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kenjakusbraincum · 7 months

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Sukuna is old. He is also weirdly cultured for the monster that he is. With so much time on his hands, he loves indulging in arts and literature, and as with everything else he tries, he's good at it. You wouldn't know this, of course, you are only his pet. The time you spend with him is limited and hardly consists of intellectual conversation. You are there to serve one purpose and you know that quite well. So when you wake up in his bed one morning, two things come as a surprise. First that you're even here. It's one of those rare occasions when Sukuna couldn't be bothered kicking or carrying you out of his chambers once your time together was up. Second, he's awake, bent over his desk and so concentrated on a little figurine in his hand that he doesn't immediately notice you've shuffled awake. Once your eyes focus, you see that he's holding a tool in his other hand. He's carving wood. You're almost hypnotized by the scene. The scene feels so private that even for a pet like you, who knows Sukuna in the most intimate way, it feels like you shouldn't be watching. But you can't look away.

"Awake?", he asks, without sparing a glance at you. You apologize for staring, and look for your clothes around the bed. You throw them on just precisely enough to cover up until you reach your chambers, just wanting to be as quick and innocuous as possible. You wait for Sukuna's approval to leave. He gives you a simple nod, once more avoiding to look at you. You leave feeling conflicted. Special, because he allowed you to stay and watch (even as little as you did), but saddened because he barely looked at you, once more solidifying in your mind that you're only interesting to him when you're naked and bent over. As long as you've been here, you could never stop wishing for his validation.

Sukuna knows when you get insecure too. He notices the way your eyes droop, the way you close in on yourself and seem absent in his presence. He justifies this excessive worry about you by telling himself he likes to be the only thing that bothers his pets. All the way until he realized he already is the only thing that can make you sad. This realization falls upon him one time he lashes out on you and sees the immediate change of heart on your face. Now, he isn't one to apologize, especially not to someone who is as low under him as his pet. But why does he feel guilty when he sees this one act of his ruin your day? When he catches a glimpse of you sitting in the garden with your head hung low, or leaving more food on your plate than you usually do. If only you knew the way you really made him feel.

He beckons you to his chambers, and you follow three steps behind him like a good pet does. You didn't expect this time to be any different than others. You've become used to serving Sukuna on days you loved him and on days you hated him. But when he tells you to close your eyes, you know something is different. You obey, of course, and listen to his footsteps as he fetches something from the room. His hand takes yours and opens it, placing a piece of wood onto your palm. You already know, but you wait for him to allow you to open your eyes. He lightly presses his thumb on your cheek under your eye, and when you look, you find a small wooden fawn, curled up and asleep in your hands.

"Master!!..", you start, but nothing else can leave your mouth. You turn the figure around in your hand, inspecting and admiring the details. He's given you gifts before, but not ones carved by his own hand. Not ones made with love.

"You don't have to squint anymore.", Sukuna says, almost jokingly. But his face is as serious as ever as he looks at you, his muse. He thinks of the first time he's exhausted you to the point of passing out right after your nightly meetings. You were relatively new and very unsure of your safety. He thinks of your small body curled up in sleep on the edge of his bed, knees pressed to your chest in a primal, subconscious attempt to protect yourself. His little pet, his fawn.

You slur on and on about how beautiful it is, how you don't know how to thank him, the usual when you receive a gift. And as usual, Sukuna shuts you up with a kiss. You welcome it and wrap your arms around his neck, giving yourself in to him and letting him take you to the bed.

And he takes things slow tonight. He's gentle and so, so giving. Every sensation is delicate, prolonged and heightened to exhaustion. You cling to him, pull him impossibly close, and come apart under the comforting weight of him. Afterwards, you hold his hand to your face and kiss it softly. His hands, so large and strong, capable of such violence, yet for you they craft gifts, cradle, caress, love... in a very subtle and distant way, of course. With these thoughts your hands slip away from his, you turn around and quickly drift off.

He looks at you now, sleeping so close to him. Trusting him with your back, and turning your curled up form to the outside world. As if he is no longer a perceived danger. He smiles to himself in victory, and plants a chaste kiss to your shoulder to wish you one final goodnight.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #this started off w me thinking ab sukuna carving wood #and ended up w me exploring the intimacy and complexity of trusting someone with your uncoscious sleeping vulnerable body #you know sukuna is NOT the person to feel safe sleeping next to but a girl can dream 😭😭#i didnt read through this twice so excuse mistakes and general language that might not make the most sense cause im a foreigner

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sukunasteeth · 3 months

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Taking Care of a Tired Sukuna

Sukuna has had a long day.

Well, night.

Morning.

Fuck.

Working construction had been twisting up his sleeping schedule. At this point, Sukuna was starting to feel it in his body; in the strain in his muscle, and the aches and pains that randomly gripped him.

They had him working on a new project that could only be done at night, while the public was off the main roads, and that meant his new work hours were starting from sometime in the middle of the evening and ending in the morning or the mid-afternoon. Being nocturnal wouldn't be so bad if his commute home wasn't during rush hour. The traffic was always worse when he just wanted to crawl onto his couch and fall asleep there. And when he does come home at the end of the day - he's aching, exhausted, and every bone in his body is vibrating with the noise from a jackhammer or the hum of a forklift.

Sukuna has always liked something that keeps him busy, interested, something that tests his strengths. So, he can't say that he hates the job, but he does wish that it wouldn't occupy so much of his time. He's wont to forget things when he's so wrapped up in a new task.

Like today, for example, when he finally swings his truck around the front of his apartment building, barely making it off the freeway without murdering someone, and he spots your car parked there in his spot.

He starts a bit, his sleep deprived brain suddenly spinning as memory serves him.

That's right. You were supposed to come over today after he got off of work and spend the night- and he didn't plan a damn thing. There's no flowers in the backseat, he didn't stop to grab lunch for the two of you, he doesn't even have anything in his fridge for dinner tonight, besides a few forgotten beers tucked away in the side door.

As Sukuna searches for a parking spot much further down the street, he knows he should be disappointed with himself, but he can't help the touch of excitement that's suddenly dissolving the exhaustion from his muscles. Sometimes, Sukuna resents the fact that you manage to reduce him to this. He hates that he can't control that his heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing you again, like he's in some sappy romance novel.

But it was the hold you had on him, and he was starting to accept it.

You got to Sukuna's apartment about two hours before he was scheduled to be home. It was a day off for you, and you woke up with butterflies fluttering around in your chest.

You were giddy to see him. You always were. And not a single butterfly has died in your heart-space for him since the moment you met Sukuna, around two years ago. He has tended to each of them since then with his gentle but stubborn touch, although, he would never admit it.

You adored him for that.

It's still early in the morning when you use the key he had made for you to unlock his front door. Immediately upon stepping in, you're hit with how dark his studio is. The sun had risen over the horizon hours ago, and yet, the only hint of its light came from a small gap in Sukuna's blackout curtains. When you pull them back, you turn around and wince at the room behind you.

Yep, he's working too hard.

There's construction tools all over the house; sitting on the counter, in the sink, on his bed-stand, there's even a huge oil covered machine beside the front door that you nearly trip on in your trek over to the curtain. His coveralls and work clothes are strewn across the living room like he's been too exhausted to even make it to his bed at the end of his days, which is not very far from the couch. Meanwhile, his bedroom and the kitchen look nearly immaculate, telling you he hasn't cooked in days and confirming your suspicions about his sleeping arrangements. You wander over to his fridge and pop it open, sighing hopelessly when you're greeted with nothing inside.

Good thing he has you.

By the time he makes it home, it's around one in the afternoon. You've got his laundry hanging on the clothesline outside, more in the washing machine, and all of his tools and odds and ends have been sorted and dusted clean. You've opened every window he has, and cool, fresh air sweeps away the oppressed darkness his apartment held before. Everything was back in equilibrium.

When his keys jingle outside the door, you're just finishing up the last of folding his laundry. Sukuna steps inside, and your heart aches at how drained he looks despite the way his eyes widen as he peers around the room in surprise. His clothes are covered in dust from the construction site, and there's a smear of dirt on his cheek that makes him look like a chimney sweep. There's a tool in his hand that looks rather heavy, straining the muscles in his arm, but he seems to have momentarily forgotten to put it down. Half moon circles are embedded under his eyes, but they only bring out the intensity of his gaze.

"Hi 'Kuna?" You chime, calling his attention to rest on you.

He blinks, taking a moment to process the situation. You don't recognize the glimmer in his eyes then, and part of you starts to sweat at the thought of him taking this all wrong. Sukuna had never been particularly picky with you, but vice versa, you had never done something like this for him before. He never gave you the opportunity, after all. Out of the two of you, Sukuna was usually the one who was always effortlessly put together.

"You... cleaned..." He notes.

You swallow, "I did but I didn't move things around though. Just tried to put things back. Your laundry is right outside and I got you some groceries-" Sukuna drops the tool in his hand without warning, and you start talking faster, your voice raising a pitch as he starts towards you. "Okay, thinking back, I guess I should have asked. Maybe texted- no, you hate texting. Maybe called-"

“Did you clean the paint specks off of my air compressor?” He was standing in front of the machine beside the front door, which you painstakingly made sure not to ruin in your cleansing, despite having no idea what it was.

When he looks at you for an answer, continuing to close the distance between the two of you. You swallow the rock in your throat. “Too much?”

He’s made his way across the room and his surprised expression finally settles into a familiar hungry grin. He grabs you by the hem of your jeans, yanking you roughly towards him. You catch yourself on his chest, making a small noise of surprise. When you look up to scold him, Sukuna is an inch away from your face, his lips almost brushing yours, save for half a centimeter of space between them. He smells like sawdust and menthol, you can taste it in the close proximity as he greedily takes your breath away.

