’ll never leave the city your sister is buried in! It’s a miracle we dragged him and Bosco away.”

“What?” you said. “Do you — Do you mean to say that my brother is alive?”

“Yeah, he is,” Toph said. “He ran off to explore the Earth Kingdom and find himself, though. Something about how if ‘his dear baby sister could be so brave, then it was about time he started doing the same.’”

“Kuei,” you said, overcome with a wave of affection for your brother. He was alive. Somehow, despite the odds, despite everything working against him, he had made it. He had found the others, and he had survived, which meant you could see him again. The two of you could reclaim Ba Sing Se together, united in your efforts instead of carrying each other’s banners in memory.

“He really loves you,” Sokka said. “It’s one of the few things I have to give to him. He’s a lot of things, but a bad brother isn’t one of them.”

You wiped away your tears, letting go of Sokka and stooping down to grab your bag and the discarded Bian, who thankfully did not seem too miffed about the proceedings, nudging you with her beak in what you could only assume was her method of showing you affection.

“He’s the most wonderful brother,” you said. “I didn’t always appreciate that, but I will make sure to tell him every hour of every day once we may meet again.”

“That’s cheesy,” Toph said. “But kinda cute.”

“Wait, Toph,” you said. “This is a little bit unrelated, but were you the one that the carriage hit?”

“Uh,” Toph said, scratching the back of her neck.

“Well,” Sokka said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Kind of?” Toph said.

Your jaw dropped as you realized what they had done, and, looking around to make sure no one was watching, you lifted a pebble using your Earthbending and flicked it into Sokka’s forehead. This earned you a wounded yelp from him and a cackling laugh from Toph, who you had not bothered attacking on account of her seismic sense.

“You buffoons,” you said. “Did you seriously try to scam me?”

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[fanfic-obsessed]

Anakin Faces Consequences

Thank you @killjoypolitics for the submission

I love all your ideas! I was wondering if you had any ideas for a fix-it where the Jedi or Clones (somehow) prevent Order 66 from happening but Anakin still falls. How do you think the Jedi/Senate/public would respond to his attempted murder of the Jedi? Or the marriage? Or the murder of the Sand People? I’m just so curious as to how you think people would handle it! Do you think Anakin would be able to admit he was wrong and try and make up for what he did?

Hmm those are some intriguing questions. Reading them did give me some immediate ideas. Let’s explore them. 

I think, for this to work, we need to shift some behind the scenes for the Clone Wars. To start with Anakin’s…let's call them his less than stellar command decisions is noticed and noted, even if no one can do anything about them (because he is technically not doing anything wrong). It damages the trust the Clones, other Jedi, and even his own Padawan have in him.  These decisions include but are not limited to: Spending Clone lives to collect R2D2 (whose memory-properly wiped of sensitive information- is backed up to the central Jedi Temple databanks and had outright stated that it had no attachment to its current body), Anakin’s focus on Padme during the Blue Shadow virus, and his reaction to the Rako Hardeen arc (he was literally the only person in Obi Wan’s life to react poorly to finding out Obi Wan went undercover and faked his death, everyone else got Opspec). 

So by the time of the Wrong Jedi arc, no one is actually trusting Anakin with any more information than they absolutely need to. He kind of doesn’t notice because he wasn’t paying that much attention in the first place.  When the Senate demands Padawan Ahsoka Tano for the temple bombing, the Council calls her in to see them, without Anakin, and ‘We know you are innocent, we know this is a trap of some kind, would you be willing to go along to spring the trap and hopefully find who is framing you’ and Ahoska, being partially trained by Obi Wan, agrees.

No one tells Anakin. At the end of the Arc, Ahsoka agrees to continue undercover (as having left the Jedi) and working with the Shadows to figure out what is going on. So Ahsoka ‘leaves’ the Jedi, Anakin none the wiser. She also starts working much more closely with the Coruscant Guard (who had been aware that she was innocent and going along with things to spring the trap). 

This brings us to where Fives finds out about the chips, reports to Rex and Anakin, then is ‘killed’ (his death was faked and he was sent to join Ahsoka).  Anakin suppresses the report because he does not believe that his friend Palpatine could do anything like that. He orders Rex to ignore the report as well, specifically not to bring it up to the Jedi Council. But he does it in a way that still implies Anakin will be bringing it up to the appropriate authorities.  Rex does not trust Anakin, particularly not with anything that would make Palpatine look bad. However if Rex did an end run and went directly to the Jedi Council, it would be very obvious. So instead Rex reached out to Ahsoka with Fives report. 

Ahsoka, now working with the Shadows, gets the report and they are able to investigate the chips.  Though they cannot remove them, for fear that the wrong person will find out too early and activate the rest, they are able to quickly find and manufacture a way to neutralize the control portion of the chips. 

This brings us up to ROTS. To Order 66 and Anakin’s fall.  Anakin leads the march on the temple, and the 501st follow along (not sure where he was going with this), until Anakin strikes down a temple guard while ordering them to open fire. Had it been almost any other Battalion with almost any other Jedi, the Fallen Jedi would have been able to kill many more before he could be stopped.  But the 501st learned some difficult lessons from Pong Krell and Anakin was not gnarly as trusted as he thought.  Anakin is stunned.

Palpatine’s Empire as announced but without the control chips to make the clones kill the Jedi, Palpatine’s Empire lasts 3 days which end with Palpatine’s death. It takes another two weeks for everything to calm down enough to bring Anakin forward to face what he had done. 

Palpatine’s former supporters, the ones that are not outed and ousted during the transformation from Republic to Empire and back, flock to Anakin as the wronged party. Their spin is that Anakin was moving to protect the legal head of the government from an insurrection in the form of the Jedi. 

It gained no traction, because even though Palpatine’s Empire lasted 3 days, it was still enough to see how many of these people would react. Frankly, there were more than a few of those supporters (beings like Tarkin) whose support of Anakin did more harm to the cause than good. 

For many of the Jedi, Anakin’s actions didn’t really rate notice. Not above the horror of the chips, both from the view of ‘all of us would have died’ and ‘the clones would have been forced to kill us’.  Throughout the war Anakin had, mostly unconsciously, been distancing himself from the Jedi. A distance which grew as they realized he could not really be trusted. 

 For most there was sadness, of course, as more of his actions from the war and just before are revealed. But it was the sadness of an old friend going down the wrong path, not the betrayal of current family trying to hurt them.   Finding out Anakin had betrayed his oaths by marrying Padme and had committed murder was just one more thing that had happened. 

The public reaction was mixed. Many bought into ‘The Hero with No Fear’ mythos and could not believe he would attack the Jedi without reason, even after he admitted that his reason was Padme not anything the Jedi had done.  The scandal of it, though, keeps it in the public eye. And it is a seemingly unending  well of scandal for Anakin, Padme, and any number of their supporters.  Not the least of which is the news that Anakin murdered the Tuskans, but Padme’s forgiving him for it was legally binding (As she was acting as a Senator) so he could never be prosecuted for the murders, even if Tatooine and the Tuskens could make an official complaint about his behavior. That Anakin then married Padme made it even worse. 

I think, for Anakin himself, if he gets to the point of falling he would not be willing to admit he had done anything wrong. He seems like the kind of person who would double down and insist that he was right for his decisions.

[alicent-vi-britannia]

Why does Shirley have to die?

One of the most frequent comments I found while browsing when I entered this fandom and it bothered me greatly was that Shirley's death was useless, which reflected a lack of understanding of the series and the character of Shirley and her relationship with Lelouch and Suzaku. So today I'll explain what the effects of Shirley's murder were.

