#OTHER CHARACTERS HAD THEIR OWN UNIVERSES TOO

[mononijikayu]

cure — ryomen sukuna.

"I’ll write you the best songs, little lamb. Even better than what I already gave you." he promised to you. His tone was softer than usual. "Songs so good they’ll make the stars jealous." “You are making quite big promises, don’t you think?” You tease him, giggling as you read over his newest piece. “This would make the stars jealous.” "Yeah, because they’re our songs." he’d say, his smirk softening as he handed you another crumpled page. "No one else gets to have something as good as this. Not even the stars. Only you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - alien stage au;

WARNING/S: dead dove do not eat, nsfw (not safe for work), alien invasion, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, dehumanization, hurt/comfort, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, trauma, pining, complicated relationship, emotional distress, grief, canon related violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, social isolation, depiction of character death, depiction of dehumanization, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of emotional and physical abuse, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of dehumanization;

WORD COUNT: 16k words

NOTE: this was supposed to be posted much earlier but my glasses broke and i have to wear contact lenses, but its rough. my eyes hurt but i wanted to put this out there for yall. i need to get new frames for my glasses, so let's hope i can do that later or tomorrow!!! i adore alien stage and i was really stuck on stage 6, which is ivantill going at it. and so i wanted to write about it in a fic, but with sukuna. this is not an easy thing for people to read as alien stage explores a lot of dynamics, including dehumanization, trauma, violence and other things. so please be careful, i tagged what it containsfor a reason!!! in any case, i think you'll be able to read nanami's much easier. i hope you continue to look forward to it!!! anyway, i'll see you then. i love you all <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 2000;

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU’VE ALWAYS WONDERED ABOUT STARS. Everything about them is a curiosity to you, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. The stars, once distant and unknowable, had always felt like something you could only admire from afar—faint whispers of a universe too vast to comprehend, scattered far beyond the grasp of your outstretched hand.

But then the aliens arrived, and the stars transformed. They were no longer untouchable pinpricks in the night sky; they became tangible, living, breathing beings.

And one of them, Starlight, became more than a friend, more than a visitor from the cosmos. They became yours. Not in the way one claims possession of something, but in the way their very presence seemed to stitch itself into the fabric of your existence.

Starlight was radiant, their shimmering, soft luminescence enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Their light didn’t burn; it soothed, warm and alive. They spoke not with words, but with a gentle hum that resonated deep in your chest, as though they were singing to the very rhythm of your heart. When they were near, the world felt softer, brighter. They were your everything, your universe, encapsulating all of your childish self. 

Their curiosity mirrored your own, eyes (or something like them) wide as they marveled at the simplest human things: the way you brewed tea, the way the rain danced against your window, the way you laughed when you thought no one was listening. And in return, you marveled at them. They were a marvel, a being from the stars. And yet somehow so achingly familiar to you.

Every moment you both shared felt like secrets whispered between galaxies.It was endless excitement, especially for you who was still growing into yourself.

They would lift a glowing hand to the sky, and the stars would twinkle in reply, as if winking just for you. And when the weight of life pressed too heavily on your shoulders, when you missed home — you were reminded that you were already home. Because you were with Starlight.

Starlight was unlike anyone you’d ever known. Their presence was a tapestry of light and sound, shifting and shimmering in ways that no human words could fully capture. They were, without a doubt, the kindest of all the aliens you’d encountered—something you hadn’t thought possible in your tumultuous travels across the stars.

They never looked down on you, never acted superior. They never raised their voice or lashed out, never gave you cause to cry or to feel small. No, Starlight was different. They listened, truly listened, and their responses carried a patience and understanding that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

And they had this way of making you smile, even when you thought the weight of the universe would crush you. It was as though their very essence carried an unspoken promise: You are not alone.

You weren’t sure when it started, but somehow, you began to notice that you made them smile too. Well, if "smile" was the right word for the way their luminous form would pulse and shimmer with vibrant, joyful hues. It wasn’t until the day you sang that you truly understood how much you’d touched them.

You had been sitting by the viewing port, staring out at the swirling nebulae, the colors dancing in the void. The melody had come to you unbidden, a quiet hum at first, then blooming into words you hadn’t sung since you were a child. Your voice filled the chamber, mingling with the hum of the ship's systems. It wasn’t a grand performance, just something small and raw. But it was enough.

When you turned, Starlight was there. They were looking at you, their form trembling with flickering pulses of color you’d never seen before. It was awe-striking to see for the first time, who they truly are.

Those vibrant deep ambers and rich violets that seemed to ripple like a heartbeat. Their light dimmed for a moment as though catching its breath. Then, their glow intensified, and you realized they were weeping.

Tears? Could they cry? You’d never thought to ask before.

“Starlight?” you asked hesitantly, standing. “Did I... do something wrong?”

They stepped—or rather, floated—closer, their luminescence washing over you in a gentle cascade. They shook their heads at you, almost too reassuringly. Their hand rested against your head and traced the strings of your hair with soothing echoes. 

“Wrong?” Their voices vibrated like chimes caught in a soft breeze. “No, little one. What you’ve done is beyond beautiful.”

You tilted your head, still unsure. “But... you’re crying?”

They seemed to shimmer with quiet laughter at your confusion. “Your voice.” they said, “it carries something special. It reminds me of home, of frequencies long since lost to my kind.”

“Lost?” you echoed, sitting back down. “How can sound be lost?”

“It’s not just sound, little one.” Starlight explained, their glow shifting into softer, warmer tones. “It’s emotion, memory. My people... we’ve forgotten how to feel them as you do. Your song brought them back, if only for a moment.”

You felt your cheeks flush red, unsure how to respond to such an overwhelming compliment. “I-I see. But I….I still did not want to….I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Their light brightened again, wrapping you in warmth. “Tears are not always sorrow, my dear little one. Sometimes they are the purest form of joy.”

For a while, you both sat in silence, the vastness of space your only witness. Then, tentatively, you asked, “Would you like to hear another song?”

Starlight’s form pulsed with an eager glow ethereally happy. “I would be honored.”

Over time, you grew fonder of that voice of yours. That voice of yours that harmonizes to what the other aliens called singing. What once felt like a mere habit became a passion, nurtured by the joy Starlight showed in your songs. Starlight delighted you in every way they could, bringing melodies from across the cosmos to inspire you. 

They filled your world with sounds and instruments. At times, they would bring you little boxes they often called on Earth as music boxes. You had to crank it up over and over to hear those little sounds hum its tune.

You don’t remember much about Earth at all, but those melodies were haunting refrains from distant moons, rhythmic pulses from pulsar dances. They were beautiful. At times you wondered, is this what Earth people like?

You were thankful for everything Starlight would do for you. In return, you wanted to delight them too. So, you tried your best all the time, to sing. You sang for Starlight’s guests—beings of every shape, size, and light. And with time, they too grew fond of your voice. 

Their praises were frequent, full of admiration. Their luminescent forms often shifted with excitement as they spoke about you after your performances. That’s when the whispers began from each and everyone of them when they came around. They tried to be quiet, but they were always loud enough to be heard. Not only by you, but ever so clearly, your Starlight.

“Bring your pet to the Alien Stage.” they’d say to Starlight, their voices rippling like waves. “Surely, they’d win the crowd over.”

The first time someone said it, you noticed the subtle change in Starlight’s glow—a flicker, almost imperceptible. Their eyes, usually brimming with warmth, grew wide with tension. They would shake their head in a proud, head-strong manner. 

“No.” they said simply, their tone firm, though the words hummed low, almost mournful. “I will not.”

But none of them were deterred by each refusal. If anything, that only made the urge stronger, with each and every time you sang in their presence. Each time the suggestion came up, however, Starlight’s refusal was the same, unwavering. Each time, it was a hard pressing refusal. Over and over again, it was — “No.”

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t even know what Alien Stage was. But as the guests chatted, your curiosity grew. You overheard them talking with excitement about the performances, the music, the awe-inspiring singers from every corner of the universe.

They’d list the names of their favorites, their voices buzzing with admiration. Some even mentioned their own “pets” performing there, beings like you, brought to the stage to dazzle the multitudes.

Your eyes widened at every detail. The way they spoke of it made the stage sound like a dream. This seemed like a place where voices transcended worlds, where songs could echo through the cosmos itself. 

You started to imagine yourself there, standing before an audience of countless beings, your voice reaching further than you ever thought possible. Maybe Starlight would be proud of you. Maybe they’d adore you even more if you proved your worth on that stage.

One day, your resolve solidified. You approached Starlight, your heart pounding with nervous excitement. “I want to sing for others. Not just for you, but for everyone. I want to sing on that stage. And make them as happy as I had made you!”

The moment the words left your lips, Starlight’s glow dimmed, their light trembling like a flickering flame caught in a draft. It was the first time you’d ever seen them falter. “You don’t understand what you’re asking, little one.” they murmured, their usually harmonious voice tinged with unease.

“Why not?” you asked, stepping closer. “I want to share my voice with everyone too, Starlight. Isn’t that what music is for?”