“Off. Now.” He growls, but his fingers are already undoing the button clasped in the front of your pants. “I’m about to fuckin’ eat you, sweet thing.”

You end up skipping lunch, but you're well satisfied a few hours later. A certain hunger: satiated. Sukuna is resting peacefully beside you. You can hear his even breathing against the sound of the cicadas outside, screaming in through the windows. Seeing him so content, sets your heart at ease and you release a sigh of relief.

Now, to end the night, it was time to slip out of bed without him noticing to finish folding his laundry.

Or so you thought.

As you carefully peel back the blankets and try to sneak off the side of the mattress, a warm pair of fingers loop themselves around your panty line, effectively preventing you from going anywhere. Guiltily, you peek over your shoulder to see Sukuna glaring at you with half of his face still smushed into his pillow, genuinely disgruntled with the fact that you were trying to leave his bed. You can't help but chuckle.

"I'm just gonna go grab your laundry." You reassure him, brushing a tousled tuft of his hair out of his eyes. The knot between his brows deepens.

"Let me do that later. C'mere. " He tugs on your panty line, confident that you'll be submissive for him.

The sun outside was casting tall shadows on the walls of his bedroom and the glow was now deep and rich, telling you that it was preparing to set. You didn't want Sukuna's laundry on the balcony all night, which is what you were sure would happen if you didn't go and grab it now.

You hear a thread rip in your panty line interrupting your contemplation and, quickly, you grab his wrist, squeezing it as a signal for him to let go.

He continues to hold fast, his brow cocking in a silent dare.

"'Kuna, come on." You try, "Lemme take care of you-"

"You've been doing nothing but take care of me all day." He scoffs, like the idea of it is absurd to him. Rarely does Sukuna allow you the opportunity to show him as much care and adoration as you have today. Being doted on was not typically something he enjoyed. You knew that, and that's how you also knew that he was exhausted to his bones that day. "Get your ass back here."

There's a tug again, and another thread snaps somewhere. You pout at him, already having the foresight that this pair of panties wasn't going to last you long either. Your partner had the tendency to rip them off of you, and this wouldn't be the first pair to become a shred of what they once were. To be fair, he was also known for giving you his credit card and telling you to go buy "some things for him to see you in", so it would be at no cost to you. But, you happened to like this pair.

Sukuna watches you consider your options silently, unrelenting in his hold on your lace. When you peek up at his gaze, testing one more time, you know you've already lost.

"Don't make me chase after you." He warns, the promise of your inevitable surrender is evident in the predatory glint of his eyes. If Sukuna had a tail at that moment, it would be swaying back and forth, preparing for a pounce. "It's been a while since the last time I had you tied up. I do miss those sweet little bruises we left on your wrists."

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention upon his recollection. The last time Sukuna had you in ropes, you had to call off of work the next day. Your backside stings with the memory, but half of you can't help but ache for it too. Tied up in Sukuna's bed while he was forced to care for the boneless pile that was his girlfriend, drunk off of his lovemaking? That wasn't the worst place to be.

But, on the other hand, you could tell how exhausted he was with the new construction project at his job. You have a flashback of showering with him at the end of the night and scrubbing sawdust out of his hair. Having to gently prod and kiss him awake as he fell asleep standing up in front of you. You were adamant that you weren't going to do anything to tire him further tonight.

Before you can properly give in, Sukuna must have decided that you were taking much too long to obey him.

His other hand reaches over and winds around your lower waist, pulling you backwards into the soft cushion of the pillows and easily flipping the two of you so that he’s mounted above you. In your surprised stupor, he collects both of your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head.

"You've forgotten how to follow directions again, kitten." His murmur is like velvet against your ear. His teeth graze over his favorite spot on the nape of your neck, where he’s already tortured it with his teeth and hickies. You didn’t realize how raw the skin was until he bites you there, drawing a whimper from your throat.

"Let's remind you."

#jjk #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #fluff #just love the idea of Sukuna coming home filthy #I'd eat it up personally #also good god i want to see this man in a pair of coveralls #my writing

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bloodsuckingfiends · 2 months

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Take Care of You

Summary: Tav's selflessness does not go unnoticed by Astarion, but so doesn't the way her selflessness is at the expense of her own well-being. He decides to take it into his own hands to take care of her... in more ways than one.

Pairing: Astarion x fem! Tav (reader)

Warnings: Tav overworks herself and neglects her own needs/selfcare, smut, fingering (Tav is AFAB), feminine pet names used, praise kink, I think that's it!

Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: I have brainworms again and need to get this out sooooo enjoy?

Oftentimes, Astarion found that Tav tended to the needs of others, but very rarely to any needs of her own. He had witnessed Tav spend the last 3 days taking care of everyone, including himself in various ways that had her now looking, and surely feeling, absolutely exhausted. As he stood outside his tent, eyes scanning the camp setup before him, his gaze zeroed in on his Tav who was currently starting the fire, and helping to set up Gale’s various cooking tools and ingredients. A soft smile tugged at his lips just at the mere sight of her, before turning to a frown. As it was, Gale was away from camp, surely bathing off the day’s blood and grime along with their other companions, as Tav readied everything for their return. Her hair was crusted with blood, as was her armor, and her cheeks were streaked with dirt. Her eyes ringed with purple, tell tale signs of her exhaustion.

With a sigh, Astarion makes his way across camp, coming to stand beside Tav,

“Darling, I must say, you do look absolutely ravishing in red, but don’t you think it’s a good idea to get cleaned up?” She looks up at him with doe eyes, hands not stilling in their endeavor to help.

“Oh I don’t mind waiting. The others won’t be long, and besides, I just want to help set up for Gale. He’s always so kind as to make dinner for everyone, so this is me paying him back.”

Astarion manages to internalize his eye roll, and hold his tongue from pointing out that Tav has saved the wizard plenty of times in battle to make up for the meager stew that’s served nearly daily.

He places a hand on her shoulder, before pulling back and dusting the dried blood off his hand, “I just worry that you haven’t been taking care of yourself, is all.” a clear of his throat does well to cover the awkwardness he feels at saying such a vulnerable thing to her.

“I’m alright Star, no need to worry.” She gives him a glance and a little smile.

“I don’t mean to be blunt darling, but you look positively dreadful and like you could use a nap. Please, let me take care of you.” Astarion huffs, frustrated at her stubbornness. Tav straightens up and turns, her eyes meeting his almost pleading ones, “Okay, I’ll let you take care of me.” Her voice comes out a quiet murmur. There was no denying him when he gave her that look.

The others arrive back to camp not long after Astarion gathers fresh clothes, a comb, and toiletries for Tav. He leads her to a secluded spot along the shore of a small lake they are camped by, before unbuckling and removing her heavy armor and underclothes, leaning forwards to press a kiss to her forehead as he does so. He strips himself of his own clothes, regardless of having bathed earlier that evening, taking Tav’s hand in his own and bringing her to the water. Astarion gets to work, lathering the soap between his hands, and gently scrubbing the filth from Tav’s body and face, a shiver running through her at his touch. He has her fully dip underwater, then begins to work the soap through the blood drenched strands of her hair, massaging at her scalp with his fingertips. Tav lets a moan slip past her lips.

“Does that feel good darling?” Astarion chuckles as he brings the soap down to the ends of her hair.

She mumbles an affirmative, her eyes flutter shut.

“Alright, there we go. Just rinse this out for me, will you, love?”

Tav dips back below the surface, thoroughly rinsing out her locks. When she resurfaces, Astarion can’t help but bite his lip at the sight. The water rolling down her neck, over her breasts as she pushes her hair away from her face. She looks like a painting, he thinks.

The two dry off, and Tav dresses in the clothes that Astarion had brought along for her; a pair of loose trousers, and one of his ruffled night shirts she so loved to steal. Once in Astarion’s tent, the vampire sits, patting the space between his legs and motioning for Tav to take a seat. She obeys, and sits while he starts to comb her hair.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” he hums, fingers beginning to plait her hair.

“I’m okay. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I am.” Tav yawns, her hands mindlessly playing with a loose thread on his trousers.

“Tav, you really must take care of yourself. You put everyone, including myself, before you. It’s really no wonder you’re so exhausted.” he ties off the braid with a piece of leather. His arms come around to wrap over Tav’s chest, holding her against his own and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I just want to help everyone, and I guess I lose myself in the process.” a chill runs through her at the feel of his lips on her sensitive skin.

“Darling, do you think you could try to lose yourself in me, just for a moment, hm?” his tongue flicks against the edge of her jaw.

She gasps in a breath, and stutters, “ye-yes, I think I could do that.”

“Let me take care of you.” One hand whispers across her chest, lightly cupping one breast in it’s hold, before trailing down her stomach, and dancing along the waist of her trousers, “Let’’s take these off.”

Tav shimmies her pants over her hips and down her legs, toeing them off to the side. Astarion runs his hands down her naked thighs, hooking beneath them to lift them and rest them over the tops of his, successfully spreading her open for him. Her breath catches in her chest, the cool air hitting her already sensitive cunt.

“My my, look at you. You’re already positively dripping.” He dips his fingers below and runs his middle finger through her wet, swollen slit, opposite hand running up her ribcage, grasping at her breasts and teasing at her nipples. He toys at her entrance, teasing the tips of his fingers in her before pushing slowly inside. Tav moans, her chest heaving slightly at the intrusion.

“That’s it, such a good girl taking my fingers like this.” Astarion coos in her ear, nose pressed to her cheek. He begins to pump his digits in and out, crooking them just enough to rub at that spot that makes her mewl.