Broadly speaking, Shirley's murder serves as a catalyst between the first and second half of the second season. Likewise, Shirley's sad murder resonates with the main theme of the series and influences the narrative arcs of Lelouch and Suzaku.

1. Shirley's death was what pushed Lelouch to change his plans for the Geass Cult. Instead of controlling the orphans who had been turned into Geass users, Lelouch decided to destroy the Geass Cult by decimating the children and scientists who participated in the project by organizing a clandestine operation with the Black Knights.

1.1. This operation will later become one of the reasons why the Black Knights will betray Lelouch. It's information that is leaked to Asahina, a member of the Four Holy Swords, and reaches through him Tohdoh, who, together with Ohgi, were the ones who convinced the rest of the Black Knights that they were angry with Zero for abandoning them in the middle of the takeove of the Tokyo Settlement. So the massacre of the Geass Cult influenced the betrayal of Tohdoh, one of the pillars in the Order of the Black Knights and most loyal to their leader.

1.2. Additionally, the Black Knights' attack on the Geass Cult resulted in the death of V.V. and attracted the Emperor who took the code from V.V. and then attempted to initiate the Ragnarök Connection in episode 15, but C.C. prevented this by sealing her code and suppressing her memories. Something that will influence Lelouch's isolation. Also, in the massacre of the Geass Cult, Lelouch captured Cornelia, which will be important in the future.

2. Shirley's death was what pushed Suzaku over the edge and motivated him to coerce Kallen through refrain to get confirmation that Zero was behind her murder. About to do so, Suzaku realized that he was about to become completely corrupted and begins to rethink his beliefs and methods for the first time. It's because of this incident with Kallen that Suzaku is willing to reunite with Lelouch and team up with him, even if it means abandoning Britannia. But, well, Schneizel ambushes the two former friends and makes Lelouch believe that Suzaku betrayed him once again. Consequently, Lelouch is determined to kill Suzaku in revenge, but it turns out badly due to the cursed order he gave him long ago and which causes the total annihilation of the Tokyo Settlement, something that will mark a turning point in Suzaku's narrative arc and It will also affect Lelouch...

3. Shirley's death was a turning point in Lelouch and Rolo's relationship. It was a relationship in which love and hate were quite balanced, but, after this event, Lelouch leaned towards hate. I'll talk more about this point in my analysis of Rolo's motivations for killing Shirley, so that's all I'll say for now. I'll add that, if Mao made him realize that Geass can corrupt the user and Euphemia's death made Lelouch realize that Geass is an evil power, Shirley's death made Lelouch realize that Geass will condemn him to isolation (damn, Lelouch saw a lot of red flags and kept going; I don't know whether to call it idiocy or determination). At the same time, he realized how terrible the power of Geass is in the hands of a child and became terrified that all Geass users were like Rolo, which is why he thinks it is better to eradicate the Geass Cult and not control them.

4. Shirley's death is linked to the main theme of the series (will) and, in a certain way, influenced the epiphany that Lelouch will have in the final stretch of the series. Rolo didn't get into a vehicle, he drove to Shirley's house and got out to shoot her. No. Shirley was murdered, following her will. She abandoned the security force that was guarding her because she wanted to offer her help to Lelouch. To paraphrase Lelouch's words to Schneizel in the series' penultimate episode, people are actively seeking happiness, and for Shirley, her happiness was with Lelouch. Even though Lelouch erases her memory over and over again to protect her, Shirley will always do what her will dictates, and that includes falling in love with him again. Shirley's firm resolve, added to that of other characters, is what teaches Lelouch to value human beings' will and constant pursuit of happiness.

In short, Shirley's death is what leads to most of the events that occur in the second part of R2. Without that, the Zero Requiem doesn't even take place. For all this, it is ridiculous that the alternate universe continues with the same events as the canonical universe, but, well, nothing makes sense in the alternate universe (hence it is complete garbage and I'll maintain this statement until the last day of my existence.)

Having said that. If anyone still wants to be angry about Shirley's death, they have to change their focus on her. The point isn't that Shirley's murder adds nothing to the plot (we already saw that it isn't true); but this seems to show that Shirley is a "woman in refrigerator." This is a term coined by Gail Simone to refer to female characters who face disproportionate harm, which will serve as a plot device to motivate male characters. The term was used to talk about situations in Western comics, but can be extrapolated to other media. Is Shirley a "woman in refrigerator"? I would say yes, but I think that term should be applied when there are female characters who have great potential and the authors don't exploit it, but rather prefer to reduce them to a motivation for the current male hero. And Shirley is not Kallen (an action heroine and Knightmare pilot, whose talent and skill can change the flow of a battle), she is not C.C. (an Immortal Witch who knows all the secrets of Geass and is clandestinely working with our protagonist's worst enemy for her own interests), she is not Euphemia (a princess in the Holy Empire of Britannia who can challenge the status quo and change the system from the inside), she is not Nina (a prodigy in science, capable of creating a weapon of mass destruction). She's only Shirley. An innocent civilian trapped in a bloody war. She cannot contribute more than she can, so let's not ask for pears from the elm.

I really wanted to write this analysis! I just removed a thorn that was stuck. I feel better.

[princesslizzyfnafton]

…Eliza..?

-🥀

Hello? Who is this?

[the-daiz]

Flashy flash (and sonic's) emotional depth

idk what to call this. It’s a character analysis ig?🤷 Anyway, I was thinking about this and wanted to talk about it. Excuse me if I sound stupid or something, I don't do this often. spoilers for the manga and webcomic (ninja arc) Long post ahead

I was thinking, as one does, about the ideal romantic partner for Flashy flash. This is all of course very fanon based because realistically most opm cast are not even semi-datable or fit to be in a healthy, fulfilling relationship (who cares about realistic here though, this is a fanfic blog), but it made me start wondering about Flashy flash's complexity and the possibly suppressed psychological affects the ninja village had/has on him, and how isolation, deprivation and abandonment at a young age probably affected him.

When Flashy flash is first introduced in the series, he shows few emotions/expressions, just the same stoic face with a fitting, confidently arrogant attitude. Even as the story progresses and we see him interact with other characters, such as fellow heroes and even Saitama, while, yes, there is a greater depth to his character now, he's still rather self-pretentious.

I'm not trying to say that there is nothing to him but his stuck-up-ness, but that the most we've seen of him thus far is him being, to simply put it, self-absorbed.

It's only in the Ninjas arc, where the fated reunion between him and Sonic finally occurs, that a more complex version of him is finally brought to light. In my perspective, at the very least.

in the webcomic, it’s revealed that Flashy flash wiped out his entire ninja class, including sonic, but instead of murdering him brutally head-on, he decided to poison him out of mercy. That obviously didn’t work.

his motive behind killing his class was to rid evil from this world, starting with his origins, or the origins of his darkness.

After that, he left the village and lived a life of honor and pride as a hero, and in doing so, removing himself from his past and (almost) completely forgetting about the village.

until he stood face-to-face with Sonic, his old comrade and his failed assassination , after 9 years.

flash forward a bit to the fight between empty void and Sonic + flashy flash. Flashy flash almost gets tricked by “god” via a vision of younger Sonic telling younger flash that they’re going to finally build the ideal ninja village they used to talk about.

Flashy flash’s swift willingness and lack of skepticism makes me believe that he had truly never removed himself from his past.

That all those years he ‘forgot’ about those precious memories, was just him suppressing his regret.

I don’t believe flash regretted wiping out his clan, but I do believe he always (in the far far farrr depths of his mind) longed for a different outcome, where he could’ve built that village with Sonic, and gave orphans the freedom to become strong on their own conditions and have their own goals and dreams. But that’s pretty telling from the vision the cube made for him.