Their glow wavered, their colors shifting to muted tones. “The Alien Stage... it’s not kind. It’s not about music, not truly. It's a spectacle. You are not a spectacle. You’re not a commodity, certainly not my pet, no matter how they insist so. I won’t let them turn you into something you are not.”

You blinked, taken aback. “But... the others, your friends—they said their pets perform there. They’re fine, aren’t they?”

Starlight’s light flared briefly, a rare burst of frustration. “Fine? Is that what they told you? Do you know what happens when the universe gets bored of a song? When will the novelty fades?” They quieted, their voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re my melody. My little one. I won’t let you be taken from me.”

Their words stung, but you couldn’t let go of the yearning in your heart. “My songs aren’t meant to stay here, Starlight. They’re like you—meant to travel, to touch others, to spark something in their hearts. Don’t you see? This is what I want.”

For a long moment, silence hung between you, heavy and unyielding. Then, finally, Starlight dimmed further, their light softening into a pale, reluctant glow. They looked distraught, nervous. They seemed to look close to tears.

“If this is truly what you desire, little one.” they said, their voice trembling. “Then I will take you somewhere to help you. But promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll remember that you’re more than a song. You’re more than what they might try to make of you.”

“I promise.” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

Starlight didn’t respond right away. Instead, they reached out, their light brushing against you in a gesture that felt both protective and sorrowful. You looked up to them, blinking in confusion. At this moment, you still never truly knew what these complex gazes meant. You were still a child, after all. 

“Then I will help prepare you for the stage.” they said at last. “But know this: the universe can be a cruel audience.”

You nodded at them. They can only pierce their lips in a tight line. “I’ll send you somewhere safe, where you can learn." they said, their glow dim but steady. "Anakt Garden. They’ll teach you, nurture you. But promise me this: don’t let them take your essence away."

Anakt Garden was unlike anything you’d ever imagined. It was an orbital sanctuary, a massive structure built to mimic nature but filled with the impossible beauty of alien design. The fields glowed faintly, shifting in color as the air pulsed with an almost musical hum. Trees stretched high, their leaves shimmering like glass, and the ground beneath your feet felt soft, warm, alive.

Other children were there. And you realized that they were humans like you. The pets they were talking about like you. You hadn’t expected that all humans were pets. You had only known what Starlight told you about the universe.

Still each human child in their own right was unique in their presence. Some carried the same nervous energy you felt; others radiated confidence. It was comforting, in a way, to see so many dreamers gathered in one place. All of them yearn to sing, as much as you do. That had made you smile for the first time, the first time since parting from Starlight.

And then there was Ryomen Sukuna.

The first time you saw him, he was sitting under one of the bizarre trees, his pink hair like a fuschia flame against the soft glow of the Garden. He seemed at least a bit older than you. But you found him to be a fair face. 

He had a presence that demanded attention, his sharp scarlet eyes daring anyone to look away. Where the other children were careful and obedient, Ryomen Sukuna was bold, loud, and entirely unapologetic. And with the way everyone spoke about him, he seemed to be a lone wolf. A persona non grata in a group of these jolly children.

Yet, when you first heard him sing, you were awestruck. You stood there, listening as though he was growing something in you. Like a flower that has been waiting to bloom. Everything in the air shifted when he sang like he was crying out for something to be heard.

Of course, His voice wasn’t polished or restrained; it was raw, powerful, and full of an unyielding intensity. It shook something loose inside you, something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. You couldn’t help but gulp, you wanted to be just like him too. You wanted to be as good as him, blessed with such a wonder of a voice too.

Sukuna being good at singing had lit a fire in you, one you hadn’t fully realized was there until now. Watching him perform was like witnessing a storm in motion. It was wild, untamed, and utterly captivating. Everything about him would make anyone feel like the world should revolve around him. And you wanted that too. 

You wanted to capture that vibrance too. You wanted to be good. You wanted to make Starlight proud. You wanted to sing. Sing like you were the best in the world. It made you want to push yourself further, to become better, to chase the same freedom he seemed to command so effortlessly.

You started practicing harder than ever, retreating to one of the isolation cells to hone your voice. Day in and day out, you sang, the emptiness of the chamber amplifying your every note. Sometimes you sang until your throat was raw, until your limbs ache from exhaustion. You forgot to eat more often than you cared to admit, too focused on perfecting your craft.

And yet, despite all your effort, you knew you were holding back. It wasn’t hard to tell that you were. And that frustrated you to no end. It wasn’t that you couldn’t reach those soaring heights or push into the raw, emotional depths you heard in Sukuna’s voice. It was that you didn’t let yourself.

Of course, Ryomen Sukuna was quick to notice. 

With those sharp eyes of his, he always noticed.

“You’re good.” he said to you one day, his tone deceptively casual. 

He leaned against the doorway to the cell, arms crossed, his sharp scarlet gaze cutting through you like a blade.You couldn’t help but glance up from where you sat on the cold sterile floor, startled. You hadn’t heard him come in. 

“Thank you.” you muttered, unsure how to take the compliment.

“But you’re holding back.” he added, his voice laced with amusement as he stepped closer. His smirk was as infuriating as it was challenging. “Why?”

You hesitated, your heart sinking under the weight of Starlight’s words—the warnings, the fear in their trembling light. You wanted to sing, you wanted to be the best. But you had to be true to what your Starlight said. You had to.

“I don’t want to disappoint my guardian.” you admitted quietly. “They’re afraid I’ll lose myself if I go too far.”

Sukuna tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was halfway to solving. Then he snorted, his grin widening into something both cocky and strangely reassuring. It was almost irritating. And yet, he had the right to be smug. He had it all figured out. All too well. 

“Lose yourself? You? Nah.” He crouched down to your level, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. “If anything, you’re too afraid to find yourself.”

The words hit harder than you expected, leaving you speechless. Ryomen Sukuna laughs for a moment before he leaned in closer, his laughter dying down. It was soon replaced by a sly smirk softening into something that almost felt like encouragement.

“You’ve got fire in you, you know that?” he said, his voice low but insistent. “I can hear it in your voice, even when you try to hide it. You’re scared of what happens if you let it out, aren’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped. He wasn’t wrong. Some of the people here are favorites of many aliens who had come to Starlight’s home as guests. And Sukuna was one of them. And some of them whispered here about what the contest was like. Even more, you were without Starlight. They won’t be coming back until the next visiting day. 

He was right, he seems to always be right. You were afraid, sometimes feeling that fear of the unknown. That lack of security. That echo of loneliness. Of course you were scared.. You were but a child. And you don’t know much about this world. 

“It’s not about them.” he continued, his tone firm now. “Not your guardian, not the stage, not anyone else. It’s about you. You wanted to join because you wanted to sing, right? Then do it for yourself.”

Your brows furrowed. “But I—”

“No ifs, no buts. You’ve got something special, something that deserves to be heard. And if you keep locking it away, you’re not just letting them down—you’re letting yourself down.”

His words lingered in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.You swallowed hard, feeling a spark of something new—courage, maybe, or defiance. Is it all that, you wonder? Or is just a phantom of a feeling. You didn’t know, truly. But his words made you feel like a fire was burning inside of you. And even if you didn’t know what it was…..at least it was there, long enough to keep you from sorrows.

“And what if I let it out and it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, rare and disarming. “Then you keep going. You mess up, you fall, you sing again. That’s how you find your edge. That’s how you find you.”

He straightened up, his presence still larger than life even as he turned to leave. “Next time I hear you, lamb.” Sukuna called over his shoulder, causing you to blink as he called you a new name. “Don’t hold back. Let the fire burn.”

You sat there in the quiet for a long time after he left, his words echoing in your mind. Maybe Ryomen Sukuna was right. Maybe it was time to stop holding yourself back. Maybe it’s time to let that fire you feel be more than just a feeling. You took a deep breath, and looked at your music sheets again. It was time to practice once more.

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YOU FIND THAT YOU DWELL IN THE SAME AXIS AS SUKUNA. Somehow, you and Sukuna understood each other better than most in the Garden. It wasn’t something either of you spoke about outright. Well, there was no place for that here, after all.

So, there were no flowery declarations of kinship or shared confessions under the stars. But it was there, an unspoken connection that threaded between your interactions, subtle yet undeniable.

At first glance, it didn’t make much sense at all. You couldn’t be more different. Sukuna, with his razor-sharp confidence and unapologetic boldness, seemed to command the space around him, every action deliberate and brimming with power. You, on the other hand, felt smaller, quieter, more uncertain of your place among the dazzling figures who roamed the Garden.

And yet, despite your differences or maybe because of them, you felt natural around each other. Conversations flowed without effort, even in their silences. He could sit beside you, offering no more than a teasing smirk or a dry comment, and you wouldn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with needless words. Somehow, it was enough just to share the same space, like two stars orbiting the same unseen gravity.

Perhaps it was the way you each carried something hidden beneath the surface, something you rarely shared with others. Sukuna, for all his bluster, carried a weight in his eyes, a history that lingered in the way he sometimes stared into the distance, his smirk slipping into something more thoughtful. You had your own burdens, your own doubts, ones you tried to shield behind polite smiles and quiet resolve.