“Just feel how good I’m making you feel, my love.” The pace of his fingers picks up, and his other hand pinches at one of her nipples.

“St-Star, I’m close.” her head falls back against his shoulder, throat exposed for his mouth’s taking. Thighs shake against his as she nears her end. He sucks and licks at the flesh of her throat, fingers continuing their pace. The hand playing with her breasts, makes its way down to circle her swollen clit. Tav whines at the contact, hands grip at his forearms, grounding her to the moment.

“That’s it, pet. Come for me. Come around my fingers, I want to feel it.”

Her cunt spasms around him, thighs quaking and hips lifting to meet his movements. Moans fly past her lips, as she rides out her orgasm. Astarion slows his fingers as she comes down from her high, “Shh shh shh, there we go.” Tav looks back at him, a blissed out, glassy look to her eyes. “There you are, darling. How did that feel?”

She tries to regulate her breathing, “So good.” she manages to reply.

He grabs a cloth, and cleans her up, then slips back on her underclothes and trousers.

“Come here, my love.” He scoops her up and lays her down, her head upon his chest, as he pulls the bedroll and blankets around the two of them.

“Thank you Star, for taking care of me.” Tav mumbles as she drifts off and gets the much needed rest that she deserves.

#astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x reader smut #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav smut #astarion x tav angst #astarion x tav fluff #baldurs gate #baldur's gate iii

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linkspooky · 9 months

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Are You Satisfied?

As you might have heard chapter 236 of Jujutsu Kaisen ends with the death of Gojo Satoru. The fandom is making a pretty big deal about it. As someone who predicted from the beginning that Gojo was going to lose against Sukuna, the reaction is fascinating to me. This is perhaps the most controversial chapter of Jujutsu Kaisen I've ever seen. So I've decided to throw my hat into the ring.

The central theme of Jujutsu Kaisen is death, so the death of one of the main characters isn't too surprising, but what does Gojo's death mean for the story? What does it say about his character?

As I said above I am a little bit shocked by the extreme controversy over Gojo's death. Gojo was never going to win the fight in the first place, because Jujutsu Kaisen is a story and the story would be over if he defeated Sukuna. He'd easily be able to take care of Kenjaku afterwards and the main conflcit would be resolved. Would it really be an interesting story if Gojo one shotted the villains while the kids just wathced on Television?

The story is also not about Gojo, it's about the students. Gojo may think he's the protagonist of reality but he's not the protagonist of the story.

Once again, Jujutsu Kaisen is a story and stories have themes. We may grow personally attached to characters, but characters are just narrative tools to convey the themes of a story, no different from prose, dialogue, and art. Characters are a tool to be used well or used poorly, and sometimes yes that means killing them. Whether Gojo's death was naratively satisfying though isn't the purpose of this post though we're only asking what does it mean?

Finally, Jujutsu Kaisen is not only a fictional story, it's specifically a tragedy. Full disclosure, it's a manga about death.

The Protagonist of a Tragedy

So, number one shout out to me for making this post 4 months ago where I called the way Gojo would end the fight.

Excuse me while I fist pump for calling it!

The question on everyone's minds is why does one of the most powerful characters in the manga die offscreen in a pretty humiliating way, cut in half and helpless on the ground just like Kaneki. The reason Gojo didn't get a more heroic (or cooler) death is because we're not reading My Hero Academia, this is not a story about heroes or even a typical Shonen manga it is a tragedy.

In poetics Aristotle defines tragedy as:

"an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions" (51).

To paraphrase a tragedy is about human action, actions characters make in a tragedy often have dire consequences. One of the most common consequences if the reversal of a hero's fortune, a hero of a tragedy usually starts out on top and ends up on the bottom because of the bad choices they make. If in normal shonen manga characters overcome their flaws through effort and persistence, in Jujutsu Kaisen we see characters more often than not lose to their flaws.

The reason I posted that Kaneki panel specifically is because it was a brilliant moment of narrative punishment for Kaneki's central character flaw. Kaneki the hero's main flaw is that he always fights alone, and he constantly makes that same choice over and over again to fight alone. One of the characters helpfully explains it as well.

Stories are primarily about change. If a character doesn't change they're not serving the plot, unless that specifically is the point. People have pointed out how abrupt it is for Gojo to get sealed in Shibuya, get let out, and then immediately die afterwards but that's kind of the point. Gojo made more or less the exact same choice (he asked for Utahime's help for a buff but otherwise fought the entire battle himself). The definition of insanity and what not, why would doing the same thing over and over again net him a different result?

Not only did Gojo choose to fight alone, but as I've been hammering on and on about in previous meta the entire fight Gojo cared more about fighting a strong opponent then he did saving Megumi, the child he was responsible for.

Jujutsu Kaisen is not a typical shonen manga where everything is resolved by beating a strong villain in a fight. That's specifically why I used the Tokyo Ghoul reference, because the reason Kaneki is defeated offscreen like that is because he thought the world worked like a shonen manga. He has a fantasy sequence where he's fighting Juzo in a shonen battle tournament like this is Yu Yu Hakusho right before it snaps back to reality and he's limbless on the ground.

Gojo is a major character in the manga Jujutsu Kaisen, literally "Sorcery Fight" and he is the best sorcerer in the whole world. His entire identity revolves around being a sorcerer. Since he is so good and beloved at what he does, he thinks that everything is resolved by exorcising a curse or defeating a strong opponent. He has basically no identity outside of that. Which is why when he's fighting the possessed body of his student, a person he's been mentoring since childhood his priority is not to save Megumi but to beat a strong opponent. Gojo is a sorcerer, before a human being. That's who he is, that's who he always has been since day one.

I think part of the negative fan reaction comes from fans being really attached to this scene in the manga and deciding Gojo's entire character revolves around being a good mentor figure to children.

Which is just incorrect, Gojo's entire character revolves around being the strongest. On top of that though, Gojo can care about children and also care about being the strongest he can care about multiple things at once and have those things contradict each other because humans are complicated. I'd point out even in this panel where he's stating motivation he's not trying to raise these kids up into being healthy adults, he wants them to be strong Jujutsu Sorcerers. Even when he's raising kids, his intention is to turn them into Jujutsu Sorcerers because everything in Gojo's mind revolves around Jujutsu Sorcery. Gojo does not exist outside of the world of sorcerers. Gojo may be the chosen one but he'd never be able to hold down a job at Mcdonalds.

I think in general readers put more investment in the things characters say out loud, rather than their actions. You can say one thing and do another. I can say "I should never eat sweets again I'm going to improve my diet", and then go and eat ice cream five hours later. Gojo can state out loud his intention to foster children and protect their youths, but then fail to properly do that in the story. Characters are not always what they say they are, that's why they're interesting to interpret. This isn't me calling the readers stupid, just pointing out that Gojo is made up of contradictions. He wants to get rid of the old guard and replace them with something new, but Gojo IS THE OLD GUARD.

If the culling games arc has shown us one thing, it's that ancient sorcerers brought to the modern age do not care that much about human life on an individual level, they are all of them egoists. There's a reason Gojo resembles someone like Sukuna more than he does any other character in the manga. I'm not saying Gojo is exactly like Sukuna, he's far more altruistic and uses his genuinely noble ideals but at the same time Sukuna is a shadow archetype to Gojo he represents Gojo's flaws. The flaws that Gojo succumbs to in tragic fashion.

Which if you believe that Gojo genuinely does love his students, and the ideal he's fighting for is to raise up a better generation and allow them to live out their youths, then Gojo throughout the entire Sukuna fight is acting against those ideals. He cares far more about fighting Sukuna then he does saving Megumi, it's shown over and over again in the battle, Megumi is an afterthought to him. If Gojo care moredefeating the big bad and saving the world is more important than helping a child that Gojo is responsible for then Gojo is acting against his stated principles. Why should Gojo win the fight when he's fighting for all the wrong reasons?

Tragedies are like visual novels, if you make the wrong choice the novel will give you a red flag. If you ignore the red flag then you get locked into the route with the bad ending. Gojo always fights alone. Gojo only ever fights for himself, even if he's using that selfishness in support of a more noble ideal like creating a better generation of sorcerers. If Gojo consecutively makes the same changes then in a tragedy he's not going to be rewarded for it.

Gojo wants the old generation out and the new generation in, but Gojo resembles the old generation too much. Old sorcerers like Hajime and Sukuna respect him, Hajime argues that Gojo being able to fight for his pride is far more important than him living to the end of the battle when Yuta wanted to interfere and help him.

Gojo's death isn't a surprise curve ball that Gege is throwing us for shock value, it's a result of his choices throughout the manga. A manga about change, and the change between generations is not going to punish a character for remaining roughly the same. Of course you might find it disappointing that Gege didn't give Gojo the chance to grow and change and experience a character arc like Megumi or Yuji, but Jujutsu Kaisen is a tragedy, and the way Gojo's arc ended is consistent with what Gege wrote.

Jujutsu Kaisen is not just a tragedy though, it's a manga about death. The manga begins with Yuji's grandfather warning him not to die alone the way that he did. His grandfather's dying words are what motivate Yuji throughout the beginning of the manga as he's searching for a "proper" death.

One of the major themes of Yuji's character is a contemplation of death. He accepts that death is inevitable, so he wants to save them from the gruesome deaths they'd experience if they became victims to curses and allow them to have a more satisfying death. Yuji's grandpa died an unsatisfying death because he died alone in a hospital room. Yuji even tries to make his own death a satisfying one because he believes by dying to seal away Sukuna he'll reduce the total number of casualties to curses.

