#but god is he so compelling to analyze

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[comradekatara]

i think the reason that a lot of people don’t recognize how fucked up sokka is is due to the fact that sokka himself refuses to acknowledge it. he is extremely repressed and operating on so many layers of cognitive dissonance that he doesn’t even realize that he is not in fact “normal” or “mentally stable” or “healthy.” part of sokka being extremely fucked up is also refusing to acknowledge or confront that he is remotely fucked up. so he generally presents like a well-functioning person who, despite being incredibly cerebral, doesn’t have a particularly rich inner life. but that’s only because he’s walled off every single aspect of his existence that causes him (real) pain or sadness or grief, put it in a vault and then buried it. and confronting any of it, even a little bit (like admitting that he felt abandoned by his father leaving, or that he misses his mother, or any other normal expression of pain that katara has no problem communicating) would mean confronting all the harmful logic he has internalized regarding his identity and denial of his own inherent humanity. so even though he seems like he has no filter and loves to complain, he is actually performing pretty much constantly. for the sake of those to whom he feels obligated, but mostly for himself.

[beetlejuicyy]

Ascension | True Form! Sukuna x Reader

Summary: Ryomen Sukuna is a ruthless monster who takes pleasure in slaughter and destruction. You are his favorite, but that makes the other servants on his estate envy your status. What will master Sukuna do to you when he hears the rumors of his favorite slut bedding a common servant from the kitchen?

Warnings: all of them lol it's sukuna violence, blood, death, sexual content, graphic description, exhibitionism (if there are any others I should mention please let me know)

Word count: 6,518

Read on AO3

Notes: I also had the audacity to end it with fluff??

Masterlist

The corridor leading to master Sukuna’s chambers was infinite. You had walked along the creaking wooden floor so many times before, shortly after you went into his service. Stories of unimaginable violence were spreading from servant to servant, starting with the man who would fix a broken wall to the girl wiping blood off clothes. Clothes of men and women who were called in but never came back. He was a monster. Tall muscular body and four arms, always towering over mortals from his throne in the main hall. People were saying he could have your body sliced in half with only one look from afar. Four blood red eyes, feeding off the trembling of voices, shaking of bodies begging for forgiveness. He had none to spare.

However gruesome the stories about Ryomen Sukuna were all over the country, people still flocked to his mansion, offering their services. People with nowhere left to go, people betrayed and hunted by their own kind, the weak, the poor, the lonely. As much of a monster as he was, his home provided a purpose and a haven for those with no place left among humans.

You were no different. When he first summoned you to his chambers, you expected the most painful and humiliating fuck you could ever imagine.

Violence turns him on.

A lot of the women who survived his bed were saying the same thing. Especially then, when he had just come back from killing an entire village, leaving fire and blood in his footsteps, he was sexually aroused for sure. The girl who was going to be summoned that night was going to die, everyone was sure of that. But you didn’t.

“Men are pathetic.” You told him, looking straight to the floor. That was the first time you saw him, sitting high on his throne, an immaculate white yukata covering his now clean body. No sign of the disasters he had brought upon were left on his body, except the obvious erection you could see poking from underneath the fabric. He crossed one muscular leg over the other, resting his chin on the palm of his lower left arm.

“How so?” His voice didn’t scare you, like you expected. But then again, after you walked along the hall and stopped in front of the stairs of his throne, you couldn’t look at him anymore. His form was so imposing, so intimidating, towering over you. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a god.

“They kill and they rape and they destroy. But they pretend to be righteous.” You were wearing a royal green kimono that softened the red of your skin, as blood was running rapidly through your veins.

“I did the same thing just earlier.” He said, exposing his sharp teeth in a vicious grin, as if he had just caught you lying.

“They are weak, master. You are a god.” You forced your eyes away from the floor. If you were to survive in his service, you had one simple thing to do. Obey. “I would rather serve you, my lord.”

He looked at you in silence, all four eyes quietly analyzing you, your posture, your face, your breasts that barely fit in the kimono who belonged to someone else. You could hear the sound of your own breath, empty air echoing in your lungs. He was unmoved.

“I’ve heard this tale before.” He said, eyes looking down at you through lashes.

He never seemed bothered by your daring eyes so you compelled them to keep looking up. You were sick and twisted compared to other people, you’ve noticed it since you were a child. Maybe that’s why, contrary to all the stories you’ve heard in the first few days you had already spent there, you found Sukuna handsome, more than anything else. Yes, he was a monster in size and in strength, his build terrifying, his eyes piercing and deadly. But all of these things came together as hunky, almost statuesque. The way he was looking at you, a mix of boredom and indifference to your existence, like he controlled the way the universe worked. Your eyes roamed along his body, taking advantage of the time he took to ponder on your fate. The most popular rumor, that was acknowledged as a fact by all the stories circulating, was that he had two cocks. Your eyes fell on his lap and your lips parted slightly in curiosity. Did he really? You were so focused on his body that you didn’t notice the corners of his mouth curled in a perverted grin splattered across his face. Sukuna noticed you were practically undressing him with your eyes alone.

“You seem to be sincere.” His voice reverberated in the empty hall, snapping you out of your daydream. You looked at him with eyes round in surprise as he gestured for you to approach him, his arm extended towards you, rough long fingers inviting.

This time, however, you had the feeling you weren’t going to be coming back alive. You had become his favorite quickly. He would always call for a different woman, most of the time specifying certain features that she had to possess. One night he wanted a short woman, the other a big breasted one with short hair, other times he wanted a woman with visible scars on her body. He never knew their names and never bothered with remembering. They were simple objects to fulfill his bodily needs. Soon, he started asking for you, specifically by name. In no time, you were the only one summoned to his chambers. People noticed it as did you, and you began getting ready, washing your body, bathing in perfumes, decorating it with jewels and the most beautiful of fabrics, knowing Sukuna would soon be back drunk on brutality and violence, eager to fuck you numb.

At first, the other servants were relieved. The women gradually let go of the crippling fear of being chosen to entertain the master in his chambers, the men relieved of the fear that, if the woman they brought in front of the master failed to satisfy him, their bodies would be slashed in pieces. But lack of fear allowed enough space for other emotions in the hearts of the servants.

Envy.

You were too quiet, too serene. As if you enjoyed your status. Moreover, the stories about what was happening behind the closed doors of his chambers were now scarce. You abstained from talking about it to others and, besides the usual bruises that covered your body all the time, there were no signs of violence or terror inflicted upon you. Much to their dismay, when you would return to your room, long after sunrise, a smile of satisfaction would always be plastered on your worn out face. You enjoyed whatever was happening to you. And that gave you power.

This is how you ended up being framed. A few servants, both men and women, came up with a false narrative, accusing you of giving yourself to one of the boys working at the kitchen. They had seen you helping him bandage a deep meat knife cut. From that simple gesture to detailed falsehood about sexual activities was only one step. First, they spread it amongst each other and now they went directly to master Sukuna to inform him that his favorite slut was throwing herself at any man.

All you could do was deny. You had been summoned to the main hall and you knew exactly why. It was your word against theirs but, as much time as you spent in Sukuna’s company, you didn’t know if he cared enough to even find the truth. None of his women were allowed to be touched by any other man. There had been multiple instances when the women he forcefully took had lovers or even husbands that they tried to go back to and they all ended up decapitated. You finally reached the end of the corridor, palms sweaty and heart beating relentlessly in your chest.

Pushing the doors open, the first thing you laid your eyes upon was Sukuna, sitting high on his throne, a depraved look glistening in all of his four eyes. On either side of the room stood your accusers, more than you would have imagined. At least half of the servants of the estate were standing humbly, heads kept down, eyes sticking to the floor. Contrary to their form, you could see the looks of pride on some of their faces, while others seemed to doubt the success of their plan. In the middle of the room there was a large futon mat. It was there often times when Sukuna enjoyed having you touch yourself while he instructed your every move as he sat on his throne. You thought you saw the servants take it out last time.

Sukuna didn’t say a word. Only his superior grin could be a hint as to how this charade was going to end, but you never knew what to expect from his eyes clouded with lust when he looked at you. You walked in, not expecting any formal invitation, passing by the group of servants, not bothering to spare them a look. The only important thing was in front of you, sitting at the top of the stairs, sunk back in his throne, legs parted widely, four arms crossed across his chest. You felt like a mouse walking right into a trap.

“I’ve heard some interesting stories from your friends.” His low voice echoed in the room. It seemed as if you were being choked by an invisible hand. “I believe you’re aware of it.”

“They’re all lies, my lord.” You answered, just as you had planned. You had your most beautiful attire on, your most prized golden hairpin he had gifted you. But you didn’t expect he would have the accusers present while he would decide your punishment. Your ears picked up a faint sound of rushed breaths and steps behind you, as one of the women tried to argue with your answer. Sukuna ignored her as well, all his attention on you. “My body and my soul belong to you, master. You can use them however you consider suitable.” In response to your last words he grinned, that wide grin that exposed his teeth, like a predator.

“Come here, slut.” Pressing your lips together in anxiety, you grabbed the sides of your long kimono and pulled it up as you climbed up the steps of his throne.

The servants looked in shock at your body gradually ascending to their master’s place. No one was allowed to even dream to stand as high as him. He had fucked you before on his throne multiple times, especially after fights with jujutsu sorcerers that would wear out his body but make his cocks hard, his skin still stained with the blood of those he had slain. When you reached the last step you dared to look at him. It was one of the few instances when you got to look down at him, as you stood up in front of him while he comfortably sat on his throne. His arms were now resting at his sides, his crimson eyes filled with contained rage. The closer you got to him, the more you could feel the killing intent lingering in the air. He looked at you with indecipherable lust. For sex? For killing? For revenge?

“Show them how you serve your master.” Sukuna’s command had air stuck in your throat and eyes widened in shock.