It wasn’t that you talked about those things. At least not directly. But there were moments, fleeting and unguarded, where the weight of what you both carried seemed to align. In those moments, you’d catch him watching you, his gaze softer than usual, as though he saw through the walls you’d built. And you knew, somehow, that you could see through him too.

Even when your worlds didn’t overlap most of the time. When his passions and his sharp-edged confidence clashed with your quieter, more careful nature, there was still some well founded common ground in the simplicity of understanding. There was no judgment between you, no need to prove yourselves to one another.

Sukuna didn’t try to push you into his shadow, and you didn’t shrink from the light he cast. And perhaps, that’s what you liked the most about him. He didn’t change anything with how he treated you or how he interacted with you. He was just himself. And you were just who you were. 

For all the chaos and politics surrounding the Garden, where alliances shifted like the wind and friendships often felt transactional, what you had with Ryomen Sukuna was refreshingly uncomplicated. It wasn’t about competition or gaining favor. It was just... real.

And maybe that’s why, despite having little in common, you felt natural with him. You didn’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Somehow, you just knew.That was for the better, if you were truly saying it bluntly. 

The shimmering beauty of Anakt Garden couldn’t hide its truth: it was a terrifyingly stifling place. Every moment was monitored, every move scrutinized by the alien caretakers. Their intentions were kind, but their constant observation weighed heavy, leaving you feeling like a butterfly pinned under glass.

Ryomen Sukuna hated it. He wouldn’t even be here if his guardian wasn’t insistent on making use of him like a pet who made him a lot of money— of course, just as much to isolate him from the scandals and troubles he creates as a performer. 

You heard rumors about all of that, but you weren’t sure if they were true. You don’t want to cross a boundary with Sukuna, something he was unwilling to talk about as much as something he never truly decides to talk to you about. 

But it was obvious in all the other ways, you suppose. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened whenever the caretakers hovered too long, their cold, clinical voices reminding you to stay on schedule, to follow their precise instructions. He never said anything outright in their presence, but the tension in his body was impossible to miss. His hands would curl into loose fists, his eyes narrowing like he was fighting the urge to lash out. 

It wasn’t just their commands that grated on him—it was their entire approach. The way they treated you, and everyone else in the Garden, as projects, toys to play with rather than souls who deserve respect. 

To this part of the galaxy, human children were their tools to be honed, performances to be perfected. You didn’t need to ask how he felt about it; his disdain was evident in every clipped word and icy glare he threw their way and how much he does not care for their discipline and in the worst cases, punishment.

You worry about him, about his defiances. But you know he’s been through this before, and he was a veteran. Ryomen Sukuna has lived through the experience. You could see it in his eyes, how much he hated the Garden. And just as much, how much he hated how this is affecting you. He hated seeing you go through this too.

One evening, after a particularly grating session where the caretakers had spent far too long critiquing your pitch and posture, you found Sukuna waiting for you under one of the glowing trees in the Garden. The soft luminescence of the tree’s branches cast him in an almost ethereal light, though the storm cloud brewing in his expression was anything but serene.

He didn’t say anything at first as you approached slowly, just patted the ground beside him in an unspoken invitation. You sat, letting out a long sigh, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders.

“They don’t get it.” Sukuna muttered finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, angry, but there was an edge of frustration that wasn’t entirely aimed at the caretakers. “They think they can mold us into their stupid little visions.”

You glanced at him, his face partially obscured by the shadows of the tree’s light. “Maybe that’s just how they think things work.” you said softly, even though you didn’t fully believe your own words. “They’re just trying to help us... be better.”

Sukuna snorted, his lip curling into a derisive smirk. “Help? Is that what you call it, little lamb? Barking orders, telling you to strip everything raw until there’s nothing left but their idea of ‘perfect’? Yeah, really helpful.”

You didn’t reply right away. There was truth in what he said, he knew it more than you. That was the truth of that. But the caretakers had a way of making you feel like you couldn’t question them, like they knew what was best. 

And even then, you were the one who wanted to be here in the first place. You had asked Starlight to let you be on that stage, happily so. You wanted to sing for the universe. For all the galaxies to see and hear. You chose your poison, your suffering. You had to make your bed and deal with it too.

Sukuna turned to you then, his sharp gaze piercing through your silence. “You’re already perfect, okay? Don’t listen to them, little lamb.” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “They just can’t see it.”

The words caught you off guard, scarlet warmth rising to your cheeks despite the weight in your chest. “I’m not... I mean, I’m trying to be better.” you stammered, looking away. “I want to be good enough.”

He leaned closer, his expression softening just a fraction. “Good enough for who? Them? You think their approval is worth breaking yourself over?”

You hesitated, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened again, but this time his anger felt different. You were good at reading his emotions by now. You had seen his eyes too much to not know what they felt. And when it comes to you, they shine with a protective glow almost all the time. 

“Listen to me, little lamb.” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not some tool for them to shape, alright? You’ve got something real, something no one else has. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

You met his gaze, unsure of how to respond. There was something raw in his expression, something that felt startlingly vulnerable. For all his bravado, Sukuna wasn’t just angry for the sake of it, he never was. You knew him too well for you not to know that. He genuinely cared.

“Thank you, ‘kuna.” you said quietly, the word feeling small but sincere.

He leaned back against the tree, his smirk returning, though it was softer this time. “Don’t thank me yet. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t let them dim your light. You’re better than their rules, their schedules. You’re better than all of it.”

His words settled over you like a protective shield, bolstering you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. And as the glow of the tree cast shifting patterns across the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. You want to start thinking that maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t need their version of perfection. Maybe you could find your own.

With each passing day, his company as much as his protectiveness became your anchor in the Garden’s isolating world. When the pressure of always being watched felt too heavy, Ryomen Sukuna was there to remind you that you weren’t alone. He had a way of drawing you out of your own thoughts, pulling you into his world where the rules didn’t seem to matter.

He started making you little gifts, sometimes when it was the get together activities. He was crude about it but you found that he does endearing work for delicate, endearing things by his own hand for you. He was good at it, with how he cobbled together from whatever he could find around the Garden.

Today, it was a bracelet made of woven grasses that glowed faintly in the dark. A carved fragment of one of the brazenly bright trees, etched with symbols and letters that only he could explain. You gasped as he showed it to you once he was finally done. 

"It’s a good luck charm, little lamb. It’s all written in a human language, from long ago. " he said to you tenderly, pressing a small, smooth stone into your hand. It was warm, as if it had been sitting in sunlight. "To keep you safe. You need it here."

But sometimes, it wasn’t just those he gave to you. Sukuna would sometimes write you songs, too. He was more advanced with that than you in his classes. It’s why he sometimes gets bored attending the classes. Sometimes he also teaches you, when there are things that confuse you about the lessons or if they are going too fast.

Sometimes it was hard to read through it all. His thoughts go by so fast that he ends up writing without thinking about it. You giggle sometimes when he hands you page after page to go through them. They were always good songs, of course they were. But his writing was always something that was ever so special about it all. 

But his handwriting was messy, scrawled on scraps of paper or even on his own arm when he ran out of space. He would get flustered about it sometimes, too. But you never chastised him for that. If anything, it was because he was born a genius of music. 

He was born to create melodies that could move anyone in this life—human or alien. His music wasn’t just sound; it was an experience, a force of nature. It’s why he was a favorite of so many who tuned into Alien Stage. 

His songs weren’t polished or rehearsed to the point of sterility. No, they were raw, defiant, and unapologetically alive. Every note, every lyric burned with fire, passion, and a kind of honesty that left no room for pretense.

And yet, for all their intensity, nothing could compare to the moments when he sang just for you. In those moments, the wild edges of his music softened. The defiance was still there, but it felt different. Everything about it was more tender, like an ember rather than a roaring flame. 

When he played his guitar, the ink on the page didn’t seem as smudged, the chords didn’t feel as jagged. It was as though the very essence of the music shifted, reshaping itself into something gentler, something just for you.

When he sang for you, it wasn’t about proving anything or conquering the stage. It wasn’t about anyone else. It was personal. It was for his little lamb. And his little lamb, who was the softest voice that tendered anyone’s soul, he was sure to want to do the same. He wanted to make your soul a little less heavier in this stifling place.

“You bring out the quiet in me, little lamb.” he admitted one night, his voice low and almost shy, a stark contrast to his usual boldness. 

The two of you sat together under the alien sky, its vibrant hues dancing like living brushstrokes across the horizon. His guitar rested idly on his lap, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over the strings.You tilted your head, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his tone. 

“You? Quiet? I don’t believe it, ‘kuna.” you teased, grinning as you nudged his shoulder.

He smirked, though there was an unmistakable softness in his expression. “Don’t get used to it, little lamb.” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into something halfway between a grin and a pout. “I’ve got a reputation to keep for all the galaxy, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Oh, I’ll treasure it while it lasts, then. The great Sukuna, soft-spoken and sweet. Who would’ve thought?”

“Careful, now.” he warned, though there was no bite in his words. “Keep talking like that, and I might have to write a song about how annoying you are.”

You gasped in mock offense, placing a hand dramatically over your chest. “Annoying? Me? I’m the one inspiring all this ‘quiet’. I’d like to correct you on that, thank you very much.”