Anyhow, his past never passed, it was just suppressed. He, as an individual now, is still shrouded by those hidden affects of his upbringing.

And it manifests in parts of his character, like his need to be recognized and in the spotlight (noting how irked he got when Saitama kept forgetting his name), his pride, and his drive for power (but that’s pretty lowkey).

That being said, he is emotionally unstable, but anyone can figure that much out.

Why can’t I confidently say the same things about Sonic, though? He was also brought up in the ninja village, alongside flashy flash no less.

While Flashy flash lacks emotional intelligence, Sonic excels in it to a surprising degree, considering his similarly dull past.

This can be seen in the ‘One punch man special 3: A ninja who’s too complicated’ where the viewer gets to witness a more meaningful side of Sonic and his average daily life, as well as watching him form decent emotional bonds. Like with the tiny wild boar “Ino” and the hunter “Frank” in the forest.

On to my main point: in the OVA, he navigates his emotions regarding Saitama, including the fear he felt in regards of facing him again. While training, he recognizes these feelings and where they stem from, and works to improve not only his physical capabilities but also his mental clarity in order to overcome those fears and have the will power to face his destined nemesis once more. While it’s true that at first he was denying his fear, he still managed to accept and harness it by the end of his training.

And he successfully does. Even after being defeated time and time again by Saitama, he uses it as another lesson, a sign that he’s still capable of getting stronger.

that’s another thing, while Sonic accepted the fact the Saitama was stronger than him, and even way above his league, Flashy flash denied it despite witnessing Sai’s strength first hand and even experiencing the overwhelming fear of ‘death’.

I should preface this by saying that Sonic definitely isn’t crazy emotionally intelligent or anything, he’s still our insane, menacing and a little manic ninja. He’s definitely no where near ‘mentally/emotionally perfect’, but between the two, Sonic is significantly more stable than Flashy flash.

Why is that? Sonic moves on. He doesn’t forget or look away or ‘remove himself from his past’. He moves on. He’s always been future oriented, while allowing his past to exist and his present to shape him. Even as a child, that’s what grounded him in contrast with all the other ninjas there, including flashy flash. In a sense, Sonic, with his spirit, personality and ambitions, is the one that guided Flash into that ‘righteous’ mindset, the one that grounded him in that miserable place, too. if it wasn’t for Sonic, Flash would’ve ended up like any other ninja assassin: dull, boring and vacant inside.

Like he said, Sonic was born with a ‘powerful soul’, full of life and rejecting submission. His spirit and inwardly strength since birth had always been resilient. Perhaps that’s the difference between Flashy flash and Sonic,

But we also need to account for the fact that Flashy flash was abandoned and sold off to the village by his parents when he was 5, while Sonic was born there. It’s safe to say that Flash probably doesn’t remember anything from before he entered the village, however, that doesn’t mean it didn’t have some kind of influence on him,

I believe it was his personal experience from the outside before he was sent to the village that also helped in growing the “righteousness” mindset. Along with the fact that they both have their own different personality and mind, their goals could’ve also played a part in how they moved forward with their life. Flashy Flash wanted a fresh slate, to be born anew. A hero that eradicated evil. But if he came from that dreaded place, killed many in cold blood, isn’t he also considered an ‘evil’? Pretending that part of his life didn’t mean anything, or no longer existed all together, perhaps reassured him that he was the pure ‘good’. Maybe it was the only way he thought he could achieve his ambition.

With Sonic, I’d imagine after the massacre of his class and his escape, he was merely focused on survival. He simply didn’t care at the time. And even when he had the time to think about his goal, which I believe he still always planned to build that ideal village even if it was on his own, the whole goal revolves AROUND his past, his life since he was born trapped inside the ninja village. And besides, he truly just didn’t care for all that complicated stuff about erasing the past and whatnot. ‘What happened, happened 🤷’

Now onto the more hidden influences of the ninja village upbringing: Isolation and deprivation of parental affection

In the case of isolation, Flashy flash and Sonic interacted quite often so we’ll just cross that one out for now.

Deprivation of parental affection, or even any type of caregiver, is terrible for any child. And in Flashy Flash’s case, not only was he deprived of that approval and love for years, but he probably had something akin to it before being abandoned. Maybe he didn’t too, and whoever was taking care of him at that time wasn’t kind, but that sense of abandonment and being carelessly tossed into an environment predictably ten times worse than whatever he lived in before then, intensified any sense of deprivation originally brought on by the absence of parental involvement. This could be the reason why he wants and/or needs to be popular and well known, and dislikes being overshadowed by others.

but frankly, that’s a pretty weak point, i feel like I’m just yapping here.

After all this blabbering, I’m finally going back to the whole point of this analysis, or rather the reason that made me start thinking about this topic: ‘a romantic partner’.

If, by some miracle, Flashy Flash managed to land himself in a romantic relationship with someone, how would that play out? the simple answer to this is: not well. Definitely not well. Of course, he’s going to act drastically different from his exterior persona with said significant other, and I believe the way he would act is a problem all by itself.

Going back to my ‘deprivation of parental affection’ point from earlier, he would seek out that attention, love and security in his partner, which in of itself isn’t bad, its the intensity of it that would point to a clear instability in him. I think he would seek validation and attention constantly, to an overbearing extent, if I may. Always calling and texting his partner, getting agitated when they don’t respond at least within 30 minutes, even if they’re busy.

For all his devotion to his work as a hero, his partner would consume a big portion of his thoughts, perhaps even when he’s on missions. And he’d assume his significant other should be as reliant on their relationship as he is. His interactions with them even through the phone would possibly determine his overall mood for that day. That’s far from how any sort of healthy relationship should work.

Aside from all of this, as I mentioned in the beginning of the post, Flashy flash is still self-absorbed. He’d want to be above his partner in many aspects, especially strength and intelligence. He would want to feel superior in a relationship. Overall, his mindset in a relationship would likely be very unhealthy. He’d probably think that his partner is lucky to have him, even if he feels grateful for having them, he would expect them to be grateful for him by ten folds. Not because he’s the ideal romantic partner (from everyones point of view except his), but because he’s the embodiment of perfection. He’s clean, handsome, powerful, rich, smart, devoted. Who would want anything else? He can’t differentiate between those attributes and what it takes for you to be a good spouse.

This point is demonstrated by his acute possessiveness and well-veiled but intense jealousy. If his partner planned to go out with some friends while he so happened to be free at that time, he wouldn’t understand why they wouldn’t bail on their friends to hangout with him instead; his utterly glorious and charming self, their enchanting partner who’s better than everyone else.

I’m assuming this would lead to many arguments. In his head, he would criticize all their friends or colleagues, mentally comparing them to him.

He would grow obsessively attached to his partner. He would constantly yearn for all their love, attention and praise. Subconsciously, his mind is trying to use his partner to fill in the missing gaps left by his childhood, while also accounting for his need for support as an adult. All things considered, he needs way too much. He also tries to give way too much, which for some people could be overwhelming.

With all those issues and toxicity in the relationship, naturally the partner would eventually try to breakup with flashy flash. This is where I believe his abandonment issues would finally show. He wouldn’t accept the breakup, and would deny or try to excuse their reasoning. If that doesn’t work, he’d start growing desperate.

He’s revolved his life and schedule around this person ever since their relationship started, every waking step he takes he’s thinking about them in any sense, they’d seen so much vulnerability and need in him, how could they just leave? He’d grow proper desperate, doing anything, even if it may be seen as pathetic (which is surprising coming from someone who cares a lot about how he’s perceived), to get them to stay.