You expected to be punished, even killed, although you had grown to trust him and feel safe in his presence. But not to have you humiliated in the front of the very people who falsely accused you. Your lips parted in a pathetic attempt to protest. No sound came out. You took a moment, one that would have gotten any other human in your shoes killed in an instant, to look for the reason in his eyes. Have you become arrogant enough to think you knew him that well? The only thing you could see in his wicked gaze was your own reflection, nothing else beyond the crystal clear layer of his four eyes. You obeyed, conscious that you were a moment too late. You ought to be punished for that too. But did it even matter, given your situation?

You kneeled down in front of him, his eyes following your face as it lowered until it was at the same level with his crotch. Your hands effortlessly worked on the knot tied at his waist, undoing it. You heard gasps and murmurs from the people filling the room when your hand reached under the fabric of his clothes, pushing it away and displaying his two throbbing cocks. Most of these people had only heard stories about it. You licked the top one, pressing your tongue flat along its length, while your hands gently stroked the other one, cupping his thick balls full of seed waiting to be released. This was your chance to maintain your status, to remain in his good graces, so you tried to ignore the thought of all those people watching you sucking Sukuna’s cocks. He let you adjust to his size quietly, one hand reaching to take the golden hairpin out of your dark long locks and throwing it away. Your hair fell down over your shoulders and back, thin strands sticking to your face. The metal fell down the stairs with sharp noise that covered the wet sounds of you slurping and licking his cock. The pin fell tapping in the middle of the group of people but none of them dared to move, even though its worth could have easily earned them a new life.

Some of them were looking anywhere else but at your small body compared to his beastly frame, as your head bobbed up and down his length, unable to ignore the sounds. Others, on the contrary, mostly men, were watching fascinated. Sukuna’s upper right hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, pushing it away from your face and you looked up at him when his rough knuckles grazed faintly against your cheek. Your eyes met his only for a fraction of a second before he pushed your head roughly, forcing his cock deeper inside your mouth to touch the back of your throat. He groaned in pleasure, a deep guttural sound coming from deep inside his throat as you choked, tears filling the corners of your eyes.

“Undress.” Sukuna commanded.

You let him fuck your mouth as your hands moved away from his other cock. More than anything, you needed your hold on him for stability. While your body was shaking with every thrust of his cock inside your mouth, his hand a tight grip in your hair keeping your head steady. Your trembling hands moved to weakly remove your obi and push the hems of the kimono away, the soft fabric slipping off your shoulders and falling around you on the floor. You had almost forgot people were watching, but you heart a faint constrained reaction from the crowd as your naked body was revealed. They could only see your back, some of the lucky ones your large breasts from the side as they jiggled in the rhythm of master Sukuna’s movements. Your hands desperately searched to get a hold of his body as soon as you fulfilled his command. One of your hands found his thigh while the other faintly touched his lower cock before he pulled out of your mouth.

You could feel the taste of his precum deep inside your throat. His upper left hand grabbed your jaw harshly. He pulled your face closer to him, forcing you up from the floor. If he wanted to, he could throw you away from up there, and you would land on the other side of the room, skull crushed against the wall. The thought sent terror through your entire body and you began shaking in fear. Instead of this, he held you by the jaw a few inches away from his face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He could see the distress in your eyes and he grinned maniacally. You could feel his hot breath on your face as his cocks rubbed against your chest, between your breasts, while his large lower hands cupped them together, his sharp nails scratching the soft sensitive skin. Eager to satisfy his needs and cling to your pathetic life, you moved your body along his length, creating friction between his cocks and your breasts. Your hands grabbed his forearms for support as you moved and his grip on your jaw softened, allowing you to move up and down as you needed. He cooed in approval against your lips, only for you to hear. A good sign.

“You’re so eager to please.” He said loudly, for everyone to hear. You wanted to play along, let yourself consumed by the humiliation of the servants seeing you being used like a sexual object only for Sukuna’s pleasure. The more time your spent looking in his darkened red eyes, the more you forgot about the people watching. No, that was wrong. You were not forgetting. You were enjoying it.

“Yes ma-“ You noticed his lower eye look to the side full of rage right before the screams of people covered the low sloppy sounds of his cocks fucking your tits.

"Silence." He growled and the commotion stopped, people biting their tongues and looking away from the headless body on the floor, head rolled a few feet away.

Some were sobbing. Others were frozen with terror. The man that just died in an instant was about to touch himself, turned on by the sight of you. No one was allowed to take pleasure in what belonged to Sukuna. You felt his cocks throbbing even more aroused between your breasts and you knew it wasn't just the warm and soft feeling of your body that got him that hard.

Violence turns him on.

Sukuna pushed you by the head, forcing you to take one of his cocks in your mouth again. This time he was aiming to cum, as both his upper hands were holding your head in place, with each movement the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat as he groaned like a beast. Your hands grabbed his thighs, nails digging into his skin as you took his entire length in and out of your mouth, your tongue running along the veins of his cock. You took a chance to look up at him, knowing he enjoyed the sight of your face while he fucked it relentlessly, teary eyes and brows furrowed upwards in a helpless expression. Instead, you saw his head thrown back in pleasure, mouth slightly open to let out ungodly sounds. Tears fell down your cheeks but you enjoyed the sound of his grunts, and you joined him with moans that reverberated around his girth. He came in no time, one cock inside your mouth the other on your chest. You swallowed all that he gave to you as the tip of his cock softly rubbed against your lips, the last drops of his milky seed dripping at the edges of your mouth.

“Thank you, my lord.” You moaned, grateful, looking up at him through your lashes, waiting anxiously for his next move.

You heard several overlapping sounds of meat slashing, blood spilling and bodies falling on the floor. Sukuna was taking his time effortlessly killing every single man whose dick got unbearably hard because of you, one by one. You were still with your back turned to the crowd so you could only imagine the number of butchered people and the terrified sight of the ones still left alive.

Sukuna let his robe fall off his shoulders on the throne as he leaned down to grab you by the waist, pulling you up over his large shoulder as he descended the stairs. You let your small body relax, hanging over his muscular one, your soft belly pressed against his shoulder. One hand held you firmly by the waist while the other had both your ankles in a lose grip, holding you in place as he walked down the stairs. He was completely naked as were you. Your feet dangled against his abdomen, your ass and leaking cunt exposed. You didn’t even realize you had gotten so wet until the cool air hit your folds. He could feel your juices on his chest as your thighs rubbed together against his skin and he grinned to himself. He hadn’t even done anything to you yet.

With his every step, you could see more and more of the people filling the room. It was a horrifying sight. Blood was pooling on the floor, people were trying to avoid looking at the dead bodies while also avoiding looking at their master, looking at you, at the same time. It was impossible. Your accusers, who were so certain they would get rid of you, were dying one by one.

Sukuna let you fall off his shoulder on the mattress in the middle of the room. So he had it prepared for this, you thought. Suddenly, as you were laying on your back while he stood up next to you, waiting, you became extremely aware of all the eyes looking at your naked body. Up on the throne you felt safer, above everyone else. Who cared if they were watching you choke on their master’s cocks? But down here, with all these people, blood and killing surrounding you, a spark of fright erupted in your mind. What if master Sukuna was going to leave you here? Wasn’t this the most sadistic end you could meet? He got the servants tormented by the deaths of their own, all because of you, and now he was going to let them get their revenge. They would tear you to pieces. You desperately tried to hide your large breasts with your arms, pressing your legs together as if he didn’t parade around with you and your soaking cunt over his shoulder moments ago. You looked up at him with wide doubtful eyes. When did you become so uneasy in his presence?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You didn’t know at whom this question was directed. His voice was coated with a thick sense of dominance.

In the following seconds, you saw three people falling to the ground, blood spilling out of their bodies. Sukuna kneeled down next to you, grabbing you by the ankles and raising your legs up in the air. The back of your thighs pressed against his abdomen where his tongue rolled out and licked the soft skin. You whimpered, feeling the burning sensation in your lower body that meant one thing you knew very well. Your cunt needed him. Your legs eagerly wrapped around his neck, the feeling of his soft pink hair on your skin making your shiver. You tried pulling him closer to you, but he only watched, amused. You were struggling to have his body closer to yours, get him to penetrate you already. His lower arms pinned your legs in place while another hand lightly slapped you across the face.

“Beg.”

You had never quite felt the need for him to own you like you did right now. You were desperately clinging to him, ever fiber in your being telling you that the only way you could be safe, the only place you belonged to was in his possession.

“Please master.” You whined, without any second thought.

Somehow, only unconsciously, you knew that the reason he took a liking to you was that you weren’t afraid of him. Not once before this day did you doubt your master. The fact that you found him ravishing, the fact that you carnally wanted him so bad out of your own accord, it was something he never expected but got addicted to. Sure, taking whatever he wanted whenever he wanted gave him a sort of high only power could attain. But to feel needed, to feel wanted like you wanted him, to have you suck on his cocks so eagerly, beg for him to fuck you like an animal, cry out in pleasure because of his touch, Sukuna would never give up on these things.

“Please, punish me like I deserve.”

You gasped out of air when you felt his lower cock easily sink deep into your moist pussy, while his top cock rubbed against your folds. The feeling of your warm walls clenching around his girth sent a wave of indescribable pleasure through him, a pleasure that only made him eager to chase even more. His movements picked up a fast paced rhythm from the start, balls slamming against your ass with every slap of his hips against yours. He had his upper arms around your legs, keeping them up on one of his shoulders, while his other rough large hands were grabbing your breasts, kneading, playing with your nipples. You began moaning uncontrollably, the mixed sensation of the cock inside your cunt and the stimulation of the cock rubbing against your folds and over your clit with each thrust sending overwhelming waves of pleasure through your body. Your fists were grabbing the mattress tightly, your body hot and sweaty.

Through half open eyes you could see the golden hairpin on the floor and a woman trying to walk and pick it up. Fool. She really thought Sukuna wouldn’t see her, too drunk on your body to pay attention to his surroundings anymore. You could understand, though. Any man fucking with such violence and focus like he was thrusting inside of you was sure to lose all his other senses. But Sukuna wasn’t just a man. He was your god. Part of you wanted to warn her, tell her not to test her luck. Her head was sliced off her neck right when she was ready to reach out and grab the hairpin.