“Fair point, little lamb.” he conceded, chuckling as he leaned back on his hands. He glanced at you then, his crimson eyes catching the light of the sky, and for a moment, he looked at peace. 

“I always make good points.” You giggled back at him.

“But don’t go thinking this is all for you.” he added, his voice playful but his gaze lingering on yours. “It’s just... easier when you’re around. The chaos doesn’t feel so loud.”

Your laughter softened, fading into a gentle smile. “Maybe it’s because you don’t have to be anything but yourself when you’re with me.”

He stilled, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he let out a quiet hum. “Yeah, I suppose.” he said finally, almost to himself. “Maybe that’s it.”

And as the vast expanse of the foreign sky shimmered above you, you couldn’t help but think that whatever quiet he found in your presence, it was mutual. Something about him, about these stolen moments, made the rest of the universe feel distant and unimportant. It was just you, him, and the melody he always seemed to carry.

For just a moment, the Garden didn’t feel so heavy tonight.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YOU WERE SURPRISED AT YOUR PROGRESS. Just as much, everyone else was too. The caretakers and the teachers began to notice the shift in you. It was impossible for them not to. Your voice had grown stronger, more confident, and your performances carried a depth they hadn’t seen before from you.

They praised you for your progress, their clinical smiles and approving nods a stark contrast to their usual detached demeanor. But their accolades rang hollow. They had no idea that their rigid schedules and suffocating structure weren’t the reason for your growth. It wasn’t their drills or corrections that had helped you blossom. All that work was done by Ryomen Sukuna.

When you felt like the weight of their expectations was too much to bear, Sukuna was the one who reminded you of the fire burning within you. When doubt crept into your mind, whispering that you’d never be good enough, it was Sukuna who sat with you under the glowing trees and told you to keep going.

“They can watch us all they want, little lamb.” Sukuna said to you, with a furrowed brow. 

But then he yawned, his head resting against the false bark. His fuschia hair caught the golden light filtering through the Garden’s strange sky. He was exhausted from the evaluations today, he was up longer than some of the other kids. So after all that, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He leaned against a twisted, luminous tree, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced by something fiercer, more protective. He wasn’t there for your evaluations, but with how the results came out — he had a right to reassure you. 

You had barely made the top ten of the class. And that terrified you. Being top ten meant that you wouldn’t suffer more remedial classes. You were already exhausted from practicing all month for the evaluations. You didn’t need a repeat of it again.

Sukuna did not believe in the ranking for the evaluations. If anything he hated it. He may have been at the first place mark now, but this doesn’t mean that it meant anything. It wasn’t any of the teachers who will give you points at the live shows. It would be the audience. What the audience wants is often not what the teachers like.

“They’ll never understand what you’re capable of.” He tells you brazenly. “And I’ll make sure they don’t break you. Don’t worry about that.”

You looked up at him, his words stirring something deep inside you. “You really think I can do it?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

His gaze softened, the fire in his crimson eyes still blazing but tempered with something gentler. “I don’t think so. I know.” he said firmly, stepping closer to you.

“I just….” You purse your lips into a small line, lowering your gaze.

“You’ve got more heart in your little finger than any of those caretakers have in their whole soulless existence. They’re just trying to shape you into what they think you should be. But you? You’re already enough. More than enough.”

You felt a lump in your throat, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “It’s hard sometimes.” you admitted, your voice wavering. “To keep believing in myself when they’re always... pushing. Always watching.”

Sukuna crouched down in front of you, his expression unusually serious. “Then stop doing it for them, little lamb.” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “Do it for you. Never for them. They’ll never understand joy the way you do about singing. They’re just a bunch of pricks who want to make money. You’re amazing, okay? You got that? ”

His words struck a chord in you, and you nodded, a small smile breaking through your doubt. “Yeah.” you whispered.

“Good.” he said, straightening up and offering you a hand. “Because when we’re out of here, the whole universe is gonna know your name. And I’ll be right there with you, making sure they hear you loud and clear.”

The idea of a life beyond the Garden. That was something you’d barely dared to dream of, but now it seemed suddenly felt tangible. With Sukuna by your side, with Starlight on the other side of you.

Somehow, with him, the Garden’s walls didn’t seem so high or so suffocating. You started to dream again. You wanted to dream again. Not just of performing for others but of living, truly living, free from the caretakers’ rules and expectations.

“You really think we’ll get out of here?” you asked one evening, as you both sat under the alien sky. “And be together?”

Sukuna leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the shimmering lights above. “Of course we will,” he said confidently. “They can’t keep us here forever. And when we’re out, I’ll show you what real freedom looks like. No rules, no schedules, little lamb. It’ll be just us and the stars.”

You laughed softly, the sound carrying a mix of hope and longing. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It’s not a dream, little lamb.” he said, turning to look at you. “It’s a promise.”

And though the path ahead was uncertain, with obstacles and risks you couldn’t yet see, you knew one thing for sure: as long as Sukuna was with you, as long as his voice called you forward and his presence anchored you, you could face whatever came next. 

And so, life in Anakt Garden continued, the days blending together in a cycle of practice, observation, and fleeting moments of stolen freedom with Sukuna. The caretakers pushed you even harder, their teachings were continually becoming a relentless scrutiny that was even more suffocating than before.

They wanted perfection, polished and pristine, a voice that could embody the harmony they imagined humanity should be. After all, they wanted a good show. Perfection was the only way to make that good show happen. But you weren’t perfect by their standards. Neither was Sukuna, and you didn’t want to be — not anymore.

You just wanted to sing together with Sukuna forever.

"You ever notice how quiet it gets here at night?" Sukuna said one evening, lying beside you under the alien trees. The Garden's soft glow reflected in his sharp eyes, making them look like twin stars. "It’s too perfect. Like they’ve sucked all the realness out of this place."

You nodded, your chest heavy with the truth of his words. The Garden’s beauty often felt like a trap, a cage made of light and silence. Artificial as it may be, it at least provided some solace to you when the times were rough. 

"They think if it’s quiet enough, we’ll forget what it feels like to be loud." he continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "But you and me? We shouldn’t be so willing to be quiet, you know?"

Those words stayed with you. And from that moment on, you started to see more of why Ryomen Sukuna was what he was to the caretakers and the teachers. He wanted to live. He wanted to be free. And the only way to be free was defiance. And you slowly but surely, you also became one with him in that too.

He began sneaking out of his quarters late at night to find you. Together, you’d climb the shimmering trees or sit on the glowing grass, whispering plans for the future. He talked about stages that stretched across galaxies, places where no one would tell you how to sing, where your voices could echo freely into the stars.

"I’ll write you the best songs, little lamb. Even better than what I already gave you." he promised to you. His tone was softer than usual. "Songs so good they’ll make the stars jealous."

“You are making quite big promises, don’t you think?” You tease him, giggling as you read over his newest piece. “This would make the stars jealous.”

"Yeah, because they’re our songs." he’d say, his smirk softening as he handed you another crumpled page. "No one else gets to have something as good as this. Not even the stars. Only you.”

“Only me?” Your eyes brightened at his words.

He smiled back at you once more. “Only you.”

But as much as Sukuna comforted you, you could see the way the Garden wore on him, too. The more you get to know him, the more he tells you about his experiences here. They were of course not going into all the details. He doesn’t want to regale you with sorrow.

Yet all that he says were consistent with his previous experiences. And each and every time he came back, he just hated it even more. The constant surveillance, the endless demands, the lack of freedom. It was like watching a wildfire struggle to burn in a room with no air. And no one was getting out without getting burned.

"They’re never going to let us leave, are they?" you asked him another night, the weight of the question pressing down on you like a stone.

Sukuna turned to you, his gaze fierce. "Not on our terms if they have their way, no. But that doesn’t mean we won’t get out."

"What do you mean?" You furrowed your brows quizzically at him. “Sukuna, what do you mean by that?”

He grinned, the kind of grin that sent a thrill down your spine because it meant he had a plan. "I’m working on something. Just... trust me, yeah?"

And you did. You always trusted him.

How could you not trust him?

He was all you had in this wretched place.

In the meantime, Sukuna never let the Garden take your spirit. When you were too tired to sing, he’d hum quietly for you, his voice a low, comforting rumble. When you felt trapped, he’d find a way to make you laugh. 

Sometimes there was a sly joke here and there. Sometimes a sarcastic comment, or even an impromptu, over-the-top performance that earned him a scolding from the caretakers. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was that you smiled.

"You keep me sane, you know that?" you told him one night, the two of you leaning against each other beneath the alien sky.

"Good." he replied, his voice soft but steady. "Because you keep me grounded too."

You liked to think that when he smiled then, you realized you loved him.

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THIS WAS NOT WHAT YOU HAD IMAGINED IT TO BE. You had not wanted this to happen, not ever. But it has. You willingly walked into this stage. But you didn't know any better. You didn't know.

Alien Stage was supposed to be your moment, the culmination of all the practice, dreams, and songs you had poured your soul into. And yet, this was not the truth. It never was.

As you stood in the staging area, waiting for your name to be called, your chest felt tight. No, you don’t think it was the nerves. No, it had to be something darker. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

You could see it in Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes too. That pool of dread. That horror. He didn’t say anything outright, but his normally fiery demeanor had simmered into something quieter, sharper. As you waited, he stayed close, his presence grounding you in the chaos of the moment.