‘He would never do that, that is so out of character for him.’, and I agree, it IS out of character of him, but I think people tend to underestimate the sheer intensity of limerence and attachment when someone hasn’t received that crucial part of development growing up. Think about it, he had probably been deprived of that sense of safety and gentleness for around 20-25 years of his life, and when he finally gets it and is intoxicated by it, his entire existence is coiled around it. Wouldn’t losing that shred of touch he needed for years send him into mental distress?

that being said, you don’t need to take anything I say seriously, I’m mostly just overthinking and spilling my maladaptive daydreaming thoughts into this post.

IN CONLUSION:

Flashy flash is still held up by his past (to an extent)

Flashy Flash would probably have preoccupied anxious attachment style

He needs some intense therapy

THEN AGAIN, this whole post could just be a huge miss on my part 💥

exhales deeply. Siri, play ‘Crack baby' by mitski. *takes in a big puff from my hookah* Man.

[third-half]

sometimes i just want to aggressively push gacha games at people because when they're mass generating characters to be appealing and coax money out of people's wallets they accidentally design an all around amazing character concept

Herrscher of Sentience (Senti to few) is the product of a 50,000 year old woman being revived with all her memories but not the actual *experience* of living them, so she approaches everything with child-like stubbornness and an insistence that she's the NEW AND IMPROVED version of the woman she took over. Her evil arc was more about people not accepting her as a superior replacement to their friend than "I want to conquer the world" type villainy and once she was suppressed she remains full of herself but also very eager to help and show off.

Her domain of power is as the name implies, sentience- she bends reality for those around her and is capable of reprogamming people or probably just shutting their brain off like a light switch, but she uses it mostly to show off or con people. There are side events where she'll say, be running a shady back alley shop and the text box turns to "Herrscher of Sentience has altered your perception so you think you're getting a great deal." After Part 1 ends, she briefly gets a physical body of her own and finds it too restrictive so she starts *beating the shit out of herself* trying to ecape it.

this has been an unsolicited gacha character spotlight xoxo

"Yatta!"

[mononijikayu]

night flower ─ ryomen sukuna.

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

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

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

masterlist

ashes of love

kayu's playlist, side 400;

listen: night flower by ahn ye eun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not even if you want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ryomen Sukuna let himself stand within his realm.

Loneliness seeping in, the night drifting away with you.

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

[alittlelessalone]

I have an idea for a fun TGCF Beefleaf fix it fic. Idk if I’ll ever write it, but I wanted to share the idea.

Okay. So to set the scene, let’s say that Jun Wu isn’t quite as dead as we thought. And the only person who’s around at the time to realize it is He Xuan who’s just moping by himself and being miserable. And then Jun Wu triggers something that turns back time to the moment of Xie Lian’s third ascension, wiping everyone’s memories but his own, and also He Xuan’s.

Now suddenly He Xuan is left with the ability to change things, the knowledge that Jun Wu is extra dangerous and knows who he is, and the realization that if he changes anything, Jun Wu will immediately realize he also knows. But he takes a gamble that turns out to be correct that Jun Wu wants him to take down Shi Wudu, so he’s not going to out him as long as He Xuan doesn’t give himself away.

Well, there’s only so many people he can trust right now. Obviously Shi Qingxuan can’t keep a secret and they wouldn’t be able to handle the truth anyway. He’d say Hua Cheng, but he doesn’t trust him enough to not risk his life for Xie Lian, so he’s out and the only other god he can stand is Xie Lian, and he’s out since he’d tell Hua Cheng.

However, Yin Yu operates under Jun Wu’s nose and knows how to keep quiet so that’s one. And then there’s Ming Yi who is fated to die soon and who only needs to send off the signal to act according to Jun Wu’s knowledge. And if He Xuan can just convince him to help for a little bit in exchange for freedom and godhood soon, that can get him two.

So for the most part, events continue to play out the same. There are some small moments when Jun Wu subtly changes things and some small ways where He Xuan, Yin Yu, and Ming Yi subtly push back. But mostly, they’re both just plotting and waiting.

And He Xuan still isn’t completely sure what he’s doing about Shi Wudu and Shi Qingxuan. It keeps him up at night and haunts his nightmares. And Yin Yu doesn’t really know what to do about it and he doesn’t know what to do with the info he got about the future and they’re both silently suffering until Ming Yi is like “I’ve been a prisoner for centuries, how am I the best adjusted here” and somehow gets stuck providing emotional support for his captor and the guy who sometimes assists his captor (you can’t tell me Yin Yu was never tasked to help around Blackwater’s lair as part of that debt).

And eventually, the time of the Blackwater arc comes and He Xuan has to make a choice. He goes through with all the setup the same as he did before and feels horrible watching Shi Qingxuan suffer, but knows any changes will put them in danger. But that day, when he’s finally standing face to face with Shi Wudu again, he just can’t do it.

And fortunately, last time Shi Qingxuan was dumped off out of harm’s way. And yeah, it sucks they have to give up their godhood, but He Xuan decides maybe that’s punishment enough. And as for Shi Wudu, he can spend the rest of his life redeeming himself by fighting back.

So He Xuan keeps everyone believing things are going as before, lets Shi Qingxuan give up their godhood, then grabs Shi Wudu, says he absolutely doesn’t deserve this, then suppresses his powers before tossing him into a corner where Ming Yi has been waiting to grab him. He Xuan then grabs Shi Qingxuan and drops them off when he left them before, telling them to be careful and to pray to Ming Yi if they need help.

They’re crying and confused and He Xuan doesn’t have much time, but he promises to explain later and says to pretend their brother is dead. He debates saying more, but ultimately just leaves. He gets back to find Shi Wudu captive where Ming Yi once was and glaring. And no matter how much he hates him, He Xuan swallows his feelings and tells Shi Wudu the world (and Shi Qingxuan) are in danger and he needs Shi Wudu’s help.

By this point, we’re approaching a place where He Xuan can safely tell Hua Cheng and start getting him involved. And Hua Cheng is equal parts impressed and annoyed to learn Yin Yu already knew. But now we have He Xuan, Ming Yi, and Shi Wudu as one fucked up team learning to work together and dealing with their feelings, Hua Cheng and Yin Yu teamed up to protect Xie Lian, and poor Shi Qingxuan who has no idea what’s happening other than something is up and decides they’re not going to just sit back and hide.

And of course it ends in epic battles and forgiveness and friendship and love. And Yin Yu and Quan Yizhen get to be together, Mu Qing and Feng Xin get to end up together, and maybe we could even throw some Peishui in as well because I’m weirdly soft for that. And Shi Qingxuan gets to earn their godhood being badass, yell at He Xuan for lying to them and hurting them, yell at Shi Wudu for lying to them and hurting He Xuan, and then be able to forgive them both and end up with both their brother and their best friend (and future lover) by their side.

And Hualian will still happen of course, but maybe Hua Cheng doesn’t need to disappear for a year. And Hua Cheng will totally beat the shit out of He Xuan for not telling him for so long, but begrudgingly admit he did alright and helped save Xie Lian, so he guesses he can forgive him. He still has to pay off his debt of course, but fortunately he has a very contrite god of wealth in his corner now.

So yeah! Happy endings all around and poor original Ming Yi gets to be a god at long last. And maybe as a punishment for what he did, Shi Wudu will need to help Ling Wen with her work. And maybe while I’m at it, I’ll find a way to give Lang Qingqui a little more closure too since he never really got it. Idk. I just love them all and want them to be happy and He Xuan is going to make that happen!