Your eyes were already tightly shut when that happened, the feeling of Sukuna’s cock throbbing inside you ready to release having your walls clench around him and your whines louder, more desperate as you approached your orgasm as well. He pushed your legs open, leaning over you, reaching deeper and deeper into your sensitive hole. You felt the wet tongue on his abdomen again, licking the sweat off your tummy, circling around your navel. The strain on your thighs was getting more and more painful the more he pushed his heavy body against yours.

“I would massacre the whole country for you.” He grunted against your lips.

His name reverberated in the room when you screamed it as your orgasm washed over you. His cum filled your hole, his sticky seed overflowing and dripping along your thighs and your ass. His other cock released his seed on your belly. Your fucked out face was the most beautiful thing Sukuna had ever witnessed in his life. All hot and sweaty, hair a mess around you like a halo, biting your lips, your eyes closed your eyebrows furrowed as if you still felt him inside you. The sight of your body covered in his seed, marking you as his and his only. It only made him want to ruin you even more. You opened your eyes lazily, your chest rising and falling with big movements as you sucked air inside your lungs.

You saw his eyes already fixed on you. Around the room was only death and blood and despair, while Sukuna sat down calmly, eyes fixed on you. You lost count of how many people were dead and how many were still watching. He didn’t call out for you, didn’t gesture in any way, but his eyes were imperative, commanding you without any effort. You forced your body up, supporting your weight on your arms. You crawled to him slowly, already feeling a mellow pain between your legs that would sure hurt a lot more the next day. He welcomed you at his side, a hand placed between your shoulder blades gently pushing you over his lap. You laid on your belly obediently over his strong thighs. His fingers ghosted over the line of your spine passing over the round curve of your ass.

His right hand was still aimlessly feeling the smoothness of your skin when his other right palm landed in a harsh slap over you other cheek. You cried out in pain, right before you felt two fingers of his left hand savagely pushed inside your mouth. You sucked on his fingers as he landed the second, then the third slap, the muffled sounds of your whines echoing from your throat. He spanked you again, in the same spot, and your eyes filled with tears at the growingly stinging sensation. Sukuna was consumed by your touch, by your scent. He loved how easily you got wet because of him. He could smell it before you were even aware of it. When he pulled you up from the floor, carrying you on his shoulder, your cunt was so close to his face, so obviously releasing that delicious scent of your leaking arousal that had his mouth water. Now he had you sprawled on his lap, the need to consume you insatiable. The urge to abuse your body until you were a trembling mess, unable to control it anymore. He leaned over just when you were expecting another painful slap and he sank his teeth into the plump flesh of your ass. He was careful enough not to seriously hurt you, but impatient to feel you in every way, leave his mark wherever he could. You cried out, drool falling at the corners of your mouth around his fingers. He pulled his teeth away and licked the round red mark left on your skin, making you shiver.

Another slap landed on your other ass cheek and he grabbed a fistful of your hair with his free left hand, forcing your body to arch painfully much. He leaned his face closer to yours, fingers still in your mouth. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, his deep red eyes swallowing you whole.

“Who do you belong to, slut?” When you tried to answer you choked on his fingers, unable to articulate any word.

He slapped you again, his other hand squeezing between your thighs. He could feel your juices mixed with his cum drip over his thigh. Sukuna knew slapping your ass was guaranteed to have your cunt drenched. He wouldn’t repeat himself. You squeezed your eyes shut when his large hand landed another slap, his fingers slightly pulling away from your mouth, allowing you to speak.

“I belong to you, master.” His fingers fell from your lips down your jaw to have your neck in a tight grip, choking you and forcing you to look at him.

“Then you can take your master’s cocks at the same time, can’t you?”

“Yes, master.” You replied weakly. He slapped your face, demanding a better, more convincing answer. “Please, master. I need both your cocks inside me.”

Sukuna seemed pleased with your answer, grinning at your deplorable state. You pushed your muscles to stand but he quickly and easily handled your body, using you as he pleased. He had you on all fours, your face sunk in the mattress soaked with your sweat. He ran his palm along your pussy, feeling his fingers slip, drenched in your arousal, as his lower arms had your hips pinned exactly where he needed you. You cried out in pain, feeling both his cocks stretching your walls. He was massive anyway, and now you had to take double the size. As dripping wet as you were, you still whined in discomfort when he forced himself into you. The mattress was wet with your tears and the room filled with your cries of pain that gradually turned into moans as you adjusted around him and pleasure overcame the pain. He slammed his hips violently against your ass, pulling you into him, his nails digging in your skin. One of his hands was on your head, pushing it further, keeping you in place as if you were a doll specifically made to fulfill his needs.

The beastly sounds he let out seemed to come from deeper inside his being, so savage and violent that seemed he was going to break you in half. You were too fucked out to pick up the sounds around you anymore, only his animalistic groans as he hit your insides, covering your moans and whimpers. You only felt a faint splash of hot thick liquid falling at your sides and the smell of fresh blood mixing with the smell of sex. You didn’t open your eyes until you were out of the room, not even when Sukuna came again inside you, his cum not fitting inside your pussy anymore, leaking out, spilling on the mattress and on your ass. Your body fell limp, exhausted and dirty, as soon as he let you out of his grip. The room grew silent like a grave, only Sukuna’s panting triumphantly overcoming everything.

You felt him pick you up in his arms and carry you in the other room, where two frightened servant girls wiped your body clean of the cum, sweat and blood. You moaned in pain when the wet cloth grazed against parts of your body that were already turning purple. Your body was starting to feel cold.

The feeling of being submerged in warm water was the most comforting thing. That is until you felt Sukuna’s large frame behind you, your back resting against his chest, his hands gently pouring water over your shoulders. You sank into his embrace, flesh melting on your bones. His lips hovered above yours, as if testing to see if you were awake. Or if you would allow it? You pressed your lips against his weakly, and he kissed you gently, almost surprised that he was capable of such a soft touch. You opened your eyes languidly, the first thing you saw being the half opened door that lead to the room where a few servants were already cleaning up the blood and bodies. As if you had only dreamed about it, you blinked several times. Sukuna had killed all the people that accused you.

“So, did you?” Sukuna’s husky voice gently purred in your ear.

“Hm?” You asked, eyes still on the other room, as if you didn’t hear.

“Did you fuck the servant from the kitchen?” He asked calmly, almost unbothered, as if he didn’t kill so many people because of it. Your back straightened and your head turned to him, finding the last bit of strength in indignation.

“Of course not!” He grinned at your fervor. “Did you… ever consider it to be true?”

“I don’t need unthankful servants to tell me. I would smell it on you.” There was a hint of threat in his voice, like warning you not to ever do something you would regret. When you looked at him questioningly, he pulled you closer, pushing your back against him, his cheek touching your soft hair. His hand cupped one of your breasts as he spoke, squeezing it, running his fingers over your warm skin. “If you’re afraid, if you’re sad, if you’re angry, if you’re horny. I can smell it on you.” His other hand ran down on your body, fingers resting just above your pussy. “Now imagine if someone else touches you. You would reek of dirty human.” You were sore already, drained. But you didn’t fight his touch, you didn’t try to stop him.

“I am a human too, master Sukuna.” You said and your breath hitched when you felt his fingers lightly rub circles around your clit.

“No.” He argued, your heavy breaths filling the room. He knew you didn’t get the chance to cum the last time. “You are my queen.”

With your eyes closed your hands searched for his. He took your hands in each of his, resting at the edge of the tub, intertwining your fingers together. Your soft whimpers echoed according to the motion of his fingers and he kissed your hair, encouraging you through your orgasm.

The water was starting to get cold. You were resting there in silence, your mind rewinding everything that happened. Sukuna said he could smell fear. Did he smell the fear on you when you first walked in? When you thought he was going to kill you? When you feared he was going to leave you at the hands of his servants? Instead, he called you his queen.

“There’s… someone.” You said instead, not daring to ask these questions. The silhouette of a man standing still in the hall was visible through the half open door.

“Oh? Yeah, it’s the boy from the kitchen. I haven't decided what to do with him yet.” Sukuna replied. “He’s the only one who defended you. But then again, what could he say? Defending you means defending himself.”

“Someone needs to live to tell the tale.” You mumbled. He cocked his head to the side, encouraging you to continue. “I would free him from your service. Give him some money. He will surely spread the tale of the ruthless Ryomen Sukuna.” He didn't reply. You doubted he was going to listen to your suggestion. 

That night was the first time you went to sleep by his side. Usually you would pick up the moment after he was satisfied enough with your presence and retreated. He never commanded you to leave but never signaled he wanted you to stay, either. This time he carried you in his arms to your new room. You were probably not able to walk on your own anyway. He was going to have you moved away from the servants, closer to his chambers, he explained when he slided the door open. He laid you down on the freshly clean mattress before you felt his large frame next to you. You quickly scooped closer, with much effort since all the muscles in your body felt sore. With your head on his chest, one arm over his wide muscular torso, you fell asleep faster than ever, fatigue winning over your body. The last thing you remembered was the feeling of his fingers in your hair, while his lower hand was softly laying on your hip. You've never felt so relaxed before.

When you woke up, the painful sensation between your legs hit your brain before you were even able to open your eyes. Sukuna was nowhere to be seen. You didn't even feel him leaving your side, fallen deep in your undisturbed sleep. Next to the mattress, on a small low table, a covered tray was waiting for you to wake up. On a small note, written by hand, a message greeted you.

Regain your strength soon, my queen

next 》》 Eraser |

Ryomen Sukuna x reader

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations: No.25

*just based on my personal observations, only take what resonates

Omg my first degree theory observation was wrong Danial Kwan has moon at 18 degree, a Virgo degree ! (My bad y’all I’m learning). I’ll say that he had to get a hold of his mental health while in Covid and his adult adhd diagnosis and that influenced the writing of everything all at once (Imma learn this lol, more studying must be done)

Ok better degree theory lol, the degree of your Venus and/or mars can show placements you attract. My Venus is at a cancer degree and I’ve dated a l o t of people with Cancer placements (an experience lol)

A guy’s Lilith can show that his sort of femme fatale attraction (type of girl that overstimulates him, makes him feel enamored but is also his weakness.) His Lilith placement can describe this femme in more detail. For Aries, a go getter that takes no shit (I believe @zeldasnotes said Lilith in Aries in a man’s chart is a strong indicator that he’s a feminist and I totally agree.); For Sagittarius she’d be untethered and have a great sense of humor and may be outside of his culture. For Aquarius she’d be idealized as a manic pixie dream girl, like quirky in a way he could never figure out. let me know if you all would like a whole post on this !

