#this show is about trauma and loss and responsibilities and found family

[highlynerdy]

"Bingyi once said the two most beautiful things in the world are a false alarm and a reunion after a long separation. I've been looking forward to the return of my old friend. Unfortunately......"

Fangs of Fortune / 大梦归离

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Suicidal Ideation, Depression.

A/N: Welcome back to this emotional rollercoaster, besties. We’ve got everything: cursed pregnancies, emotionally constipated men, and Sukuna trying to out-sass Megumi (spoiler: he succeeds), slow-burn tension finally snapping, emotionally broken men flirting with self-destruction, and a moment that might make you scream into your pillow (I’m not responsible for broken furniture). Warnings for angst, trauma, and me absolutely wrecking your heart while you laugh. If you’re here for a lobotomy, grab your scalpels—it’s about to get messy. Proceed with caution, tissues, and maybe a therapist on speed dial. Also, Megumi in this fic is maybe around mid-20s, and the reader is a few years older than him. He has mastered all his Shikigami's (yes, the 'with this treasure' one too) & is physically a Toji Hybrid. I have added links to show what he looks like. You are welcome. One Reader - Do you accept Cunt-structive Criticism? Me - No, I only accept Cash.

Previous Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides

Japan

The news reached Gojo and Nanami through an anonymous tip—a voice crackling over the phone, sterile and detached.

“The fetuses didn’t survive,” the doctor confirmed. “The pregnancy... it was unlike anything ever thought possible. The details are in the report.”

Gojo’s hand trembled as he gripped the receiver, his knuckles blanching as the plastic creaked under the pressure. When the receiver finally snapped, shards scattering across the floor, he didn’t flinch. His vibrant arrogance—the trait that had once made him invincible—was gone, stripped away in an instant. His eyes, previously so full of light and mischief, stared blankly, reflecting nothing but the hollow void inside him.

Nanami stood nearby, his posture rigid, his knuckles white as he clenched the report. The paper crinkled audibly, but his grip didn’t loosen. His jaw was so tightly locked it seemed his teeth might shatter.

“How’s this possible?” He rasped, finally putting it down, his voice horse under the weight of his self-loathing.

Gojo didn’t respond. His silver tongue, always ready with a quip or a plan, was silent. The crushing tide of guilt drowned every thought before it could form.

The hospital report was worse than they could have imagined. The chimeric fetuses were described in clinical detail, every word a knife to the chest.

“Genetic abnormalities beyond comprehension,” it read. “The combination of heteropaternal superfecundation and double fertilization created anomalies incompatible with life.”

The accompanying images were worse than they had imagined.

The boy’s elongated limbs twisted unnaturally, his spine arching grotesquely, like a question mark formed from pain. The girl’s fused fingers curled inward, her malformed face locked in an expression that seemed almost accusing.

Their shared split-colored hair was a mockery—a cruel reminder of the selfish desires that had created them.

Nanami turned away, bile rising in his throat. “They never had a chance,” he whispered, his voice hollow and brittle.

Gojo slammed the folder shut, his chest heaving as if the act of breathing had become insurmountable. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a way to fix things.

They tried to reach you. Desperation bled into every call, every text, and every voicemail. Every call went unanswered. Every message was read and ignored.

“Please,” Gojo had whispered into the receiver one night, his voice breaking. “Just... just let us explain.”

Nanami heard him through the door but didn’t offer comfort. The weight of his guilt pressing him further into despair. His gaze was fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, as if it held the answers he sought.

The quiet became their enemy. In the stillness, the thoughts crept in, unbidden and relentless.

Nanami found himself walking along the Rainbow Bridge , which connected to Odaiba, late one night. The icy wind bit at his skin as he gazed out at the dark waters of Tokyo Bay. It was calm, inviting, a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

He imagined what it would feel like to let go—to sink into the cold embrace of the water. The thought brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Gojo had begun lingering at the Shinjuku-gyoemmae station, his sunglasses hiding the exhaustion etched into his face. He stood near the edge of the platform, the sound of approaching trains vibrating through his bones.

It would be quick, he thought. Easy.

At home, the pills in Nanami’s medicine cabinet whispered promises of peace. One bottle, one night, and it could all be over.

But neither of them acted.

Every time they came close, the thought of you stopped them. They couldn’t leave without seeing you again, without explaining, apologizing, begging for forgiveness.

But the shame at what they’d done to you, to the babies, kept them from coming to you in person. So they stuck to calling and texting, each unanswered attempt another nail in the coffin of their hope.

They lived in limbo, caught between the unbearable weight of their guilt and the faint, flickering hope that one day you might pick up the phone.

---

The moon cast a faint silver glow over the balcony, its edges softened by a thin mist that clung to the chilled air. You sat on the couch inside, barely illuminated by the warm, dim light of the apartment. A blanket draped over your shoulders, shielding you from the cold but not from the hollow ache in your chest.

Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed on nothing as your fingers absently traced the edge of the blanket. The faint hum of the city below was a distant whisper, meaningless and detached from the void swallowing you whole.

The faint scuff of shoes against stone pulled at the edges of your awareness. A shadow moved across the street in front of your house. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. Your mind was elsewhere in a memory.

His hair was jet black and damp, clinging to his forehead in unruly spikes, his jawline streaked with dirt and exhaustion. He wore a plain black shirt, torn and damp in places, and dark jeans that looked as though they’d seen weeks of wear. His piercing blue eyes were scanning the building before they landed on you.

He didn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, he climbed the window ledges on the floor below, then stepped up to the balcony railing and swung himself up, his movements eerily reminiscent of someone—fluid, predatory. He landed soundlessly on the edge, stepping inside with a casualness that belied the weight of his presence.

But this wasn’t the boy you’d known. This was a man carved from desperation and resolve, his presence filling the room with an intensity that felt both familiar and foreign. He looked older than you remembered—taller, broader. His hair was wild, falling in dark, uneven spikes over eyes that glinted like steel. He was dressed in plain clothes.

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadow falling over you. When you still didn’t react, he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you, his features softening with something close to pain. His hands hovered over your shoulder before finally nudging it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of months spent in pursuit.

You didn’t respond.

His brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “Hey,” he tried again, softer this time.

Still, you didn’t move.

His roughened fingers reached for your cheeks, his touch hesitant, a mere brush against the skin. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

His throat tightened, frustration flickering across his face He tilted his head to catch your gaze. “I’m not going anywhere until you say something,” he muttered, his voice edged with exasperation.

When you still didn’t react, he reached out again, this time giving your shoulder a firmer nudge.

Your eyes flicked to him at last, but they didn’t really see him. You stared through him, your expression glassy, as if replaying a memory too distant to touch.

The silence stretched taut and heavy.

His hands curled into fists as he rose to his full height, frustration and worry flickering across his face. He glanced toward the balcony, then back at you. The thought of leaving you like this wasn’t an option.

Then, from behind you, a presence surged forward—dark, commanding, and lethal.

Sukuna.

He appeared as though conjured from the shadows themselves, his crimson eyes burning with a dangerous gleam. His shirt hung open at the collar, his tattoos stark against his pale skin, and his lips curled into a predatory smirk. His crimson eyes burned like embers, and his lips curled in a snarl as his gaze stayed locked onto the man, narrowing with instant suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” Sukuna’s voice was low, his tone dripping with menace as he stepped forward, placing himself between you and the intruder.

The man’s expression hardened as his stance shifted, one foot sliding back as though preparing for an attack, his eyes meeting Sukuna’s with the unyielding force of a man who’d long since stopped flinching at power. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Careful, brat,” Sukuna growled, his head tilting, his grin widening in warning. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

The tension between them snapped taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Sukuna took a step forward, his fingers twitching as though itching for a fight. The room seemed to darken as his cursed energy spiked, the air thick with its oppressive weight. But the man didn’t flinch. His hand flicked upward, and with a snap, shadows began to writhe at his feet.

“Neither do you,” the man said, his voice sharp. His hands twitched, and the faint shimmer of cursed energy began to gather around him.

“Hey…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the strain of its first use in days.

Neither man noticed.

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he cracked his knuckles, his cursed energy flaring brighter. “I don’t care who you are, but you’re about to regret—”

The floor beneath you trembled as the man’s hands moved in a familiar pattern, his fingers forming seals too quickly to follow.

The air shifted, a deep, guttural hum vibrating through the room. The shadow behind the man darkened, twisting and expanding.

“No!”

Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, startling after months of silence. Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

You stood, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you moved to place yourself in front of the man, shielding him from Sukuna. “Please don’t. You both are not threats to me,” you spoke, your voice trembling with frustration.

You turned to the man, your voice rising. “I told you to stop doing that!”

“I thought he kidnapped you. I think that justifies it’s use.” The man muttered, pretending to be annoyed, but immediately moved to hold you.

Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Taken her? Kid, I’m the one keeping her safe from idiots like you.”

You awkwardly reciprocated.

Sukuna raised a brow, his gaze darting between you and the man. For a brief moment, his smirk softened, a flicker of something tender crossing his features as he watched you—you, alive and animated for the first time in months. That’s the most you’ve said in months —he thought to himself. He continued eyeing the spiky-haired man, wondering who he was and if he was a threat, but the way you were comfortable around him, Sukuna deduced he wasn’t connected to your idiotic husbands.

The man, however, frowned, his jaw tightening. “He—”

“Not a threat,” you said lowly. “Mahoraga isn’t for solving your problems with people who talk back.”

Sukuna folded his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe but watching Megumi like a hawk. “Kid’s got issues,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back without thinking, letting go of Megumi and turning on Sukuna with a glare.

He blinked, then grinned, a warmth in his crimson eyes that made his smirk almost fond. “Fair point, princess.”

“You don’t look normal.”

“I’m fine,” you and Megumi both ignored Sukuna, though your voice cracked on the lie. But Sukuna didn’t correct you right now.

Megumi’s gaze kept searching your face for something—anything.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though no one in the room believed it.

"Princess, I need to leave.” Sukuna had said, glaring at his phone. “Will you be okay for a few days? I have arranged for Choso and Yuji to be here within a few hours.”

“I’ll be fine. Megumi is my best friend; he will keep me safe.” You reassured him, while Megumi looked at him smugly with his arms now folded, muscles flexing.

“Call me if you need anything or if there’s an issue.” Sukuna told you, contemplating how mad you would be if he broke Megumi’s jaw.

You nodded as he turned to leave, answering a call. “I’m on my way, woman. Stop irritating me!”

Your heart sank.

He was going to meet a woman?!

Were you in love with him?

But how long would he wait for you?

// Playlist

After telling Megumi everything, the house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the windchimes. He sat across from you on the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if they were the only thing grounding him. His features were softened by the dim light, but the weight in his eyes made him look older than his years.

You sat opposite him, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. The blanket draped over your shoulders felt like a shield, though it did little to protect you from the storm inside.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

“You were right,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“I was wrong,” you said, your gaze fixed on a crack in the marble on the floor. “About everything. About them. About leaving you behind.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, the guilt in his expression enough to cut. “You don’t have to say that.”

“But it’s true,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You warned me. You told me what they were like, what would happen, and I didn’t listen. I was so convinced I could handle it on my own that I pushed you away.”

Megumi let out a shaky breath, his hands flexing as if trying to grasp the weight of his emotions. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did. At the airport, I—” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking under the strain. “I was angry. Hurt. But that doesn’t excuse it. I said awful things to you, and I’ve hated myself for it every single day since. I was a coward, too afraid to reach out to you when you needed me most.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, the pain evident in every word. “Then what happened at your HQ... They were live streaming it on the news, and I was terrified, praying you’d make it out alive. But when they said you weren’t there, my heart dropped. No one knew where you had gone. I felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve been searching for you ever since, haunted by the fear that I might never find you again.”

The words hung between you, raw and heavy.

“I think...” you started, your voice trembling. “I think we both thought we were doing the right thing. You wanted to protect me, and I wanted to prove I didn’t need it, too blinded by what I thought was love.”

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glinting. “I should’ve been there. When it all fell apart, when they—” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “I should’ve come sooner.”

“And I should’ve called you,” you said, your chest tightening. “But I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see how far I’d fallen.”

His gaze snapped back to yours. “You don’t have to hide from me. Ever. You never did. Sure, I’d yell at you or even tell you I was right, but I’d never not help you.”

The words broke something inside you, and for the first time in months, the tears came. They fell silently at first, then harder, your shoulders shaking as the dam burst.

Megumi moved without hesitation, closing the distance between you and pulling you into his arms. His grip was strong, grounding, and you clung to him like a lifeline. “I should have stayed in touch with you even if I didn’t agree with the decision in case you ever needed me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry, Megumi,” you whispered against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for not listening, for abandoning you, for never trying again, for not honoring your dad.”

“I’m so sorry for the... the babies.” He spoke low as if he were blaming himself.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you cried harder, clutching his shirt.

---

// Playlist

Japan

Gojo sat on the edge of the couch, his white shirt wrinkled and stained, hanging loose on his frame. His eyes rimmed red, their usual brilliance dulled. His hand clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing as he tipped it back.

Across the room, Nanami stood by the kitchen sink, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He stared at his hands under the running water, scrubbing them long past clean, as if the act could erase the guilt embedded in his skin.

The silence between them was broken only by Gojo’s muttered curses as he took another swig.

“You should eat,” Nanami said finally, his voice hoarse.

Gojo snorted, the sound bitter. “Coming from the guy who hasn’t touched his plate in days.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he shut off the water.

Gojo leaned back, his head resting against the couch, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Do you ever wonder,” he said, his voice slurring slightly, “if it would’ve been better if we’d never...” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Nanami turned slowly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gojo shot back, his voice rising. “Say what we’re both thinking? That we—”

“I said don’t,” Nanami snapped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white.

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think not saying it changes anything? They’re gone, Kento. And it’s our fault.”

Nanami flinched, the words hitting him like a blow. He turned away, his shoulders stiff as he gripped the edge of the counter. “I know that,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “I know that every second of every day.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their shared guilt pressing down on them.

//

Later that night, Gojo sat alone on the balcony, the cold biting at his skin. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air like a ghost. He hadn’t smoked in years, but tonight it felt like the only thing keeping him grounded.

Nanami appeared in the doorway, a glass of scotch in hand. He didn’t say anything as he stepped outside, sitting on the opposite end of the balcony.

They didn’t look at each other, their gazes fixed on the city below.

Gojo’s sudden laugh was hollow, a broken sound that made Nanami’s chest tighten.

“I keep seeing them,” Gojo murmured, his hand tightening around the cigarette. “Every time I close my eyes. I see their faces. Their hair. Their... their little hands.” His voice cracked, and he fell silent, his shoulders trembling.

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightened, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound he made.

“They didn’t even get a chance,” Gojo continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We robbed them of that.”

Nanami’s expression unreadable. “Every time I close my eyes, they’re there. And her. The way she looked at us... or didn’t. Like we weren’t even worth hating.”

Gojo turned to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why are we still here, Kento? Why are we still—”

“Because we don’t deserve peace,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “Not yet. Not until we’ve done everything we can to make it right. Even if she never forgives us.”

Gojo stared at him, his chest heaving as he tried to process the words.

They sat in silence after that, the weight of their guilt hanging heavy between them. The city lights blurred into a haze, and the distant sounds of life carried on, oblivious to the two broken men on the balcony.

Neither of them moved, each lost in their own spiral, but for the first time in weeks, the silence between them felt less like a void and more like a shared burden. A small, flickering reminder that they weren’t entirely alone.

---

// Playlist

The days passed in a haze. Choso and Yuji were sunshines around Megumi’s age, who moved to the lower floor, but you didn’t have much energy to interact with new people. Sukuna called you every few hours.

Megumi stayed with you. He didn’t leave, didn’t push, just existed in your space like a quiet force of nature.

He cooked meals, both your favorites growing up, and sat with you while you ate, even if it was just a few bites. And when the nightmares came, he was there, his hand steady on your shoulder, until the panic subsided.