[tsutsumi-kurose]

Thoughts on the new chapter?

so many!!!! we got so much thematic/character stuff and a lot of lore implications as well!! I’ll try my best to cover all my thoughts!!

mitsuba SHINED this chapter he was GLOWING he was so brave and clumsy and troubled, he absolutely NAILED the final girl role and I love that so much for him!!

he also had some of my favorite thematic moments. I especially loved the yorishiro destruction panel:

LOVE love love love that he TEARS IT APART WITH HIS TEETH !!!! when we’ve learned this mitsuba has supernatural mitsuba’s memories!! the HAT oh my god the symbol of the hat flying off in the moment when he goes full feral to save this girl and himself… when that’s a part of himself supernatural mitsuba tries so hard to hide and suppress… this mitsuba dives into it for the sake of his own life and the life of his underclassman. mitsuba tears something apart with his teeth, leaning into his more monstrous instincts, to be a hero!! the hat is so silly but also I’m choosing to read it as a symbol of hiding the parts of himself he’s scared of, and in this moment we see the beauty and strength in that part of him!! (go, queer monster boy, go!! I love you!!!!)

I also find this mitsuba fascinating for how he flips the script on picture perfect mitsuba

picture perfect mitsuba wants to pretend he’s human mitsuba… he wants his memories, even if it’s fake. 116 mitsuba… wants to remember!! he wants to understand!! he wants the truth!!

it’s hard to really know what to make of this though, because it’s hard to know who this mitsuba is. according to the supposed altered timeline, this should be alive mitsuba. but he has supernatural mitsubas memories… it raises questions mitsuba and tsukasa always have: what is a person? a soul? memories? both? to what extent?

to bring it back to him destroying the paper with his teeth: I would love… if original/human mitsuba had some of the same aggressive/feral tendencies supernatural mitsuba is so ashamed of, that make him feel so nonhuman, so monstrous. he doesn’t have human mitsubas memories; there could be so many similarities between them he can’t see!!

one last mitsuba observation:

his injured hand in 116 is the one always in his sleeve as a ghost and then as a supernatural. probably just a thematic thing rather than a lore one, but a really interesting detail!! are we barreling inevitably back to our original timeline?

kou is also really interesting this chapter, and in this arc in general, for his unwillingness to remember… he’s had multiple opportunities and ignored them all. very baffling, considering picture perfect kou’s and red house kou’s dedication to reality and all the pain that comes with it. not sure what to make of this just yet, but it’s something I’m keeping an eye on!! would love to hear other people’s thoughts on this!!

my favorite kou panel this chapter:

I am FASCINATED by the bandages slipping off his hand… they look!! incredibly familiar!!

I wonder what the parallel is here? could this be a lore hint, implying amane’s wounds were caused by whatever gave kou his injuries? or maybe just a thematic parallel of a boy in too deep trying to protect someone? someone putting himself in harms way willingly… much to think about!!

now some nitty gritty lore thoughts:

happy to report I am still steadfastly team “tsukasa is tsukasa”—I think original supernatural tsukasa definitely is tsukasa, and the white bubble of him calling out to amane suggests to me he’s still in there in this timeline too, just less in control. maybe that’s as good as neutralized to the clock keepers though? or maybe the yorishiro destruction was more tsukasa’s idea than the god’s, and the god is appeased by this ritual enough to not need to destroy any yorishiros?

do mysteries and their yorishiros even exist in this timeline?

on the topic of yorishiros, it’s interesting that the girl from the photography club was saved when the paper was destroyed but kou still got possessed… is it just one spirit traveling between targets, and it left the girls body to possess kou? but the girl and tsukasa seemed to be possessed simultaneously… so maybe destroying the paper did do something to help the girl? if the yorishiro allows connection between the supernatural and human realms, why the flowers? are they a sacrifice? the existence of the ritual itself is also confusing, because the god didn’t need any ritual to contact tsukasa in the red house… does this have something to do with the power of rumors? or is the red house maybe just a more powerful location than the school? why was amane hyping up the ritual? is tsukasa calling for him because he’s used to teacher amane being there and now he’s not?

as usual I find myself with a million questions lol, I absolutely loved this chapter!! would love to hear other thoughts about it!!

and as a closing note: I would die so fast in this timeline there’s no way I’m not playing with him he’s so cute even when supremely possessed

if he’s so evil why does he have a halo??

little angel confirmed <3

[paingoes]

Rubies

Stars

okay back to early recovery period. conceptually this is like the weirdest thing ive ever written for this series youre just gonna have to roll with it.

(Content: past abuse, past captivity, conditioning, blood, bad caretaking, consent issues?, wound care)

It was the dead of night. Delta was not trying to be sneaky. It was just such a habit. He was starting to wonder how he ever functioned at all aboard the Thorn — all his day was spent working, all his night was spent online or drifting around the ship in conspiracy. When did he even sleep? He guessed he’d fainted regularly enough to count it as rest. He guessed he was making up for it now. The ship’s artificial day cycles had ruined his circadian rhythm in a major way. He figured he’d adjust again soon. But right now, he was wide awake. 

He slipped out of the bedroom. He still hated how loud the doorknob was, but it wasn’t such a big deal if he knew nobody was on the other side of it. And there wasn’t. Apollo slept upstairs in his parents’ bedroom. Kitty slept up there too, whenever she stayed the night. The downstairs was empty. He paced it aimlessly, entirely silently. There was so much less space than there had been on the Thorn. He could’ve gotten lost on that ship for hours if he let himself. He missed the familiarity of it, if nothing else.

The front door to the house opened. He jumped back in shock, falling back against the fridge. No one else had come in for as long as he had been there. Nobody had said anything about the possibility. The danger stood there eminently in the opening.

The figure in the doorway was tall and shadowy, wrapped up in a long cloak. Little threads of silver hair peeked out from beneath the hood. Bright, bright silver eyes shone out from its shade. 

Delta sparked involuntarily. He didn’t have the suppress the natural instinct to defend himself anymore — and the new collar was so allowing. It made it so that the powers came out often, often too soon. He still shrank back against the fridge. He’d so rarely had to fight anyone head on; he didn’t want to.

The figure closed the door politely behind them, then slowly approached Delta, moving in a wide arc around him. The sparks became more frequent. They titled their head, then raised their hands in the simple “?” shape.

“Oh,” Delta blushed, the recognition slamming into him, “I’m sorry.”

Lun, their name was. Apollo’s brother. Delta remembered so little about the night of the Centurion, but the memories of the bat had remained. Memories of the axe. Lun, who everyone said did all the real work. Delta hadn’t seen them since leaving the Galatea base. But he’d been living in their house.

“I’m…sorry…” Delta repeated, ashamed of his own reaction. It was awful. 

Maybe they’d been right to restrict his powers the way they did. He remembered how brutally Simon had beaten him when he misfired, the way his teachers had whipped him raw the first time he’d operated without permission. Maybe they had a point? He was so quick to jump to it when there wasn’t anyone restraining him. They all drained out of him now, dampened as his mood dropped. He sank to his knees on the floor.

Lun didn’t move. Delta stole a quick glance at their face, which revealed nothing at all, still half hidden. He hesitated before speaking again, but ultimately forced himself. He bowed his head. It was easier not to look.

“Um,” he winced at how unsteady his voice had become, “Thank you. For the rescue. I didn’t get to say it yet, but I’m…very grateful. To you especially.”

Lun had been the first one Delta had seen — and the only one to actually get inside of the airship. They’d taken on all the risk. They’d physically broken the chain that was binding him to the throne. That night, Lun had been up in those rafters for a long time. Delta wondered faintly what else they might have seen while there.