Jujutsu Kaisen keeps investigating the theme of death and what exactly would make for a satisfying death. At one point it's all but stated that death is the mirror that makes humans analyze their lives.

When Yuji fails to save Junpei from the "unnatural death" it calls into question whether or not his goal of saving people from unsatisfying deaths and the gruesome deaths caused by curses is even feasible. Nanami even says that Yuji might not be able to accomplish his goal and warns him away from the path.

We see repeated unsatifying deaths in the manga, each time someone reflecting on their deaths that they weren't able to get what they wanted out of life. This list comes via @kaibutsushidousha by the way I'm quoting them.

Nanami's a character who chose to work as a sorcerer because he didn't want to evade the responsibility of doing all you can to help people, he wanted to believe he's somewhere where he's needed. He never runs away from responsibility like Mei Mei does so he quite literally works himself to death, living and dying as a sorcerer. Nanami or Gojo's dying hallucination of Nanami even says as much, his death is the result of him choosing to go south and returning to be a sorcerer.

Maki chose revenge against the Zen'in over her sister, and as a result Mai is dead. Maki has all the power in the world now, her revenge complete but she's left with a sense of "now what?" She's as strong as Toji now but she failed to protect her sister, and it's the result of the choices she made. Maki's reflection isn't triumph, it's "I should have chosen to die with her."

Even Yuji himself is robbed of his narrative purpose. The manga began with Yuji saying he wants to choose how he's going to die and he'll die taking out Sukuna with him so he can reduce the number of people killed by curses in the world. Both of those things are thrown in Sukuna's face. Number one the amount of people Yuji can save by permanently killing Sukuna is now a moot point because he let Sukuna rampage in Shibuya.

Number two, Sukuna isn't even in Yuji anymore. To build on what Comun said though, this repeated tragedy has a purpose to it and understanding requires understanding that Jujutsu Kaisen is an existentialist manga. Existentialism is basically a school of philosophy centered around the question of "Why do I exist?"

There's nothing about the invetability of death to make you question why you're alive in the first place. In the myth of Sispyhus, Albert Camus boils down all of philosophy to one question.

"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. "

All of philosophy is should I shoot myself in the head or should I keep living? Everything comes after that question, which is why in Jujutsu Kaisen a lot of the characters motivations revolve around them contemplating death. Sorcerers exist in a world where they can die any moment, and as Gojo says most of them die alone. It might be the nature of sorcery itself that causes so many people to die, not only are they dying because they are trapped in an uncaring system, but the characters themselves aren't really attempting to live outside of it. They live and die as sorcerers, replaceable cogs in the machine.

All of these unsatisfying deaths may just be the result of all these characters making one choice, to live as sorcerers rather than people. Because to exist means to live in the world.

Even in Mechamaru's case, his goal is deeply existentialist by what I defined, all he wants to do is live in the world with everyone else rather than be stuck in his hospital room but his actions contradict that goal. Instead of letting his friends come and visit he's obsessed with the idea of getting a normal body because he feels that's the only way he can exist with everyone else, he makes a deal with the devil, he lies and goes behind their backs. He wasn't living with everyone else in the world and he could have chosen to, he chose wrong and his death is the result of that choice.

Jujutsu Sorcerers aren't living in the world. They're living in a little snowglobe far removed from the world with its own rules, most of them regressive and disconnected from the rest of society. If you define existentialism as just "living in the world' then a lot of these characters aren't, because they only exist in the world of sorcery.

INVISIBLE BUFFY: What are you talking ab- SPIKE: The only reason you're here, is that you're not here. (drinking) INVISIBLE BUFFY: Right. Of course, as usual there's something wrong with Buffy. She came back all wrong. (moving around on the bed) You know, I didn't ask for this to happen to me. SPIKE: Not too put off by it though, are you? (drinking) INVISIBLE BUFFY: No! Maybe because for the first time since ... I'm free. She tosses the sheet aside. Spike looks around, trying to figure out where she's going. INVISIBLE BUFFY: Free of rules and reports ... free of this life. SPIKE: Free of life? Got another name for that. Dead.

Not living in the world with everyone else is the same as being dead.

A lot of these characters either make the choice to act alone, or be a jujutsu sorcerer rather than a person and because of that they die as sorcerers, b/c sorcerers die that's what they do. Mai didn't want to keep living as a hindrance to Maki so she kills herself. Maki didn't want to be anything other than a sorcerer, so her little sister dies and she's not a big sister anymore. Nanami chose to leave his job behind and become a sorcerer again, he dies as one.

Of course I don't think the manga is punishing characters for being too egotistical, but rather too unbalanced. If anything Mai is too selfless and that is why she died, she didn't want to live for herself and chooses self sacrifice for her sister. An unbalance between selfishness or selflessness results in an underdeveloped ego. Jujutsu Kaisen doesn't punish individualism per se, moreso if you're not a fully developed individual you won't last long. Because it's also a manga about growing up in the world, and a person who doesn't have a healthy, mature, well-balanced sense of self is not a grown up.

This twitter user det_critics points out that Gojo (and also Yuki + Yuji's) failures in the manga can be attributed to the fact they don't have real senses of self.

Gojo has an identity crisis as outlined by Geto, "are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest, or are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo?"

It's a challenge for him to find some reason to live outside of being the strongest, and in tragic fashion Gojo just doesn't find it in time. Gojo lived for fighting others, and proving to himself that he's the strongest, and that's how he dies.

There's something I like to say about narrative punishment in stories. There are two ways to punish a character, you either don't give them what they want, or you give them exactly what they want. This is the latter, Gojo wanted to find someone stronger than him because deep down he believed that nobody could understand him unless they were on his level. He wanted to be surpassed, and that's why he focused on creating stronger young sorcerers, but he never shook himself of the belief that only someone as strong or even stronger than he was could ever be emotionally attached to him so he made a deliberate choice to draw a line between himself and others.

Gojo's essentially gotten what he wanted from that choice in the worst way possible. The student he picked to succeed him Megumi, has his body stolen and kills him. Gojo is surpassed, but it's not by one of his own students it's by an enemy that's not only trying to kill Gojo but is going to massacre his students afterwards.

Gojo's spent his entire life believing that because he's more powerful that makes him inherently different and above others, and being lonely because he himself believed he couldn't relate to ordinary people and he dies like an ordinary person, an unsatisfying death where he wasn't able to bring out Sukuna's best, where he gets unceremoniously cut in half offscreen but yay he's no longer the strongest. He's gotten exactly what he wanted. Megumi is still not saved, Sukuna's probably going to kill more people because Gojo failed to stop him here, but hey at least he stopped to compliment Gojo.

It's empty, but it's empty because of the choices Gojo made in life to just not bother connecting to people or develop any kind of identity besides being a sorcerer. Gojo lives and dies as a sorcerer, and his dying dream is returning to a teenager being surrounded by everyone he was with during his school days, because that's the happiest time in his life. Ironically he was happier before he became the strongest, because that was the only time in his life that he allowed himself to connect to people.

However in the eyes of others, he is someone who has it all. That's why he is always alone. There was no one who could hold the same sentiments and mutually understand him. Geto was the only one who could understand what he was trying to say, and the only one who could communicate well with him.

It's no coincidence Gojo and Geto die exactly a year apart on the same day, if anything I'd say the reasons they die are similiar to at least thematically. They both die because they don't want to live in the world. Geto thinks the world is too corrupt and GOjo doesn't want to be anything other than a sorcerer, both of them fail to adapt.

「 'It's just. . .' It's just that it was what Geto had to do. [...] To someone like him, the reality that the world of sorcerers presented to him was just too cruel. '. . .that in a world like this, I couldn't truly be happy from the bottom of my heart.'」

They can't be happy in a world like this from the bottom of their hearts, so narratively they both die. The things they chose to live for at the end of their life they fail to accomplish, Gojo is no longer the stronget, Geto fails to wipe out mankind or make major changes to the world and they die as normal people unsatisfied because they weren't trying to live in the world and make connections to others. They die almost karmically a year apart because their main connection for both of them, the thing which made them feel connected to the world and other people was each other.

Which is why this panel breaks my heart and is so narratively satisfying because of how unsatisfying it is...

"If you were among those patting my back... then I might've been satisfied."

Gojo reflects that he's not satisfied dying against Sukuna, not because he failed to give him a good enough challenge but because Geto wasn't there to pat him on the back. The one thing that would have satisfied him he couldn't have, because he didn't live to connect to people he lived to be the strongest and he died alone as the strongest. There's just something deeply upsetting about Gojo's dying dream fantasy just him being there talking with all of his dead friends who he never appreciated or connected to properly when he was alive. Knowing that if something had just gone a little differently, that even if he had to die no matter what he could have died happier if Geto was among the people saying goodbye to him because that connection with Geto is what gave his life meaning.