A few days later, Sukuna returned and obsered it all with narrowed eyes, his irritation barely concealed.

One evening, Megumi was trying to coax you into taking a walk. “Fresh air,” he said, standing by the door with his arms crossed. “It’ll do you good.”

“I’m fine here,” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

“She doesn’t need to go anywhere,” Sukuna cut in from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “She’s safe here.”

Megumi turned, his eyes narrowing. “Safe doesn’t mean healthy. What would you know, old man? You probably can’t walk at your age with your arthritis.”

“I’m not old, brat. I will fight you!” Sukuna shot back, his tone mocking.

“With what? Your walking stick?!,” Megumi snapped, his voice rising.

You couldn’t help it—the sheer absurdity of their bickering—it pulled a laugh from your chest. It was small, tentative, but real.

Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

“Did she just—” Sukuna started, his eyes wide.

“She laughed,” Megumi confirmed, his tone somewhere between disbelief and triumph.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, the sound foreign even to you. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice muffled.

“Don’t be,” Sukuna said, his smirk returning as he leaned against the wall. “If I’d known it was this easy, I would’ve let him insult me sooner.”

“I’d do it for free,” Megumi said, looking at you, fingers twitching to pat himself on the back.

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Of course, it’s not like anyone would pay to watch you.” He fired back at Megumi, still looking at you.

You laughed again, the sound freer this time, and the tension in the room shifted.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest lightened.

After a beat, you calmed down and said, “I’d like to go back to work.”

Both nodded.

//

After that day, it became their unspoken mission to make you laugh as often as possible.

One afternoon, Sukuna conjured a miniature version of himself—barely six inches tall—who stomped across the coffee table, shouting, “Fear me, mortals!” in a voice far too high-pitched to be taken seriously.

Megumi, who was seated at the kitchen island, raised an eyebrow. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna shot back, gesturing dramatically toward Mini-Sukuna. “At least I’m creative.”

Without missing a beat, Megumi summoned a tiny shikigami—a shadowy cat with glowing eyes—that pounced on Mini-Sukuna and promptly sat on him.

Meanwhile, you sat at the dining table, trying (and failing) to hide your laughter behind a mug of tea.

//

Another day the apartment was quiet except for the sizzling sound coming from the kitchen. Sukuna stood near the couch, holding a plate of food that looked… edible, but only in the way emergency rations were. His expression screamed confidence, as if he’d just solved world hunger.

In reality he was just jealous that Megumi had overtaken cooking since arriving, and he wasn’t able to feed you.

On the other side of the kitchen island, Megumi was frying something in a pan with the kind of intensity usually reserved for life-or-death surgeries. His sleeves were rolled up.

“You’re going to eat this,” Sukuna declared, stabbing the air with his fork.

“Like hell she is,” Megumi shot back without looking up, flipping whatever he was cooking with the ease of someone who’d spent years perfecting it. “She deserves something decent. Not whatever cursed sludge you’re trying to pass off as food. I’m making her comfort food.”

“She hasn’t touched your so-called food in days. She’s barely eaten anything. Mine’s nutritional,” Sukuna growled, stepping closer to the island.

“It’s an insult to taste buds,” Megumi countered, grabbing a plate and dishing out his creation—a simple, golden-brown omelet.

From your spot on the couch, you sighed, leaning your head against your hand. You weren’t sure what was worse: the fact that they were arguing over who got to feed you or that they seemed genuinely ready to fight about it.

“Hey,” you said, your voice flat, “I’m right here. I can feed myself.”

Both men ignored you.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in days,” Sukuna said, his crimson eyes narrowing. “I’ve been keeping her alive.”

“Barely,” Megumi muttered, sliding the plate across the counter. “She used to like this when we were younger.”

“She’s not a kid anymore, brat,” Sukuna sneered, taking a bite of his own creation as if to prove its worth. “She needs real food.”

“And you think that is real food?” Megumi shot back, nodding toward Sukuna’s plate. “It looks like you scraped it off the floor of an incomplete domain.”

“It’s better than whatever bland crap you’re making,” Sukuna retorted, leaning closer.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Seriously, you two—”

“Stay out of this,” they both said in unison, their voices sharp enough to make you blink.

You were trying to hide a chuckle at how serious they both were about their cooking.

Megumi crossed his arms, smirking. “Look, she’s laughing at you.”

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna growled, his energy crackling faintly.

“Oh, please,” Megumi said, rolling his eyes. “You’re just mad she liked my cooking better.”

“She hasn’t even tried your cooking,” Sukuna snapped, his grip tightening on the fork. “And she won’t, because it looks like a toddler made it.”

“Better than your attempt at weaponized nutrition,” Megumi shot back.

The bickering continued, insults flying back and forth with increasing absurdity. By the time Sukuna accused Megumi of “summoning Mahoraga to chop onions,” you were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you laughed harder than you had in months.

//

Your employees had welcomed you back with open arms while you still chose to work remotely. But the lack of light in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

But instead of bombarding you with questions, they took matters into their own hands.

During a virtual meeting, your CTO appeared on camera dressed as a game character, complete with poorly made props and a monologue.

“Fear not, boss,” he declared, brandishing a foam sword. “I shall vanquish the deadlines!”

The entire team erupted into cheers, clapping as he pretended to fight off invisible enemies.

Another time, your marketing manager created a meme slideshow of your company’s latest release, complete with captions like, “When the servers crash but the players still think it’s part of the game.”

Even Sukuna got in on it, lurking just off-camera during a meeting to mutter sarcastic commentary loud enough for you to hear.

“Do they always sound this unhinged?” he asked during a particularly chaotic brainstorming session.

“Yes,” you replied, your lips twitching into a small smile.

During a virtual meeting, one of your lead designers appeared on camera wearing a cardboard replica of a game console, complete with buttons that actually lit up. “Presenting the latest in gaming technology!” he announced, spinning in his chair.

“Is that a fire hazard?” you asked, unable to stop the corner of your mouth from twitching.

“Probably,” he replied, grinning.

Your PR team wasn’t any better. They sent you a PowerPoint presentation titled, Why Our Boss Deserves to Laugh More , which included memes of your favorite characters, clips of game glitches they’d purposely caused, and an oddly heartfelt slide featuring a stick figure version of you labeled, The Coolest CEO Ever .

---

Megumi stayed for as long as he could and then had to return to take care of his mom and his company once you started to feel better.

The air buzzed with the familiar hum of distant conversations and the faint echo of footsteps on polished floors. Megumi stood by the entrance, his duffel bag at his feet, his shoulders tense despite the calm mask he wore.

“I’ll come back in a few days with Mom, okay?” he said, his voice softer than usual as he pulled you into a hug. His arms were strong, grounding, but there was a hesitance in the way he held you, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “She’s been worried sick since you stopped talking after leaving Japan. She asks about you every day.”

You nodded against his chest, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Tell her to video call me. I miss her.”

“I will,” he murmured, ruffling your hair in that infuriatingly fond way he knew you hated. “The moment I land.”

You stepped back, your eyes darting anywhere but his. “Take care of yourself, Megumi. And her. She doesn’t listen to anyone but you.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his dark eyes flicking over you like he was cataloging every detail. “You should talk, hypocrite.”

Your snort was half-hearted, but it was enough for him.

This goodbye was nothing like the one all those years ago. Back then, his anger had burned through the distance between you, his words cutting deep enough to leave scars you both carried. Now, there was only understanding—an unspoken truce built on shared pain and quiet forgiveness.

Megumi’s gaze shifted to Sukuna, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed and clearly bored. With a tilt of his head, Megumi motioned him over.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What now, brat?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached.

You watched them from a distance, your old DSLR— Megumi had brought back with him—in hand. The click of the shutter was oddly comforting, a rhythm that let you focus on something other than the ache in your chest. Yuji and Choso hovered nearby, pestering you with questions about aperture and lighting. You answered absently, your eyes never leaving the two figures standing just out of earshot—the most important men in your life. So important, your very essence was tangled with them, unlike the way it used to be with someone else.

//

“What do you want?” Sukuna muttered, his tone dripping with disinterest.

Megumi’s voice was steady; he was smiling, all friendly and unsuspecting. The way he smiled while threatening people—oddly reminiscent of Toji on an adult Megumi. “Keep her safe. Or I’ll gut you alive.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. “Bold, brat. But I’m not an idiot like them.” His grin widened, his crimson eyes gleaming. “I don’t take my eyes away from the destination for snowflakes.”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed, his posture shifting slightly, like he was ready for a fight. “She’s not a prize, Sukuna.”

“No,” Sukuna agreed, crossing his arms. “She’s everything. That’s why I won’t screw it up.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “But don’t tell me you’re in love with her, brat. You’re already pathetic enough.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, his face a mask of calm, but the faintest flicker flashed in his eyes. Before he could respond, Yuji’s voice rang out from behind you.

“Stay in touch, Megumi!”

Megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sukuna chuckled.

Yuji had stuck to Megumi like pollen ever since they’d met. Whenever he walked out of your floor to get anything, or even went to the balcony for air, Yuji would immediately pounce on him like an overbearing puppy, talking like they had always known each other.

“Your fan club’s waiting,” Sukuna teased, stepping back with a mocking wave.

Megumi shot him a cold look before turning on his heel, his suitcase rolling behind him. He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder at you, still clicking away with your camera.

“I’m getting late,” he said, his voice louder now, directed at no one in particular. “See you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, his silhouette swallowed by the steady flow of travelers.

You lowered the camera, watching the space he’d left behind. Sukuna sauntered over, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Miss him already?” He drawled.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “Shut up, Ryo.”

He chuckled, his gaze flicking to the camera in your hands. “Better get my good side next time. Wouldn’t want the brat to outshine me in your collection.”

You let yourself mock him. “He’s my best friend; of course he’ll shine.”

“Here I thought we were at least friends by now,” Sukuna shot back, his grin widening as he dragged you back to the car while also wrangling Choso and Yuji.

But nothing could have prepared you for the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Yuji stood precariously on a luggage cart, holding what looked like a security baton he must’ve stolen from somewhere.

“Onward, noble steed!” Yuji bellowed, jabbing the baton forward.

Choso, pushing the cart, sighed heavily. “Yuji, this is dumb. You’re going to fall, and I’m not paying for the damages.”

“You don’t pay for anything anyway!” Yuji shot back, wobbling as the cart veered dangerously close to a potted plant.

“Not my fault you’re the one with no sense of balance,” Choso deadpanned, shoving the cart harder.

“Balance is for losers!” Yuji yelled triumphantly—right before the cart hit a bump and sent him tumbling onto the floor with a loud thud.

You burst out laughing, clutching your camera as you tried to steady yourself. Sukuna groaned.

“Do these idiots have a death wish?” He muttered, glancing at you. “Why do I let them out in public?”

“They’re grown adults,” you replied between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from your eye. “Well... Technically. Have been for a few years.”

Yuji scrambled to his feet, rubbing his ass with an exaggerated pout. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Choso!”

“I was until you called me a steed,” Choso replied, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you into that plant.”

“You’re just mad because I’m faster,” Yuji shot back, grabbing the cart again.

“Faster at what? Hitting the ground?” Choso said, raising an eyebrow.

Sukuna snorted, his crimson eyes narrowing as he gestured toward the two. “You know what? Let him break something. Maybe he’ll finally learn.”

“Doubt it,” you said, grinning.

Yuji, undeterred by his earlier failure, climbed back onto the cart. “Round two! Let’s go!”

Choso sighed again, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he grabbed the handle. “Fine. But if security catches us, I’m blaming you.”

“You always blame me!” Yuji whined, holding on tighter this time.

“Because it’s always your fault,” Choso replied, shoving the cart with a bit more force than necessary.

As the cart barreled down the terminal, narrowly missing several unsuspecting travelers, you and Sukuna watched in bemused silence.

“You should film this,” Sukuna said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Might go viral. ‘Local lesbian and his Itadorki.’”

You doubled over laughing while Yuji and Choso glared at Sukuna.

//

Later that evening, the chaos of the airport was a distant memory as you and Sukuna sat together on the couch. The quiet was comforting, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel heavy for once.

“Thank you,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Sukuna turned to you, his expression unreadable. “For what?”

“For… everything,” you said, your cheeks heating under his gaze.

He smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. The weight on your chest lifted just a little, replaced by something warm and unfamiliar.

//

But the mornings still clawed at you like ghosts, dragging you into the suffocating reality of what you’d lost. The ache in your chest wasn’t a dull pain but a jagged wound, raw and unrelenting. But Sukuna was there, always.

Without fail, he brought you breakfast in bed, the tray heavy with whatever he decided you needed to eat that day. You’d protest, pushing the plate aside, focusing on pending work, and he’d glare, the kind of glare that made it clear he wouldn’t leave until you took at least a few bites.

When he walked with you in the park, his hand brushed your lower back, a gesture so casual yet grounding it left you disarmed. He didn’t say much, but his presence filled the empty spaces in ways words never could. Slowly, painfully, the walls you’d built began to crack, the light seeping through despite your efforts to hold it all together.

// Playlist

A couple of weeks later, one evening, the two of you sat on the balcony of your new home, the air heavy with the scent of cigarettes and rain-soaked concrete. You rested your chin on your knees, watching the city lights blur into a smear of orange and white.

“You’re not as awful as you pretend to be,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Sukuna chuckled, the sound deep and rough. He lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the glow illuminating his features. “Don’t ruin my reputation, princess,” he drawled, exhaling smoke like a dragon.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt foreign, but it didn’t hurt. Not this time.

You reached for the cigarette, plucking it from his fingers. Taking a slow drag, you coughed, the burn familiar but unwelcome after years away. “You know,” you started, voice quieter now, “I never wanted kids. I even got a hysterectomy, but... I think their RCT might’ve worked on me.”

Sukuna leaned back, smirking as if the universe amused him. “Good thing I hate brats too,” he said, his tone laced with mockery but softened by something genuine. “But I’d be fine either way you lean. I care more about you than any kid.”

You tilted your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “So confident I’d end up with you, huh?”

He nodded, the movement slow and deliberate.

The words spilled from you before you could stop them. “But I’m sure. I don’t want any more kids. I’m done.”

His grin widened, sharp and wolfish. “Great. Then I’ll have you all to myself,” he said, plucking the cigarette from your hand and taking a drag as if the conversation hadn’t just carved open a vulnerable piece of you.

You watched him for a moment, the question heavy on your tongue before you gave in to it. “Why are you still here? I mean... you’re attractive, Sukuna. You could have anyone. Why’d you help me?”

He exhaled smoke slowly, his gaze cutting to yours. “You really want to know?”

You nodded, feeling the tension coil in the air between you.

“The first time I saw you was at that dingy grocery store near our building in Norway. You were glaring at a Norwegian label like you could burn it into understanding if you stared hard enough.” He smirked, the memory vivid in his mind. “Then some store employee came over, and you covered your belly like you’d fight him if he even looked at you wrong. You were scared—hell, I’ve seen fear before, plenty of it—but yours was different. The kind I’d seen in survivors—the kind that said you’ve been through hell and still haven’t given up. There was this stubbornness in your eyes, like you’d fight to your last breath even knowing you’d lose.”

His voice dipped lower, his eyes locking onto yours. “That’s when I knew I wanted to know you more. Then you walked past me like I didn’t exist. You didn’t even glance my way. I knew right then you weren’t a sorcerer. You were oblivious, but your fear begged me to protect you. Practically dared me.”

A laugh escaped you, soft but real. “Or maybe you just couldn’t handle a woman not noticing you,” you teased, though your gaze lingered on him, soft and awed, like he’d hung the stars just for you.

His grin sharpened, dangerous yet intoxicating. Without warning, he flicked the cigarette over the railing, his hand shooting out to grab your waist. You gasped as he pulled you flush against him, his heat burning through your defenses.

His lips crashed into yours, the kiss anything but gentle. It was raw, demanding, and devastatingly sensual, as if he was trying to claim every fractured piece of you. Your hands instinctively found his chest, but instead of pushing him away, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you into a rhythm that left you breathless. Your head tilted back as his hand tangled in your hair, the other anchoring you to him. The world blurred around you, the city’s hum fading into nothingness.