Only outer planets (Uranus, Neptune, Pluto) in your 1st can give you an extra ordinary appearance and make you stand out quite a bit.

Your mars conjunct to someone’s sun can make them feel competitive with you. Venus on the other hand can make you put the sun person on a sort of pedestal and can make the relationship feel like you’re a fan of the sun person. Moon to someone’s sun can feel more at home and at ease.

Men with water Venuses seem to be super monogamous or like incapable of monogamy (which is fine lol, but be ethical about it and establish boundaries and don’t cheat yo)

12th house synastry is sticky asl, as soon as you moved on someone just appears on your mind out of nowhere, lotta hidden energy all tied up together; 8th house synastry is really intense but it’s often hard to build something stable out of the intensity. 4th house feels like home, but as someone with Uranus over their 4th, I associate this synastry with being unpredictable and chaotic in familiar way. 5th and 11th house synastry tends to be good long term. 5th house means you feel fun and creative and always excited together. And 11th house will mean that there’s a feeling of friendship underneath the passion that usually sustains the connection imo.

For all of the seriousness associated with Capricorn placements (especially suns) often focus on a lot on whimsy in their creative works, like it’s the outlet for a lot of their hidden optimism (Hayao Miyazaki, Nobuhiko Obayashi the director of Hausu).

Ok ok I know Scorpio risings are known for intense, bedroom eyes and their overwhelming s*x appeal and making suitors flee because they’re so intimidated etc etc… but quietly I think our biggest weapon that people don’t see coming is our sense of humor. (Honest to god I was thinking of how funny Hugh Grant is even though he doesn’t need to be bc he’s been so handsome this whole time lol. He always puts in the effort into that comedic timing) (Also people still think if you’re hot and intense you can’t be funny so it defuses some of the tension pretty well imo)

I feel like Virgo placements always seem to think they feel boring even though they’re like very knowledgeable and compelling in their own right (I’m getting all reflective and remember when like Virgo moons/mars would always ask if they’re being boring or complain about being boring but they tend to be good conversationalists when they allow themselves to analyze things so deeply)

I think cancers are actually the most defensive sign, naturally. I want to say they have this in common with their sister sign bc Capricorns are defensive and don’t like to show “weakness”. But the way that underdeveloped cancers (can) play the victim when scrutinized is different. (Like Capricorns do that earth sign thing where they use their perception to make you feel like you’re wrong, and they want to be seen as the authority not the victim). Where cancer is in your chart could show where you’re especially guarded and trying to protect your sensitivity.

To me Jupiter conjunct south node means you’ll reap benefits of good karma from a past life (or the effects of bad karma will be a lot in this lifetime but I saw this in obama’s chart and it’s a benefic planet so the first thing is what I thought of lol, he’s not a good guy but becoming the first black president of the us seems like a past life power play imo)

[somerandomdudelmao]

Have to say I'm loving Marble Sky. It's clear you put a lot of thought into the story and I'm excited to see where it's going.

Figured I'd weigh into the Oscar commentary going on and I think honestly the shirt he was wearing in the flashback when Ward was talking about how he ended up in space might say a lot about his character as a whole.

If you don't look at the shirt closely it says "the earth is fla-" and naturally people will fill in the missing 't'. A shirt that seems to support flat earthers is particularly tone deaf given he'd just walked into a building dedicated to science and specifically space. It's the sort of thing people would instantly react to and think lesser of Oscar for. Much like the fact that he comes from a rich family. Or the fact that he seems to embrace the world with puppy like enthusiasm. It creates an image of someone who is ignorant, who doesn't pay attention, and is careless to the point of being arrogant about it.

However looking closely that's not what the shirt says. it's just the text for the rest of it is small, harder to read and purposefully arranged so its divorced from the rest of the larger letters.

And I find that fascinating.

So reading the shirt properly it says "the earth is FLA-bergasting". This message I think has a lot of layers especially combined with Oscar's established fascination with aliens, biology and stuff that we have seen with him previously. It's a message that celebrates the world and all life in it. It's a message that acknowledges that understanding that world is impossible but compelling none the less. It's a message that says the earth is confusing and hard to understand and Oscar is not pretending to know everything about it. Some of this might be just my interpretation of the message so take that with a grain of salt. Still the difference between the first and second is interesting because in the first its a person asserting they know something as complete truth while the second basically admits they don't know anything at all.

Now apply this to Oscar. We're presented with a chaotic lovable doofus who is brimming with childlike wonder at the start of the story. We're presented with a "rich kid" who got into space because his parents paid for it. We're presented with a guy who seems okay with the slaughter of others in order to protect himself. A lot of people are looking at Oscar and seeing "the earth is Fla(t)"

However we've barely scratched the surface of this story or this character not to mention the situation as a whole. So I'm staring at the smaller hidden letters (metaphorically) and wondering exactly what is actually going on with this guy. Because I'm pretty sure "the earth is Fla-bergasting" and so is Oscar.

Thank you for indulging this long ask. I felt like ranting because I love Oscar and this story.

There are three things in this world I can look at forever. How fire burns, how water flows, and how someone carefully analyzes a character in whom I have invested a lot of time and effort.

Holy shit this is incredibly interesting and oh my fucking god you wrote the entire essay?? your brain?? is powerful??rjfkgi

[cherrycherryking]

i read your model!reader scene and can i just say absolute 10/10 for how you draw and write wally just phenomenonal!!!

may i suggest a sort of reversal where reader tries gifting wally a lil painting they did for him? maybe of him or of a flower that reminded them of him?

thank you so much <3 reader doing (or trying their best) to do a drawing of wally is just so sweet? thank you for requesting!!

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wally darling x gen!reader

Making a Drawing for Wally

✧Wally had drawn you before, you knew from the times he would ask you to model for him or because you would catch little sketches of yourself in his sketchbook.

✧Maybe you're quite good at drawing, or maybe you aren't. Point is that today you felt more than compelled to draw him, could be as a little thank you or just because he was pretty.

✧Julie and Frank (but mostly Julie) had intercepted him to talk about some...case? they were on, something about one of Frank's book going missing.

✧You tried not to stare too much, Wally was pretty quick to notice people looking at him and being catched while drawing him suddenly felt a little embarrassing.

✧God. Uh. How were you supposed to draw his hair?

✧He pulled the hairstyle surprisingly well, but any time you tried it just looked weird, you closed your eyes to remember but instead your brain jumped to that one time it got completely ruined after Barnaby threw a water balloon to his face.

✧Now you're going down memory lane! That was such a fun day actually, even more so when Sally-

✧The high pitched sound that came out of your mouth was completely justified and no one could tell you otherwise.

✧You look to the side, Frank and Julie disappeared down the road to keep with their search.

✧In all honesty Wally knew where you were, even if it was for a second he felt your eyes on him and would have come to say hi either way, why wouldn't he?

✧So now he was leaning forward close to your face and making that damn eye contact. Without moving an inch his glance moved down just a tiny bit, and he quickly catched what you were doing.

✧"Aww! You're drawing me?" his drowsy eyes came back, excitement in that calm voice of him. "Well yeah- but is not as pretty as your drawings, or you-"

✧To say he was flattered was the least. With all the joy in the world Wally told you how good it looked no matter what you could say, and before you could ask him he offered himself to be your model.

✧Needless to say, after sitting besides you under the tree you could feel his stare once more. This time though it didn't make you as nervous as usual, maybe because it gave you an excuse to watch him and analyze his features for so long. Wally looked happy and you could swear his cheeks were just a little more blushed than usual.

✧Whether you think you got him right he's going to be over the moon anyways, sitting close to you arms touching as he talks about how you definitely should draw more often, specifically draw him.

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sorry it took me so long!! something possessed me to do friendship bracelets for wally and julie and if i'm not stopped probably eddie too.

idk how well i write wally sjdksdf i want to capture that "lights are on, house is empty" and "oh hes a little fucked actually" that he has going on, so any advice would be really helpful :)

[not-that-n]

I think Kotor 2 is a really funny game when it comes to the average analysis of it's themes, because it managed to create such a compelling antagonist that most people just kinda get lost into trying to analyze her words and actions through her apparent philosophical stand when she is just written to be a great hypocrite, something that they almost always fail to mention in the average analysis of Kreya's character.

Like she makes some points, that sometimes helping others without thinking about your actions can hurt them more than you could imagine and says some other things that are almost true but she frames them as a philosophy of might, you shouldn't help others because you are depriving them of their strength, because through suffering there's growth, through struggle you reach enlightenment, through individual freedom you reach apotheosis. She then reaches the conclusion that God, aka the Force, is the biggest chain of all and to be truly free is to kill the force, to reject fate completely.

She acts like she has some sort of moral high ground over the sith and the Jedi when in reality she is not much different. In a way, she does have some beliefs she follows without question, she still uses the force and if you ask her about it she admits the hypocritical nature of her argument, first comparing to a poison and then saying that that's just an argument of an old woman trying to justify it. She always talks about how there are no chains, how you must be completely free of fate because there's no determinate outcome, whatever happens being a result of your strength, yet she still betrays you by the end because there must always be a Darth Treya, there must always be someone that directly betrays the order in it's moment of need. That's fate, that should, and will, always happen.

I always read her admiration for the player originating from our achievement of her goals without becoming hypocrites like she is, something I'm sure she is aware of as hinted by her dialogue in her last fight. The player rejected the force, reject fate, through strenght of will alone, using it more alike a weapon than a dogma, but the player, in a way, still uses the force mostly as a way of unknowingly influence others, their strength is not in self isolation in pursue of the strength of an individual through the death of morals and complete freedom, but instead in connection with others.