When your name echoed through the chamber, the sound bouncing off the crystalline walls like a bell tolling for the inevitable, Sukuna reached out without hesitation. His hand found your arm, his grip firm, almost desperate, as though letting go would send you spiraling into the unknown forever.

"Hey." he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. It lacked the usual bravado, the teasing edge you’d grown so used to. Instead, it carried something raw, something unguarded. "No matter what happens out there… sing. Don’t stop. Make sure you sing well. You have to win. Okay?"

His words were sharp and urgent, and the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat. You nodded, but confusion flickered across your face. Ryomen Sukuna had never been this way with you before—so vulnerable, so unlike his usual self.

"Okay." you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered. "I will. I promise."

He didn’t let go, not right away. His grip loosened slightly, his thumb brushing your sleeve in a way that felt almost absentminded. You could feel your breath quiver at his touch, you looked at him for a moment, trying to take it all in. All of him in.

"Okay." he muttered, his eyes dropping for a brief moment before meeting yours again. "Sing as hard as you can. I’ll be here. Waiting for you. No matter what.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a cloak, warm and heavy. "Sukuna… why are you saying this now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk returned, but it was softer this time, tinged with something that looked suspiciously like worry. "Someone has to tell you that they’re waiting. I have to. So you’ll come back.”

You blinked, a small laugh escaping you despite the tension. “I’ll always come back. You know that.”

You could see his jaw tighten at your words. “Yeah. I know.”

The announcement once again rang out for the start, perhaps even louder this time, signaling your final call. He finally let go of your arm, his hand lingering just a second too long before he stepped back.

"Go, little lamb." he said, his voice firmer now. "Show them what you’ve got."

As you turned to walk toward the stage, the gravity of the moment hit you. His words, his touch, his uncharacteristic vulnerability. You know that they weren’t just about the performance. They were about you. About everything you’d worked for, everything you meant to him, even if he couldn’t quite say it outright.

You glanced back one last time and saw him standing there, arms crossed, his fiery red hair catching the strange, otherworldly light. His smirk had returned in full, but his eyes gave him away. No, there was hope there. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of fear.

And as you stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding and the crowd’s anticipation palpable, you felt a strange sense of calm. You didn’t know why. But you could only look at it later as the calm before the storm that would change your life forever.

The space was nothing like the vibrant, celebratory arenas you’d imagined. It was stark and sterile, the kind of place that drained warmth from the air. The floor was smooth and reflective. You think that you could see your reflection if you look hard enough.

The audience or what passed for one was a collection of alien beings and floating orbs, their glowing forms pulsating with eerie rhythm. It was also broadcasting live all over the universe and even into the other galaxies. 

Across from you stood your opponent. He was about your age, his dark hair messy, his expression somewhere between fear and resignation. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but the moment passed, and the caretakers began their cold instructions.

"The match begins now." one of them announced.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as the first note left your lips. The song you sang wasn’t what they’d wanted from you. It was the rigid, controlled melodies drilled into you during practice. Instead, you poured everything into the song, letting your voice carry the raw, unfiltered emotions you’d kept hidden. Fear, hope, defiance—it was all there, spilling out into the room.

Your opponent responded, his voice trembling but undeniably beautiful. It wasn’t a battle just yet, no. In that moment, it was a conversation between lovers, having a desperate exchange to bring back a love that was near the end of its lifetime.

You sang as hard as you could, as well as you could. And you didn’t stop. But soon enough, it ended just as fast as it began. The moment the last notes faded, the orbs above began to glow, casting their silent judgment. A brilliant light radiated from your side of the stage, signaling the tally of the votes to announce your victory.

For a heartbeat, you felt relief—until you saw your opponent’s face.

His eyes widened in terror as a column of light descended from above, surrounding him in an otherworldly glow of bright red neon lights. And then you heard the gunshots. You reached out instinctively, a scream tearing from your throat, but it was too late. The light consumed him. Soon enough, it was his blood pooling down the stage.

Just a moment ago, he was something.

And now, he lay there dead, nothing.

Nothing but a pile of blood and death.

You stumbled back, your legs giving out as you collapsed to the cold, unforgiving floor. Your hands trembled, clutching at nothing, your voice gone as the weight of what had just happened crushed you. Your eyes were trembling, you couldn’t look away from what once was a living being.

Someone had approached, their serene tone in sharp contrast to the horror you felt. "Congratulations to you." they said. "You have advanced to the next round."

The words barely registered. All you could think about was the boy’s face, his fear, his voice, now silenced forever. You wanted to scream, you wanted to shout. You wanted to tell them that an innocent young boy was killed for losing, and how horrid that is. There was nothing else you could do, as they ushered you away from the sweltering blood pouring down from the stage to the audience below.

When they led you off the stage, Sukuna was waiting. His scarlet eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, he didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew, you didn’t have to tell him. And yet just as much, the answer was written all over your face. You don’t want to talk about it.

"They killed him, didn’t they?" he asked, his voice low, trembling with restrained fury.

You nodded, the motion barely perceptible as your body shook. Sukuna’s hands balled into fists, his jaw tightening as he pulled you into a fierce embrace. Your tears started to flow against his shoulder as you rested your chin against it. 

"I should've told you to run away. I should have stopped you." he muttered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve gotten you out of here before—"

His words broke off, replaced by a heavy silence. For a long time, neither of you moved. You clung to him, your breaths shaky and uneven, his arms a shield against the unbearable truth that the stage wasn’t about music or talent or dreams. 

It was a death sentence.

This is what the aliens at Starlight’s home would be excited about. This is what they gush over their human pets, children— would be doing. They would sing and they would lose and they would die. For entertainment. And you hated it. The thought of it all made you want to hurl everything in your stomach.

"They never told us." you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. "They never said what this was."

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, his scarlet eyes blazing with anger. But then there was regret. And then guilt. And then anger once again, for himself. For his stupidity.

He didn’t tell you anything either. He should have. Why didn’t he? Why didn’t he tell you? He was complicit in robbing you of your innocence. He was complicit in your grief. And even soon, your loss of life.

"They never tell how it happens. Now it’s guns.”

"But... why?"

"Because they can," he said bitterly. "Because we’re just pieces in their game."

For the first time, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t have a plan, and didn't have an answer for how to fix this. He didn’t know what to do, now that you had been robbed of what made you who you were,  your humanity. Yet, all he had was you, and all you had was him.

But as you sat there, wrapped in his arms, something began to harden in you. The Aanakt Garden’s beauty, the caretakers’ promises, the Stage’s allure—it was all a lie. It will always be a lie.

It will always be a place where the cattle grows and gets ready for the slaughter. While the whole galaxy could watch. And now, you couldn’t unsee it. Now you can’t escape it. Neither could Sukuna.

"We’re getting out of here." he said finally, his voice steady but laced with steel. "I don’t care how, but we’re not staying in this hell."

And in that moment, you liked to think you believed him.

If anyone was going to get out, you think, it would be Sukuna.

And yet, that ugly feeling in your gut told you — no one escapes this.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE PLAN WAS AIRTIGHT, AT LEAST IT SEEMS LIKE IT. Or rather as close as it could be when desperation was your main driving force. There was some time before the next stage, where Sukuna was going to face another opponent. 

And so in that time, Ryomen Sukuna had spent weeks mapping out the routines of the caretakers and teachers, and the additional security and studying their movements and making an accurate layout of the Anakt Garden. He whispered the plan to you late at night under the glowing trees, his voice steady despite the fire in his scarlet eyes.

"We’re getting out of here, little lamb." he’d said. "I’m not letting them keep us locked up like this."

You trusted him completely. You always have. Sukuna had always been your anchor, your protector in this wretched place. He was your salvation, and he will continue to be. You will escape with him. And you will see Starlight again. And you would be free, together. That was the plan. 

But not all plans will go your way. No. Not at all. If anything, things will always go awry. Almost immediately, someone notices. And almost immediately, the meticulous plan that had been  compromised. The alarm rings from one hall to another. And you hadn’t noticed it yet.

As you ran through the dimly lit corridors of the facility, Ryomen Sukuna leading the way with his usual reckless confidence, alarms blared. The sound pierced through the still air, loud and jarring. Your heart pounded as alien drones descended downward, their glowing forms moving with terrifying precision.

"Go!" Sukuna shouted, his voice sharp with urgency as he shoved you ahead. "I’ll hold them off!"

"No! Sukuna!" you cried, grabbing his arm. "We do this together!"

But the drones were faster. Before you could react, one of them fired a net-like energy beam that wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides. Sukuna roared in rage, lunging at the drone, but another blast struck him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Run!" you screamed, but he didn’t listen. 

Ryomen Sukuna never listened when it came to you.

Almost immediately after that, they had dragged you both back. And the Garden was on a lockdown. It was evident with how the glow of their containment fields cast an eerie light over the corridors, along the fully locked halls and pathways. 

The cold, unyielding walls of the facility pressed in around you, each step back toward the Garden feeling heavier than the last. And you hated it. You absolutely hated it. But you hated even more that Ryomen Sukuna could not look you in the eye.