When you finally broke apart, your chest heaved, your lips tingling from the intensity. His crimson eyes bore into yours, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still think I’m not worth noticing, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you smiled, leaning into him, the ache in your chest momentarily quieted by the storm he’d stirred in you.

---

Japan

// Playlist

The apartment was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the refrigerator. It had been months since Gojo and Nanami had received the news, but the weight of it hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had grown heavier, pressing them into themselves, into the shadows of their shared space.

Gojo sat in the darkness of their penthouse, the glow of the city outside mocking him with its indifference. The blinds were drawn just enough for the neon lights to cast fractured shadows across the floor. His sunglasses sat abandoned on the table, forgotten. His eyes—once impossibly bright, reflecting the limitless sky—were bloodshot and hollow, the kind of emptiness that no amount of sleep could fix.

His phone buzzed on the table, a cruel reminder of the hundred unanswered messages he’d already sent. He stared at it for a moment, his hand twitching toward it before falling back to his lap.

He chuckled, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why bother?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his unkempt hair. The white strands fell limply, no longer carrying their usual defiance.

Across the penthouse in your old office, Nanami sat with the glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside untouched. He stared at it, his reflection distorted by the curve of the glass.

He thought of the twins. Their faces haunted him—not as they were in the sterile images of the report, but as they could have been. A boy with Gojo’s wild grin and his own steady gaze. A girl with your sharp wit and quiet strength.

He raised the glass to his lips but hesitated, the smell of alcohol turning his stomach. With a quiet curse, he set it down, the sound of glass on wood too loud in the silence.

//

The train station was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. Gojo stood near the edge of the platform, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The sound of the approaching train grew louder, the vibration humming through his feet.

He stepped closer, the yellow line glaring up at him like a warning.

Just one step.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration jolting him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with another name that wasn’t yours.

Yuta.

He hesitated before answering, his voice cracking as he said, “What?”

“Sensei?” Yuta’s voice was hesitant, like he was trying to gauge how far Gojo had fallen. “I just... wanted to check on you. You’ve been... quiet. We heard you were suspended.”

Gojo let out a dry laugh, stepping back from the edge. “Quiet’s good, isn’t it?”

There was a long pause on the other end. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Gojo replied, ending the call before Yuta could say anything else.

The Rainbow Bridge stretched out before him, its lights reflected in the dark waters below. Nanami gripped the railing, the cold metal biting into his palms. The wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his jacket like it was trying to pull him over the edge.

He leaned forward, staring down at the waves.

He thought of you. Of your smile before everything went wrong. Of the way you used to laugh at his dry humor, your head tilted just slightly.

The phone in his pocket felt like a lead weight. He pulled it out, his thumb hovering over your name.

What could he even say?

The words felt heavy, impossible. Instead, he stared at the screen until it dimmed, the reflection of his hollow face staring back at him.

//

At home, Gojo stared at the bottle of pills on his nightstand, his hand hovering over the cap. His reflection in the nearby mirror caught his eye—he barely recognized the man staring back.

“You’re pathetic,” he muttered, the words slicing through the silence.

Nanami sat on the floor of his bathroom, his back against the wall. The report sat beside him, its pages wrinkled and stained with spilled whiskey.

“They never had a chance,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Both men lived in the silence, haunted by memories of what could have been. The world moved on around them, but they were stuck, trapped in a purgatory of their own making.

The only thing keeping them tethered to this existence was the faint hope that, one day, you might pick up the phone. One day, you might let them explain. One day, you might forgive them.

But for now, they waited, drowning in the unbearable weight of their own guilt.

A/N: And that’s how we turn pain into comedy and back again. I know you’re emotionally damaged (same). Who do you think was the woman Sukuna went to meet? (Hint: It's not Urame, so use your critical thinking skills). Meanwhile, Gojo and Nanami are one bad day away from booking permanent balcony seats in purgatory. Next chapter, we might actually let Nanami catch a break—or not. What do you think? Should Gojo finally punch Sukuna for calling him a ‘failed Barbie’? But seriously, next chapter—more tension, more heartbreak; maybe someone actually admits how they feel and SUMT (don't expect too much; I'm not very good at it).

Next Chapter 9 (alt ending 1.5 Final Part) - The Shadows We Bury - (Tumblr/Ao3)

Also I have a seprate fluff series going on which can be read as part of this AU - Bubble Butt Problems - Nanami X Reader X Gojo - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz

Taglist Open - If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Epilogue

Joel makes good on his promise to date you, at least once.

Words: 4k

Warnings: Just a slutty lil farewell to our resident Jackson masseuse and her grumpy-arse maybe sorta boyfriend, smut, vaginal fingering, sexy times, stockings that are far too thin for early Spring. Minors DNI

A/N: Another thank you for your support of this little story that ended up being a bit bigger and more complex than I expected. I went there because of your encouragement. Thank you, always.

Part Eight | Series Masterlist

The season was turning, but there was still a chill of a nighttime. It had been six weeks since Joel returned to Jackson, the medical supplies he and the second expedition managing to find and defend ensuring a healthy and safe Jackson for at least another two winters. The whole energy of the place, the optimism, was back in the community, and you had thrived in it, started to bloom alongside the wildflowers dotting the pathways into town.

You’d spent the time working, teaching Ellie, occasionally hanging around Joel’s place while he convalesced, first in his bed, then on the new-ish couch Tommy had found and dragged in through the back door. It wasn’t leather like his old one, and the springs stuck out in the centre so that you had to be very careful where you sat, but it was better than the rocking chair, and it was enough for him to sit still in for at least a few weeks.

He kept promising that he was going to date you, at least once if you’d let him, and each time you’d fobbed him off, telling him he had to get better first, that he was no good to you limping, that you wanted him marginally less grumpy if he could manage it. You weren’t sure why you were stalling, other than that you felt you were toes to the edge of a precipice.

When you were little your little family of four had driven out to the Grand Canyon, and you’d stood on the edge of the red dirt and been totally overwhelmed by the size of it, of all the negative space, the absence. You’d found yourself, aged eight and a half, ready to cry and even now, thirty years later, you remembered the howling wind, the echo of it.

You thought about the beauty of it, now. Now that you had seen so much worse, so much more, you reminded yourself that people used to travel entire countries to see the Grand Canyon. In your mind’s eye you entered your memories and stood beside yourself, your child self, and took her hand. You pointed to the sky, drew her eyes up and away from the ground beneath. Felt her pulse race under your touch as you showed her that the magnitude of it was the beauty in it, was the point of it all.

You accepted Joel’s invitation for the next Friday night. Then you ran to Maria’s to find something to wear.

--

You were supposed to meet at 8, a respectable time after dinner so as not to feel like you needed to have a meal; a more casual time, a more intimate time, when you could drink and chat and only stay an hour if you found it wasn’t working. It was both an in and an out.

Except that you were late, your last client having not only stored muscle tension in his fascia but emotional tension as well, and as soon as you had pushed into the glute he had unleashed years of mourning, of loss, of fears. You had stopped, wrapped him in a towel and pulled him upright, stood back and let him shake with the force of it. It wasn’t new, that people would come with muscle aches and discover trauma aches instead, but you lost track of time trying to put him back together again, trying to assure him of his safety. Tommy was right; sometimes it doesn’t come out until you feel safe enough to let it.

But it meant by the time you were pulling your door open you were about forty minutes late. Your cheeks burned with the shame of it, your timekeeping one of your strengths in the before-times, in the times when you had no other responsibilities other than the hell of being 15.

Joel was coming up your path and you stopped, nearly dropping the jacket you were still trying to pull over your shoulders. You couldn’t read his expression in the dark but his eyes were on you, and he was coming up, fast.

‘Joel, I’m so sorry,’ you started, as he strode towards you and up your porch. ‘I got caught up with a client, I couldn’t leave until they were…’ his hands were on you then, gripping you to him, your jaw resting in his warm palm.

‘You OK?’ he asked you, his eyes searching yours.

‘I’m fine, of course I am,’ you said, flustered, under the intensity of his inspection. ‘I just couldn’t…he was so sad, Joel. I had to stay.’

He nods at this, his jaw ticking. You resisted the urge to reach up and sink your fingertips into the masseter. ‘Were you worried about me, Joel?’ you asked, and he narrowed his eyes at you, then, suddenly freezing up.

‘Thought you weren’t coming, or that you were…thought maybe something had happened,’ he said, and you felt yourself soften.

‘I’m fine. And I would never stand you up,’ you said, moving to hold him around his waist, to circle him in your arms, only able to reach halfway around him, broad as he was. He avoided your eyes, the worry etched deep into his brow.

You still hadn’t kissed him. All of the things he had done to you, the way he had pulled you apart under his hands, his mouth, spread around his cock, nothing so intimate as a kiss.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, low and velvet in your throat. ‘I really like you, Joel,’ you went on, and he finally met your gaze, again. The naked vulnerability in it making you pause. You wondered how many people had ever seen this side of him. You suspected he could count them on one paw.

‘It’s late,’ he said, and started to pull away from you. ‘Maybe we should try again some other time.’ To your dismay he had nearly turned his back to you, and without thinking you grabbed him around the middle and tried to turn him back.

‘Wait,’ you said, and he hissed then, his muscles seizing. You let go of him, horrified.

‘M’ok,’ he muttered, raising his hand to stop you from rushing toward him. ‘Just…still gettin’ there, is all.’

‘Come in, please,’ you said, not touching him, not moving towards him, hoping your voice would be enough to get him to stay. ‘It’s cold, I have a bottle of whiskey Tommy slipped me when you were in the hospital, I can…’

‘You needed whiskey, baby?’ he said, and he had that lopsided grin on his face again, and you wanted to lick it off him. ‘Were you worried about little ole me?’

Never mind, you wanted to slap it off.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ you said, rolling your eyes and turning back to your door. ‘Don’t get all cute just because I got scared when you nearly died,’ you said, and you heard him chuckle. You entered your house and turned to him, one hand on the door. ‘In or out?’ you asked, and you knew that you were talking to the both of you, knew that he wasn’t the only one facing the indecision, knew that you palming the responsibility off onto him, that you would accept his decision even if it meant never talking to him again. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

--

He was back in your kitchen, on the same chair from a more recent before-time, from before he’d found a place for himself somewhere under your skin. You were both sipping your whiskey, listening to the crackling fire in the other room, letting the silence seep out and blanket you. He was still enormous, still took up nearly half the space, and you ceded all of it to him.

‘Ellie speaks the world of you,’ he said, after a while, and you knew that this was important to him, that first and foremost he was her dad, her keeper and her protector.

‘She’s a lovely kid,’ you said, and then corrected yourself. ‘Not a kid. She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said that.’

He chucked into his glass. ‘Won’t tell her,’ he promised.

‘How’s that healing?’ you asked, gesturing to his wrist. It wasn’t in a splint anymore but it was still tightly bandaged.

‘S’just weak, aches in the cold,’ he said, and you nodded. You reached out and pulled it towards you, lay it on the kitchen table between you. You slipped the bandage away, watched the blood rush back in and pink up the flesh underneath it.

‘You need to stretch it, keep it strong,’ you said. ‘Bones probably healed but now the muscles’ll be lazy.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ he said, and you glanced up at him, at the crinkles in his skin and the warmth in his eyes as he teased you.

‘I mean it,’ you said, pretending to be offended, using it as an excuse to slip your hands around his wrist, his forearm. You felt the chords of the muscles there, the sinew and the veins. You rubbed your thumbs in firm circles, like you had shown him to do on your knee, all those weeks ago. You blushed at the thought of it, at the echo of the pleasure he had wrung from you not ten paces away.

He grunted a little, shifted in his seat, and you pulled his arm up at a right angle, so that his elbow was resting on the table. ‘Here, do this,’ you said, and you slipped your fingers between his, rested your forearm against his, leant in a little to ease your combined weight onto the joint.

‘I’m going to try and push your hand backwards, you push back,’ you said.

‘We arm wrestlin’?’ he asked, smiling again.

‘We will if you don’t behave yourself,’ you shot back, and he grinned.

‘Tell me when,’ he said, and you nodded your head. He grimaced at the strain through the joint, but you felt it stretch, felt it working under the force you were applying to it.

‘That’s good,’ you said, without thinking, ‘doing real well.’ He sucked a shy little breath in through his teeth. You stopped pushing, looking up into his pink cheeks. You continued to hold his hand, your eyes fixed to his.

‘Say it again,’ he said, and your mouth went dry.

‘Doing real well, Joel,’ you said, and watched as he blinked slowly, drinking it in. ‘Doing so good.’

He pulled you then, by the arm, out of your chair and into his lap, his mouth finding your neck and suckling, hard, as you struggled for purchase on his thighs. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, the pulse of it pushing into your cunt as you settled yourself down on him, your thin little stockings under Maria’s borrowed dress doing absolutely nothing to provide a barrier against his throbbing for you.

He gasped, looked up at you as you perched above him. His pupils, blown wide with want, mirroring the ache you felt between your legs and in your heart for him. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste and you wondered idly if he’d brushed his teeth before heading to the Bison, if he’d hoped this would be the end result of the night or if it was just habit. You smelt the leather of his worn jacket. You reached up and let his salt and pepper beard scratch at the skin on your fingertips.

‘So good to us, Joel,’ you said, and you heard the gentlest whimper catch in his throat. ‘Looking after the town. Keeping us safe.’

‘Want to keep you, baby,’ he whispered, his eyes dropping to examine your lips. ‘Keep you tucked up all warm and safe, keep you under my roof where I know you’re protected.’ You shivered, at the heat of it, at the sincerity in it. ‘Be the one to shield you. All sweet and soft in your little kitchen. Wanting me, waiting f’me.’ He finished, biting his bottom lip.

‘I want you,’ you said, simply, feeling his cock jump underneath you.

‘Yeah?’ he asked, and you nodded.

‘Been waiting,’ you bit out, realising for the first time that it was true.

‘M’sorry baby,’ he said, playfully goading you. ‘Where did ya want me?’ he whispered, tucking his head under your chin and licking a stripe up your neck, chewing idly on your earlobe. You shivered again, a shuddering little thing that also came with a whimper. You took his hand from your waist and dropped it to your pussy, pushed his fingers to cup you there, gasping when he ran a fingertip along your seam.

‘Everywhere,’ you whispered, and he grunted, shifting his weight. With one warm hand splayed across your shoulder blades he leant you back, his eyes running up and down your body, devouring you. He kept his hand on your cunt, idly running a finger up and down where you ached the most for him, and you worried for a moment that he would feel how wet he’d made you just with his gaze.  

His breath was warm across your cheeks when he exhaled. He took the hand from between your legs and cupped your breast, rolled the nipple through your dress, made you whimper.

‘Joel,’ you whispered, and you watched as his eyes lit up, as the sparks caught on kindling and turned into a forest fire, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the strain. You wanted to run your tongue over his bottom lip, nip at it.

‘Sssh, baby, I know,’ he said, pulling you up off his lap to stand in front of him, your knees shaking. His arms bracketed your hips, gripping the table behind you, so you were surrounded by him. He remained seated, watching you from under heavy eyelids.

‘Take it off,’ he said, and you felt your pulse in your neck, thunderous.

‘Which?’ you asked.

‘Maria’s dress you don’t think I recognise, those silly little stockings that ain’t doing nothin’ to keep out the cold.’

He leant back on the chair again, kicked his legs out so that you were standing between his ankles now, leant his arm on the back of the chair and scratched at his beard. ‘Well, go on,’ he said, and you felt so exposed to him then, vulnerable in the heat of his stare.

‘Help me,’ you said, feigning not being able to get to the zipper, just for the excuse of turning away from him, from his eyes that were taking you apart atom by atom, from his hands resting on his thigh, from his thick fingers you wanted to slip into your mouth, let him push down on your tongue and suckle at him.