Dazai Osamu: "A life with someone you can say good-bye to is a good life, especially when it hurts so much to say it to them. Am I wrong?" -Bungou Stray Dogs Beast

#gojo satoru #jjk spoilers #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen 236 spoilers #jjk 236 #jujutsu kaisen 236 #jjk 236 spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen manga #satoru gojo #geto suguru #suguru geto #satosugu

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clairdelunelove · 8 months

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around the clock

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (working drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, handyman!ghost

synopsis: ghost finds comfort in always being busy, whether that'd be completing household maintenance or chores but what does he do when there's nothing else to fix? well, it's simple, he goes over to your place–

a.n. hi lovelies! life's been picking up BUT it's finally spooky season! 🕷 pls take handyman!ghost to compensate for the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit <3

ghost would definitely have the characteristics of being a handyman– specifically, yours.

paid leave was a valuable but rare benefit that many military personnel took advantage of. traveling, relaxing, or staying with family were typically on the itinerary for most. to catch up on lost time. to ground and comfort them with the humanity that they might’ve forgotten about while on the battlefield. a solace for their minds, souls, and hearts to rest. service members could request leave at any time, fortunately, but ghost never had a reason to. he found comfort in being constantly busy. proved to be less on the mind. an escape from the pain that frequents him whenever he opens his eyes and follows him into his sleepless nights. he recalls price mentioning his unhealthy coping mechanism– the word ‘escapism’ leaving his lips in a sympathetic grimace. a sensitive emotion that reached the captain’s eyes and caused ghost to uncomfortably shuffle on his feet. he wouldn’t label it as ‘escapism,’ per se, just favors his hectic life. so when he chooses is forced to take his paid leave, ghost keeps himself active; repairing his plumbing system, fixing broken light fixtures, or testing any of his home appliances to ensure they’re working properly. he’s continually restless. likes strenuous and taxing work. makes it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. and, by the off chance there’s absolutely nothing left to maintain in his compact flat (because a couple bare rooms, small porch, and no backyard is hardly a feat to clean), he’ll sit on his threadbare couch. might tap his fingers against his thigh while the living room clock obnoxiously ticks. the silence is deafening, ironically. his heavy-set eyes float to glance at the time and upon noticing this is the predicament he’ll be in for a couple more weeks, he abruptly gets up, pockets his keys, and makes his way to you.

ghost who stiffly stands at your front door when you answer the familiar knock. frankly, you’ve noticed the way he knocks on your door is strikingly different than how he does on missions. a strong rap but not powerful enough to scare you. it’s a sign that’s irrevocably him. served as an indication of his presence. it was up to you whether you wished to entertain his trivial inquiries. you peep your head out first, not quite believing the sight before you, and he raises a brow at your widened eyes. “simon?” you ask incredulously. his plain balaclava shifts when he catches how you intuitively open the door wider for him. to make room for him in your home. “remembered you asked about patchin’ and paintin’ your walls,” he explains like it’s ordinary to recall a conversation from weeks ago. astonishingly, he was right. you had, offhandedly, mentioned that you nailed picture frames to the wall which created noticeable holes that you didn’t know how to fix. you reminisce at how he held back an amused scoff when you emphasized that it was an honest mistake on your part. didn’t entirely think it likely that he’d personally fix it. “oh,” you glance at the rather large toolbox in his hand as your voice trails off, “like, you want to fix it right now?” he offers a singular nod as a response.

ghost who’s a second away from packing up his home repair tools/gadgets and heading back home when you glance behind you to stare at your place in contemplation. your lower lip caught in-between your teeth. he hesitates. isn’t accustomed to the sensation even when he has a weapon in his grasp. his mind whirs. the green-eyed monster of jealousy bleeding its way into his heart. “unless,” he dreads the words before they leave his lips, “you have a bloke to help ya with it?” his words are stiff. ghost shifts to lean against your doorframe in an attempt to ease off the bitterness in his voice. drawn to the movement, you can’t help but become aware of how he fills the entire entryway with his physique. your cheeks burn. a quick shake of your head followed by a resounding, “no, I don’t and I haven’t called a handyman either.” and it’s the perfect remedy to quell his discontent. his rigid posture loosens with the answer. while you step to the side to welcome him in, you hurriedly clarify with an awkward laugh, “had to think for a bit because I didn’t want you to see how much of a slob I am,” and hope that the joke lands. the universally polite comment to excuse the untidiness. ghost isn’t focused on the clutter, however. he’s basking in the fact that you’re not seeing anyone. offhandedly throws in a murmur of, “not a problem, sweetheart,” when he eases by you. and the way it borders raspy satisfaction reduces you to a puddle.

ghost who allows his gaze to wander to your decorated walls and dainty furniture while you explain where the tactless gaps in the walls were at. picture frames encasing friends and family were thoughtfully tacked onto the walls. trinkets lined the shelves to serve as memoirs. he stops himself from reaching up and picking one up for closer inspection. wouldn’t be fair if he did. truth be told, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d put up a photograph in his own flat. his loved ones and comrades stayed etched in his mind. recurrent and persistent. your place, on the other hand, seems well-inhabited, lived-in, and loved. he could almost spot the glow that you managed to sprinkle everywhere you went regardless of the situation. a feature that endlessly puzzled him. the addictive familiarity that accompanied you and made every place feel like home. ghost likes it. it’s comfy and cozy– you. and his mind slips into the possibility of adding a few pieces of him in your home. his work boots at the front door. his toothbrush residing beside yours in the bathroom. his shirt in your closet. “need any tools to help fix the damage I made?” your witticism forces him out of his train of thought. halts the delusion from straying too far. he’s quick to recover, however, and murmurs, “got everythin’ I need here,” while his eyes are solely fixed on you. a declaration that’s spoken as profound as a pass of thunder. and you wait with bated breath, mind whirring to reciprocate the sentiment but ghost is already trekking past you. he gets to work almost immediately by using a putty knife and a joint compound to patch up the holes in the walls. but goodness– his eyes. the raw dedication that manifests and bleeds out when he glances over to you. his words are a certainty that he grasps onto.

ghost who, unsurprisingly, fixes the blunders in the walls with ease. it’s a minor task that’s covered with a gentle hand and some paint. nothing that he can’t fix. but truthfully, the afternoon passes far quicker than usual. with fleeting smiles and stolen glances whenever his focus shifted to you. it was spotting your figure, halfway hidden behind the kitchen entryway, from the corner of his eyes. it was finding you tampering with his tools whenever his back was turned and hearing your soft laughter when he halfheartedly chided your roaming hands. a serenity disguised as a luxury that ghost could never afford. “want to hear a construction joke?” your voice fills the house; he prefers it that way. yet, your inquiry falls flat because he’s short-circuiting. with a hand on his shoulder, you lean forward to inspect the spot that he’s working on. forces the two of you closer. your breath is a hot puff against the shell of his ear and he visibly pauses. you’re warm. he turns his head sideways, purposefully staring ahead, and decides to indulge you, “sure.” “hm,” you hum and the pleasant noise goes straight through him, “I’m still working on it.” and when you’re rewarded with an amused huff from his lips due to the punchline, a grin stretches across your face. it’s a meager detail that he imagines as he trudged back (with heavy feet) to his bare flat later that evening. yet, it’s the only solace that allows him to sleep a little easier that night.

ghost who questions his rationale when he’s hauling his lawnmower and other tools onto the back of his pickup truck just for you. well, he supposes you never did ask him to mow your lawn but your front yard is in need of his care. his personal touch. afterall there were various benefits of keeping a lawn clean and tidy. encourages new grass growth and deters pests– or so he justifies. surely it’s not due to the appreciative smile you throw him when you tug your curtains back to find him trimming the edge of the grass. he hears the click of the window opening before your voice calls out to him, “you didn’t need to, si!” but ghost has never given half an effort to seek your favor. lives his life in extremes. so he spares you a glance while genuine words leak from his mouth that he attempts to mask in his surly voice, “jus’ wanted to.” and hastily wretches the starter cord on the lawnmower so it roars to life. pretends not to catch onto your longing stares when the sun’s rays are scorching and he’s compelled to shed a couple layers off. sure, you had tasks at hand rather than blatantly gawking but it could wait. and he didn’t particularly mind the attention. especially when you’re seated by the window so prettily with your face perched atop your hand. admiration pooling in your wide eyes. you watch with bated breath as he one-handedly tugs off his bulky sweater to reveal a fitted black shirt and dirty jeans. a combination that has you visibly gulping as he continues pushing the machine across the lawn. he’s a tantalizing brew of brawn and power. a darkness that you wish to traverse upon. satiates you with a knowing look when he stretches and the fabric of his shirt is pulled taunt across his broad chest. and he huffs in delight when you hurriedly reach out to yank the curtains closed.

ghost who picks you flowers (weeds) but doesn’t know the difference. he ends up discovering a clump of golden dandelions growing near the edge of your fence and decided to pluck them. pinches the stems in between his fingers until it breaks. ends up harvesting a handful of them. the question is: what does he do with them? he saunters over to your front door, raps his knuckles against it, and patiently waits for you to answer. of course. then, he hands the dandelions to you, unblinking but brimming with good intentions. because he’s not aware that dandelions are the most notorious weeds that many desire to get rid of. just acknowledges that they’re pretty and you’re pretty– so it only makes sense. another gift for you. anything for you. he watches as you absentmindedly twirl the stems in your grasp, speechless. and, without warning, he’s flushed for a reason far beyond just the weather. a terrible queasiness that was unlike any he’s experienced. his mannerisms are fidgety, mind itching to leave, and save him the humiliation of offering you weeds. but then your lips break into a wide smile. a dazzling one. knocks the breath out of his lungs. you’re uttering repeated ‘thank you’s’ though, clearly too distracted to notice his predicament, before scurrying into your kitchen. he’s left stunned while you call out, “how did you know I have a pretty vase to match with these?”