Sukuna was truly bitter about the failure.

Grievous because you were still here, trapped.

Mournful because both of you could have been free.

When you arrived, Ryomen Sukuna’s alien guardian was waiting. Starlight had always been stern, but Sukuna’s guardian was something else entirely. You were scared of them almost instantaneously. 

They were a towering, cold figure with a presence that seemed to sap the air from the room. Its form shimmered with an intense, otherworldly energy, and their piercing gaze locked onto Sukuna the moment he entered in his presence. Just as much as their fist locked against his human pet’s jaw.

"You reckless little fool." the alien hissed, its voice a low, vibrating hum that resonated in your chest. "Do you understand what you’ve done?"

Sukuna spat blood onto the floor, his red eyes blazing with defiance. "Yeah. I tried to leave. And I’d do it again."

The alien’s form seemed to darken, its glow pulsing angrily. "You endangered everything. Your place here, your future—her future!" It turned its piercing gaze on you, and you shrank back instinctively. “You got sent here to straighten yourself and now you punish someone else with you? What a wretched bastard you are, aren’t you?”

"Leave her out of this." Sukuna growled, stepping in front of you despite his injuries. "If you’ve got a problem, it’s with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating, heavy with unspoken threats and the sharp bite of inevitability. The alien stood before you both, its shimmering form radiating an icy menace that cut deeper than its words. Its gaze was fixed on Sukuna, unyielding and cold, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"I warned you," the alien said, its voice devoid of the warmth it had once feigned, now reduced to a blade of frigid authority. "Just like last time. This is not a place for rebellion. It is a place of purpose, a place of order. I sent you here for that purpose. Because you’re a wretched little fool who likes trouble. And still—still—you defy any sense."

Sukuna’s laugh was sharp, bitter, and defiant, like shards of glass scattering across the floor. "And what’s the consequence, huh?" he spat, stepping forward despite the guards already inching closer. His crimson eyes burned with a rage that even the alien seemed wary of. "You’ve already threatened to kill me before. You should just do it, goddamn it. Kill me already and free me from my misery."

The alien tilted its head, as if considering the words, and then its gaze shifted to you. The moment it did, the air seemed to chill further, and your stomach twisted into knots.

“Then I should kill the girl too.” it said, its tone as casual as discussing the weather.

“You will do no such thing, sir.” One of the caretakers speaks up, as Sukuna’s guardian looks to them. “You cannot touch the property of another.”

“Surely it doesn’t matter.” His alien speaks once again, looking at you. “I doubt this girl’s alien will have any trouble replacing her–”

“No!” The word tore from your throat before you could stop it, fear coursing through you like ice.

Sukuna’s reaction was instant, explosive to your fear. His eyes widened, but only for a heartbeat before narrowing with unrestrained fury. He lunged toward the alien, his movements wild, reckless. With an intent to kill.

"You bastard! I’ll tear you limb from limb if you ever DARE touch her!”

But the guards were ready. They seized him before he could even get close, their metallic hands clamping down on his arms with a force that made you wince. He struggled against them, snarling like a caged animal, his red hair wild and his expression murderous.

“Let me go!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You think you can threaten her? You think I’ll let you? I’ll kill you with my bare hands!"

“I’m telling you again, sir.” The alien caretaker says once more. “You cannot touch another alien’s property without them knowing. You are not their owner. You cannot punish them without their owner’s approval.”

The alien remained unfazed with what the caretaker said, its gaze shifting between you and Sukuna like a judge deliberating a sentence. They snicker at the caretaker’s words, narrowing his gaze to your frightful look. “Very well. Take my own to his sleeping cell.”

“I won’t let you! Not this time!” Sukuna screams like a wildman.

Sukuna struggles against the guards. He nearly gets away, but is quickly apprehended. He growls as he tries to attack them from the side, but they tackle him to the ground. You tried to approach him, but the caretaker pulled you away. Sukuna’s guardian lowers themselves to look at him, eye to eye.

“You will learn, you brat.” They said finally, its tone edged with finality. “Both of you will learn. Separately.”

The word hit you like a blow. 

Separately. 

“No, no.” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, you can’t—”

The alien ignored your protests, gesturing sharply to the guards. "I can do what I want. He is mine.” He looks at Sukuna again and snickers. “We shall have a good conversation, won’t we? Take him. Lock him where his fire can burn no one but himself."

"Sukuna!" you screamed as they dragged him away.

He fought against them with everything he had, his voice a feral growl. You too struggle against the caretaker, but no matter how much you both tried to pull from the gravity of separation, you tried to get closer. Yet it was for naught, as they managed to pull him away from your proximity. Your tears started to fall once more.

“I’ll find you!” he shouted, his eyes locking onto yours even as he was forced through the doorway. “Don’t give up! I’ll find you—I swear!”

And then he was gone.

His guardian follows behind him.

And you knew, you knew what he’ll endure.

You stood frozen, trembling, the caretaker alien’s presence looming over you like a shadow. Its gaze turned back to you, assessing. You looked to the ground, not wanting to show them the tears you were spilling for Sukuna.

“You should hope his words are hollow.” they said, its voice dripping with cold disdain. “Because hope will only destroy you.”

And with that, it turned and left, leaving you standing alone in the silence of the chamber. The absence of Sukuna’s fiery presence felt like a void threatening to swallow you whole. But even in the stillness, his last words echoed in your mind, a flicker of warmth against the growing cold. Don’t give up. I’ll find you.

And no matter what, you held on to that promise.

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THEY WERE FORCING EVERYONE TO WATCH THE NEXT ROUND. But you knew that they were doing this especially for you. You knew they were. It was Sukuna’s performance on the stage that day.

And you could see how exhausted he was, how brutalized his soul was. At some points, purple shade was peaking through his costume. You knew what that meant. And that had made you weep. 

His performance had left the entire arena in a stunned silence. The lights above flickered dimly, casting long shadows that stretched across the cold, metallic floor. The haunting, heavy lyrics that poured from his lips didn’t just fill the air. Each and every word was him, each and every semblance of harmony belonged to him,

Everyone in that arena was consumed by it. Each and every note shifts the energy in the room, warping everything around him. His voice, raw and unrelenting, bled emotion. All his pain, sorrow, fury and in every word, there was a piece of him. A piece that he hadn’t shown anyone before. A piece of him that you knew and now were knowing even more.

You stood just out of sight, as caretakers wanted.You stayed hidden in the shadows just below the arena, watching as Sukuna let the song carry him. You could see the strain in his expression, the way his jaw clenched with each line.

It was as if he was born to be the song. It was as if the words themselves were a personal confession to all that were watching him The black sorrow he sang about wasn’t just an abstract emotion; it was something he had lived, something that clung to him like a second skin.

The first verse seemed to echo a truth he’d carried with him since the beginning of your time together. There was always a distance between him and everyone else. He had always been the outsider, the one who didn’t belong. 

And yet, in the quiet darkness of the stage, there was you—his closest companion, the person who understood the weight of his heart. The loneliness in his voice spoke volumes: he wanted to reach someone, but there was always a wall between them, and that wall was made of sorrow, isolation, and the crushing weight of expectations.

He had sung like this for you before, in the quiet moments when he thought no one else was listening. But now, he wasn’t singing for you—he was singing for everyone. He wanted them to know his misery. He wanted them to know how much they had taken from him. 

This wasn’t just him pouring out his heart to you, no. It was also for the aliens who were taking in his siren’s song. For the aliens who had taken him from his home, for the caretakers who controlled his fate, and for himself.

The chorus rang out like the final bell of a war that had no victor—only casualties. He held the mic stand closer to him. The imagery was powerful, as he tilted his head to belt out the note. Each connecting harmony was like a deep, endless sea that threatened to swallow everything in its path. 

In that moment, as the echoes of Sukuna’s voice faded into the suffocating silence of the chamber you were in. There was a realization that struck you like a lightning bolt to the chest. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just fighting the system, the Garden, or the alien overlords who sought to mold him into their image. 

He was fighting something deeper, something far more insidious: the darkness that had been festering in his soul for far longer than you’d known him. That defiance, that fire that burned so brightly in him, wasn’t just rebellion. 

No, it was a shield. A desperate attempt to hold back the weight of his own despair. And you hadn’t understood it then. Not fully. Not until now.

Memories of him flooded your mind: the way he laughed like it was armor, the way he played his guitar like it was the only thing holding him together, the way he smiled—wide, cocky, and so achingly fragile if you knew where to look. 

That was that smile, wasn’t it, Sukuna? you thought bitterly, tears slipping down your cheeks unchecked. A smile that didn’t just hide pain but dared it to come closer, to strike harder. You didn’t have to face it alone, but you did. Again and again. Because you thought you had to.

Your legs gave out, and you crumpled to the ground, hands clutching at the fabric of your sleeves as if the motion could ground you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the ache in your chest suffocating. 

"You wanted to die." you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the truth. "You wanted to be free, to let it all end."

And then the thought hit you like a second wave of agony, sharp and relentless. And I was there. I was there, and you couldn’t help it. 