You felt his hands on your back, the zip coming down, the way he slipped the dress from you like he was unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. You leant over a little, trying to slip your stockings off and you heard him moan, felt his hands on you again, his warm paw on your lower back pushing you into a deeper bend, the other pulling on your hips to bring you closer to him, his hands gripping you, positioning you. You heard his sharp inhale when you slipped the stockings over your bottom, felt your cheeks blaze when he reached up and slipped your panties off along with them, bent over and completely exposed to him, wet and glistening in the light of the kitchen, the sound of your gasped little whimpers mixing with the ever-present whir of your forty-year-old fridge.

‘Oh, my girl,’ he said, and you wanted to launch yourself at him, seat yourself back on his lap and bury your head in his neck but he was running his hands up and down the back of your thighs, edging himself closer on the chair, pushing you forward so that your breasts rested on the kitchen table, your cheek flush to the cold wood.

He bent his head and placed a single kiss at the base of your spine and you worried your knees would buckle, worried you would collapse onto the kitchen tile. As you gasped he brought his hands up to cup your bottom, spreading your cheeks enough to slip a thumb into your cunt, probe the warmth and feel the wet collecting on his fingertip. You startled, trying to buck away, trying to buck towards him, circling your hips to capture him inside you, and you heard him chuckle, felt his lips dip lower to your tailbone as he twisted his hands, his thumb still inside as his fingers came around to cup and rub at your slit, your poor little aching clit caught between his fingertips.

‘Jesus,’ you cried, finding religion despite never having set foot in a church.

‘Want to keep you full of me,’ he muttered, sitting back down on the chair again and pulling you with him, spreading your legs over his so you were open wide, obscene and dripping in his lap, pulling your legs apart with his and whispering filth in your ear, cupping your breast with one hand and the other sliding into your heat.

‘Want to keep you here, my pretty girl all safe and warm in my arms, full of my cock and my fingers, crying out for me when I’m not there.’ You were gasping, your vision narrowing, barely able to concentrate on anything except for his words, for his fingers stretching you, his legs pulling you impossibly wide. ‘Won’t let nothin’ hurt ya, baby girl,’ he grit out, and you felt a sob rip through your throat, the pleasure he was drawing out of you mixing with the comfort, with the intoxicating allure of him protecting you, of him standing between you and so many terrors.

In your right mind you wouldn’t have believed him. Would have known there were things out there even the great Joel Miller couldn’t topple, that there were threats known and unknown, seen and unseen, things out there wanting to spill your blood, the blood of the people you cared the most for. But Joel was inside you, in your cunt and in your ear, and his words were chipping away at your resistance, sliding under the door long ago locked tight. You were far from your right mind. You surrendered to the seduction of it, of the intoxication of it, of the myth this man was peddling that you would buy again and again and again.

‘There she is,’ he said, as you came on his fingers, your cunt gripping him and your hips rolling, his face pressed hard into your neck as you twisted into the agony of it, your mouth open and gasping, your face turned to the Gods.

You felt his fingers underneath you, one hand wrapped tight around your torso to hold you steady as he released himself from his jeans, and you felt him then, pressed against the back of your thigh, the velvet heat of his length, the thundering throb of it. You had barely caught your breath, had yet to fully come back to yourself, before he was pushing himself into you, pulling you onto him, your neck caught in his teeth as he bit down on the nape, tried to stifle the groan blooming in his chest.

He felt bigger this way, the stretch even sharper despite his best attempts to prepare you, and your walls fluttered, fought to accept him. You shuddered, the sudden sting slamming you back into your body, and you gripped his hands to stop him, to pause. He stilled immediately, his breath hot and gasping.

‘Give me a minute,’ you gritted out, leaning back onto his shoulder and burying your nose in his jaw, panting, placing a placid little kiss to the salt and pepper patches there.

You felt him reach around you, his finger finding your clit and gently circling it, collecting your slick and pushing it over the nub to rid you of any friction. You groaned, arching your back against him, your hands digging into the meat of his thighs underneath you.

‘So beautiful like this,’ he whispered into your ear as you felt the pleasure overtake you, the throb in your cunt synchronised to your thundering pulse. ‘Can feel you gripping me,’ he went on. ‘Stuffed fulla me, baby.’

‘Stop,’ you gasped, the moment suddenly too intense, a fear gripping you then that if he kept talking you would give him anything; the shirt off your back, the blood in your veins. He chuckled, watching you struggle to take the pleasure he was pushing into you, through you.

It was wrong but you couldn’t figure out why, because it still felt so fucking good, and you wanted more but couldn’t figure out how it was possible, not sated by him seated fully inside you, not close enough to him as you pressed your body entirely against yours. You huffed, frustrated, standing before he could stop you and pivoting to face him, straddling him again in the chair and sinking yourself down on him in one swift motion, so that he gasped and then groaned when the heat of you enveloped him, joined you in a harsh cry when your clit met his hipbone and you settled there, shifted your hips to press into the nub.

‘S’better,’ you said, and you watched his lopsided grin emerge.

‘My girl miss seeing me?’ he asked, and you rolled your hips to shut him up, watched any semblance of cogent thought leave him when you gripped him there.

‘Say it again, Joel,’ you said, sliding your hips forward and back in a way that you knew wasn’t enough for him, but was making your clit throb when it grazed over his skin. He grunted, suddenly finding it hard to think clearly, and his brows saddled.

‘Keep you safe?’ he said, uncertain but meaning it anyway, and you shook your head.

‘Keep who safe?’ he asked.

‘You,’ he answered, still not following, and you planted your feet on the floor, raised yourself up just to bounce back down again.

‘Who am I, Joel?’ you asked, nearly breathless, and finally, finally he understood, his little huffed out laugh sending a thrill through you as he reached down between your bodies, felt where you were joined.

‘My girl,’ he said, finding your clit and edging his fingertips across it, sending fireworks up your spine. ‘My beautiful girl, so tight and wet, so needy for me, cryin’ out for me in her kitchen.’

You groaned, feeling him grip you around the middle with one arm, lifting you up and down on his cock, rocking into you and always, always, always watching your face, nibbling at your chin when you leant back to gasp for air.

You were going to come. It was too fast. You still had so many other things you wanted to say to him, wanted him with every atom of you, with every fibre, the neurons in your brain lighting up just for him. Wanting to live in the torrent of pleasure he brought out in you, wanted to twist and writhe in it. You felt, again, on the edge of tears, but not for wanting, this time. Not for the losses.

For the having. Of Jackson, of the wildflowers on the paths pushing past the cold. Of the little family you had eked out at the end of the world, of Ellie, of Tommy and Maria and Robin. Of this man under your body and on your kitchen chair, calling you his and promising to keep you safe. Of this man, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion and clinging to him, willingly readying yourself to cascade over it.

‘Want you right here, always,’ he grunted, and you keened, felt it then, that you were wanted, that you belonged.

You didn’t have the words for it, vowed in that moment that you would spend the rest of your life trying to find them. For right now you did the only thing you could think of, leaning over and gripping his jaw, angling his face to you as you landed your lips on him, kissed him as you felt a tear streak across your cheek and onto his skin, as you shuddered and felt your cunt milking him, as he spilled into you and you joined him, the ecstasy and the pleasure and the warmth of it. In your little house in Jackson, behind enormous walls, to hold you.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

[stup1dsposts]

HAPPY MONTHER AU

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I decided to get this AU out of my head, so I made some headcanons... I hope you like them ;⁠-⁠)

Well... English is my native language, so please forgive me for any mistakes ✊😔

⚠️ TW: Unwanted Pregnancy, and Child Death

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• Yui's pregnancy came as a result of an accident, a moment of misplaced affection and exploitation. Shu had no interest in becoming a father, and Yui was initially overwhelmed by the idea of bringing a child into such a broken world.

• Despite the initial shock, she made a choice to carry the baby, believing it could give her a reason to live beyond the endless torment.

• The pregnancy was never celebrated. The Sakamaki brothers didn’t care. They mocked and ignored her every step of the way.

• Shu’s indifference was clear from the start. He barely acknowledged the pregnancy, treating Yui as if it were just another inconvenience.

• Ayato, as usual, expressed possessiveness, making claims like "If the kid’s mine, I’ll raise it my way." Yui couldn’t even get a moment of peace from him.

• Laito was more detached, mocking her condition by calling her "a breeder" and making jokes about the baby’s future.

• Subaru, though silent, was visibly affected by the news, but never expressed it. He avoided Yui more than ever, retreating into himself.

• Kanato, on the other hand, showed a rare moment of discomfort, questioning the existence of the baby as if it were a threat to his position in the family.

• Yui was determined to keep the child, even when the world around her was a constant reminder of her suffering. The pregnancy gave her a sliver of hope, something to live for amidst the chaos.

• There were nights when Yui would talk to her unborn child, promising it that she would protect it no matter the cost. She imagined a life where she could be a real mother—one who could show her child love and care, despite everything.

• She believed, deep down, that the baby would be different, that it could somehow escape the darkness of the Sakamaki mansion.

• When Adam was born, the brothers remained indifferent as ever. There was no celebration, no joy—just the same cold atmosphere that filled the mansion.

• Yui was alone in the delivery room, and the only sound that echoed through the space was Adam’s first cry. It was a sound Yui would cherish forever.

• Even though the mansion didn’t feel like a home, in that moment, Yui believed she had created something beautiful, something innocent.

• Adam was an unusually calm child, even in such a hostile environment. He rarely cried and seemed to seek comfort in Yui’s presence.

• His big, innocent eyes would follow her movements, and he would reach for her hand whenever she was near. Yui loved those moments, when she could feel his warmth and touch, even though her life remained harsh and unyielding.

• At times, Adam would try to reach for the other brothers, but none of them ever truly reciprocated the affection. He would eventually return to Yui, finding solace in her arms.

• Adam’s death was a horrific accident.

• One day, while exploring the mansion’s grounds, Adam wandered off and accidentally tripped down a flight of stairs. The fall was enough to cause severe trauma to his tiny body.

• Yui found him almost immediately, her heart shattering at the sight of her son’s limp body. She screamed, but Shu’s only response was a cold, detached glance.

• Ayato acted annoyed by the inconvenience, and Laito treated it as a mere spectacle. Subaru was lost in silent guilt, unable to process the devastation.

• Adam’s death was the breaking point for Yui, and her hope for a better future died with him.

• Yui’s grief was quiet but all-consuming. She couldn’t understand why the child she had fought so hard to protect had been taken away.

• She often found herself staring at his empty crib, unable to comprehend the loss. Shu showed no empathy, and the others didn’t seem to care.

• In the silence of the mansion, Yui carried her grief in solitude. Her only solace came in the form of dreams, where she saw Adam running through a field, laughing as if nothing had ever hurt him...

Thank you for reading this far (⁠⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠⁠)

[multifandumbmeg]

Subtle JJ things I noticed that keep me up at night:

1. The way they changed the styling of his clothes from season 1 to season 2. Season one he's already pretty ripped but he mostly wears these loose-fitting tshirts and cutoffs that make him look cute, lanky, and unthreatening. Season 2 he mostly wears tight-fitting tshirts that make him look CONSIDERABLY beefier and generally is seen wearing more layers- it's technically Fall but he covers up more than other characters do and it has the effect of him seeming more closed off and isolated than the others, which he is. Season three his style is somewhere in between, not super tight but not lanky and loose either, like he's found a better balance.

2. His drinking. Season 1 he's partying a lot with beer and frankly, high most of the time. Season 2 he starts carrying around the flask- presumably liquor, not beer- and drinking non-socially. Before school. At John B's "funeral". That night they're stranded with Kie and Pope on the way to Charleston. The others aren't drinking at all, nor does he offer them some, then he seemingly (to Kie) falls asleep with the open flask in hand... Like he's been drinking himself to sleep, and this has probably become a habit. This is clearly because he's depressed, and though I think John B's "death" is the catalyst, it's clearly not the only reason as it continues through season 2, for example the aforementioned Charleston trip. I think John B's death, going no-contact with his dad, living alone at the chateau, Pope and Kie's relationship, have all led him to feel extremely isolated and he's clearly coping with substances even worse than before. Not to mention he's free of his dad for the first time, completely after he leaves OBX, which means for the first time in his life he's probably processing his trauma, which is what tends to happen once you find yourself no longer in a continually traumatizing situation. That would also account for his moodiness and increasing dependence on substances. I think it's also interesting we see him smoking weed less, but drinking more heavily. I think they did this to show a marked change in his already concerning substance use from season 1 from "bad coping mechanism, gets him through the day in relatively good spirits" to genuinely concerning and potentially volatile, over-using a substance his biological was known to be addicted to. Note this abruptly ends at the end of season 2 with being stranded on the island with all the Pogues. There are zero substances on the island, but it's clear it's the happiest he's ever been. A lot goes down after they get off the island but he seems to minimally fall back into old patterns in season 3. Apart from hanging out and partying a socially acceptable amount with his friends, the only time I remember him using is when he's drinking beers alone at his house- when he gets home and everyone's reuniting with their families and when he's fighting with Kiara because of their moment. When he feels alone and scared. I'm curious to see his development in season 4.

3. His lack of fear/loss of fear in death. Bro, nobody talks about how differently he reacts to danger between seasons 1 and 2. All throughout season 1, JJ is an anxious wreck and his response to being threatened is always submission, fear, and an instinct to run. When there's guns on him he gets the fuck down. He puts his hands up. He looks visibly terrified. Multiple times you can see him VISIBLY shaking. When the thugs are attacking Miss Lana, he's trembling with his eyes closed and trying not to make a sound. He begs John B to leave while it's happening and after when he sees her reaction. Even when Barry tries to rob them, furious though he is, he follows Barry's demands and doesn't fight back until John B starts it and makes an opportunity. As Kiara so aptly puts it, "he has the survival instincts of a cockroach." He does! But everything changes when he tries to grab the money and run from his dad. Again, he doesn't want a fight. But he gets one, and he's finally tired of it. He's been beat up and threatened and stolen from one time too many, and the threat of death is no longer a more powerful motivator than his wants. So he attacks his dad back and puts him in his place. He once again puts his hands up when Barry and Rafe come for him at the Phantom, but he doesn't look as scared. John B's "death" may be the final nail in the coffin, because starting season 2? He's not scared anymore when he should be. Despite the fact that he appears to be having panic attacks and worse anxiety than ever, every gun that's pointed at him or fight that breaks out he just rolls with. One of the only times I can see his survival instincts crop up in season 2 is when Kiara yells "murderer" at Ward seconds after he straight up killed someone with a gun, which is a normal human reaction and may have had more to do with protecting his friends. He just seems numb to most of the danger. Then again, season 3, he almost seems to find a balance. He's still doing some reckless things, and no longer cowering in the face of enemies, but he also knows who the dangerous people are, and when to wheel and deal or turn away and come fight another day.

Anyway, I'm very curious to see how he evolves in season 4, now that he's establishing his own life, financially secure, on good terms with all his friends and (hopefully) in a committed relationship. Let me know if I missed any other interesting character changes patterns for JJ or any other characters from the show! I would love to read/hear what you noticed and your own in-depth character analysis. JJ's my favorite character and a super rich text, so I tend to hyperfocus on him. Also if you want to request me to make one of these on one of the other characters let me know! I would love to zero in on them and see what I missed on my next watch-through.

[danwhobrowses]

I've kept myself contained and (mostly) quiet as I consumed all of Downfall - knowing that each part would alter my previous perspectives and assumptions - but man, there is so much to discuss. Finally it's time to talk about it!

Spoilers for all 3 Parts of Downfall below

The TLDR of this essay is that it was awesome and it has both unraveled so much context while enshrouding so much more lore in mystery. The long answer is long so stock up on cake - but not Brennan's cake, he's very protective of it - or something to keep the energy up.