In the dark side ending the player becomes Kreya, a hypocrite that acts on their own desires, on their own impulses, because they can, afterall they had the strength to reject the force once so they are strong enough to do whatever. On the light side ending the exile takes the correct path, not following Kreya but transcending her, becoming better than her, understanding that you can overcome the chains of fate not through individual freedom but through connection, in the light side ending you archive what Kreya never could.

I always read Kotor 2 as a story of abuse and trying to grow out of it, in this case Kreya being the abuser, breaking both Scion and Nihilus causing them to become what she hated the most, and the player character being her new target, the exile being able to either follow the narrative's themes and be able to grow despite the abuse or fail and become the abuser themselves, perpetuating the cycle, the chain, that I always read as what the force is supposed to symbolize in this story.

Kreya is a spiteful person that believes that she can not grow, that she can not change and become better, she accepts herself in her own hypocrite nature because of this belief, she understands that through her own argument, one of complete freedom and transcending any chains that bind us, she is a failure like the rest of her students because she follows her own chain, she believes she most perpetuate the cycle of abuse.

That's the reason why I always disagree witht he concept that Kreya steals the show from both Scion and Nihilus because both of them are different outcomes that the exile could have become, both are victims of abuse that thought they couldn't change.

There's this one study I always think about, how kids that came from abusive households were more reluctant to let go of their parents, and Scion reminds me of this, rejecting Kreya at every opportunity but being unable to let go of her, she defined who he became as a person, a failure in both of their eyes. That's why he is so mad when you are going to confront Kreya, he thinks of you as her favorite, as the one that didn't become a failure, as someone who could reject and grow from their abuse when he couldn't. And I always found so interesting that the way you beat him os through words because, well, because you try convincing him that he can change, that he can grow, you beat him not through a fight, through a show of strength, but through showing, arguing, that the abuse he went through is not an unmoving chain, that he has the capabilities of change. And he doesn't believe you, never does, he would rather die than think about that, that admit you are right, he reacts the same way Kreya does, dying rather than admit they were wrong. It feels incredibly tragic that this happens because you know it could end up in another way, you are that other possible outcome.

And Nihilus is a simpler character because most of the content related to him was cut, but I always read him as the complete rejection of Kreya, as doing the exact opposite of whatever she said even when it still ends up hurting him, becoming a shell of what he was once. That said, most of that is just me guessing something that would fit with my reading of the themes and is never actually said in the game, it's kinda hinted but I admit there's not enough information to confidently say that.

Anyways, my point is that I find kotor 2 quite a compelling story and, while I understand why most people only ever discuss Kreya, I feel slightly disappointed that most discussions of the game never really talk about anything else the game presents

[deconstructthesoup]

Analyzing "The Web I Spin For You"

Okay, so... THIS FUCKING SONG is one of the most interesting and compelling songs in the Nightmare Time saga, and nobody ever talks about it---unless they're praising Mariah's voice, which is something you should be doing regardless. Outside of "The Summoning," this is the only song sung by one of the gods of the Black & White, and unlike "The Summoning," which is just vibes, villain chaos, and dealing out some Faustian bargains with the NPMD gang, this song actually provides lore. It shows us a deeper look into Webby's psyche and motivations, something that the Lords in Black have yet to be gifted. It gives us a hint as to how brothers and sister split apart... and I think it might be our very first---and so far, only---look into the parent of these eldritch beings.

Okay, let's start.

"Why do you haunt me like a ghost? / You're supposed to love me the most"

Right off the bat, we have emotional depth. Webby is singing about someone who has hurt her, someone who was supposed to love her but instead used her and continues to haunt her life. Who is this person, and what did they do?

"Got me in the spell you cast / The iris of your eye is black / Weren't you the one to watch my back / Unlike the witches you summon?"

This is where it ties into the episode, with "witches you summon." You get the clear sense that Webby is talking about a family member---maybe her brothers, but it has to be one in particular, and it doesn't really feel like she's talking about Wiggly... if nothing more than the fact that his irises are very clearly not black, at least if the doll is anything to go by.

"Have you noticed that my trust has turned / You may have taught me, but now I've learned / Gotta catch you before I'm burned / In the web I spin for you"

Now, here is where it starts to make sense. I think this song is about the father of the Lords in Black and Webby---someone who taught them how to be gods of chaos. Maybe once upon a time, Webby believed in what her father was teaching her, maybe he even kept the truth secret from her, but she grew up, saw through it, decided that she didn't want to participate in the evil, and left.

At this point in the song, the phrase "the web I spin for you" seems to refer to something Webby made for her family's benefit, and based on the lyrics, it eventually became a curse for her. I saw someone mention the theory that Webby created the split timeline... and you know what? Maybe that is the web she made. A blessing, because nothing is ever permanent and nobody ever truly dies, but a curse, because she watches her brothers succeed again and again, and even when she wins, there's no guarantee that the people she helped will be happy. In fact, the episode this comes from has the only ending in the Hatchetfield universe---nobody dies, Hannah makes it out with Miss Holloway's help, Lex and Ethan get out of jail. And honestly... it hits harder that way, because I think there's enough evidence to suggest that The Witch In The Web is in the same timeline as Nightmare Time 2. And we all know how that ended.

"You used to keep me at your side / (Have you given that up? Have you given that up? Have you given that up?) / I suppose you'd have me empathize"

The way I'm interpreting it now, this could add fuel to the fire as to why the LiB resent Webby. Maybe back when she still believed in her family, she was her father's favorite. But something happened---maybe nothing more than the fact that she was kind---that changed all that. In the very next line, she says that the person she's singing about stabbed her in the back. Maybe she was lied to, maybe she was betrayed---whatever the reason, this could be why she left.

"Have you noticed that my trust has turned / You may have taught me, but now I've learned / I'll enjoy it as I watch you squirm / In the web I spin for you"

Here is where "the web I spin for you" shifts from being something Webby made to help to something she made to trap. The web she made---maybe it's the timeline, maybe it's something else---benefits nobody, but especially not the people who hurt her. She doesn't trust them anymore, so she's turned her web into something that can hurt them back.

"What's the point of giving love and trust for / I thought it something that was worth the fight for / And now I wonder what I worked so hard for / I even thought that I could give my life for you"

God. Damn. There's so much I can say, but the first thing that comes to mind is... poor Webby. Based on these lyrics alone, she has been hurt, she's been betrayed, she's likely been lied to or mislead about the purpose of what she was doing, and it's a miracle that she's still her loving and caring self. And speaking of which...

"I was the only one that loved and cared for / Have you noticed that I have it in for / As I grew older that I have no need for / The web I spin for you"

This one is actually pretty straightforward, and it lends credence to the theory that Webby truly is the only Queen in White---the only good entity in her family. The next line could either indicate that she's grown to the point where she's too powerful for the web she made, or she's outright rejecting her family and the purpose they gave her---either way, it's still cool.

"If I'm-a trust, I'm gonna trust in me / You may have taught me, but I'm now learning / All this time, I've been untangling / The web I spin for you"

And THIS RIGHT HERE is where the "gotta take it back, take it back" refrain all throughout the song makes sense. Webby is now attempting to undo her actions, now that she knows that she can't trust her family and that she's learning on her own. She's untangling the web she made, and in doing so, turning the tide.

"No doubt that if I drop dead / You'll find me tangled up / In the web I spin for you"

Full disclosure---I always have to look up those last two lyrics to know what they are, and they're very bone-chilling. My only thought to what this might mean is that... Webby's saying that the web she made might kill her. And she's either trying to guilt the person she's singing to, or she's furious at the fact that they made her create such a thing, and... yeah. I don't know what's more hard-hitting.

ANYWAYS, this song is supremely underrated

[my-mt-heart]

I have some thoughts on Daryl’s arc that I want to share, but I’ll hold off a day or two because 1) it might get ugly and 2) I think Carol/Melissa deserve the spotlight a lot more right now.

Just seeing her on my screen again is a huge relief after so much uncertainty over the past year and a half, and of course the performance is insanely good. What I'm most grateful for is the fact that Carol has a clear emotional drive. We don't have to analyze her micro expressions for hours or turn over every stone to get a rough idea of her headspace. She says it herself. She's looking for Daryl. She's already gone to great lengths to find him when he doesn't turn up at the time he said he would, and thanks to the teaser, we know she'll keep going as long as there's hope he's still alive. I want to see where her determination takes her (once she gets across the ocean I mean), and obviously I want to watch the inevitable reunion between her and Daryl. It's the most anticipated scene of S2, so it needs to be big. Like, unambiguous canon big. It's what the characters and the fans deserve.

Bear with me though because I do have some issues with Carol's first appearance in 106. “God, MT, can't you just look on the bright side?” I could, but then I’d have to lower my standards, which enables AMC to keep lowering their standards when it comes to telling Daryl's and Carol's story. Theirs has always been an inspiring one, not because of all the people they've saved or all the things they've blown up, but because of the emotional core. They're two lost souls who find each other after the world ends, raising each other up to become stronger than the people around them, the audience, and even they themselves ever imagined. Their story is deep. It offers hope to fans facing their own challenges in life, so it has to be handled with a lot of care. Cheap gimmicks are beneath them, but cheap gimmicks are what we get in this scene.

It's a little bit like S7 when she runs into a group of saviors on the road, taking them out with a gun hidden up her sleeve. It reminds me that this woman is one of the most resourceful badasses in all of TWDU. And as a Caryl shipper, it delights me to see her ride off on Daryl’s bike—also badass for the record. To me though, when the nostalgia/shipper's high wears off, these things feel like distractions. There’s not really a compelling twist, like for example, finding out that Carol stowed away on the boat Daryl was on and had been in France the whole time. There's not enough momentum to keep me hyped through the long hiatus. The teaser does the vast majority of that right now, which is cool, but I want to see that same effort to market the show to me in the show itself. I want good writing. I want the connective tissue. I want the payoff. Will we ever see how Carol learned to ride a motorcycle in the first place or do I have to fill in the blanks myself just like I had to do throughout most of S11? Will we get Caryl beats that outdo the extremely unnecessary and OCC nunbaiting beats?