When he looked up again, Lun was gone. There was no sign they had even been there, no clear direction in which they had left.

Delta remained kneeling on the floor. A very deep instinct told him not to rise without permission. He wondered if Lun had kept him there on purpose. He didn’t know. Apollo and Kitty had been lenient with him, but he wasn’t so presumptuous as to expect that from any of the others. He was beholden to them just as much. He’d do as they asked. 

It would be easier if they did ask, though. What had happened just now was too ambiguous. He rose cautiously and retreated back to his room. If there was a misunderstanding, if he wasn’t allowed to, he would apologize profusely, easily. He would not need to force himself. He meant it. But nothing else happened that night.

=========

“Lun said they saw you last night?” Apollo asked casually as he made breakfast.

Delta lingered nervously in the doorway, half-hidden by the wall. He wasn’t domesticated, not comfortable enough to eat in front of people. He usually retreated to his room to do it. Apollo glanced up at him in the ensuing silence — he knew he was checking to see if he was still there.

Delta returned a small nod. He’d almost forgotten about it, or chalked it up to some strange dream. Lun still hadn’t reappeared. Delta glanced briefly to the space where they had stood.

“They’re asleep in the attic. Cold-blooded, y’know. They like the heat.” Apollo smiled faintly. There was such clear affection in his voice when he spoke about his younger brother. 

Delta cringed, remembering how close he had gotten to hurting them. He wondered if Lun had said anything about that. It seemed like not. 

“I hope they didn’t scare you. I would’ve told you if I’d known they were coming. That must have been very surprising if you weren’t expecting it.” Apollo offered the fruit bowl to him. Delta emerged from the wall enough to take it, then took a few steps back into the hiding place.

“Thank you,” Delta whispered, “Can I…”

“Yeah, you can go.” Apollo waved his hand. Delta slipped out of sight.

=========

He felt the same sleeplessness the same night.   There were stars against the back of his eyes. He didn’t know how it was possible to feel homesickness; he couldn’t have possibly imagined. Not that he’d ever seriously entertained the possibility of escape until days before it actually happened. He had expected to be killed upon release; he still did not know if that was off the table, whether Levon was just keeping him on ice. The thought kept him up. 

He sat up slowly. There was faint light coming from beneath the door; the soft kitchen lights were always on. He liked that about the new house. It reminded him there was a world outside of his room. He rose up from the bed, crossing the threshold silently. He cracked the door open. 

There was movement behind it. He froze, immediately. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be up. He peered faintly through the gap.

Kitty was sitting cross-legged on the couch, hair half covering her face. A shadow hovered beside her, one hand on her chest, the other resting on the nape of her neck. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. A faint stream of blood trickled down onto her clavicle. 

Delta jumped as her gaze suddenly fell upon him. He quickly shut the door, too loudly. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to leave his room. He wasn’t supposed to see. He backed up into the bed, nearly tripping on it.

“Delta?” Kitty called faintly from behind the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were up. You can come out. It’s okay.”

He clicked his nails anxiously together, still too scared to move. 

“Babe?” She called again. 

He cracked the door open again. She was sitting upright on the couch. Her eyes were soft with concern. She beckoned him. Behind her, Lun stared. Their mouth was stained red. 

Delta cautiously emerged, mostly against his wishes. He wasn’t yet at a point where he’d be comfortable ignoring orders, especially not with her. He stood in the empty space between his bedroom and the living room. The trained tension was visible in his body. Forced attention. He lowered his eyes respectfully.

“You met Lun, right?” Kitty asked. “They’re friendly. They were just feeding. We weren’t…doing anything.”

He glanced up to see Lun waving shyly from behind her. They wiped at their mouth self-consciously. Kitty dabbed a towel at her neck, removing most of the blood. 

“Do you wanna sit?” She offered, endlessly patient. Again, he found it very hard to deny her. He sat down on the floor besides the coffee table. Kitty pulled the towel from her neck, attempting casualness.

“Can’t sleep?” She asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you a nocturnal species? We both are, naturally. But we’re usually on Galatea’s schedule now.” 

She tilted her head to Lun when she said it. Delta bit his lip. He didn’t even know what species he was — even if he did, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t working on any set planetary schedule. He was on spaceship time.

“…I was in deep space, miss,” he told her as much. 

“Oh! Spaceship time!” She looked kind of excited at the prospect, then immediately concerned. “Wait, how long?”

“…Year and a half?” Delta estimated. He hadn’t been keeping a record when it started and there was a lot of fogginess in between. Maybe two years. He wasn’t sure.

“Um. Doesn’t that make your head kinda…” She tapped her own skull. “Fucky?”

Yes. Space madness was a well documented phenomenon. He assumed he’d been spared the worst of it though, already uniquely adapted to living in isolation and under extreme pressure. Truthfully, part of him missed the stars. It was strange to be earthbound again. 

He nodded, though. His head was fucky, undoubtably. Kitty was frowning at him.

“You haven’t left the house at all since you got here,” she noticed. “You wanna come out in the garden?”

She opened up the back door to the house, leading him out past the porch and onto the grass. It was a cool night. She slid her jacket off, wrapping it around his shoulders. He noticed there was still a bit of blood on the hood. 

Lun drifted in front of them among the flowers. Their silver hair almost glowed in the dark. It was their garden, apparently. Even thought they’d been away, the plants still bloomed with the seasons. 

Delta knelt down on the grass. Kitty plopped down beside him, laying flat on her back. The stars were bright — not as bright as they had been up close, but bright none the less. He identified the constellations, finally able to pinpoint with some certainty where they were in the galaxy. Mostly, he was just glad to see them again. The night wind coursed gently through his hair and against his skin.

He jumped as Lun appeared at his side. They’d been in his blind spot. Lun was shorter than Apollo, which was still tall. Delta was still kneeling. It put him into a bad headspace.

Lun pulled their arm out from within their cloak, revealing a handful of pale white flowers. They extended it out to Delta. He blinked in confusion. They extended it out a little more.

“Oh.” Delta blushed, caught off-guard by the abrupt sweetness. “…Thank you.”

Lun nodded, drifting back among the foliage. Kitty was grinning widely. Delta traced the flower petals with his finger, deep in thought. 

=======

Kitty had disappeared for the day, going off to visit Iza before the pilot was sent away. Apollo had to run out to restock on supplies. It was the first time Delta had been left alone in the house. He idled in the living room. It was very hard to resist the impulse to clean without either of them calling him away from it. He did it almost mindlessly; it had become such a habit. He didn’t want to feel useless.

The air shifted a little. Delta jumped as Lun appeared at the base of the stairs. All dressed in black, they stood out uncannily against the warm colors of the room. He’d never seen them out during the day. All the curtains were drawn.

Delta backed up a bit, still nervous. Lun stared curiously with their head cocked to the side. They looked around, visibly surprised at how empty the space was. Their gaze turned back onto Delta. They raised their hand to the side of their head and folded the fingers down. Nyah. 

“Um. She went out.“ It was immensely strange for Delta to be the one speaking most in any exchange. Lun was exceptionally quiet. If Delta hadn’t heard them speak briefly on the airship, he would have assumed they were fully mute.

They looked disappointed. The hand slid down to their neck, clutching it. It seemed like such a protective gesture, like they were embarrassed by the need. Delta’s brow furrowed.

“…Do you…need to feed…?” So strange. The voice in his head reprimanded him, demanding he not speak unless spoken to, but he found that demand less appropriate now. Lun nodded shyly.

He still wanted to be helpful. He knew that he owed Lun everything. And he was more than a little intrigued by the way Kitty had looked so dazed upon the couch when he’d first glimpsed them. He was curious. 