Let's start at the beginning: Tengar. What a start that was! The destruction of Tengar really does reframe the Gods from the get-go. They were lights, they were refugees, they watched the destruction of their home and the loss of their family just as mortals would in life, war, and Calamity - but in a place where those things had only just come into being. It poses many questions too; were they what the Luxon scattered themselves into? Is Dunamis the remnants of Tengar? Was Predathos - assuming that the 'fruit' was Predathos - a purposeful creation or one that got out of hand? We knew of two gods that it ate but there was more (Unless Predathos is Edun? It's definitely a theory). The prologue shows how the Gods ended up being forced into shape, how their traumas limited their possibility as they careened towards proto-Exandria. There's a parallel to be made with the Lights' response to escaping Tengar's destruction and several PCs', especially Bells Hells who are able or attempting to rise above their pre-defined traumas and unhealthy coping mechanisms, development and growth - compared to the gods who found themselves stuck in place: doomed to play the role and domain they became shaped into. It also makes me wonder about the Founding, Creation, and the Schism itself; did the Primes start creation in order to keep an essence of home (all the divine trees planted across Exandria could be parallel to the Orchard)? What are each Betrayer's views on mortals? Asmodeus and Lolth clearly have disdain for them, but Asmodeus hurts mortals with a 'jealously kicking down your siblings' legos' vibe whereas Lolth likes to make mortals look as ugly as she already sees them. In cooldowns it was mentioned that had Melora been willing to walk away from Exandria she might've been a Betrayer, so I wonder if all Betrayers are simply mortal-hating or some are just willing to just leave mortals behind? I remain super curious over what the Primordials' side of the story is too; asking Rau'shan and Ka'mort should be considered eventually, given how they have knowledge and experience with sealing Predathos, but how did they see the events leading to the Schism; was there a deal that was broken? Did the Primordials hate mortals? Were they aware of Tengar before the Founding? Did they aid the gods in adjusting to their fixed forms and domains? And did they treat them like children like the gods treat mortals? What in history is lies and what in history is lecture?

Then of course there's the mission itself, which commits to its title in many areas; the Downfall of a civilization and culture within Aeor, the Downfall of (more) Wizard hubris with the Factorum, the Downfall of splinter factions trying to end the war by thinking they're doing what the gods want, and the Downfall of the Primes' infallible reputation as their armies and followers felt abandoned by them, no longer willing to accept the 'I am the parent, you are the child' justification. In the end only the Betrayers succeeded because the city falls and mortals died, but they don't succeed enough because they didn't get the Factorum - and the Primes still cared enough for mortals to try and save them - and thus the Calamity resumes, which I suppose is another Downfall: they were once family and wanted to be family again, but the truce wasn't real. The Betrayers were planning to use the Factorum to win the war (perhaps the two who didn't show had a change of heart?), they wanted to go where the Primes would not because, at that moment, winning and being right was more important than family.

The characters to nobody's surprise are all fantastic; Ashley's Trist (Saranrae) and Noshir's Emissary (Proxy of Erathis) had my heart in a winch for all three episodes, reminding me of it every so often with a big squeeze of emotions. Laura's Emhira (Matron of Ravens), Taliesin's Asha (Wildmother), Abubakar's SILAHA (Corellon) and Nick's Ayden (Dawnfather) all flourished as their characters too, alongside Brennan's variety of NPCs both as mortal gods and Aeorians. I loved Trist's boundless compassion and her constant struggle with having to do something cruel to many for the sake of saving the people she loved, as well as being forced to choose between her mortal family and her infinite ones, I loved how Asha was prickly and cutthroat as Nature can be in desolation but also not without her own regrets, longings and her gradual softening towards the Emissary, I loved how Ayden was an embodiment of the Dawnfather's purest hope and desire to protect people - contained in the body of a teenage boy, I loved how SILAHA loved Aeor's culture and people so much that he couldn't even be angry at the archmages using their gift to build a weapon that could destroy them, I loved that Emhira played cold and detached in an effort to bond with her siblings but found that her connection to them shone greater in the more human moments, and I loved the Emissary's innocence, how with so few words you had an earnest encapsulation of what he was thinking or feeling, and how in death the deep bass became a childlike lightness when meeting the Matron in her domain. The short arcs each of these characters undergo was amazing to see and the combat the more they became divine was insane - like seriously Trist hit 500 damage from a Guiding Bolt! And Ayden's Sunburst killed 3 Dragons and more AT THE SAME TIME! And btw throughout all 3 parts the dialogue has been outstanding, good grief! You could make a small book of all the amazing, thought-provoking, and downright emotional quotes packed in these three episodes. These are true tour de force players, guided by Brennan painting a gallery of scenes as if he was speaking at the Globe Theatre.

I like that the Factorum Malleus is pretty blatantly an allegory to a Nuclear Warhead. With the problem being that dropping a nuke will only beget the sobering conclusion that it can be done again, by others too - much like the Ritual of Seeding: once you make god bleed, everyone will try to cut them. The Factorum should not exist just as Nuclear Weapons should not exist, and that plays a part in the horror of seeing Cassida present it to Trist as if it was a gift to win the war rather than a tool to kill her family, just as Oppenheimer saw the bomb as a means to end all wars until he realised after that it was just a new escalation to warfare.

We also found room for important non-God NPCs, mainly the tragic success and failure of two Aeorian Archmages: Selena Erenves and Cassida Previn. Both display acts of humanity which end tragically; Cassida fell into faith to save her son and was given the chance to try and erase the knowledge of the Factorum so that people could survive, but her good intentions was prey to Asmodeus' cruelty and she was tortured and killed for information that, had he maintained the Arcadia guise, would've been handed over willingly, then on the other side there's Selena, who accepted death and consequences before attempting to activate the Factorum while also successfully spreading the knowledge of its construction to every wizard in Aeor, effectively forcing the Primes into having to destroy the city, only to be embraced by Corellon, forgiven, spared, and left to live with her actions. It's ironic that Cassida was punished for her humility while Selena was spared for her hubris, and the only real reason for their fate is which god they were stood before at that moment. The celestials Garathran and Acastriel were solid obstacles for Brennan to flex his dialogue of embitterment and demonstrate humanity in characters deemed otherworldly but not so much human, Garathran's suicide was very visceral even if them killing themselves in front of the Death Goddess was dumb, and Emhira and Ayden both using themselves to shield a blow from Acastriel was great symbolism to pay off their arc of bonding as siblings. They and the Archmages also acted as a harsh reality for the gods that their 'children' don't want to be coddled anymore, they've grown enough to want to understand, and have at least a voice on the table. On the lighter side of NPCs, Slitch was a lot of fun, I hope he managed to survive - maybe ascending with the Matron since Emhira did willingly relinquish her mortal form rather than it being destroyed in the crash - and still serves the Matron somehow, he's just a funny lil' guy. Brennan playing as children is always gonna be heartwrenching too, but the Everchildren Haylie and Topher were both sweet and also so brave; they have their mother's courage, as well as her divine spark.

For the mortal god NPCs Brennan rightfully didn't have Arcadia (Ioun), Zaharzht (Torog), Umleta (Lolth) or Tishar (Grummsh) outshine the main cast, often guiding the story along or cracking wise with them, but that could not be helped when it came to Milo Cowst. Brennan's Asmodeus is spectacular, absolutely untouchable, and when I say that I mean every time he does something I want to punch his smirking shit-eating face so hard that my hand appears on the other side of his head, because fuck that guy! The continual torment he does not just to mortals but to his own family is just some absolute peak villainy; he conspired with the celestials to entrap Ioun and was willing to sacrifice her, his own sister, to get what he wants. He as Arcadia tried to convince Trist to go after her family, telling her 'I love you' just as Imri did before heading into the fire, knowing KNOWING that he was luring her away from Cassida - one of the few followers she had left - to try and run away with the knowledge of the Factorum, and then donning Trist's husband's shape while he revelled in getting Cassida to allegedly renounce her before eviscerating her at his feet for Trist to find, all this while he had already sent his forces to murder all the refugees in Hawk's Hill - targeting Trist's mortal family especially while this all happens - I hate him so much. As a side note, it's interesting how Brennan and Matt establish two different Major God villains in the world: Brennan's Asmodeus and Matt's Tharizdun. It's not a bad thing to have two godly villains, I shudder to think what would happen if they worked together (at least before the inevitable power struggle), especially since their villainy is in two different departments: Asmodeus is a villain to beings while Tharizdun is more a villain to the Material Plane, you could also relate that to Predathos who uses both of their methods in their own way. Since Tharizdun doesn't get as much in-person appearances atm Brennan's Asmodeus does truly feel like the absolute villain of everything right now, but Matt does have way more time than Brennan does to get his godly villain across.

The three episodes each had a unique flavour to them; Part 1 was very much about establishing the dynamics and setting the scene: Aeor in its militarized dystopian state and the characters as mortal avatars of a pantheon of siblings and lovers, refugee lights of Tengar, in a truce. Part 2 however flaunted the positives, negatives, and defiance of mortality; the Ars Elysia was wild as it was beautiful, SILAHA's monologue with Emhira was engrossing, and the episode excelled in showing the weight of knowing how many innocent, faithful and/or good people there were, paired with the horror of knowing how many lost faith in the Gods there also was, and the lengths both the devout and the undevout would go because of the Calamity's toll on them. And then Part 3 ramps up the tragedy to like 15: the dystopia dystopes again, the destruction destroys, and the disaster disasts, and we reach the boiling point of conflict for an episode that was a mammoth SIX AND A HALF HOURS! The visual of the gods slowly being forced to break from their mortal shells to keep fighting their creations, and each other, to different ends showed the physical and mental toll the mission had done to them, Ayden rapidly aging the more his divinity courses through him and Trist continually trying to hold onto mortality if but for a single second longer, and reaching a point of no return: a choice between sacrificing, at that point, one unknown god to potentially find a way to spare the rest of Aeor - as they had desired to do - or save their entrapped sibling - having already lost so many to Predathos and the Matron having replaced another - but doom all of its people by not stopping Selena's Wish, which she believed would be a victory rather than a damning of her city. Heartbreak after heartbreak, sacrifice after sacrifice, and betrayal after betrayal, but even in the dark and desperation there was still a faint measure of hope; a mother seeking to erase the scrolls to save not just her son but all families in her home, Primes seeking only to destroy a weapon and as the city falls offering acts of compassion where they could, and a Slingshot firing a Sending Stone across the sea like a shooting star so that a mother could protect her children one last time. It is the fact that the hope still existed that makes it a tragedy: it could have been prevented, but because of the way mortals are, and because of the way the gods are, it couldn't end that way. By Part 2 I was intrigued by the fact that the idea of the Divine Gate had started to take shape this early, the Calamity after all would last another century, but it was a greater surprise learning that by the end of Part 3 Aeor wasn't the start of the conversation but the conversation, the last straw. Everything leading up to the Divergence was the Primes attempting to corral their siblings - and the Chained Oblivion - so they could lock themselves away from their second home forever, for the sake what they had built, which was chronologically the final layer to the tragedy. The theme that will complete the trinity of tragedies would be the theme of sacrifice. The Emissary was Erathis' sacrificial lamb, how biblical it was that she sent her 'son' knowing that he would die because she was unable to defy her laws nor bear to watch her lover come to harm, just as biblical is how Pelor sent the best and most hopeful qualities of himself to try and help people, Asha sacrificed her mortal form to embrace Zaharzht even when he hooked and clawed her form away, SILAHA sacrificed saving Aeor like he wanted in order to save Ioun, and then all the Primes resolve to sacrifice their presence in order to protect what was left of what they made. The theme of sacrifice will be compared with the weight of whether it was worth it, but it's not something you can say was justified either way, Downfall doesn't feel like it should be about sides; it was always a Trolley Problem, it is a current fey-absorbing, war-criming, land-sundering elf mage who is trying to make it about sides.

On that note, we must wonder how Bells Hells feel about watching all this. I did like many others think about their reactions throughout; did Imogen think of her mother when watching Trist and Cassida? Did Orym relate to Asha given how stretched thin and pining for Erathis she was? Did Ashton perhaps relate to Trist a little having also felt broken and powerless, kept going by the support of their family? I know we joke about Braius probably having to be silenced for cheering and hollering for Asmodeus but did he really agree with all that? And will Fearne now worry about seeing Asmodeus' true nature, which she should (call them lawyers Dorian!), given how she has unwittingly (and I maintain that it was not said to be a pact, Fearne clearly didn't know it was one and Nanna Mori, who is versed in pacts, called it an 'invitation to trade') bound her soul to him for Dominox's dusty wikipedia page - which is more a redirect to a 2-line section in 'List of Demons Unaccounted for Since the Calamity' - that yielded less info than a Speak with the Dead spell with an Aeorian corpse did. Outside of individual thoughts, I wonder if the Hells collectively related to other events the Gods underwent; the loss and lack of a home, tension caused by one of them thinking they knew better, the constant attack of their sense of morality by others? Ayden's character may invoke an interesting pause - since the Dawnfather has been pretty cold and unkind to the Hells, mainly Team Trauma, and Deanna lately - I wonder if they acknowledge or soften towards this new light (pun not intended but welcomed)? I know he didn't show and wasn't gonna but I also wonder if the Hells kept looking to see if FCG was there, if only to get another glimpse of their fallen friend, or if any of them managed to spot FRIDA - who while we know is canonically present wasn't explicitly mentioned either.

I must admit though I'm in the camp of 'what does this achieve for Ludinus?' because Matt said in the Cooldown that there was parts that proved him right but honestly I don't see it. History knows that the Gods united to drop Aeor, but if anything the footage makes most of the Gods more sympathetic, even to the god-adverse Hells. Showing how they have been just as messed up, traumatized and conflicted as they are as they tried to limit the loss but in the end get put in a crossroads where they choose their family, without discarding or disavowing their creations because of it, isn't gonna endear them to Ludinus' already ill-thought plan. Honestly the only Prime Deity that seemed overly brutal was the Stormlord and like, why would you even try to use Control Weather in a storm made by a Weather God? In interviews Taliesin has mentioned that Ashton has conflicted thoughts on the humanizing of the Gods, though again I don't think it's in the way Ludinus expects - I anticipate that it's more of an 'it was easier to hate them when they were all-powerful, all-arrogant entities that ignored our prayers' kinda thing, having sympathy for someone they had grown accustomed to disliking - so I wonder if other members of the Hells have conflicted feelings and whether it smooths over their aversion or whether their resolve remains the same. I'm not saying they will, but imagine if the Hells decide to be more open to allying more with some of the gods because of this? Seeking the temple in Aeor to converse with them and get on the same page. They all seem pretty respectful towards the Matron already, but perhaps some focus on Corellon - if only to see if he rebuilt the Ars Elysia elsewhere for a post-Ruidus rager XD - and Ioun would be an interesting route; the Knowing Mistress would have answers for those seeking history and information, and the Arch Heart could have answers in curious and divine magics. In addition, imagine if the Everlight gains more followers through the Hells? She helped revive Laudna through Pike so the Hells shouldn't really have any negative feelings towards her, honestly I just think she deserves more followers after seeing all of this. Plus if they could get some of that Divine Prowess (Vitality and Potency at the least) for the final fight we could be in for some blockbuster and creative damage feats! Again, I don't see it as likely, but it's a thought. We could also entertain learning more about the non-god characters that survived; did the blood of the Everchildren continue to this day - there are theories they're tied to the Clay family? What did Selena do post-Aeor? Is Cassida's body still in a protective shield? These are questions fans would want answered that isn't 'was the silver dragon's name Bolo?'.

One has to wonder too if this presentation framed as validation for the atrocities he's committed just shows how divorced from reality Deludinus is. Was the point that 'they're family so they'll choose to save each other over entire cities'? Because many mortals would do the same in their position, the Hells themselves have inferred at times that they would prioritize each other over everyone else. You know what's not a way to avoid that dilemma? Unleashing a god-eating entity the gods even at the height of their power are afraid of! Because of this, Ludinus is painted as someone blind to the fact that it's his machinations that are trying to push the world into an even worse and bloodier Calamity than what he endured as a child, with him weakening the measures put in place to avoid such a thing rather than preventing it. Also he is almost like the Primes in that the people he's allied with secretly seek to remove him from the equation, though I think he's just arrogant enough to believe he can handle them. On the topic of whether Ludinus is Hallis Previn - spared by the Matron after having been healed by the Everlight - I'm not sure, it is possible but I don't think he needs to be Hallis, in fact it would probably be more interesting if he wasn't - since you'd have to jump through a fair amount of hoops to even begin explaining his motives and mindset.