ghost who’s knocking at your door in the early mornings, greets you with a gruff, “mornin’,” and slinks past you into your home. doesn’t even pause despite the fact that it’s barely the crack of dawn and the sky is still hazy from the remnants of last night. the birds are barely tweeting out to each other, still testing to find a harmony to start the day. you’re as bright as the sun, however, when he offers a glance to you. an expression of stupor and excitement conveyed on your face due to his arrival. he’s stopped by a couple times now yet the warm buzz never dims: if anything, it flourishes like the row of flowers he planted on your front porch. vibrant and all-consuming. “still finding stuff to fix, si?” you joke while tilting your head. you stop him by the kitchen counter just as he’s about to state that everything looks maintained for now. “‘course,” he rumbles as his gaze sweeps to you, “soon you won’t need me though.” his statement is heavier than he expected and he opens his mouth to thwart the abrupt negativity but you beat him to it. the words tumble from your lips, “pretty sure I can always find something here that needs to be fixed.” your voice is soft as you add, “just as long as you want to stay.” he watches as your eyes flicker to the floor but it’s too late. ghost has already seen the tenderness that belongs wholly to him. your vulnerability that he wishes to cradle in his grasp. his hands clasp and unclasp by his sides before he finally mentions, “your fence needs fixin’ today. don’t want the strays comin’ in and fuckin tramplin’ on everything.”

ghost who’s true to his word and tirelessly works to replace your fence posts even in the scorching heat. scratches the back of his neck while muttering something about how they’re rotted on the bottom. and it’s almost hypnotizing to observe how he works. methodically checking each panel’s angle to see how severe it is. he detaches the surrounding pickets and stringers from each post in order to pull the wooden planks out. it’s demanding manual labor, more exhausting than his previous projects, which is why he requests your help. “just need ya to hold these up for me and I’ll straighten out the rest. can you do that for me, pup?” he explains as he hands you a singular fence post. and you try– you really do since he asked so nicely– but the wood is coarse against your fingertips and the sweltering sun hits the nape of your neck too harshly. you huff, voice bordering a whine, “I can’t do this anymore, si.” and ghost, the saint he secretly is, just raises his head to peer up at you. he’s currently on his knees, denim jeans caked in dirt, and dripping with enough sweat that the edges of balaclava curl at the edges to expose slivers of pale skin. “be good for me, will ya?” an inquiry that sounds more like a command due to his thick accent. his dark eyes search for yours, squinting in the sun’s rays, before he goes back to digging around the base of the fence post. however, when even the rare sight of his bare skin does little to serve as a reward against the extreme heat, you’re pouting again, “can’t we do this another day–” “oi,” he interrupts you when his large hand blindly reaches back to clamp over your knee. his thumb moves to caress the inner portion of your knee and you can vaguely discern how each of his fingers press against your skin. featherlight touches that sear your skin. his gaze snaps to yours, a dark brow arching at your unwillingness to move. the next demand leaves his lips in a low, tempting voice, “behave.”

ghost who’s a sucker for your large, beseeching eyes and only shakes his head when you prance back into your house. you’re humming a light tune when you skip up the steps, away from the harsh weather, and leaving him to continue angling fence posts alone. it’d be a crime for him to deny your wish. and it’s not like he bends to your every whim. sometimes. he huffs, half in amusement and half in disbelief, before hauling another slab of wood. it’s not like the task was terribly difficult. he’s proficient– a machine that rather enjoys ruthless duties. just assumes that teamwork would lessen the strenuous work. and having your company was always pleasant. he’s in the act of lifting another fence post when he spots you bounding towards him, a glass cup in your hands, and a radiant grin on your face. his heart flips. pounds against his chest like a sledgehammer beating against fragile wood. “made some lemonade,” you offer and raise the glass to him, “for the hard worker.” notices the hesitant tremble in your fingers and your sudden shyness compels him to inwardly crumble. like you weren’t already the cause of his peace. there’s a swirly straw and a decorative umbrella in the drink which catches his attention. calloused fingers skimming the edge of the vibrant garnish, he’s silent. has never gotten this treatment from another person. it's foreign to him but not unwanted. his eyes are unblinking, caught in a trance, before he’s murmuring honest appreciation for your generosity.

ghost who prods, a bit of humor in his voice, as he sips at the beverage, “a bit sweet, yeah?” coerces himself to ease the smirk that threatens to overtake his face when he recognizes how your eyes widen in alarm. recognizes the panic that spreads within you when you quickly suggest, “is it? let me try.” and he’s more than happy to comply. wordlessly edges the straw between your glossy lips so you can take a sip. half-lidded eyes trained on how your lips curl around the straw, an action that serves as his newest vice. one that he’s certain will take ages to treat. constant time that’d be spent with you. always you. “you’re right. it’s kinda too sweet,” you naively remark, flicking your eyes up at him. you’re so sweet to him– soft voice and all. he’s not looking at you, however. no, ghost lifts the straw to take another sip and as he pulls away, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. to chase after the taste of you. memorizing it. saccharine and gloss. a primal act that has you aching for more. “m’fault then,” his amused voice was snuffed by his blank expression as he gently gripped your jaw. you watch as he slowly blinks, blond lashes sweeping against his cheek, and lowly hums, “forgot I like sweet things.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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fictionadventurer · 7 months

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I usually think of Gale as "playing by the Capitol's rules" and Peeta as "refusing to play the game", but it's not quite as simple as that. Gale and Peeta are both extremely skilled in different parts of the Game.

Gale is good at the violence part of the Capitol's game. He subverts society's rules by living as a semi-outlaw, illegally poaching to save his family, getting more and more active in fighting against oppression. Yet his violent outlook warps who he is at his core, because it warps his vision of the world into a game of "us versus them" that is actually the bedrock of the worldview that led to their oppressive society in the first place.

Peeta is good at the media spectacle at the heart of the Hunger Games. He can manipulate an entire nation with a story and a smile--a dangerous level of power. But though he's good at putting on the mask, he does so as a way to protect who he is at his core, and to stay loyal to his beliefs. He's able to subvert the system of lies into a tool for presenting the truth in ways that change people's hearts and minds.

Of the two of them, Peeta's probably the more dangerous. He could be the next President Snow if he wanted to be--manipulating the truth to warp hearts and minds and shape society in a way that best serves him. Yet Peeta doesn't play the game for personal gain. He doesn't use his skills to benefit himself. He's always acting out of love for Katniss, and eventually, for the good of all Panem, wanting to save everyone from the lies they're living under, instead of punishing some of them for their role in oppression. Gale works to save others, but only his people--everyone else "deserves" destruction, or is acceptable collateral damage. While Peeta could play the game and keep himself, Gale played the game in a way that warped even his good intentions to bad ends.

You wouldn't think that the honest hometown boy would wind up being less moral than the cunning media manipulator. Yet that's how it plays out, which suggests that it's not just playing the game that matters, but who the players are and how they choose to play.

#the hunger games #suzanne collins #i should probably stew over this one more #but i saw the 'if it weren't for the baby' gifset again #and got thinking about how peeta could be so dangerous and evil if he chose to be #and i typed this with my thumbs #what was supposed to be an off-the-cuff comment turned into an essay i guess

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 8 months

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I've been thinking about how Ed starts directly killing people in s2e8. I've seen a lot of worry that this is tragic, that it's Ed falling back into a life he hates with more vigor, and I don't think it's meant to be understood that way at all.

I think it's a triumph.

One thing we absolutely have to understand: there has never been a time on the show when Ed wasn't killing people. That's true for all characters; this is a show about pirates. Even in s1, Ed was leading successful raids and ordering racists skinned. In a realistic sense, nothing has changed.

The difference is in how Ed does not need to construct intricate ways to distance himself from it anymore.

We know that Ed's first time killing was his abusive dad, an event that deeply traumatized him, and it left him thinking himself an absolute monster. His own capacity for violence disgusts and terrifies him, and even though he's been very successful in a very violent career, he needed to distance himself from killing people ("the fire killed those guys, not me") to avoid confronting this part of himself. He believes that the part of himself that is so capable of violence is irredeemable, a monster, unworthy of love.

Even at the start of the season, when Ed is in a self-destructive spiral, it's debateable if he's directly killing anyone. If Lucius had died, he'd probably have said the sea did it, not him. The guy we see him shoot during the raid sequence already had a knife through his chest - it's a step up, and surely meant to be understood as self-harm more than anything else, but that's still a mercy kill, if anything.

Compare to the finale of season 2. These are direct kills, there is no way to argue that Ed is not responsible. It is not debateable that Ed killed all those British officers.

A lot of the worry I've seen around this concern how Ed is going back to what he's good at (as Pop-Pop told him to), and there's an asusmption that that is killing people/violence. But that's not true, is it? Ed's never been good at killing people, his hangups around directly killing are a known character trait. So...what is Ed good at?

Think about how the scene plays out. Ed sees the Republic burning; he can only assume Stede is either captured, wounded, or dead. He's horrified and dazed, his ears ring - he kills the two British soldiers who happen upon him, he decided to fish up his Blackbeard outfit.

What is Ed actually good at? He's a good pirate, a good captain. He's good at keeping his crew safe, he's good at keeping Stede safe. He has to think he's either going to be embarking on a mission to get revenge or to save his boyfriend.

At first, I was very hesitant about the idea of Ed having to go back to piracy, which he says he hates. But what he was actually trying to do was drown Blackbeard, the part of himself he sees as so unworthy of love. He needed to see that Blackbeard is part of him, that he's not a monster or unloveable, that Blackbeard can help him save his friends and his boyfriend.

It's not a coincidencethat the show goes out of its way to make Ed's killing people in this episode as morally easy to accept as possible. The British officers we see are all racist and mean and unpleasant - like, damn, singing 'we shall never be slaves' while making Black characters serve them? Gross! They got what was coming to them! This is the 'racists deserve to die' show, after all.

And Ed uses this violence as a tool for love, to get him back to his boyfriend, to give them a triumphic reunion. I don't think it's a coincidence that this is when Ed tells Stede he loves him, either - he's come one step closer to accepting he's worthy of love, he's more ready to acknowledge what they have.