“…I can do it,” Delta offered. Lun raised an eyebrow, but he thought he could read hopefulness into their expression.

Taking initiative he didn’t know he had, Delta knelt down in front of the couch. Lun followed silently and cautiously. There wasn’t any eagerness in their body language — all hesitation. It was strange to see it on someone else. Delta tilted his head to the side, brushing his long hair away from his neck. He looked at Lun through the side of his eyes. They sat down on the couch.

Delta still flinched when Lun’s hand came by the side of his head, trying to hold him still. The other pressed down against his shoulder. The collar was thin enough that most of his neck remained bare. Lun tapped a nail nervously against Delta’s cheek, seemingly involuntarily. They opened their mouth.

Delta only felt a second of regret as the fangs revealed themself. The anticipation was always the worst of it. As they sank in, pain replaced the fear. He could handle pain. He sat still and silent, well accustomed to taking it without complaint. 

Blood usually left his body through his mouth, his nose, sometimes his eyes if it was a bad day. The sudden rapture from his neck was a new experience. It was colder, somehow. He felt dizzy.

The front door opened up. Lun pulled back immediately, painfully. More blood came out. Delta reeled. Caught. Totally caught. He felt ashamed before he even registered the reaction. He knew, intuitively, that he had done something wrong. He’d known it when he offered.

“What - I just - I leave for five minutes and you-?“ Apollo sputtered. He dropped the bags onto the floor, moving rapidly to the center of the room. “What are you doing?”

Delta flinched, lowering his head. It was the first time he had ever heard Apollo angry. Blood dripped from his neck snd onto the carpet as he moved into a bow. Sorry. Sorry. The words didn’t make it past his lips.

Apollo seemed to not register it. All his attention had turned to Lun. When he spoke again, it was quieter, but holding the same amount of heat. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He said. 

Delta stayed frozen in place as Lun rose up off the couch, following their brother into the other room. 

=========

“Why. Why would you ever-“ Apollo couldn’t even finish the sentence. “He doesn’t know how to say no to people. You can’t ask him for something like that.”

Lun hovered at Apollo’s side. Their eyes were wide, but the pupils were dilated all the way in the daylight.

“I didn’t ask.” Their voice was haunting singsong. “He offered.”

“He offered?” Apollo looked at them in disbelief. They nodded.

“That doesn’t mean you do it. He said I could hurt him too. That doesn’t mean I did it. Lun-“ He took a deep breath. “He thinks he deserves it. You understand that, right? You’ve seen the way he acts. He can’t make that kind of informed decision.”

“He offered,” Lun insisted.

“He’s injured. He doesn’t even have the blood to spare. You know I’m right.” Apollo shot back. Lun wrapped their cloak tighter around themself.

“You don’t need to yell.” They said softly. Apollo paused for a second, regaining his cool. He shook his head.

“Sorry. Shit. He’s probably-“ Apollo hurried back into the living room.

=========

“Hey.” Apollo bent down besides Delta, who hadn’t moved at all since they departed. He cupped his face in his hands gently. “Hey. I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m sorry for yelling. You’re okay. I wasn’t mad at you. You’re not in trouble.”

Delta leaned into the touch, visibly miserable. Apollo felt a sharp pang of guilt. He’d obviously scared him pretty bad. 

“I’ll patch you up, okay?” Apollo offered, eyeing the wound on his neck. Lun’s marks were typically very clean, but they could still get infected. Besides, blood was still leaking out of the punctures. He helped Delta to stand and led him into the kitchen, sitting him up on one of the stools. He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket — he always carried them, just in case.

Delta tilted his head to the side again, letting Apollo clean the site of the wound. Some of it had already gotten onto his shirt — he made a note to get him new clothes soon, anyway. He was still borrowing all of theirs. 

“Hold it here,” Apollo placed the towel against his neck. 

“Yes, sir.” Delta applied pressure where he’d been asked. Apollo winced.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. Lun isn’t starving. They would’ve been fine. Move the towel, please.” He rubbed the disinfectant over the wound. It was cold. Delta shivered.

“I wanted to,” He said weakly.

“You’re still healing, Delta.” He knew he was lecturing, but he couldn’t help it. “You don’t need any more pain right now. Don’t volunteer for it. Not while you’re like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Delta repeated. 

Apollo applied the bandage over the bite mark, smoothing it out carefully against the skin. Delta righted his head, letting his hair cover it back up. Apollo moved to the bags he’d left by the door. He retrieved a pack of juice boxes from inside; he’d gotten them specifically because Lun had come by. He passed one to Delta, hoping to reduce some of the dizziness. 

But he was surprised by how lucid Delta appeared. He’d calmed down significantly after Apollo had said he wasn’t mad. He didn’t seem to be under any particular duress. 

Lun returned from the other room, skulking a little. They pulled up a stool on the opposite end, taking one of the juice boxes for themself. Delta studied the granite of the counter quietly.  Not speaking, but not afraid either. 

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[deripmaver]

analyzing kentaro miura’s words on casca’s recovery

Below I’ve attached three separate screenshots of translations of a 2019 interview done by Young Animal ZERO magazine with Kentaro Miura on the topic of Casca’s recovery and revival. These aren’t new of course, but I want to discuss my reaction to them, and also discuss how I think they fit in with the current direction the story has taken with Studio Gaga’s chapters. 

First up, a fan translation originally from skullknight.net, reposted to twitter:

Up next, a google translated version from kojion on twitter, who’s provided a few interviews that haven’t yet reached English speaking fans:

Finally, I’m not 100% sure what this is. It seems to follow from the above screenshots, but it’s not clear if this is just kojion’s interpretation of the interview response, or if this is specifically something Kentaro Miura said. I messaged him on twitter to ask, and I’ll update this post accordingly with his response!

This interview response was, no exaggeration, like a balm on my soul to read the first time I saw it. With how prevalent rape is in Berserk, and with how long it took for Casca to be revived, I admit I couldn’t help falling into this pit of frustration where I wondered if Miura even knew the extent of how awful what he put her through was. Her mental state, of course, did indicate he was aware of that - and then her revival happened, and the corridor of dreams, and I just remember being in actual tears because of how we went into Casca’s mind to show the trauma from her eyes. I can’t think of a more effective way to show something as serious as rape, genuinely. 

And then, of course, this interview response, and again I remember thinking: Wow. This author really gets it. It was the thing that really made me confident in his ability to tell the story of Casca’s recovery. 

First up, the very first part of the response: Casca’s awakening is not the end of her journey, it’s the beginning. This is absolutely, incredibly realistic. I think Miura likes to tease the audience in a sort of mean way lol, there’s the beautiful, dramatic panels where Casca awakens, and she’s put in that gorgeous fairy dress - almost like a wedding dress, you could say - and she’s sent off to have her romantic reunion with Guts... 

And lol. We all remember how that went. Miura is such a troll lmao (affectionate)(kind of).

But of course, just because she’s in control of her mind again doesn’t at ALL mean she’s processed her trauma. Guts has had years to process what happened, but she’s been completely stuck this whole time.

We know from her dreamscape that it was Griffith’s betrayal that really, truly broke her mind (I won’t include the panels here because I don’t want to CRY), and that sort of loss of trust is in no way mended by simply returning to herself. Again, then, two things that made me so astonishingly confident in Miura’s ability to tell Casca’s story from the interview: He's writing Casca as a human, who will react in a natural, human way to her trauma, and that she needs to face up to what Griffith did. This, to me, very clearly indicates that her upcoming arc is going to be focused on facing up to the trauma Griffith caused her, and this is especially hammered in by what’s happening to her currently in canon, being stuck in Falconia with Griffith and with her memories, again, magically suppressed so she can’t begin to process anything. I genuinely can’t imagine any other way for things to go for her.