But now we have to ask a question: what do we do now? The mission was to take down Ludinus, and we could still achieve that given how it's 10v1; but Orym isn't in the best of shape health-wise, the Toothy Maw and Dominox fights did cause a lot of the group's slots to be used up and Ludinus only really used 2 spells (Gate and Counterspell) since being encountered, deluded he may be but weak he is not. Laudna's haunting will permanently track him anyway and if he shows this to the world it'll likely emit similar results we and the Hells are having; some faiths may be shaken sure but others may be more supportive of the Gods. Right now there's no real reason not to show this footage. I suppose we could kill him and show the footage anyway - I mean it doesn't need to be shown by him explicitly - before handing it to Vassalheim or the Cobalt Soul's archive, honestly I would live for it if the first thing Bells Hells did after seeing the footage was Orym or Ashton just calmly walking up to Ludinus and decking him in the face, but the encounter in Aeor does feel designed for either Ludinus or the group to escape rather than fight to the death. Between the two, it would favour more for the Hells to stay; Aeor still feels barely scraped for them and Essek, who hasn't given Ashton any tangible answers about Dunamancy that he couldn't have gotten from a book yet - plus wild magic is rife within Aeor heck a beacon could be here, won't have much reason to stick with the Hells if they leave. If they don't use Essek's 'emergency escape' measure he's hinted at there could be something devised to let the group linger here a bit more such as finding the temple, the Ars Elysia, or another special room simply to explore more of Aeor - freeing the Stasis bubbles may not be the smartest or merciful option right now, given that all wizards within know how to make the Factorum. In terms of Ludinus, it'd be good to kill him now from a mission standpoint because he's the head honcho and the Hells need a big, convincing W to kinda make up for Otohan (which was more Matt's fault for rolling so high), but if we eliminate too many Exandrian enemies like Ludinus, providing that Liliana won't 180 again with him gone...which is a possibility, the endgame battle can risk turning into a more ugly Exandria vs Ruidus conflict rather than Life vs Predathos. So perhaps Ludinus should simply escape this time and we'll save the next major enemy to kill for Zathuda or one of the Five Imperium leaders.

Overall, and this won't be the last time we'll have to say it because some people have short memories and impulsive reactions, this is a prime example towards why we need to let CR cook. Yes, C3 has been scattered a bit, but this plot is a worldwide threat, which means you must show that it affects the whole world: this is a convergence of storylines from all 3 campaigns AND spinoffs, everything has its place and while we can be irked about the timing of things what we get is still pretty awesome. Just like the CK intermission, Downfall was an incredibly intricate and well-performed piece of narrative important to the main plot which honestly, as much as I still miss the Hells, could've gone an episode longer. Where we go next becomes further interesting because we have a greater grasp on the lore and characters of the gods, and it opens the door for more lore - such as what Corellon's strand of hair he left behind is - and context to be discovered in later episodes in this and/or later campaigns.

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 26 Commentary

Alrightyy I've mustered up what's left of my brain for a belated ep 26 commentary post. IRL responsibilities are getting a bit away from me so I wasn't able to spend as much time on this as usual; apologies if the haste shows through! Consider this more reaction than meta.

As always, spoilers under the cut:

A carry-over comment, but I really do appreciate the Li Lun/ZYC scene in ep 25 for how it solidified ZYC's resolve and reminded him of where his heart is, what he believes in, what he chooses to defend. Such a load-bearing and pivotal conversation for both characters in opposite directions of development. It also makes ZYC's return to the Bureau triumphant in a way, despite all the preceding trauma, despair, and hopelessness. WX embraces him in relief that he's safe and in comfort for what they've all just been through, and for us, it's doubly meaningful as a sort of homecoming after a confrontation that only we have witnessed. It's also interesting, the cutaway as they hug, the things we have been made privy to and the things that are kept private from us.

Ouuughh the lines voiced over as ZYZ and ZYC meet eyes for the first time since all that transpired in Tianxiang Pavilion. It gives such a deep sense of wordless understanding and intimacy. I'm reminded of when the show did that for Ranyi and Miss Qi's final lines.

As I mentioned previously, a lot of subtext became text in this episode, which was quite exciting (and also extremely adorable the way ZYC was like "I think I've said too much" /// afterwards). I didn't expect ZYC to convey his understanding of ZYZ to him so soon, but that really goes back to something I love about ZYC: that he doesn't really waste time expressing something once he's come to an emotional conclusion. Maybe there's something to be said there about how he knows, after the loss of his family, how important it is to say the words when you have them to the people in front of you while they're still here.

If ZYC's words and his tears offered to a catatonic ZYZ in ep 23 were an expression of star-crossed and conflicted love, this parallel scene is just an utterly unrestrained confession, the stars be damned.

Also, tbh I never found ZYC's reactions to ZYZ to be unfounded or unreasonable, even when misguided in the beginning (and necessarily so, given the narrative and premise) or at times harsh (which I also found much-needed for ZYZ to hear, and delivered with obvious sympathetic anguish). He was clearly reflecting and actively revising his own preconceived notions this entire time, feeling for ZYZ the whole way through, and I do think he's demonstrated realistically and impressively the full extent of empathy perhaps as far as it can possibly stretch without personally experiencing ZYZ's life himself and while still living and feeling for his own. But to see ZYC so ready to address his previous flaws, to admit them and correct them, to go beyond them and to reach out so plainly for ZYZ in front of him now that he has that personal experience—the relationship between them has transcended the initial set-up of two opposing characters meeting in the middle. The show has gone that extra step and made their perspectives one. And given that I didn't personally find that step to be narratively necessary, so to say, (as in, even without it there's not truly a narrative obstacle because I already believed ZYC loves ZYZ despite everything and we've already seen the lengths he'll go to not to kill ZYZ), it feels like a choice in every definition of the word. Like a development motivated by love all the way down.

WX gets the least traumatic cloak-draping scenes out of the three of them, thank god.

Oh shit I forgot about fixing the Wilderness I'm so glad they didn't lmao.

Ahhh the crossroads moment at a literal (kind of) crossroads right before entering the Bingyi Clan's forbidden area. ZYC suddenly wanting to go alone or back out, stuck weighing the danger to everyone's lives, who they can and can't save depending on his choices. It makes me think of what happens when we let intense love in and it comes with intense fear, makes us freeze up. Suddenly, the stakes are in sharp relief, and the courage to move forward isn't so simple anymore.

"修好了，你也別死" ("Once it's fixed, don't die either.") Head in hands. ZYC's voice here, his expression, that desperation. Yeah I think this episode was so draining because of how all pretense is being stripped away and all that's left is ZYC's profound love for everyone, so raw and vulnerable that it hurts to watch, especially knowing he won't have it easy trying to keep everyone alive.

Kind of love how freely ZYC cries and says the vulnerable things in front of all his loved ones. Like. That's truly his family, his people, his heart.

ZYZ please. Imagine ZYC's grief without you. Please just stay.

Yay 12 seconds of angst-free bickering right before (as someone else called it) the trolley problem

Ok so, I'm not sure how common this interpretation/reading of the following scene is, but it's been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna include it here. If y'all disagree, pls disregard! Basically, when ZYC first turned to PSJ and thanked her, I was terrified for a moment that he would ask her to stay. Because on one hand, ZYC would never, but on the other hand, imo there's a lot of (I think deliberate) ambiguity baked into the scene. In ZYC turning to PSJ right after we're told "one of your friends or all three of them," in him starting the series of goodbyes with the character he has the least onscreen development with, in the finality of what he says to her but also the lack of clarity on just who this is final for, in PSJ's expression and WX's reaction, in the dramatic turning away at the end. Like, until he turns away from her, I think there's room for interpretation on what he's decided to do, and as someone who's grown quite surprisingly invested in the ZYC-PSJ dynamic, I'm kind of morbidly interested in this reading of events.

What might be going through PSJ's head at ZYC's words, if at this moment she hasn't yet realized his self-sacrificial intent? Does she think she's going to be asked to stay? Does she assess the situation, conclude that she's the person ZYC is least close to and perhaps the one least able to contribute in whatever comes next as the only human here, and begin resigning herself to this outcome? Are the tears in her eyes the sole indication of her conflicted unwillingness to die here that makes it through because as he's talking, she's evaluated that this is the best possible scenario for them all (esp for WX) and will commit herself to his decision even if it also breaks her heart to be chosen this way?

I may be taking this and running a bit far with it, but I just think the ambiguity of this one brief moment can create such angsty implications between the lines (as if we needed more angst...) and despite their scarce onscreen interactions, I'm kind of a sucker for the "extremely noble (to the point of tragedy) knight choosing to acknowledge and follow and dedicate their silent loyalty to a leader they deeply respect" dynamic, even if it is understated with all the other relationships going on in this show. Given how reticent PSJ is, it makes a meaningful impact on me every time she displays concern for ZYC, so you know it crushed me to watch her desperately and irrationally (the most pragmatic of them all!) try to shoot at him with her arrows while knowing there's no way it'd work. The way she was the first to act, the sound of nothing but the ice and the stretch of the bowstring. I really do love their platonic bond much more than I expected to.

Oof. The freezing. I don't want to sound like a broken record but I loved TJR's acting here because I think it's so easy for this scene to look awkward as he's stuck facing forward and pretending to freeze haha. His microexpressions as he realizes ZYZ is behind him, as he tries to chase him away with his words, as he's probably burning from the inside out with all that ice. That last tear as his gaze turns hollow. A+

I also love ZYZ's lines about not believing he can't overcome ZYC's powers like yeah this is a newborn demon with no inner core and ice powers that he taught him lmao

Okay, that's a wrap for my thoughts on this ep! I was originally going to include ep 27 reactions here too, but seeing as this is getting a little long, maybe I'll roll 27 into my thoughts on ep 28? We shall see!

[atoriv-art]

Heeyyy so sorry if this has been asked before buuuttttt.. What are ur thoughts on the sand siblings?

this made me realize i didnt include their rs in the chart i posted REST ASSURED I LOVE THEM. anyway hehehe :3

a lot of my takes on them are headcanon-based (like even more than the hyugas id say) But i assume thats what people r here for anyway. Sooooo

i really like the suna siblings bc their relationship pre-chunin exams is very, like… dysfunctional, but at the same time stable? temari and kankuro are obviously afraid of their brother, and gaara is deeply unhappy around them, but they've all clearly found a "safe" position to exist in yk?

my read on those positions is that temari actually feels more conflicted about gaara than you would think — she's the oldest and therefore the one most aware of how 'wrong' their family is — but she puts her and kankuro's safety first, therefore she resorts to appeasing gaara and generally staying out of his way. kankuro is more of a show-off and while he is afraid of gaara, it's in a more grounded way, if that makes sense? he taunts him like one might taunt an angry dog, he's afraid of him because of what he can do, vs temari who dreads being around him because she's aware of what gaara carries on his shoulders and Represents

i actually 👉👈 have a suna family-centered fic i've been slowly working on 👉👈 that ive been too shy to mention on main LMAO but since we are on topic here u go [link]. it's yashamaru-focused (my WIFE) but it brushes upon the entire family :3 it'll be slow to update since i've been busy with things but if u don't mind that. i mention it here since i use the extrapolations im mentioning here to write it….

aaaanyway. the kids' relationship with rasa isn't very defined (esp for kankuro and temari) but i interpret their situation as the classic… yk, father lost his soul after the mother died sort of thing. it's a bit cliche but it makes sense LOL while the only kid we know for sure rasa was cruel towards is gaara i don't find it a stretch to expand it towards the other two, even if it wasn't as extreme.

so, with that in mind: my personal interpretation is that temari — in addition to getting the usual heir responsibilities — got put into a caretaker role for kankuro, pushing her towards cynicism and self-preservation above all else (she's also the one most likely to remember their mom, and an early loss like that can push one into hyper-independence), while kankuro was left with a bit less pressure but as a tradeoff grew hungry for acknowledgement, eventually feeding into him becoming a bit of a bully as he gets older. i think he was the one with the most... "normal" relationship with their father, but i wouldn't necessarily say that's a good thing lol

gaara is in a unique position because he was not fully raised by rasa, and his relationship with him is a lot more shallow and extreme as a result. instead gaara ended up being built into who he is almost exclusively through yashamaru's kindness and subsequent betrayal — and this is only accentuated imo by the fact that gaara does not (iirc?) at any point willingly bring up yashamaru. he badmouths his father and blames him for who he is, but the formative moments of gaara's childhood that we see are of him with his uncle. isn't that interesting? to me it reads like that's still a wound so deep he can't even bear to acknowledge it; rasa treats him like a monster so gaara is free to spit poison back at him in return, but gaara did wholeheartedly believe his uncle loved him at a point, and the idea that he did not was so world-shattering that he can't even bring himself to acknowledge his existence

all that being said, gaara as we meet him in the exams treats his siblings like strangers and i can't fully blame him for that; while the compounded traumas of 1. losing their mother and 2. the shift in rasa's disposition, cannot be understated, i think what truly "broke" the siblings' dynamic is the way gaara was likely forced into kankuro and temari's lives after yashamaru died. while they'd certainly met before, there's a world of difference between knowing you have a distant, troubled younger brother vs having that brother violently placed into your home in his most vulnerable state after another familial loss.

(yashamaru's rs with his other niblings is never really touched upon but i do think about it often. he was so close to their mom i doubt they had no relationship at all! but that's. you know. what the fic i mentioned is for.)

it inherently puts the kids into an adversarial position, especially with how rasa doesn't try to argue for gaara's humanity. so gaara, freshly traumatized and distrusting, is met with siblings who are terrified of him and a father who he knows wants him dead. to make things worse, yashamaru (my king.) made sure to crush whatever goodwill gaara still had towards the world before he died, so there's no part of him willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. no one has any interest in fixing this situation so this is the dynamic they settle into.

yet! they are still family and there are certainly glimpses of that. one of my favorite moments is temari looking out for gaara for, in our pov, the first time

it's really simple but it always gets an emotion out of me, it's why i think their relationship bothered her the most… one of my biggest gripes with the suna siblings is honestly that we just don't get a lot of them after a point! i would have loved to see them getting closer after gaara takes the first step in closing the distance.

kazekage retrieval arc is easily one of my favorite arcs in naruto it's soooo sweet to see kankuro and temari fighting so so hard for their baby :( i really like the quiet moments where you can tell there's still a lot of guilt over how things were, i wish we got to sit with it a little more because part of the reason i like their bond so much is because of those moments of doubt, you know? i think it's far more powerful for gaara to wonder if he's been fully forgiven, for temari to grapple with the guilt of not having been a good sister to him, than for them to easily slip into a healthy and stable dynamic as a trio.

how do they feel about their father? their mother? how do they feel about their uncle? they are three different people with similar but not identical experiences with all of them, and it makes you wonder how they might navigate unpacking all of that while not jeopardizing their fledgling bond. for example i'm personally a huge fan of gaara coming to view his uncle in an imperfect but ultimately empathetic light, while his siblings see little reason to extend him so much grace.

their personalities in shippuden make a lot of sense to me taking their upbringings into account too; kankuro and temari are predominantly rasa's children, and therefore have rougher edges and are way more averse to earnest displays of affection. gaara meanwhile had yashamaru's influence in his formative years; he knows how to articulate his emotions and acknowledges the importance of sincerity and kindness. i dunno if this was intentional but i think it's a neat detail!

soo much of the suna family follows this pattern of love breeding resentment (rasa's love towards karura breeding resentment against gaara, yashamaru's love towards karura breeding resentment against gaara and rasa, gaara's love towards his uncle being twisted into hatred against the world, the siblings' love for each other being corrupted then saved) it's sooo. chef's kiss. again my only complaint is that we don't see more of them. literally who cares about konoha i want to be in suna forever

[lady-embers]

I think a lot of people continuously overlook the GOOD Nesta did during the series and only focus on her "hateful attitude". Sometimes actions show more than words and Nesta is an action girly.