The tears came harder now, your sobs wracking your frame as you clutched your knees to your chest. You felt guilt, beyond what you should. He too made his choices. He made his choice to live with you. Even if it was making him suffer. But that guilt, you want to free him too. 

You want to be free with him. And how, that might not even happen. Not in this life. Even if you don’t want to give up, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep this up. You wanted to be selfish with him too, to want him by your side for as long as you both lived. And yet, you don’t know what to do anymore as you listen to him sing more and more.

"You stayed." you choked out, the words meant for him even though he was no longer there to hear them. "You stayed… for me."

Your mind spun with the weight of it. Sukuna’s anger wasn’t just about rebellion or resistance. It was the fury of someone who had been forced to live a life they never asked for, over and over again, only to find a glimmer of something, or someone worth staying for. 

And that someone was you.

He chose you, only you.

In that moment, as the final notes faded into the silence, Ryomen Sukuna’s expression softened, just a fraction. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something in his eyes that told you he had given everything on that stage. He always will. Even if he didn’t want to.

The votes quickly came in.

He turned to his opponent. 

And he watched, his eyes cold.

The red spilled on his face.

Ryomen Sukuna had won the round.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YOU STARED AT THE SCREEN. The days leading up to the next stage were filled with uncertainty, the tension thick in the air. Sukuna and you hadn’t spoken much since his performance, both of you retreating into your thoughts. 

The silence between you two was loaded, heavy with unspoken fears and doubts. Neither of you could shake the knowledge that things were escalating. The stakes were rising, and no one, not even Sukuna, could protect you from what was coming.

Then came the announcement.

The one that would change everything.

You were going to face each other.

This was the last few rounds. And these were the rounds where the most dangerous matches took place. A place where the brightest stars were either made or shattered, and where the strongest were left standing. The announcement echoed through the Garden, their cold voices coming over the loudspeakers, numbing you with their indifference. 

They didn’t care that you and Sukuna had a bond. Or that there was something more between you. They didn’t care about your shared past or your quiet moments of rebellion. Nor could they care about your wanting for freedom. None of that mattered to them.

To them, you were just pieces in a game, and now the pieces were being moved into position for the final battle. The moment you heard it, you froze. The words felt like ice, the truth of them setting in slowly, like a bitter poison coursing through your veins.

You and Sukuna were going to face each other.

You felt the world shift under your feet. Your body went numb as the weight of the situation began to sink in. But even in that moment of paralysis, you could hear the distant, familiar sound of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice—strong, fierce, and close. He was wearing a collar. That was something he had never worn before.

"Sukuna..." you whispered, your throat dry as you turned to face him. This was the first time you’ve seen him since you were parted. “I….”

He was standing near the edge of the arena, his posture rigid, his expression dark. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something far more serious. His eyes, usually sharp and calculated, were clouded with a deep, furious storm. He didn’t look like the same person who had stood on the stage with such confidence before.

Sukuna’s gaze locked onto you, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to read you, to understand the words he wasn’t yet hearing. But the words in your mind were loud and clear: you didn’t want this. You didn’t want to fight him. And you were pretty sure he didn’t want to fight you either.

"I won’t let you die." he growled, his voice low, but full of unrelenting anger. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You could see the frustration building in him, the same frustration you felt, but much more visceral, raw. 

"This isn’t some damn game. They’re trying to use us, twist us up into something we’re not." His breath was ragged as he took a step toward you, his gaze never wavering. "We’re not toys. I won’t let them take you from me. I swear."

You could feel your chest tighten as you watched him, your mind swirling with confusion. You didn’t want to fight him. You didn’t want to be a part of this blood-soaked game. But what choice did you have? What else was there left to do but survive?

"I don’t want to do this." you whispered, the weight of the situation sinking into your bones.

Sukuna’s expression softened for just a split second before the fire returned, burning brighter than ever. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you both with deliberate steps, his eyes searching your face. 

"Then don’t." he said, his voice steady now, though it was strained with emotion. "Just let me do what I can, alright? Let me figure it out.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was a way out, a way to escape this nightmare together. But deep down, you knew how this deadly game worked. You had seen the carnage before. And it's doubtful this will be the last. Not even his promises are enough to calm you down.

You had watched as real people were broken one after the other. Crushed under the weight of this deadly game, this stupid game you didn’t want to play. And you knew that in the end, it’s not likely to end. They don’t want it to end. They want to see the blood spill, so they may applaud.

But still, the desperation in his voice pulled at you, pulling you closer to him. There felt a horrible sense of finality. A finality you never wanted. Not with him. You don’t want it to end. Not ever. Not when it comes to loving him. 

Ryomen Sukuna had always been your protector, your anchor. But now, the roles seemed reversed. He was the one who needed saving, and you were the only one who could save him from the thing that haunted him. 

But the price is your death. You had to die to save him. To keep him from suffering. And the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from this isn’t going to save him either. He wouldn’t let this happen. He doesn’t want to, either.

"I can’t lose you." Sukuna muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but the pain in it was so raw that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I love you too much to let you go.”

You reached out, touching his arm gently, feeling the tension in his muscles as you tried to ground him, to remind him that you were here, and you were still alive. But the terror in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: this wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about protecting each other from the very forces that had taken control of your lives.

“I love you too.” You whisper back to him, almost so brokenly. “I don’t want to let you go either. I don’t want to lose you.”

He shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening. "Not like this.We can’t lose each other like this.”

You tried to pull him closer, but the weight of the situation was too heavy. You could see it in his eyes—the guilt, the anger, the desperation. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being forced to fight him, to be torn apart in front of everyone. But what were your choices?

You both knew the truth. You could either submit to the rules and fight each other, or you could rebel against them, together. And if you did that, the price would be steep. Sukuna’s scarlet eyes softened, though the anger remained.

"Thank you.”

“For what?” You asked him softly. 

“For being the object of my affections.” He whispers to your ear, leaning forward to press a kiss on your cheek. “Thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions. My love and my hatred. All of it.”

You looked at him for a moment before smiling, eyes getting watery. You could feel the warmth of his kiss sear on your skin, like a burn from the flame. Like a moth burning in the candlelight. You wanted more of him. You wanted more of his love. And his hatred. You wanted it all.

But there will never be enough time. 

There will never be another time.

You cannot escape this time, not like this.

“Thank you for letting me have all of them.” You whisper back to him.

He returns your smile. “It was my pleasure.”

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SOON ENOUGH, THE STAGE WAS PELTED BY THE POURING RAIN. And still, they will continue this, no matter what. It had to end here. There was no other way out. The harsh, mechanical buzz of the arena’s lights flickered above you, and the air was thick with the weight of the moment. 

You were back on the stage, but this time, everything had changed. Everyone had their cold eyes watching from every angle. Everything was properly set by now, to the perfection of their wants. All that was left was the stage to have two people, singing for a deadly performance. 

The stage was set, the tension palpable in the air as the crowd held its breath. Everything around you shimmered with the anticipation of what was about to unfold. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the space, and then, the music began to play.

A haunting melody rippled through the speakers, its ethereal sound sinking deep into your bones. The notes wove together like a sorrowful tale, threading through the very air that surrounded you. It filled the chamber, wrapping itself around you like an inescapable fog. 

You could feel it—the weight of the lyrics, heavy with longing and sorrow. You sang them as they were. They spoke of parting, of loss, of moments slipping through your fingers like sand. It was as though the song had been crafted specifically for this moment, for this fight, for the end of something you never wanted to end.

You had expected the chaos, the passion, the defiance that always accompanied Sukuna’s performances. But now, as the music surged, something shifted. Sukuna, his scarlet eyes locked on yours across the stage, suddenly stopped singing. 

The notes faltered in the air, the rhythm stuttering as he stood still. His lips no longer moved in time with the music. The sharp edge of his voice, so used to biting, so full of fire—was gone. The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy.

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from yours, but it wasn’t the usual sharp, cocky look. There was no defiance there. There was no challenge. There was no will to fight. Instead, there was only something far deeper, more painful. 

You had noticed it too late, how resigned he already was to this raw, aching realization that you both had reached the brink. The consequences of this moment, the weight of it all, had become far too real for him. You saw it in his scarlet eyes. That flicker of something that you knew was just for you. 

Something more human, more vulnerable, than you’d ever seen before. The walls he’d built around himself, the fire he had fought so hard to keep alive, all began to crumble, leaving him exposed in a way that made your heart ache. And then, against the cold droplets of rain that began to fall from the sky, Sukuna smiled.

It wasn’t the usual smug, arrogant grin you were so accustomed to. It was softer, almost bittersweet. It was the sort of smile that carried the weight of everything unspoken between you. That was a smile of adoration, that was a smile of hatred — that was the smile of devotion.

He stood there as you sang. It was as if the rain had washed away the last of his resistance, as if the music itself had torn down the walls that had held him together for so long.In that moment, you realized something. 

That smile—fragile as it was—wasn’t a mask. It wasn’t a challenge or a jest. It was surrender. Ryomen Sukuna had always been the one to defy the world, to push against everything that tried to contain him. But now, standing there in the midst of the storm, he was no longer fighting. He had accepted it all.