Ed doesn't have to feel bad about killing those officers. The show doesn't ask him to. He gets to retire while still wearing his Blackbeard outfit - Blackbeard gets to retire, not be drowned with a canonball in the ocean. And we're left with Ed, still with a lot of growing to do and a lot of self-discovery left, but he's closer to realizing that he's not a monster and that he's so deserving of love.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #our flag means death #this show. gddamn. got me feeling shrimp emotions #also like. unrelated to the meta. but it was also really hot.

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alastors-antlers · 4 months

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Why Alastor is good aroace rep after all, written by an aroace

Hello all! I just want to start off this post by saying that I'm one person who definitely doesn't speak for all aroaces, but I wanted to make a post on this anyway, and maybe some folk would be interested in hearing out another perspective?

I'm not really caught up on everything that's been said over the course of HH's creation - only more recent interviews, since I'm pretty new to the fandom. Apologies if I've missed anything, but also I do not have the time to keep up with all the out-of-canon-material backstory unfortunately. I'm working with what we've got here.

So here's the thing:

Alastor is cruel, he's narcissistic, he doesn't care about anyone except himself, he's a serial killer and a monster.

(That's the argument I've heard - please tell me if that's not really what people are going for lol, in which case I've totally misunderstood?)

The issue with aroace rep when it paints asexual people with those traits is that it aims to dehumanizes them. Sex and love are essential to the human experience, right? So why wouldn't someone be interested? Because they're self-absorbed, and cold, and detached. They don't have the capacity to love others enough to feel romance.

And sure, Alastor is a killer, and a schemer, and prideful, and a monster by hell's standards. But no matter how above it all and stylish and in control and provocative he wants to be, he's a very human character, and his aroace-ness never serves to add to his alienation. You could even say that it makes him seem even more personable.

That's what I think is the key difference.

why he's human

Alastor's whole persona is about control, and he basically straight-up says this. He's controlling what his enemies know, what his public image is like. His goal is to be the Radio Demon -- overlord of Hell, charismatic, Machiavellian, and undefeatable. He's not. Despite that smile plastered over his face (a powerful tool, huh) he's so expressive for someone who's constantly pretending.

You see his exasperation with the Egg Bois and with Charlie's ranting; his nervousness in front of Zestial; his frustration with Lucifer and the petty lengths he goes to to piss off the ruler of Hell.

You see his desperation, making that deal with Charlie. He's surprised by the idea of being vulnerable in front of an enemy like Adam, and so close to danger. He drops the radio filter and the affect out of fear, and runs on broadcast TV to let out panic and anger and bitterness in his hideout, where no one else can see him.

He has a smile that tells us he's genuinely happy to see someone; it's a little wider than his default. You see it with Mimzy's greeting, you see it with Rosie. Rosie, especially, serves to make Alastor more human to the audience. More on this later, but for now, I'm just saying that you can see that he at least seems to respect her greatly. Whatever bond they have, we know that he trusts her to touch him, to share history with him, and with support that he trusts no one else for.

He pretends, but he can't pretend it all away. Loads of these emotions aren't even advantageous for him to show. It isn't necessarily how the typical asexual psychopath acts; he's not emotionless or only capable of anger or brutality.

He's so full of emotion that it leaks through, despite all that he does to avoid it. He's not inhuman and aloof, not really - he's so, so human, even when he tries not to be because he thinks that'll be what keeps him above all the rest. In control, and free from his chains.

(If anyone wants to see images about all this, I'll make a separate post - just let me know.)

(I also have another post, talking about why Alastor is at least a little attached to the hotel's residents too, shown via conversation with Niffty. In what way? different question.)

how the aroace part contributes to that

Now, to be fair, we don't hear much about his aroaceness in canon. It's just not relevant a lot of the time.

In the pilot, Angel's proposition ruffles his feathers so much that Alastor blanks for a moment. It's a joke, sure, but that ace panic face is a pretty popular Alastor moment in the fandom - Alastor, thrown off-balance by a sex joke of all things, after so many years in Hell that he should probably be used to this.

It's a moment that makes him more approachable; his aroaceness shows him unprepared for something someone else does for one of the only real moments in the whole episode.

And the other part: the ace in the hole statement.

Rosie apparently knows Alastor so well that she read that he's aroace. That tells us about their relationship; namely, that it is long-standing and genuine enough that she gleaned a piece of real information from him. It's a casual fact that she knows about him before he even figured it out himself. It lends legitimacy to their bond - this bond that shows us a more comfortable and warm side of Alastor that we don't often see.

If their relationship is purely business, isn't this something pretty frivolous and personal? It's not like he has anything to gain by telling her about his life, but she learned about it somehow. How close are they? That's where it adds a layer of complexity and personality to his character..

thoughts on representation

Overall, Alastor's an interesting character who has a level of depth and care and personality (outside of cruelty) that asexual psychopath tropes lack. Again, the moments where he's being represented as disinterested in sex or romance don't make him seem detached. Again, they don't say "look how hostile toward relationships his behaviour is - how separate he is from our humanity". That's what bad villain ace rep is. That's not what the show's doing.

Also: I'm not saying that we need to lower our standards or anything, but even if you think it's not the best rep, I feel like we should be supporting HH's efforts here. I know that on Tumblr we have a pretty queer-friendly space going, which is honestly an understatement lol but

Aces are incredibly underrepresented in fiction. There's a whole Wikipedia page about asexual characters in media, and it's short as all hell, and even if you consider what's on there you see quite a number of one-off characters who are never mentioned again.

In terms of real life business - before the DSM updated their definition of hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD) in 2013, identifying as asexual wasn't even a recognized thing. If you talked to a clinician about your lack of sexual desire, you could be diagnosed with a disorder. Only in the 5th edition do we now have a little exclusion footnote about it.

The concept of asexuality hasn't been explored nearly as much as other queer identities in our scientific research. We get crumbs in terms of mainstream representation and understanding. House M.D. has an episode where House "disproves" us because he's just so smart.

Alastor isn't going to be perfect representation. There's no such thing as perfect representation, and from the moment he was conceptualized, you could see how people would take him poorly. Still, I think he's a net positive.

He isn't a side character or a token ace - he's a core part of the show, whose personality and character motivations we can reasonably presume are going to be explored much more deeply in upcoming season(s). He's loved by the fandom. Right now, given what we know, I trust Vivziepop to write the aroace representation he deserves, because with the way I've heard the cast/directing/etc. talk about him, they're trying to do the aroace community justice, so I wish people would let up just a little on the whole "Alastor is bad rep".

Let's give him a chance, all right?

#hazbin hotel #aroace alastor #alastor analysis #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #asexual #asexuality #hazbin alastor meta #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin #alastor #hazbin meta #hazbin analysis

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yanderederee · 29 days

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Hello, I saw your post talking about izana hitting her partner, which I agree with. But if his partner is someone who doesn't tolerate this, who has a lot of self-love and loves herself more than she loves him, then she decides to leave him the first time he touches her? Thanks and byee!! 😊

Hihi!~ I wasn’t sure if you were requesting I write some additional headcanons to go with this, so I just went with my gut~~ ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

Based on these headcanons:

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

If we’re still talking Yandere! Izana, then good luck. He has officially labeled you as property, and refuses your request to leave. A breakup was a mutual decision, right? So if he says no, then you’re not breaking up. If you’re insistent on leaving him, he’s not above scaring you; threatening to kill everyone close to you, arrange for anyone else you associate to take the fall for these murders… Yandere!Izana is especially cruel and might take even more extreme measures to keep you complacent(like drugging you/captivity…etc), if you continue to infuriate him further. Sorry bestie♡

If we’re talking canon Izana, honestly; If his s/o decides to leave him, while he’ll be royally pissed about it, he won’t fight you to stay with him; since he does kind of see people as tools. At least that’s what he’s convinced himself to believe. He doesn’t think he needs you. He has no use for you if you serve him no purpose, if you want to leave him, then he will try to convince himself that as a tool, you are replaceable. It’s only after not having you around for a few days will he realize how much he actually valued your companionship. Izana realizes once you’re gone that he didn’t want to be separated from you. He considers Shinichiro’s words to never hit girls. Izana thought it was stupid, he was unprejudiced in whom he hit—It was only fair. He began thinking maybe that was why he was “wrong”. It took a flabbergasted Kakucho to spell it out for him to realize, you shouldn’t hit the people you love. If you love them, you treat them well, and protect them from everyone, even yourself.

From there, Izana will do one of the two;

He’ll either return to reader within two weeks time, confessing— Very begrudgingly—that he realizes that he should not have hit you, and while he’s still learning to control his emotions and reactions, he promises you he will never hurt you (physically) again.

Or, Izana will leave you be. He has a lot of gang shit to deal with, and deep down he will know having someone he loves so close to him will either make him too soft for the horrors he must commit, or you will eventually be caught in the crossfire. Either way, he knows you’re better off without him. Even if it hurts him, he will do everything to distract himself from ever thinking about you again.

#I had a little too much fun writing these #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers izana #tr izana #izana headcanons #yandere izana #izana #izana kurokawa #izana x reader #yandere x reader #yandere izana x reader

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ghouljams · 8 months

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*Slides into the ask box*

Brief question here for you today, but did Ghost decide to ask Price's permission to marry Goose? I can see him wanting to do everything by the book and traditionally, but I can also see him respecting that Goose is her own woman and can make that decision for herself.

Ghost did ask permission in his own way! I like to think it was more important to Ghost than Goose to get the captain’s permission. For Ghost, Price is not just his captain, he's as close to a father figure as he can get, and past that Price is the person that dragged him back from the edge every time he walked too close. And, well, I'll just let you read it.