ACOTAR- She tried to protect Feyre in the market. She went after Feyre when Tamlin took her. She essentially told Feyre to go and save Tamlin and not to worry about them. She was ready to marry someone to help have one less mouth to feed for Feyre. She chopped wood for two days in a row.

Also, I think this quote is important from book 1 from Feyre about Nesta:

"I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn't stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory.... Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she HAD cared - beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps, loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally."

ACOMAF - She wasn't in here much but both her and Elain opened their home to Feyre and the IC for the war purposes when they were taught their whole life to be scared/fear the fae and ended up turned against their will for their efforts which is incredibly traumatic.

ACOWAR - Nesta helped with the Queens and the High Lords. She helped Feyre and the whole Raven attack thingy. She participated in the war and almost died trying to save Cassian and then beheaded Hybern. She then helped tend to the wounded and dieing. She really had no time to sort through her own trauma during this time either since she was looking after comatose Elain and in a place where she didn't want to be.

ACOFAS - We see her drowning in her trauma. She can't even take baths (which Feyre had said in ACOWAR she'd help with as she never thought about how the Cauldron affected them). She is invited to party with rent money held over her head (despite the fact she had a job as human emissary during the war so where is the money promised to her from accepting that job from Rhysand?) While there, Feyre remarks how uncomfortable Nesta is but doesn't both to wonder why, and come to find out fire bothers her because it reminds her of her father's neck snapping RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. Cassian runs after her and even though she wants to be alone she's hounded and is seen as the bad guy for not taking his gift. A gift he proceeds to throw away, like a child, into the water because she didn't take it...At this point she just wanted to be left alone and they kept hounding her and not respecting boundaries she was putting up.

ACOSF - She is still drowning..she is forced into the HOW (feyre said she'd be tied and thrown there essentially so it wasn't really a choice) where she has to walk down 10,000 steps (which she physically/mentally/emotionally could not do so she was essentially a prisoner since no help was offered by feyre and Amren own words and let's not forget those same steps were used as punishment for Rhysand and the bat boys)..she starts training though and finds her own found family in Gwyn and Emerie. She helps the IC multiple times with things in ACOSF to and even saves Rhysand, Feyre, and Nyx very lives. She even says sorry to Feyre and Feyre doesn't hold anything against Nesta, not even telling her about the babies wings because at least she told her. We also find out she tried to write letters to others to help during their poverty times and her boots weren't as new as Feyre made then out to be showing Feyre as an unreliable/biased narrator.

All in all, I wouldn't say Nesta is an absolutely terrible horrible nasty person that is beyond redemption or forgiveness.

She is a woman who has been traumatized from a very young age starting with her mother/grandmother to being turned fae to PTSD from war/her father and doesn't know how to cope so she lashes out (which is a VALID TRAUMATIC RESPONSE) to push others away because she HATES herself more than anyone else does. She knew lashing out was wrong but didn't have the tools/upbringing to know healthy responses. It's really not until Gwyn and Emerie came along and showed her UNCONDITIONAL LOVE that she began to change and learn better and new healthy coping mechanism to let go of the bad ones.

Now, I'm not saying her trauma response was good or acceptable or excusable, but I do think she deserves some grace and compassion given all she's been through herself. Trauma is not a comparison game after all and we all experience and cope differently. Just like these characters.

Artist is Crisol Crowling or crisolcrowling on IG!

[illusianation]

Well. Helloooo! It’s been approximately 184 years since I posted any kind of meta on this site, let alone a TWD-related meta. But here we are, in the year 2024, no less. Nothing like The Book of Carol and Melissa’s return to bring some of us back. Unfortunately, it’s been a mixed bag, and current spoilers point to some really disturbing info about our beloved characters, specifically Daryl. The following is from a recent Twitter post made regarding Daryl’s character and thought it would be cool to post here, too.

CW: Daryl - relationships + trauma

There are so many feelings about the spoilers re: Daryl/Isabelle, and this post isn’t meant to invalidate any of them or defend the storytelling choices or retcon. Umm, no. Not at all. That’s a whole other post and many others have written extensively on the issues of show-running, creative consistency, and marketing of The Book of Carol. It’s not even about shipping, really. On the contrary, this post is to share some thoughts about Daryl as he is now, viewed a bit thru a trauma lens.

Before I start, I feel it’s important to note that I am an LCSW, or Licensed Clinial Social Worker, in the US.

A big part of viewing what’s going on with Daryl’s character is to start by posing some important questions: Where is Daryl emotionally? What’s going on in is his headspace? Is he clinging to what’s there in France because he feels utterly alone and resigned to his fate? What if Daryl is actually able to open himself up to Laurent and Isabelle in part because of his relationship with Carol and not in spite of it? What if he’s capable of connection & love with others precisely because his OG found-family showed him what it can look like in so many ways? Hear me out. It is a powerful thing to consider, especially given that Carol, Judith, and his family undeniably shaped Daryl, offering him his first real sense of belonging and trust. Now it appears totally lost to him - a devastating, compounded, and total loss. And he is NOT OKAY.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t OOC for him to connect with others the way he has and/or regress. As we know, trauma survivors like Daryl, especially those with histories of domestic violence, complex trauma, childhood abuse, and neglect, often find themselves in cyclical patterns of vulnerability. It does make sense that Daryl, even after growing in his relationships with Carol and the fam, might still be susceptible to getting involved in dysfunctional relationship dynamics (cough *Leah* cough) His need to care for others, while being a strength, also exposes him to people who might exploit that—whether intentionally or not. He is, in a sense, truly acting out of character.

In Daryl's current emotional state he’s completely unmoored (by a literal ocean of impossible distance no less) from his foundation of emotional safety, and has appeared to regress to the point of being unrecognizable to some. The idea that Daryl's protective nature and discomfort with intimacy coexists with an ability to be exploited by others, speaks volumes to the complexity of trauma responses and his arrested development. Daryl can embody fierce loyalty and affection, yet be caught in cycles of seeking out or gravitating toward what’s familiar, even if that familiarity is rooted in pain or dysfunction. There are not a lot of options for relational safety in the ZA. Isabelle, Leah, and even Rick, all in their own ways, represent that tug of codependency and trauma-bonding for Daryl. Not to mention, when there are children connected, his protective instinct becomes exponential.

Daryl’s current isolation, insecurity, and uncertainty about the depth of Carol’s love and his OG found-family provides a pretty valid underpinning for why he might be more open to a connection with Isabelle and Laurent, and even actively choose it when given the opportunity to go home. It’s not the arc that makes the truest sense for Daryl, but it is still very true to life in the way trauma can regress personal growth, even temporarily.

At the same time, it’s 100% understandable that this shift feels like a betrayal to Daryl’s character, as it undermines the progress he’s made and relationship choices he’s made in the past. The narrative may fall really short of pushing Daryl forward, instead choosing to revert to old tropes that fail to capture the nuance of his journey. By ignoring the potential for deeper, more layered storytelling, the show risks alienating viewers who’ve been invested in Daryl’s growth over the years. It already has, and I see y’all out there. 🫶🏼

Ultimately, it’s the tension between authenticity in trauma responses and narrative sense and progression that leaves the audience, Daryl, and most likely Carol, completely unsatisfied. IRL, growth is non-linear but in fiction, especially after so much buildup (and let’s face it MISDIRECTION) it’s not unfair to expect a clearer arc forward, versus regression into old patterns.

Hopefully, the progression will materialize in resolution which will in turn, lead inevitably to - truly actualized, authentic, and absolute love in all ways for Daryl with the safest, most accepting person person in his life, Carol. After all, Spain is still out there.

Part 2 Coming Soon: Carol and Survivors’ Guilt

[a-d-nox]

Hi. May I ask you about something that is very common to a majority of people. I don't know if you have it but it is about MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMING!!!

I spend the majority of time daily, and cannot be productive. Is it useful, is it a tool, a blessing but feels more like e curse which direct you way in massive self-deception and depression rather than directing you towards what you need to do, your goals ect.

I'd love to know your opinion about it.

💋

brain matters: maladaptive daydreaming

as previously mentioned, i was a forensic psych major before i was an english major and before graduating with my b.a. of literature. for 3 years i studied psychology. i do not have a psychology degree, so that does not make me qualified to diagnose anyone or anything... but i do know a bit about psychology and i continue to read research and articles regarding psychology.

so gladly i will give my opinion though i am not a professional.

what is maladaptive daydreaming?

maladaptive daydreaming is often found in those seeking an escape or who seek coping mechanism from trauma, abuse, anxiety, depression, adhd, etc. its a form of daydreaming that may involve long periods of structured fantasy that can interfere with work, school, and/or other life functions/tasks.

is it common?

it is not an officially recognized diagnosis but has comorbidity as i listed above. the few studies/articles i have read, state that it is not common in the general population - only about 2-6% of individuals experience it. depending on the scope of the study group it varies. out of the 7.9 billion individuals on earth only about 158 million experience maladaptive daydreaming. the study i found on pubmed (could only get the preview see below) states 2.2 million in america alone including those with a formal diagnosis that i listed above.

what are the symptoms?

highly vivid/immersive daydreams: these are abnormally long daydreams that are hard to escape / shake. making it hard for you to focus on any given task.

inability to complete daily tasks.

sleep disruption / insomnia: your mind is on but not at the same time throughout the day making it hard to maintain a healthy circadian rhythm.

being triggering into daydreams by external forces such as tv shows, movies, books, etc.

repetitive motion/activity while daydreaming

potential benefits

creativity and problem-solving skills: it can foster creativity, as it allows the mind to explore ideas and scenarios freely. writers, artists, and inventors use their imagination in this way to develop new concepts (but it is safe to say that not all creatives experience maladaptive daydreaming nor is it a requirement for all creatives / skilled problem solvers).

emotional regulation: provides a form of escapism, helping individuals cope with stress or emotional difficulties by temporarily shifting their focus away from real-life challenges.

goal visualization: a strong way to visualize their future or rehearse real-life scenarios, which can improve their ability to achieve goals or prepare for social interactions (lots of therapist teach clients with anxiety "visualization" as a coping mechanism so they can mentally prepare for what could be experienced; they generally guide the visualization to the best possible outcome).

drawbacks

time loss and disconnection from family/friends: the time spent lost in a fantasy often takes away from real-life activities, relationships, and responsibilities. which can lead to procrastination or missed opportunities.

emotional detachment: becominh emotionally invested in their fantasy worlds, making real-life experiences seem dull or less satisfying by comparison. this could cause worsen feelings of loneliness or depression.

interference with mental health: can exacerbate or mask underlying mental health issues like anxiety, depression, trauma, etc., as people use it as a form of avoidance rather than addressing their challenges head-on.

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[nerdyenby]

Seasons one and early two are Lloyd being a kid and getting to be a brat sometimes.

Late season two through season seven are Lloyd being forced to grow up too quick and not allowing himself to process literally anything, devoting his entire being to becoming who destiny told him to be.

Seasons eight through ten are Lloyd having literally having all of his trauma shoved back in his face but worse. Not to mention his dead dad isn’t dead anymore, isn’t his dad anymore, and is trying to kill him, whilst 83% of his support system is presumed dead. Also the girl who emotionally abused him dies for realsies.

Seasons eleven through fifteen are Lloyd trying to figure out how to address all the shit he’s been through without letting it consume him. It’s him leaning on his friends, allowing himself to confide in others and finally acknowledging how much that stuff fucked him up. It’s him accepting that the world can be cruel and it’s him choosing to believe that people can still be good. It’s him learning to trust again, and it’s him allowing himself to feel his hurt while still finding a way to live in spite of it.

Crystallized is Lloyd giving up. Everything he has he loses, everyone he loves leaves — by choice or otherwise. Just like Kai, he internalizes this loss by rationalizing that he wasn’t good enough to save them. He walks away. He tries to live a normal life for a bit. It isn’t enough. He can’t not do anything. He can’t leave the family he’s found, the family that found him. No matter how much it hurts to lose them, he will never stop fighting to find them again. Even if he has to face everything he hates and fears about himself, even if he has to confront the man that was once his father, even if he has to willingly step into what he fears most — letting his anger and hurt consume him, becoming just another perpetuator of violence and loss — he will never stop fighting to protect those he loves. He can’t cross that line. He could if he wanted to, but he can’t and he never will, but loss of any kind is not something Lloyd is willing to take sitting down.

And then in the Merge, Lloyd loses everyone all over again. He’s entirely and undeniably alone for the first time in years, but why does it feel so familiar? He’s mourned so many loved ones so many times, but why does this feel so different? But he’s not alone, not entirely. The others could still be out there, and there are still people to be saved. Loss is an old friend of his, but she never sticks around. In spite of it all, Lloyd keeps living. He keeps fighting and he keeps loving. He stays isolated in the monastery, but the doors stay open. He’s learned to keep his heart open, even when heavy with loss. He continues to look for his family and he continues help people where he can. He remembers how lost he has been, how lost he once was, with nowhere and no one to call home, and he will never give up until no one is ever that alone ever again. Lloyd has lost so much, but he’s learned to never stop letting people in. Arin and Sora remind him so much of himself — two kids left to fend for themselves, no family to be found but each other, unnoticed by the world at large until their potentials show themselves — and there was never a world in which Lloyd didn’t take them in with open arms.

Was written in response to this post by @alizibtheterrible but it quickly got out of hand and I didn’t want to hijack their post lol

[matan4il]

"Breaking your faith in humanity "... Truer words never spoken. There is knowing the true horror that was done to innocent civilians and being horrified by it. But then there is the ultimate sadness in how some people act now. How are people criticizing Paltrow for speaking the truth. Rape is not resistance!!!

Even on a mundane level, I can say as I first found you because of Buddie, I almost have no joy for it coming back. I'm almost grateful there were no shows this fall because it would have felt icky for me. But it still does even now. It feels vapid to find joy in something knowing how people suffered and are still suffering. I, of course, don't judge others who find solace in it. I will watch it and hope. I just find it hard to go back to a normal thing like shipping a fictional couple.

As always, I hope you're staying safe and sane. I hope you feel ok and maybe have the house situation figured out . xoxoxo

Hi darling!

I hope you're well. *hugs*

It's insane to me that the sentence, "Rape is not resistance" is something that actually needs saying. People who are truly against rape, are always against rape. They don't need convincing not to make Jews an exception. I have NEVER heard in any other context people saying, "Well, I'm against rape as an idea, but this specific case is okay."

If you're okay with some rapes, you've never truly been anti-rape.

But the fact that so many of those who say it, who supposedly justify it as anti-colonialist, are actually colonizers living on colonized land, is even more deranged, because it means either they're saying they're okay with they themselves, their families and fellow colonizer friends and colleagues being raped as well (I doubt that's what they mean), or they're applying this "notion" of rape being resistance in a discriminatory way, where rape is resistance so long as it's done to Jews living in the Jewish ancestral homeland. Which is not anti-colonialist at all, IS hypocritical and IS antisemitic. HOW can they take this stance, and not see how harmful to Jews it is? They're being pro-rape and anti-Jewish, while claiming they're motivated by empathy and concern for human rights!?

I'm so happy you found me thanks to my Buddie content, and I endlessly appreciate what an incredible, real ally to Jews you are. I'm generally very grateful for every 911 fan, who actually implements the show's notions of compassion, which include listening to marginalized groups about their own experiences (and Hamas' massacre, the motivation behind the war, the pain over the loss of so many Israelis and Jews by a nation which has survived a genocide, and still carries an inter-generational trauma because of it, the sense of betrayal over the rise in antisemitic incident on Oct 7 already, while the terrorists were still inside Israel, butchering, raping, beheading and burning people, these are OUR experiences. Ignoring us when we talk about them or telling us we're only motivated by bloodlust, an antisemitic trope, when we explain that we're much more concerned about liberating our hostages and preventing another massacre, that's speaking over us. Arguing with us on what is and isn't antisemitic, that's speaking over us, rather than listening to us. It's antisemitic in itself, and it's not something that's done to ANY other marginalized group).