I don't trust Zabel to deliver everything I'm looking for. I don't think he's very clear on who Carol is, what she represents to the fans, or what her relationship with Daryl represents to the fans. Melissa does understand all of that though, so I have hope her input will make a difference. I've said it many times, and I'll say it again. I'm so happy she's back. I'm happy she seems so excited to be back. She deserves everything she's ever wanted for Carol.

[sepublic]

I really am obsessed with the idea of the Collector being the perfect parallel and foil to King, as the person he once saw himself as, and will become; A feared and revered, all-powerful tyrant, but also immature and who was never told no. And after losing his power and being reduced to just a little kid, the Collector is forced to mature and grow and interact with people as REAL people, and eventually finds out that he’s not really so cruel or evil himself, once he’s made to choose between power and his family!

Like it’d just be so narratively poetic, if King had to confront his worst past self via a true fulfillment of that in the Collector; Who already has an army worshipping his name! Imagine the Collector having feasts with King, just as King himself bragged! It’s like Luz confronting the worst version of herself in Philip Wittebane...

Which is why I really hope the Collector’s fate is to simply be... Stripped of his power and forced to live as a little kid, as King thought he himself had been. We know that people have imprisoned the Collector before, that he’s been freed before, and then trapped again, and it didn’t make a damn difference. He still didn’t learn his lesson, and with how the show critiques Philip for trying again and again the same thing he KNOWS has been proven to fail, via cloning his brother...

And I have to wonder if TOH is doing the same, especially if we compare the Collector to Luz in a lot of ways, how the isolation of the reality camp probably wouldn’t have helped Luz, just hurt and broken her because of rejection. Maybe the Collector’s imprisonment was also like that for them, and while obviously there’s a real difference between Luz and the Collector’s chaos... I think both stemmed from that unthinking desire to have fun while innocently not considering those who might get hurt from it.

And it makes sense, a parallel and foil to King would be one for Luz and vice-versa, because Luz and King are themselves parallels to one another! It’d be poetic if King even had to guide a depowered Collector when all was said and done; Understandably he might not want to after what happens in Season 3. But I think it could really further that cycle of kindness theme that this show has, and be incredibly compelling for King’s arc, to face the person he wanted to be and thought he was, and help THEM with it this time; He did learn many lessons while under the impression he was a knocked-down god, so King sort of still can relate!

Like King, it might be shown that the Collector really is fully capable of being a sweet kid, who might talk hot shit of destroying everyone and razing the world after he’s knocked down a peg; But then it becomes apparent how easily he’s placated with proper attention. How he’s not malicious and when made to face actual consequence, can really learn and take that into consideration.

Plus with King’s lifespan going to make him outlive everyone else, he needs that long-living friend who will actually BE a friend to him this time and relate to King, via the Collector! And the Collector can get closure over any betrayal he perceived from the Titans with the last of them, and make up for his genocide of them by supporting the final one.

The Collector would essentially be what we once analyzed King as back in Season 1, and that’d just be SO fascinating and a wonderful bookend to the show! Maybe the Collector will lose a ‘crown of power’ and/or be struck down by a dark spell... Because the show really is aiming for the idea that to truly break pain for kids like Luz and Amity and Hunter, you just have to treat them with compassion instead of punishment over their mistakes for once.

TL;DR This isn’t just a coming-of-age story for a good portion of our cast, hell it’s a coming-of-age for the Collector as well! And if it’s King’s friends/supporters who help cast down the Collector... Then that’d just be a perfect karmic parallel to the implication of the Collector’s worshippers, the Titan Trappers, taking everything from King by killing his father!

We might even get a parallel to a familiar shot, with the POV of the Collector as he falls from the sun and its power he’s associated with; Just as King believed his fall to be metaphorical. Perhaps the Collector will be in the embrace of another as it happens, like King with Jean-Luc... And/or Jean-Luc himself will return to be a nanny to this kid, indestructible and immortal enough to keep up the task!

[pagannatural]

About halfway through, I noticed that the whole arc of spn season 4 focuses on faith. This is the season in which angels and god are introduced in earnest, whereas before the topic of god was nodded to but didn’t factor into the plot in a critical way. Episode 1 Castiel has pulled Dean from actual hell. The questions of faith, doubt, free will, and god’s will are explored consequentially. We meet a fallen angel and learn that angels can’t feel or empathize or choose or doubt. We also explore what it means to have faith in humanity, either because of or in spite of god. And, most importantly, this is also the season in which the Winchester brothers lose their faith in each other.

Up through season 4 (at least) this really is the central theme and conflict of the show. By the end of s2, Sam had gained complete faith in Dean as his older brother, as his protector, essentially as his keeper. Dean’s faith in Sam is really better described as his complete and utter devotion to him. Their senses of self, purpose, destiny, and belonging depend on each other’s faith and devotion to each other. Sam rails against this throughout his life, but his seeking normalcy is really just seeking autonomy plus acceptance. It’s Dean’s acceptance that he needs. God and heaven and hell and humanity are contained between them.

When Dean sells his soul and goes to hell for Sam, he’s also (mostly unwillingly) abandoning Sam. He doesn’t realize that damning himself will in turn cause Sam’s downfall, that one can’t be right without the other. So when he comes back, he comes back to a brother he’s forsaken.

Dean’s devotion to Sam wavers in s4 when he fears that he’s not really Sam, just like Sam’s faith wavers when he starts to believe he doesn’t need Dean, that Dean is not capable of protecting him. He pulls away from his brother, his god. His fall from grace (drinking demon blood, starting the apocalypse) happens both because of his doubt and because of Dean’s failure to be present and love him unconditionally.

And there’s so much more going on but to me this is what makes their dynamic so compelling and also so batshit insane. Just to caveat, I have not watched season 5-15 at this point and I have no idea if this framework changes or holds up throughout the series. And I’m new here so idk if this has already been talked about quite a bit. I also don’t care because wincest is rotting my brain and if I don’t analyze this text it will eat me alive. I’m now rewatching the first 4 seasons that I blew through to get a better understanding of it because it feels like a good place to pause and go back. Anyway, tldr Dean’s religion is Sam and being the god/brother/home that Sam needs and Sam’s religion is belonging to Dean and being accepted and protected by him.

[thatgirl4815]

I found it hilarious that Jojo has been loosely touting a Taylor Swift parallel when it comes to Mew and his relationship with Top (and it's obviously a surface level joke) but if you actually listen to the songs in Reputation and Lover...the storytelling is 100% Ray. It's finding love at your lowest. The self-loathing, seeking love as salvation, blowing up good things in fear and realizing too late, secret rendezvous where neither knows what game is really being played, finding their purported last love in a world that hated them--who is all of these things but Ray?

The Taylor Swift thing is mostly just an entertaining observation for me but the thing that the thematic elements and imagery in her music prompted me to re-think was that famous final scene in episode 10. While you watch Ray's eyes morph the therapist into Sand, there's a stoic golden glow to imaginary-Sand as he sits in the therapist's chair like a throne, as though you've walked into a temple dedicated to him--a temple Ray has dedicated to him. It's almost like Ray has always seen Sand as a god.

Throughout the confession that follows, Imaginary-Sand is mostly emotionless, minimally responding to Ray as Ray maintains an incredibly reverent face despite breaking down in tears. The apology contains so many reused phrases as though Ray were reciting some sort of prayer, and even while sitting in the sofa, the camera kind of points up at Sand rather than at the even level he is really at when you see things through Ray's vision. Finally, when Ray gets on his knees and imaginary-Sand appears to console him, it's not clearly romantic or friendly. There's a godliness to it. The point is, the whole thing just felt akin to a religious awakening to me. And then I realized I felt those same feelings emanating from Ray in the caravan, in the music room, at the party, drunk in the parking lot, on the rooftop, in the kitchen(s), when they wake up together for the first time...

I don't know what this means for the relationship Ray and Sand have and whether it will ever really be healthy, but it certainly made for poetic cinema. Has Sand eclipsed the unattainable Mew? Has he become the unconditional heavenly father (I say, mostly in jest)? Another point of consideration is that Ray always seems to be wearing a cross. Just saying.

Anyway this theory is pretty out there, and in any case, it's less about proving the idea and more about seeing what others thought about it as a vantage point of discussion, and whether it colors how Ray, and Sand and Ray as a couple, are interpreted.

Those are such great observations! Taylor Swift's lyricism is so fascinating and complex to me, and I agree that there are so many lyrics that could easily apply to Ray.

In my opinion, Ray is easily the most complicated character in this show. It's no wonder they chose Khaotung to play him because there are so many feelings he has to work through, especially in these emotionally-charged scenes. When the camera pans behind Ray's head and Sand appears, Ray slowly looks up at him with tears in his eyes. That first moment when he meets eyes with him and says his name just speaks to how agonizing this confrontation is for Ray, because he's confronting himself through the image of Sand. This entire scene is the acceptance of just how much Sand means to Ray, just how badly Ray has screwed up yet again, and just how much gratitude Ray has for Sand in his heart.

Your analysis of the religious aspects of the scene is so compelling. The golden coloring behind Sand echoes a lot of what @thewayuarent has analyzed about the contrast between cold blue lighting and warm gold lighting for both Sand and Ray. Also interesting your point about how the camera is slightly angled up at Sand rather than at eye-level. Originally I wouldn't think too much of this but contrasted with the shots of Ray at eye-level, it seems super intentional.

"Religious awakening" is a great way of describing it. There's been a lot of discussion about Ray putting Mew on a pedestal and idolizing him, but I think we see a similar kind of reverence being displayed here, but with some notable differences. With Mew, it felt like he was always something distant, something Ray wanted but could never quite touch. But in this scene, we have Ray facing Sand, on his knees for him, embracing him. Despite the whole thing being imaginary, it feels very real in a way I struggle to articulate. There's a worshipping aspect, I agree, but there's also a realism in the way Ray is very honestly considering his emotions. With Mew, I'd argue those feelings of idolization were allowed to grow out of Ray's fantasy, but with Sand, it isn't something Ray has blown up in his head. My main point being--I don't think it's necessarily suggesting an unhealthy power imbalance with Ray as the worshipper and Sand as the godly figure (in the way we saw with Ray and Mew), though I think this scene does an excellent job of emphasizing how Ray views Sand as someone honestly and purely good.