“You cannot be this scared of my daddy,” You cross your arms over your chest, watching Simon fuss with his boots by the door. He gives you a stern glare, and tugs his mask up to cover his face. You roll your eyes, “You served under him, isn’t this easier than tellin’ him a mission went sideways?”

Simon grunts, his way of saying he doesn’t want to talk about this. You’ll have to tell your dad eventually that you’re getting engaged, it’s not like he can find out at the wedding. Simon isn’t asking for your hand or anything, more getting your folks' blessing.

“That’ll do,” He grumbles and you throw your arms up. Christ you cannot be the one to tell your dad. As much as you think he’s warmed up to you and Simon dating you don’t think he’s exactly entertained the idea that Simon might become his son-in-law. If you tell your dad you’ll feel like you’re asking permission to marry Simon. That's not how you want to start your engagement. Simon catches your hand before you can start really working yourself up.

“This is important to me,” You tell him.

“I know,” His thumb rubs the back of your hand, soothing, “I’ll tell him.”

(Several months earlier)

“I’m gonna marry your daughter,” Ghost tells Price as they watch cattle file past. The sun is high in the sky, the horses are comfortably docile, and cicadas whirr loudly from the nearby trees. Price lowers his cigar between two careful fingers, eyes tracking the herd. He taps the ash against his boot to keep it away from the horse and off the grass. The air is still as both men seem to wait on the other.

“Goose know that?” Price asks finally. He knows as well as anyone that Ghost doesn’t make decisions lightly, and that once he does he isn’t likely to change his mind. More importantly he knows the man hardly thinks he’s worth being called human, let alone thinks about things like love and marriage.

“No,” Ghost tugs a cigarette box from his pocket and pulls one free with his teeth. Price sniffs, nudges his horse forward with his heels against its side, leaving Ghost to light his cigarette before he follows. It’s a beautiful day. The sort of day people paint when they don’t have a picture, clear blue skies and the wind rippling through the grass. Quiet too, y’know if you don’t count the bugs.

“So why’re you tellin’ me? Take it up with her.” Price spares him a glance as Ghost catches up, their horses meandering after the cows at a respectable distance. Ghost lowers his cigarette, exhaling smoke before pulling it back between his teeth.

“Because if you tell me not to, I won’t.” It’s the even honesty that makes Price pause. Ghost’s a good soldier, ruthless, efficient, fully tactically aware of his role as an instrument of violence. Some part of Price blames himself for that, for not doing enough to save Simon from compartmentalizing his humanity away after everything, for pushing Ghost to be the tool he needed him to be to take down the bad guys.

He doesn’t have to say anything more than that. If Price gives the order he’ll obey, even if it hurts you. Always a good soldier. He can’t do that to him, can’t do that to you. Not when he sees so much of himself in Ghost: the anger, the need for something(anything) to be right. That’s why he’d offered him a position at the farm in the first place.

“You’re a better man than you think you are Simon,” Price says finally, he powers through the questioning ‘Sir?’ from Ghost, “You make my girl happy, and if she heard you say that she’d tan your hide faster than any AQ could.”

“She would,” Ghost says with a touch of fondness in his tone.

“I trust her judgment, you just tell me if she says yes,” Price takes a long drag of his cigar, enjoying the fullness of smoke in his lungs before he lets it flow free with his exhale, “How’re the nightmares?”

Ghost is quiet for a long time, long enough Price wonders if he might’ve overstepped. There’s a long exhale, before Ghost answers. “Better with her.”

Price nods, “They always are.”

(Present)

“Goose said yes.” Ghost rolls a cigarette between his fingers, careful to compensate for the movement of the horse so he doesn’t lose the loose tobacco. Price sighs from his right. The wildflowers are starting to peak up through the grass. The ones the cows haven’t eaten are even blooming. Gaz is off corralling the cattle that’ve wandered too far from the herd, it’s a good time to talk if they want privacy.

“About damn time,” Price says after a moment, “Thought Goose was gonna drag your ass to the courthouse.”

“Sir?” Ghost looks up quickly from his work, his surprise nearly startling his horse.

"How long were you plannin' on pretendin' you weren't part of this family?" It's an honest question but it cuts deeper than Ghost had expected. Deep enough he doesn't fault Price the gentler tone he uses to ask it.

"Haven't even married 'er yet," Ghost grumbles.

"Know that's not what I'm talkin' about," Price leans back in his saddle, making himself as comfortable as he can watching the pasture, "'M proud of you son, don't make me hafta tell you that again."

Simon frowns to stop himself from making any other expression, and tugs his mask a little higher up his nose. It's a beautiful day, it would be a shame to ruin it by saying something stupid, or getting worked up over nothing.

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ahli-stuff · 10 months

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The Corinthian: more than an object but less than a human and a wretched reflection of his creator

My obsession with the Corinthian is so funny because at first it's like ok. Cool. He's this gay serial killer nightmare with creator issues who's turns out to be a charming antagonist while he's pitted against dream and going about his nefarious plans on screen. What's not to love?

But then there's the next layer of oh...he has preferences and quirks and interests, but he's not a person enough to be a human he's a tool.. that's why he gets unmade in the middle of the street by his lord!! That he had a couple millennia of history with!! Because it's easy.. Dream has the blueprints, therefore remaking the Corinthian and editing out these faulty design aspects is pragmatic. It's efficient. It's less effort and way less emotionally taxing that trying to wrangle in your rogue creation and trying coax them back into doing their job. A human makes a mistake, you correct and reprimand them and offer a better course of action. But if your wrench rusts, you throw it away and buy a new one. It doesn't matter if it's your prized or even your favorite wrench, if it's been rusted to the point of uselessness, you toss it.

And the Corinthian, the agonized wrench, can probably only think: "Did I really mean so little to you?"

I think it totally fucks with his mind. The fact that Dream refers to the Corinthian as his masterpiece and yet he is still lesser in every form of his being—his agency is lesser in every form.

But you can't really blame Dream, can you?

Dream treats the corinthans agency like he treats his own—unnegotiable. For him, it has always been perform your function or die.

Dream: We are, each of us, born with responsibilities. Even I am not free to choose to be other than what I am.

And the Corinthian, in his own eye teeths, has performed his prescribed duty perfectly without hesitation or fail for thousands of years as well and worn as a well used knife—but he knows he can do more, so he does. Because if his function is to chase and slaughter in the dreaming, what's to say can't do it in the waking too?

Besides, in the waking, he's realer. More combobulated. More valued. If you're a mirror for long enough you start to crave a look of your own.

And oh, even with the thrill of newfound freedom, he loves his lord. He's eager for to give to him—to share with him—everything that's ever been dreamed of. In the Corinthians long, long, life he has only ever had his purpose and his lord and for a while that was enough, but his expectations evolve, he changes.

And that's really what dooms him.

Over the course of The Sandman you can see that looking deeper into Dream's ideology "perform your function or die" reveals one of the true themes of the sandman which is "change yourself or die." The Corinthian, whether intentionally or unintentionally serves as a mirror to dreams own character arc and the way dream treats himself.

Like how people put facets of themselves in their original characters, I think that in the corinthian Dream put a version of his own insatiable hunger; to break every rule, to run freely, to enjoy hedonistically. In creating the Corinthian as a mirror Dream unknowingly reflected a distorted face of one of his own buried desires—and i think he couldn’t accept that.

The Corinthian even calls dream out for it at the serial convention (even though he's advocating for murder) he's also jabbing at Dream's unwillingness to show emotional vulnerability and the cage he's built around himself.

Corinthian: Or you might actually feel something.

The dream the Corinthian knows he always cared exceptionally little for humans save for a select few, so what remains is this. Dream might've cared for the Corinthian, but he would unmake him, his prized creation, not for any moral justice, not for a personal slight, but for his rules and nothing else.

For the corinthian, who has spent years upon years upon years with his lord, fighting in his wars, chasing after his approval, pouring every ounce of love and loyalty to him—it stings.

And then there's this scene.

Dream: You're right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you. But I created you poorly then.

This is the Corinthian, knowing he is about to die, spilling his frustration and spite to his creator for maybe the first and last time and trying, desperately, to make dream understand that none of this is fair (it's never been, for either of them. It's been the function and nothing else for an eternity but they could be happy.)

This is Dream purposely misinterpreting the Corinthian in the way that is guaranteed to hurt the him the most. Dream, with a writer's indifference, reduces the Corinthian's complicated desperate desire for freedom, rebellion, and his creator's love to his typo. Like a character’s grievance towards their writer, like a man’s outrage towards their god, Dream decides not to deign the corinthian with even the right to call his treason his own. He will not even let him have that bit of agency. No, Dream made the Corinthian wrong.

And then Boyd Holbrook does a phenomenal piece of acting here—he knows how to play evil and charming so well but the Corinthian’s vulnerability is so starkly on display it feels like a knife.

And when you imagine he is about to burst into bloody tears and anguished final words, this is how it ends: they leave each other cruel and jagged, because the corinthian will not end pathetic and he will have the last word.

The Corinthian: I am only sorry I won’t be here to see Rose Walker do the same to you.

The first Corinthian never gets a happy ending.

I don’t think there’s any universe where he doesn’t bite more than he’s allowed to and there is no world where he can really be forgiven. As there is no universe where Morpheus Dream does not stubbornly tie himself to his function and hurt himself and those around him with his pride.

In objectification and the inability to change, they exist as wretched mirrors of each other: The first Corinthian, sick of his function and executed for abandoning it, and Dream, unendurably tired, taking his sister's hand in his when he can no longer bear to perform his duty.

#sandman spoilers #this is literally just me going on a long winded and poorly organized tangent 😭#the sandman #the corinthian #dream of the endless #corintheus #character analysis #musings #long post

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