One more note before I go on to my ~predictions~ based on the current chapters is that I want to highlight this panel here: 

If you follow me on twt you’ve seen me say this before but PTSD flashbacks have the person not just remembering the traumatic event, but feeling as though they’re experiencing the traumatic event all over again. Miura is aware that Casca simply regaining her memories wouldn’t be the end of her recovery but the beginning, knows that the real key to healing is processing the traumatic event, and knows that PTSD flashbacks make you feel as though you’re experiencing the trauma all over again. It’s far more sensitive than I’d expect most authors, let alone a cishet dude mangaka lol. 

SO WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR CASCA?

I need to admit I’m making this post because earlier I got into a conversation on tumblr with someone who claimed that people read too much into Miura’s comments on Casca’s recovery, that they don’t indicate that she’ll successfully heal, that there’s no indication from the comments that he intended to write a full deep dive into Casca’s mental state and trauma, and that for all we know this would just be a side plot a la Farnese’s growth. 

My position is that I genuinely can’t think of anything else that Casca’s upcoming storyline could be about besides her struggling with her trauma (and of course trying to escape Falconia, but in my mind those go hand in hand). I also think that I simply have different ideas about how important Casca is narratively than this person, which is the root of our difference in opinion on Casca’s recovery. 

Right now, Casca has been kidnapped by Griffith and taken to Falconia, where she is being magically drugged to suppress her memories, and her healing. Her storyline necessitates that she get away from Griffith and out from the spell currently suppressing her personality, and getting out from under this spell will mean the return of the memories she was starting to process in Elfheim. 

While it’s terrifying that Casca is away from her support system (and has been kidnapped by her RAPIST jesus christ) I actually think being away from Guts is the necessary key to her processing Griffith’s rape on her own terms. Guts is a massive trigger for her PTSD currently, and there’s the duality of her desire to see him and the likely ensuing guilt and frustration and sadness that comes with being unable to. Without his presence around her, I actually think it’ll be easier for her because there won’t be an expectation of her being with him. 

There are people who we KNOW are in Falconia and will likely be Casca’s support system, we just currently have no idea how they’ll all meet up. I know Luca and the girls will be instrumental to Casca’s story because otherwise there would be no reason to bring them back and also for Casca to mention them explicitly in Elfheim.

The other point made by this person on tumblr is that Miura’s interview doesn’t indicate that Casca will recover. Perhaps, they say, her story will end with Casca unable to cope. I think this in people’s minds leads easily into the Apostle Casca theory, which I’ll be honest and repeat that I fucking hate so much LOL. I get it in some sense, but I really do hate it as a theory. As Miura says, though, he’s writing Casca as a real person, and there are absolutely very low points in trauma recovery, so I expect her to go through a lot of strife. 

It’s difficult in some ways to look at these responses because there’s the language barrier. “she should confront what Griffith or the monsters did” and “she will now have to overcome the trauma” both, to me, seem to positively indicate that overcome is the intended outcome, but of course I’m not sure. Now, if kojion’s second tweet is a translated quote from Miura himself and not just his analysis of it, that’s kind of a smoking gun that recovery is the intended outcome of Casca’s arc, but I’m not sure one way or another. 

This is purely based on my emotional response, but I think a story where a woman is betrayed and raped by one of her closest companions, who loses her mind for years because she’s unable to cope with the trauma of the betrayal, who finally has her memories returned to her and now needs to go on the incredibly difficult and painful journey of processing this betrayal - to have her story end tragically with the result that she’s never able to recover would...

Hm. Let’s say that it would need to be handled with extreme care. It might be the thing that gets Berserk to warrant its grimdark reputation.

As a conclusion, I think this one quote has a ton of potential for analysis inherent to it, particularly for fans of Casca, who are having a bit of a renaissance on twitter right now HAHA and I’m trying to gather them on tumblr too. If you combine it with various tidbits of Miura’s chapters from before his death, as well as the continuation by Studio Gaga, it helps create in my mind a decent picture of the trajectory of Casca’s arc, though the specifics are still up in the air. 

Either way, I want to say to any Casca stans reading this that I really do think that Casca’s story is important, and will be shown as important going forward. I always hesitate to trust cishet authors for obvious reasons lol, but at least I can say that if she’s shown to NOT be important, that will entirely be on him and his sexism, and I think it will inherently make the story weaker. I don’t think that will be the case, though. 

WE’VE WAITED THIS FUCKING LONG-

[mychlapci]

What if egg laying is a symptom of sexual frustration? Lemme explain. Giant sentient alien robots are an oviparous species. If a couple is healthy and has an active love life, one (or two, but not at the same time) of them may finally produce some eggs. Interfacing stimulates the reproduction protocols. But if one stays horny for some time regularly and doesn't get a proper release with a partner, it can result in a false pregnancy. Worse if a bot has a crush and interacts with the object of their desire. Their protocols just go crazy and they end up with a clutch. The eggs are unfertilized, so they are much smaller and lighter. Like, you may not even know that you're pregnant thanks to some fool who doesn't return you feelings, then SURPRISE. Oh, and the process of birthing eggs is supposed to be a special erotic experience for couples. It's a time of joy and pleasure. It's nothing like human, normal birth involves arousal and orgasms, so mutual play is very common. But it hits differently if you're alone, your relationship protocols just DEMAND a partner here and now. Even if the eggs are empty. Pharma probably went though this a couple of times when he and Ratchet were "buddies". And it strikes again, when after the Tyrest arc he ends up on the LL. He's isolated, put in the "claws" to block his entire frame from transformation. He remains passive, uncommunicative, and Ratchet comes to check on him. And it just comes like an avalanche: his suppressed feelings, the memory of having his headless body so close, holding his spark. After a few weeks, a sudden surge of arousal leaves Pharma kneeling on the floor. He reaches to touch his soaking valve to relieve the tension and something small just slips into his hand. In horror he looks at the egg, knowing that others are soon to come. And right at this moment Ratchet comes to check on him again. Pharma hisses at him, but he's dripping lubricants on the floor, and it's obvious, and he's miserable as fuck. And oh, how he wants Ratchet to do anything. But Ratchet just steps closer to have a look. The egg looks too small for Pharma's frame, and a medic can tell it's unfertilized. If Pharma wan't a doctor himself, Ratchet would ask a lot of questions, but he just kneels right next. Pharma leans into him and whines when skilled fingers (yeah, we know where Ratchet got them) massages his exterior node, and Ratchet's palm catches the second egg. №3 leaves Pharma shaking, №4 makes gives him a squirting overload, and he's done. Ratchet just helps him through it. And says nothing.

mhmmm Cybertronians laying duds… Pharma’s body starts to produce eggs because he’s once again in proximity of Rachet and his frame doesn’t know the difference between one-sided and reciprocated relationships, it just knows that Pharma feels strongly about him and that must mean it’s time for them to reproduce. No matter that Ratchet hadn’t fertilized the eggs. 

Pharma starts to lay his eggs alone. He shouldn’t be alone for this, he's supposed to have a partner around to help him coax the eggs out, but this isn’t his first clutch of duds. But it is his first clutch with Ratchet there… Ratchet feels an inherent sense of pity for Pharma, and decides to help relieve him. He keeps a stone face while rubbing Pharma's valve through several overloads, catching the eggs in his hands and putting them into a little pile to dispose of later. Pharma is clinging to him, sobbing in pleasure and confusion, but Ratchet just ignores it, not even budging when Pharma tries to tug him closer.