Another reason I think Khao delivers this so well is that he speaks through his eyes in every one of those scenes you mention. He sees all of Sand's goodness, but I don't think he's directly confronted his own behavior until this moment. Yes, he's apologized and yes he's realized that he was in the wrong. But here he is laying it all out on the table. Following the topic of religion, it almost feels like a confession. In Ray's imagination, this is a space where he can expel all of his feelings to the image of Sand. It's almost better that Sand can't react here (seeing as he's imaginary) because it brings the focus back to Ray. Even though Ray is crying to Sand and about Sand, it's all a reflection of his own flaws in their relationship and otherwise.

[lordmushroomkat]

The thing about me is that I am a Klavier Gavin fan but like, in a silly way.

On the one hand, he's the haha funny guitar man and his attempts to be suave and cool just come across to me as obnoxiously cringefail, thus endearing him to me. Characters that are losers are very charming to me. Also characters that are annoying are charming to me.

But on the other hand, I think he is fascinating because when you crack his psyche open like a walnut you get to really dig into a truly traumatized character. Dude has so much hidden angst right there for the picking. And he keeps all his pain a secret, which makes him doubly interesting, because repression is juicy, I guess.

And this whole thing is only compounded by his incredibly simple and complicated relationship to Apollo Justice, wherein they might be the best equipped people to understand each other, because a lot of their traumas match and they both have one particular minefield of a character in common. The two of them are intrinsically connected, even disregarding their status as court rivals.

But, but, even more than that, his contribution to the, like, evolving worldview of Ace Attorney. Like, up to this point there's been a very distinct implied mentality of Defense Attorney=Good Prosecutor=Bad, but then there's the Gavin brothers, where we see a Bad Defense Attorney and a Good Prosecutor, and it's really hammered home that the real Good is the truth and honest justice. Like, Prosecutor Klavier Gavin is a rockstar-prosecutor and a fierce opponent, but he is ultimately, more than anything, a Good Man and a person who values truth above personal gain. That and he is the only serious Prosecutor (no, I am not counting the Payne brothers in this) who is never, at any point, threatening. Intimidating? yes. But never threatening. He is friendly and helpful by nature. He is at once cunning and kind. Sharp witted but soft hearted. And all this hidden behind a rockstar persona and glimmerous fop-itude.

That and his rockstar theme was the law, of all things. That is so incredibly dorky. And he was made a Prosecutor at what 17? 18? which means he must have done law school during regular high school, if not homeschool instead. And there's the potential that he toured with his band while studying law textbooks in the band trailer. That is,,, so nerdy. This man is a nerd. I don't care that he's a rockstar, his rockband theme was Being A Lawyer, which is a fundamentally nerdy profession. I bet you he has glasses. I bet you he has glasses and just wears contacts to court. I want to see him in cute nerdy glasses, I want this. I want to see him drop his rockstar persona thing a bit and embrace how very nerdy he is.

God, and then there's the bizarre German affectation thing, that is impossible to place as entirely fake or simply exaggerated truth. For my part, I figure he is genuinely german to some degree, but german phrases became part of his persona. I dunno, there's a lot to be analyzed with the concept of The Persona vs. The Self with this character.

This guy is like five different contradictions and half-obscured truths stacked on top of each other and then covered with glitter. What can I say? He compells me.

[majorasnightmare]

Please elaborate on the Ganondorf Au(s), I gotta know, lol I my immediate first thought was this weird/elaborate Coffee Shop AU where Zelda and Link are running some small-time locally owned franchise (like two, maybe three stores)... and Ganondorf rolls up in some Super-Starbucks trying to take over or push them out of business... why did that come to me so quickly, lmao

OKAY S O

jesus christ this is long

i find ganondorf to be a deeply compelling character. this is in part to the way pre botw zelda games utilized him as both a villain and as this symbolic culmination of evil.

now other games may have done this, but none immediately come to mind, as one of the most compelling aspects of ganondorfs character is that before botw? every instance in every game was the SAME dude (except skyward sword but ill talk about that later). that allowed games with stronger narrative focus to flesh him out in greater detail, while a game with a more cut and dry story but flashier cinematics could really sell his menace, and future iterations could carry the boons of both.

now the zelda timeline is a mess, and the games themselves were not built around that concept. at most youd get direct sequels like majoras mask, or games directly referencing an older title as part of their history, like twilight princess. one should not take the timeline as Word Of God Canon (even though there are multiple official books that reference it), but they all kind of work together to give you a bigger picture. this is especially true for the 2d zeldas, as Ganondorf The Character wasnt really an explored concept back then. you instead had dark beast ganon (who once took human form as dude named Aganhim but hes. separate. like hes canon and important but most of what he contributes to Ganondorf As Character is the dark evil wizard vibes).

in general, when looking at ganondorfs character youll mostly be examining four titles: Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Windwaker, and Skyward Sword. skyward sword is unique in a lot of ways because it IS made with the "zelda timeline" in mind, and is the timelines official beginning. here we get the forging of the master sword, the first imprisoning war, and! a guy that is NOT ganondorf! demon king demise is the end game boss here, and while i could dedicate a post to analyzing his limited screentime, whats important to this convo is that demise lays a curse upon his defeat. those bearing the soul of the hero (link, who reincarnates), the blood of the goddess hylia (zelda, who does not and instead has descendants inheriting power) will be caught in a cycle of war and blood with the bearer of demise's hatred (ganondorf!). and THERES the money. that last part there helps contribute a LOT to further analyzing ganondorfs character throughout these games because, as mentioned before, they build on each other!

the plot of ocarina of time is not deep. its an enjoyable game, but like most zelda entries, its a paint by numbers tale of a good hero overcoming an evil villain who kidnaps a Notable Woman as the final build towards the climax, wherein you kick his ass free the girl and kill him. (kind of. ganondorf never really DIES) HOWEVER. twilight princess, windwaker, and skyward sword, by virtue of focusing on this SAME DUDE, end up giving a LOT of retroactive depth! its a really fun phenomenon!

that tears of the kingdom throws in the fucking trash! for!! some reason!! WHY. why the hell would you spend 25 years making a layer cake piece by piece and then throw it in the trash in favor of box mix cupcakes??? I DONT GET IT MAN.

totk isnt. a BAD game per se. theres a lot to enjoy about it.

narrative is not one of those things.

tiptoeing around spoilers here but discussing them generally

the dragon tears are, among other things, about ganondorfs rise to power, to reach his current end game boss state. despite this. he has a grand total of three scenes before he GETS that power. one of which is him laughing, one of which is a poorer retelling of a scene from OoT, and the last one is his introduction where he does fuck all. WHERES THE MOTIVE HERE????

OoT is my least favorite entry of the 4 games listed above. it has a lot of dated narrative elements and systemic issues that continue to plague nintendo to this day (misogyny and racism as per usual). despite this, i find myself returning to OoTs narrative and characterization REPEATEDLY in totk because in so many aspects it just storytells better! yes totk is an open world game with a hands off narrative approach. but botw has that concept down pat and is a more satisfying experience. totk is a more narrative focused botw, and yet its storytelling sucks WORSE than botws and doesnt even measure up to OLDER TITLES. more detailed rants on that are for another time.

so what is a bitch with a special interest in zelda and a fixation on its most charismatic villain to do when presented with an otherwise enjoyable game that is deeply unsatisfying in regards to aforementioned autistic bitchs favorite villain?

obviously make an au thats TotK But Better For Me And My Bros Specifically (thanks @villalunae ily forever)

but if your gonna do that, might as well go full self indulgence, right?

due to aforementioned Ganondorf Characterization Layer Cake, theres a LOT of fun Implied Nuance to play around with, of most importance is ganondorfs relationship with the gerudo, and the gerudos relationship to hyrule. demises curse and the elements of destiny and fate add some fun compounding factors to really amp the tension up, but in my opinion only really ever serve as The Last Straw so to speak. its important that ganondorf is someone who chooses to be this way! but choices arent made in a vacuum, and prying those circumstances apart gives you so many potential ways for this to End Differently.

so seeing that TotK Ganondorf is NOT the OG OoT Ganondorf, the idea here is to further explore the concept of like. WHY is he a villain? villain is a socially constructed category afterall. how do you focus on those circumstances and their effects on a person? how does the political situation of hyrule play into this?

a personal favorite interpretation of mine (and other ppls judging by the plethora of fan content in a similar vein), is this idea of a Redeemed Ganondorf, a variation where ganondorf is NOT the final boss, but instead an ally of link and zeldas. wrt this particular au, that looks a lot like locking everyone in a room together and see who starts throwing things first.

so with that in mind, i just ended up going through scene after scene in totk and thinking of how a redeemable ganondorf would play out. what kind of personality would he have, how would he interact with these other characters, what are his relationships like? whats his driving motive, how committed to these ideas is he, whats his breaking point and why? and then playing with those ideas and throwing them against other characters, how does he interact with the sages, how does he interact with rauru, how does he interact with ZELDA?

a lot of that informs the baseline of how we ended up going through making the au (alongside a hefty dose of writers worldbuilding dilemma lmao) and also serves as the foundation of subsequent sequel aus that as of right now exist solely as amvs in my head.

so in summary theres two?? maybe 3??? that im just marinating in.

the main unnamed totk au, where the triforce trio work alongside each other to put an end to demises curse of hatred once and for all, with a large focus on character dynamics and their relationships to each other (and also plenty of self indulgence. ghirahim got tossed back in there. and fi)

and then, after that, a kind of hypothetical sequel game to totk au. set 100 years after the ending events of totk au, the trio + co navigate a world where the threat of ganondorfs rise to power is no longer the primary problem hyrule suffers, but instead a power vacuum in the realm of demons, leading to a slowly rising threat of demon incursion. focuses on how your "party" (ganondorfs reincarnation, links reincarnation, and a non-princess zelda, alongside naboorus reincarnation, and impa (neither a reincarnation nor a descendant but once again paying homage to impa as a recurring character)) gets along with each other and how, as the years go by (i have. TWO seperate time skips so far), their relationships to each other change, and how their goals and ideals grow and change in response to the shifting landscape of threat in hyrule

the last one, technically, is a modern au that mostly works as background context for triforce trio shitposting.