I can't believe we're at the point where Jews have to beg people to just listen to us, listen as if we're human beings, and not caricatures of vampiric villains (again, a classic antisemitic trope), cruelly interested solely in destruction and death. But in response so many people just look at us, knowing there's a rise in antisemitism, and still go... "No."

When people in every fandom go around, not just blocking Jews and Jewish allies who believe a Jewish state has the right to exist in the Jewish ancestral land, but they're also telling others to block us, to silence our voices, to act like there is no pain and there are no victims on the Israeli and Jewish side of this conflict, it is hard to be enthusiastic about any fandom.

At the same time, I KNOW I'm living through a major trauma, the worst Jews have experienced since the end of the Holocaust. I've seen my maternal grandmother never really recover from the trauma she went through in the Holocaust. I've never seen her laugh without a touch of sadness and pain being there, she never went through one celebration without slipping aside for at least one moment and crying. After my paternal grandmother died, I discovered that her sister never had kids because of the Holocaust, and actually ended up taking her own life (up until our grandmother's passing, my sis and I were told she died of cancer). So I know how persistent trauma is. I know that the Holocaust did not end in May 1945, and I know that Oct 7 didn't end when Israel was freed of the 3,500 terrorists who invaded it that day. Oct 7 probably won't end even when the current war does. That's why I recognize how important it is to hold on to every bit of normalcy I can, to not let the trauma take over. And that's what fandom is in a sense. A semblance of normalcy.

Except fandom isn't normal anymore, not after I've seen incomprehensible amounts of hate and hypocrisy, including from people I trusted and liked, and thought liked me. My belief in the kindness of people (especially when it's people who love a show that is all about celebrating kindness) has been shaken to the core.

Which is why I currently honestly don't know what I'll do once s7 premieres. I'll watch it, obviously. And I am excited about some stuff I've seen. But will I write and gif? I don't know the answer yet. It's not a certain yes, it's not a certain no. I guess I'll see how I feel at every given moment. I'm not putting any pressure on myself one way or another. But I promise you that whether I post my Buddie content or not (let's be honest, if I watch 9-1-1, you better believe there will be Buddie content alive and kicking in my mind), I will never stop loving them, or thinking they're the ultimate battlefield boyfriends, and sweetest little family unit with Chris. :) And I know that if I do post, it would be an honor to be in this fandom with you, and those like you, who care about my people, and actually listen to Jewish voices (all of them, not just the few they can tokenize).

So... THANK YOU. I can't say that enough. And yes, I've moved into my new home, though it's not quite what it needs to be yet. But I'm getting there! Tiny steps still count, right? I'm sending you massive amounts of love, always! xoxox

[empressofthewind]

Hi! So, not a question but I saw your recent post asking why some people see Mello and Near as sibling coded, and wanted to reply but ran out of space within the character limits in the comments area so thought I would just send this message.

Zero pressure or expectation on you to reply to this or do anything else, but I just wanted to share my thoughts. I can’t say I’m new to Tumblr but I -am- still bad at it, so sorry if this isn’t the ‘right’ way to reply.

The development of sibling-like feelings isn’t necessarily tied to genetics alone. Unrelated kids raised in the same household can and often do nonetheless see each other as siblings, and Mello and Near were essentially raised like foster-brothers. They have the same prolonged exposure to each other in their formative years, have shared history and childhood experience (including trauma, loss, grief over L), were raised in the same environment, and molded by the same “parental”-like authority figures using the same childrearing practices and philosophy. Typically this type of intensely intimate shared history is more exclusive to sibling relationships cuz, well, most kids are raised in their family household, not in an orphanage that never intends to let them be adopted out. In many ways how Mello and Near interact in canon is similar to a complicated sibling relationship – they both show to varying extents feelings of competitiveness and resentment but also understanding, care and protectiveness for each other. The same principles would apply to any of the kids at the Wammy’s House, but it could be even more intense for Near and Mello because as the potential successors they likely had a whole other level of expectations and pressure that was unique to their situation and that the other kids who are not in the immediate running for the title wouldn’t necessarily experience or relate to.

So although it's not the primary way I personally contextualize their relationship, I think it’s not altogether misguided to think of them as sibling coded or that on some level they might relate to each other in that way, whether consciously or not.

But most importantly at the end of the day they’re not genetically related so they definitely can and should still fuck.

Hi!! Thanks for sending this through (this is a perfectly fine way to message me, for the record)! I debated whether or not to reply since I don't want too much discourse on my blog, but it felt rude to leave it unanswered, so this will be a limited edition response from me :-) also placing it under a cut because this is already a long post as is hgsjhgsd

I DO feel the need to say that I'm very familiar with the idea that non-genetically related people can see each other as siblings!! This is the case with foster siblings, adopted siblings, step-siblings, so on and so forth, and I know found family is very much a real concept as well. The thing that's always confused me, as I mentioned in my post, is that there seems to be a very strong insistence from a large (or at least, vocal) group that Mello and Near specifically are like siblings, which very often comes from people who ship other combinations of the Wammy's boys or broadly do not insist the same about others also raised in that same environment. For example, to me, Matt and Mello exhibit a lot of the same traits you mentioned that could be viewed as sibling-like - they were both raised in the same orphanage under the same principles and authority; Mello often gets annoyed with Matt but still seems to care about him to some extent; they lived apart for about five years, but when Mello recruited Matt as a last-resort ally, Matt was still willing to help him. I suppose the distinction relies on how you define the essence of a sibling relationship, with regards to what criteria would need to be present in a relationship to skirt into that territory. Matt and Mello definitely have more of a friendship-like foundation that makes them seem quite comfortable with each other, but Mello and Near have more of a reading each other's minds/always on the same wavelength kind of thing going on, which could also be taken as a familial trait.

Your point about them being the potential successors is interesting to me as well! I suppose it really just depends on how one chooses to interpret Wammy's House as an institution. I've always imagined that most people in the program are quite competitive about it, and that Mello and Near were chosen fairly soon before L's death, but this isn't strictly canon either, so if you assume they were quite young when they were both picked, then this interpretation could work! It does absolutely make sense to me that, if you don't see their relationship as romantic, viewing it as familial in nature would be another way of interpreting the vague sort of fondness they have for each other despite Mello's entire life revolving around his hatred of Near.

On the whole, while it's not my personal interpretation, i find it very insightful reading some of the varying perspectives on it!! I was mostly just curious to know where the idea comes from, as I very commonly see people insist that there's no other valid way to read it/that their dynamic was specifically "coded" to be sibling-like. I don't mind it as a headcanon at all as long as people don't use it as an excuse to bash the ship :-)

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

2023 Year in Review

In celebration of the coming New Year, I decided to do a re-watch of every drama I gave 3 or more stars in 2023. Only 15 made the cut, which given the number of dramas I watched (I started well over 200, although I dropped at least a third of those) is not that many.

(My rating system is pretty simple: 1 ⭐ = terrible/don't recommend/waste of time, 2 ⭐⭐ = pretty good/enjoyable/would recommend to others but probably never re-watch, 3 ⭐⭐⭐ = good/likely to re-watch, 4 ⭐⭐⭐⭐ = practically perfect/would re-watch frequently. As you can see, it's more about what I personally enjoy than what's objectively great. So some objectively good shows aren't on this list, like La Pluie or Wedding Plan or Our Dating Sim or Doctor Cha or King the Land or Call it Love, because they got a lower score from me because I'm not that likely to ever re-watch them even though I'm glad I watched them and I'll happily recommend them to others. Of course, my ratings are subject to change over time too because I often surprise myself with what I re-watch. Some shows that I originally gave 2.5 stars have eeked out 3.5 stars over the following year or two just because they grew on me and I kept re-watching them.)

As such, my plan to ring in the New Year is to re-watch:

Lost/Human Disqualification - ⭐⭐⭐/⭐ - (IQIYI/Amazon Prime, kdrama, slice of life, healing journey, slight romance, a 42yo woman pushed to the breaking point by life crosses paths with a 27yo man who is mourning the loss of his friend, outstanding dialog, killer A+ acting, tw: infidelity, miscarriage, and suicide BUT DON'T LET THAT SCARE YOU AWAY)

Hit The Spot ⭐⭐⭐ (Viki, kdrama, romcom, 2 women begin hosting a sex advice podcast, funny, sex positive education, extraordinarily relatable, high heat, 8 30min eps)

The Glory ⭐⭐⭐/⭐ (Netflix, kdrama, 36yo woman patiently takes revenge on her childhood bullies, slight romance, incredible dialog, A+ acting, excellent pacing and powerful reveals, tw: the highschool bullies are evil little sociopaths who do some extremely horrific shit)

The Eighth Sense ⭐⭐⭐/⭐ (Viki, gay romance, kdrama, incoming freshman who is a rural-transplant to Seoul meets exiting senior and joins his surf club, gorgeous production, healing past trauma, A+ acting and insanely believable physical chemistry, good OST)

Love Tractor ⭐⭐⭐ (IQIYI, gay, short kbl, big city law student with musical ambitions hides from his responsibilities in the countryside and meets a younger himbo farmer with a heart of gold)

Sing My Crush ⭐⭐⭐/⭐ (IQIYI, kBL, a talented but heartbroken young man is about to give up on his musical dreams when he is adopted by an eager wannabe manager, best friends to lovers, cohabitation, pining, good plot and chemistry)

Moonlight Chicken ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (YouTube, Thai, gay romance + BL, one night stand between a struggling chicken diner owner and a recently promoted office worker turns into more, HS student and lonely deaf boy become the cutest couple to ever cute, A+ writing and acting, themes of: found family, making a home, love matters even when it doesn't end well, class inequality, queer generational divides, letting go of the past, a radically compassionate look at first love, last love, lost love, and unrequited love)

Bed Friend ⭐⭐⭐ (IQIYI, Thai, gay office romance, enemies to FWB to lovers, healing past trauma done right, ridiculously pretty leads, consent kings, high heat, A+ lead chemistry and acting, soft landing in the final 2 eps, tw: sexual assault)

My School President ⭐⭐⭐/⭐ (Viki, Thai, BL, high school boys singing their feelings [well!], wholesome, gentle, sweet and funny, A+ production values, peak low-heat BL with well-executed tropes)

Be My Favorite ⭐⭐⭐ (Youtube, Thai, BL, repressed and fearful boy travels back in time to his college days to woo his crush and falls in love with his supposed rival instead, themes: living each moment to the fullest so you won't have regrets, kindness as a catalyst for character growth and positive change, bravery in the face of uncertainty, telling people you love them can only be a good thing)

Laws of Attraction ⭐⭐⭐ (IQIYI, Thai, gay, mystery/romance lakorn, evil unhinged babygirl lawyer and the heroic idealistic taekwondo instructor who falls for him work together to solve the mystery of his niece's death, loveable granny, A+ lesbians, happy endings all around, great acting and lead chemistry)

Jack O'Frost ⭐⭐⭐ (Viki, Japan, gay, amnesiac young man and his co-habitating ex begin their relationship again, short 6 ep, A+ acting, excellent production values)

Hold my Hand at Twilight ⭐⭐⭐ (Viki, jdrama, twenty-something city mouse meets country mouse and they begin the journey towards making their dreams come true, cohabitation, warm-hearted, angsty 3rd act, A+ acting, excellent banter, post-credit epilogue)

Kiseki: Dear to Me ⭐⭐⭐ (Viki, Taiwan, gay, hardworking med student falls for the gang member he secretly treats, insane plot includes time skip and amnesia [2 tropes I usually hate, but actually done well in this case and not annoying], domesticity, cohabitation, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, short total runtime)

Fake It Till You Make It ⭐⭐⭐/⭐ (Viki, China, romance, 🔥 lead chemistry, snappy banter, disarmingly honest and vulnerable leads, this couple wants to eat each other for dinner AND dessert but constantly chooses not to because of other life priorities and fears, friends with killer UST to lovers who communicate shockingly well, all the characters feel like real people instead of caricatures)

[box-dwelling]

So I have kind of a weird sprite analysis hypothesis.

So I see a lot of stuff about the Von Karma siblings both grabbing their shoulders like Manfred does. But looking again I think for Miles it's noticeably different.

Here's Manfred

Here's Franziska

And then here's Miles.

So Franziskas is basically a spot on mirror of her dad. But Miles isn't grabbing his shoulder he's grabbing his arm. It's also notably his left arm he's grabbing where the other two are grabbing their right. I don't think these are actually the parallel were treating them as.

There's also what they're used for. Fran and MVK have the shoulder grab as a damage Sprite but with Edgeworth it's something he frequently does during conversation. So I went through and looked at when he uses this sprite and I found something interesting.

Pre the Reval of what happened during DL6, It's almost always involving how he perceives himself to be failing to live up to MVKs standards (and his own) as a procecutor or when talking about his connection with Phoenix or Gregory. Now we can take that as repressed gay thoughts or we can take it as being ashamed of his familial and platonic connection with, respect for, and losses to defense attorneies who MVK does not think highly of at all.

Then after that it's often when he's scared Phoenix or other people are going to think less of him or that they already do. Like how he's scared in RFA about how his car being the crime scene is implicating him in the murdering or how he thinks Lana has betrayed him.

Then in addition to this during FMT it's used very liberally whenever MVK, his practices or what he turned Miles (and also Franziska) into are brought up. It's also used a lot in reference to Celeste which I take as being an issue with bring up suicide given he's talking to a man who is very angry that he just faked his own and the similarities he feels between himself and adrian. It's also used involving de killer and also Maya's Kidnapping. Initially I thought they just needed a serious sprite but looking more into it, I think this is another instance of him being scared of Phoenix's reaction. He knows during these conversations that Engarde hired De Killer. He knows that this is going to hurt Phoenix like hell when he find out. He's also probably scared he'll get the blame. This compounds when he finds out about Maya because now Phoenix's best friend is likely to die because he will probably win this trial. And he's worried that if the rescue attempt doesn't work that blame is also on him.

BTTT is more of the same. Sprite is used when he is directly preventing Phoenix from accessing Maya. Also often in reference to Dahlia and specifically the fact he found out about the trial where she was found guilty. Meaning he knows something about Phoenix he wasn't directly told.

So with this there's some information we can gather. This is something Edgeworth does when he's feeling guilty and scared of retribution. It is fundamentally linking his guilt and fear. But what triggers these emotions changes throughout the games. In the first game it's guilt of not being a true Von karma. In the later games, it's guilt of his previous actions, and also guilt whenever he has to do something that might upset someone he cares for or respects. Now for anyone who has anxiety caused by abuse, this probably looks deeply familiar. It does to me at least. Edgeworth sees any situation where he thinks he's at fault, no matter how small or not to blame he is, and reacts in fear. He is terrified of messing up in any way. He scared that any slip up will be ment with retaliation. This also lines up with what we know about Von Karma. Perfection is an impossible standard and Investigations shows that MVK would verbally abuse him whenever he failed to meet it.

Now I want to say, I don't think this is Edgeworth not fully deconstructing his perfection complex. I think he has. This is clearly a trauma response. It's instinct.

Now I have 2 theories about the action itself. One I'm certain of, the other is a little more head canon crackpot scheme.

Options 1: this is a self soothing thing. He's literally hugging himself. He's closing himself off and putting up a barrier to protect himself.

Options 2: if this was AA4 and I noticed it with perceive, I'd wonder if this was specifically an old wound hes instinctively covering or protecting himself from. Maybe whenever he slipped up Von Karma would enact a physical punishment like a punch to the gut or to hit his arm. The head turn is literally a flinch.

Or he could just be doing it whenever he has gay thoughts idk