(ur idea for a coffee shop au is fuckn FANTASTIC btw i love it)

GOD this post got long. thanks for holdin out so long for all this! i can definitely make long as fuck posts about. p much anything in totk and how it gets changed or reinterpreted in totk au, or ganondorfs relationships in that au, because they live in my brain rent free.

[marnz]

I watched tsn last year because my memory suddenly remember that i used to see photos and gifs of it in 2016 and i read someone blog analyzing the relationship of mark and eduardo (in 2016) but didn't know it was a fb film, so i decided to watch it, to be honest my brain is pretty damage from working corporate job and seeing how nasty capitalism is, so my first thought watching it wasn't really wow gay, eduardo was in love!!! but was more like wow mark is such a jerk, i didn't see anything gay that people were screaming about 🙃 and being reminded that this is zuckerberg and his old friend irl did not help, and i also read the story of what actually happened irl and understand how eduardo was also a jerk too so i just jumped into ao3 to read fanfic, i actually wish i watched it during highschool or college time more because i truly can't consume queerbait series or films that aren't obvious anymore, normal queer film/tv series is fine tho. This is just my own experience i'm sure there are many tsn new fans who watched it and also enjoy how "gay" it is like you guys in 2010 too :) i just have damaged brain i think

oh no friend I’m so sorry about your job! Let’s get you a better one. I don’t think your reaction is wrong at all, like I said, it was a different time and you had to be there. I got into it in college and exited the fandom in the mid 2010s; I would never in my life get into it now. I think you are right…it’s 2024.

However I have been thinking about this since I got your message and I also think the constant analysis and the fanfic contributed pretty heavily to the atmosphere, plus like I said the Andrew Garfield of it all. Honestly I think the fandom boils down to a couple things:

1) the film has homoerotic subtext mostly evidenced by Eduardo. There’s a lot of time spent on Eduardo’s feelings about Mark, like even during the bathroom blowjob scene the camera takes a moment to remind us that Eduardo is thinking about Mark in the next stall. There is almost no time spent on Mark’s feelings about Eduardo. So this subtext is like, there are feelings and they are unreciprocated. Isn’t this so tragic when 0.03% happens? Mark certainly talks a lot about his feelings for Eduardo, but words do not matter. Action matters. Contrast this with a more classic queerbait like Sterek where 1) there was queerbaiting market and 2) there was reciprocal homoerotic subtext that could never be acted upon.

2) I don’t think fandom is super good at dealing with an unlikeable or unsympathetic yet compelling protagonist! Which means this protagonist is rendered much more sympathetically in fic and people watch or read the media source with rose colored glasses. “He would not fucking say that” x1000.

3) I’m not that much older than you I think but…there was this period in tv where there were canon gays who were as interesting and dynamic as a pool noodle and, meanwhile, in subtext and/or queerbait land, there were relationships that consistently got a lot of time and attention and so were sooooooo compelling. And those are the relationships that I, and fandom, tend to gravitate towards. Plus growing up there weren’t a ton of happy gay stories so instead it was like, you have Brokeback Mountain, you have Dead Poets Society, you have What Happened to Lani Granger? You have, for some reason, Glee (boring except for faberry and Santana). Thank god we are not there anymore.

4) I have bad taste <3

Anyway sorry for rambling here, your asks got me thinking because it very much was like hmm well yeah it IS completely inexplicable huh but I think a lot of fandom is like that.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Hi! I adore your analyses.

If it isn't too much to ask, I would love to hear about your general approach to analyzing works. I wanna learn how to analyze things better from other people, and I really like the way you methodically break things down.

In other words, pls sensei teach me your ways HAHAHA

No trouble if you can't, though! Your blog is always a joy.

Have a wonderful day!

Sensei... 🫢

Ah, thank you, this is really flattering! I don't think I really do anything that special. Honestly, all it is was that I got misinterpreted a lot when I was younger and it made it difficult for me to express myself - so I ended up creating something of a system which I found seems to make things clear to others!

I can do a quick overview of it, for sure! I hope it helps! (It's under the cut :D)

Tip 1: Analyze things you love.

Look, this isn't school and I'm not a literary critic. I don't bother forcing myself to analyze things I'm just not feeling. Sometimes, I'll really enjoy something, but have nothing to say about it in particular. (Ex. Akutagawa. I adore him but for some reason don't feel compelled to analyze him as much... even though he's this blog's pfp...) That's not a commentary on the character/media nor my engagement with it. No need to analyze something you don't particularly care to - these write ups take a fair amount of time and effort, so you'll want to have enough raw energy at the start to sustain yourself. You should want to talk about it, is what I'm saying.

Tip 2: Understand the core themes of the story.

I cannot stress this enough! It's so important. The best stories will have their characters, plot arcs and settings all serve to enhance the major themes of the story in some way - figure out what these themes are, and keep them in the back of your mind. I think of themes like a filter - it should change the way you look at the story, and with any luck, draw a lot of seemingly loose threads together in interesting and surprising ways. There are typically about 2-3 major ones (Ex. BSD - living through uncertainty, good as a choice / Trigun - morality and autonomy, life after loss / Hatoful - love as salvation or corruption / there are other themes of course, these are just examples). From this point on, assume you have your "themes filter" active for completing the other tips.

Tip 3: Pick a small detail and think about "Why" and "How".

See, I used to go too big when doing analyses. I used to try and analyze everything there was to examine in one go, and it would become unwieldy and just have far too much information for me to juggle and process. So, it's better to start small. What's something that caught your attention? What was something you liked? Was there anything that confused you? Pick one thing... then ask yourself why and how. Why did I like this? Why did this character act in that way? How does this aspect of the story work? Etc. This will be your topic!

Tip 4: Read other people's thoughts.

I know we all hate going into tags and seeing some of the worst takes out there... so I don't actually do that. I only look through meta and theory tags, and most of those are done by people who put a lot of time and care into their theory crafting, so they at least usually bring the receipts. It always helps to read other's opinions. This is just a good thing in general - you need to open yourself up to different views. Even if you don't agree, you might be better able to articulate why you don't. There's some god-tier stuff in these theory tags, you just gotta look. :)

Tip 5: Pay attention to context and setting.

For most of the stories I analyze, the characters do not exist in a world or situation that is comparable to mine. Asking yourself "where did this character come from?" "what's the overall state of the world they inhabit?" "were this character's experiences different or similar to the rest of the cast? different or similar to their childhoods?" - this is really going to help you understand motivation, far more than core personality traits will alone. (Ex. remember that BSD is a newly post-war society. Tensions are still high. People are being hired at young ages. A lot of people grew up in the slums, and violence is common. How did the different characters interact with this world? What sides might one character have seen to this world that another didn't?)

Also, it's good to at least be somewhat aware of the author and the context they created their story in. Many of the works I analyze are from Japan. It's good to know where a work is from - typically you're going to see at least some expression of cultural values, and I find this is helpful to keep in mind. Some decisions made in story will make a lot more sense when you remember the story's place of origin.

Looking at author influences is also helpful! BSD has a great built-in source of background info, since the entire premise incorporates classic literature. This can be an excellent supplementary source!

Tip 6: Tell a story with your analysis.

Again, I'm doing this for fun. I'm not a literary academic, so I try to use conversational flow. I tend to write like I'm speaking - in fact, this is very much how I talk in real life. It's up to you the tone you set in your writing - just make it something that flows naturally. You can always go back and re-read it if something seems unclear.

What I mean by story is to break your analysis up into chunks. There's no hard and fast rule on how to do this. You can see a clear example of it in my "Dazai Likes People" post, which was long enough that I bolded the sections. It should have a beginning, middle, and end, roughly - beginning where you say what you want to analyze or lead into it somehow, middle (which I typically break up into individual topics), and the end, which honestly is just a rephrasing of the beginning (or sometimes I just leave it out). Sometimes, to break things up I'll add quotes or images that help me with my points; these serve as visual interest so the reader is not faced with a continuous wall of text. Bolding and italicizing key points can also do the trick.

A good way to see if the analysis flows is to see if you can say "so then..." between each paragraph. (Ex. Point 1 -> "so then..." -> Point 2 -> "so then..." -> Point 3, etc.) Each point should flow into the next - I try to make something of a narrative out of it. (It's why the word "so" pops up a lot in my analyses haha.) I'm sorry, I feel like this is the part that's the hardest to explain in a way that's easy to follow. It's mostly practice, really. It's also subjective how you want your analysis to read.

Tip 7: Fact check!

I hate spreading misinformation. Mostly because it's frustrating to have constructed a theory only to get called out that it's based on something misremembered, but also because, as a science student, I'm really mindful of keeping track of my sources. Always have your sources on hand! I spend at least three re-reads of my analyses consulting books, episodes, and manga to ensure that everything I've added is correct. (I might go a bit overboard with it sometimes... I can be a bit paranoid about this...)

And finally, my Golden Rule: ✨Explanation, not Justification!✨

If you have no other takeaway from this post, please remember this! Every character in the story should have their actions be explainable! This does not mean justifiable! Explanation is not just logic, and should always take into account character values, emotions, and situation. This will help prevent analyzing characters only from the perspective of relatability, and is very useful when analyzing antagonists/villains.

Character analysis is always about drawing a throughline between motivation and action. It's not about whether you would do the same, or whether you agree, or whether it is a choice you would forgive.

Everyone has their reasons for doing what they do. This is true in fiction, and it's also true in real life. I try to always keep this in mind.

I hope this was helpful to you, or to anyone who might want to read it!