"I should’ve known." he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the rain. The words were barely more than a whisper, but they carried a depth of emotion that took you by surprise. "I should’ve known that... this was always going to be the end. For both of us."

You heard him and you almost forgot your part in the song. You longed to say something—to tell him that there was still time, that you could still fight, that you didn’t have to end this way. But the words died on your throat. You continued to sing.

Because the truth was, you could see it too. The end was already written in the stars.You knew it too, you knew it too well. The inevitable was crashing toward you both, and no matter how much you fought it, it was going to happen.

Sukuna’s smile wavered as he watched you continue to sing. And for a moment, the man you knew, that man you loved, the fiery, untamable force….He was gone. He had let him die at that moment. All that remained was a broken man, drenched in rain, standing at the edge of something he couldn’t escape.

The music swelled again, but this time, it wasn’t just about the performance. It was about you both, about the fragile connection that had formed in the midst of all the chaos. The music no longer felt like a fight—it felt like a goodbye.

To him, this only ends one way. 

If someone must survive, it has to be you.

He all but abandons his space, the rain pouring even heavier than ever. You were surprised as he pulled you close to him. Tears and raindrops all over your face. He was quick to know which were tears and which were the rain. He smiled. The music continued to play in the background.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for your face, brushing away a tear that had escaped. The song continued to swell deeper and deeper, and his turn to sing was upcoming. But Ryomen Sukuna’s lips were no longer part of it. He doesn’t want it to be. He wanted to die the way he wanted to.

His mouth pressed against yours in a kiss that was raw and desperate, a kiss that spoke of goodbye, of all the unspoken feelings between you both. A kiss that felt like a last act of defiance, a refusal to be another pawn in their game.

For a fleeting moment, everything else disappeared. The noise of the arena, the eyes of everyone watching this, the weight of the stage—all of it melted away as you kissed him back, pouring every ounce of emotion into that single act. 

Your kiss was hard and angry, angry at him for choosing this route. Hard because you wanted him to feel your pain, the pain that he was leaving you with as you continued on to live. You pulled him even closer. You part to breathe but you pull him back in even more. You continued on and on until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Soon enough the pelting of the guns started, there wasn’t even the neon red to warn you. They continued to shoot one after another. One to his shoulder, another to his back. But he kissed you back even more, his hands around your throat. As though to tell you his own pain in parting. More shots rang out, one after the other. 

As your lips parted, his expression hardened, scarlet eyes flashing with the finality of his decision. Blood pouring out his lips as he smiles at you, almost so hauntingly with his hands still wrapped around your throat with such eager tightness. 

"You have to live." he whispered, his voice rough, breaking. "You have to survive."

The bullets continued to tear through him, their cold, metallic scream louder than the music itself. His body jerked with each impact, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he staggered back, the warmth of the kiss he had given you still lingering on your lips, the taste of it bitter with the knowledge of what was coming. His rough, brutish hands slowly, and then finally off your reddening neck.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your long lost breath hitched in your throat as your entire world seemed to collapse in on itself. The music continued, relentless, as though mocking the pain in your chest. You wanted to scream, to stop them, but your voice was stolen by the sorrow that flooded your body.

Ryomen Sukuna crumpled to the ground, blood staining the stage beneath him, his chest rising and falling weakly, but his scarlet eyes never left yours. He wanted to look at you. He wanted you to keep looking at him. He was still there, still fighting, still telling you to live, even as life drained from him.

The music reached its climax, the voice of the singer rising in agony. Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh, the words rang out, but all you could feel was the sharp sting of your beloved’s corpse in front of you. The haunting notes continued as if nothing had changed, as if everything was still a game, but the truth was undeniable.

You cried out with everything in you, your desperate tears and the angry rain mixing with his blood on the stage, your heart breaking as you watched him slip away. Until he was finally gone. Until he was nothing but a bleeding flesh corpse in front of you. 

The music, now a distant, broken sound in your ears, felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest. Each note seemed to draw the last remnants of air from your lungs, suffocating you as you stood frozen on the stage. 

Ryomen Sukuna's blood continued to stain the floor and mix into the water ceaselessly, pooling beneath him, but his scarlet eyes... his eyes that you so loved were still on you, still filled with the fire of a promise, a plea.

His last breath was shallow, but his expression never wavered. Live, his eyes said. Survive.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear the entire world apart for what they had made of him, for the life they had stolen. But instead, you stood there, powerless. The caretakers' voices crackled through the speakers, indifferent to the tragedy they had orchestrated.

They had made you fight. They had made you kill. But Sukuna had chosen to fall for you. He had chosen to make sure you had the chance to escape the nightmare, even if it meant giving up his own life.

And the weight of that choice was too much to bear.

You were still there, staring at him, when they gave the signal. The arena, the very place where your blood had spilled—your tears mixed with the blood on the stage—was just another part of the system they controlled. 

Another place where they took away everything and gave nothing in return. The system that controlled your fate, controlled Sukuna's fate, was now turning its eyes to you. But in the midst of the flashing lights and the cold, sterile voices that told you to continue, that told you to perform, you made a decision. You weren't going to give them what they wanted. Not like this.

Your body trembled, but your heart, for the first time in so long, felt certain. You weren't just going to survive anymore. You weren’t going to let this system take everything from you, your life, your soul, your love for Sukuna, without fighting back.

You dropped to your knees beside him, the echo of his sacrifice reverberating through your chest. His body was still warm, still twitching with the last remnants of life, but you knew it was too late. He was gone.

But the part of him that lived. The part that had made sure you would survive. That was not lost. And that was something they couldn’t take. You didn’t care if they were watching. You didn’t care if they were observing your every move. 

You leaned over Sukuna’s body, placing a trembling hand over his heart, now still. And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a thread being pulled taut and finally breaking. The arena’s speakers crackled, and a voice you didn’t recognize spoke.

“Stage completion.”

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epilogue 

The soft glow of the rising sun began to creep into the room, its warm fingers stretching across the floor, painting the walls with hues of gold and amber. The world outside was still, caught between the shadows of the night and the promise of a new day.

But here, in this quiet space, there was a peace that neither of you had ever known. The chaos of the alien stage, the endless battles, the pain, and the sacrifices—they all seemed distant, swallowed up by the serenity of the moment.

You lay there, your head resting on Sukuna’s legs, your body relaxed in the rare comfort of his presence. The rhythmic hum of your song, soft and almost hypnotic, filled the air.

It was a song that had become an anchor for both of you, a melody that whispered of things you had lost and things you still held dear. Your humming wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the raw edges of his soul that had been scarred by too many years of violence.

Sukuna’s fingers, long and deft, traced the strands of your hair, moving slowly and deliberately, almost as though he were trying to carve this moment into his memory, like it was the only thing that made sense in a world that had long since turned upside down. His hand paused at the crown of your head, his fingers resting lightly as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile peace between you.

"You’re still humming, little lamb." Sukuna said.

You were surprised that his voice was unusually quiet, the words more of an observation than a question. His fingers toyed with the ends of your hair, curling a few strands around his finger and letting them slip through his grasp, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. 

"You always sing when you’re... content."

You glanced up at him, your eyes still heavy with the warmth of sleep, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I always sing when I remember the good things." you whispered, your voice a soft murmur. "The things that make everything worth it."

Sukuna’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment, a brief glimpse of something that had always been there but was too buried beneath the armor he wore to ever show. His hand moved from your hair, trailing down the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. It was such a simple touch, but it carried with it more meaning than he had ever given to words.

"The good things?" His voice was low, almost hushed, as if he were afraid to disturb the peace between you. "What good things, huh?" He shifted slightly, his hand resting beside you now, his fingers grazing the surface of your skin.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his touch sink in, the quiet rhythm of your song keeping the silence comfortable. You let the words come, not thinking about them too much, just allowing them to spill from your heart.

"The times when we didn’t have to fight." you said softly, almost to yourself. "When everything was simpler. When it was just us... and the world felt like it was still ours to take."

Sukuna didn’t speak at first, his gaze far away as if he were lost in his own thoughts. His hand didn’t move from where it rested on the side of your face, his thumb now gently stroking your skin as if trying to memorize the sensation. There was a vulnerability in his touch that he rarely allowed anyone to see, but in this moment, with the soft light of dawn spilling over the both of you, it felt right.

"You really believe in that?" he asked after a long pause, his voice quieter than it had ever been. "You really think we could ever go back to something... simple?"

The question hung in the air between you two, heavy with the weight of the years you had spent in the fight for survival. But there was something in the way his hand lingered on your cheek, something in the way he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you that made you smile again.

"I think….." you began, your voice steady. "We make our own simple things in life. We can decide to live in the good things, even if the rest of the world is falling apart around us."

Sukuna’s gaze softened, his features easing for a moment as if your words had found something deep within him, something he hadn’t known he was missing. He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"You’re right, I suppose." he said quietly, his hand slowly shifting to the side of your head again, fingers gently threading through your hair. "Maybe... maybe we don’t have to fight all the time. Maybe we don’t have to live in the dark. Not if we don’t want to."

His words hung in the air like a promise, tentative but real. The two of you stayed there in the quiet, the hum of your song filling the space around you like a soft lullaby. The sun was fully risen now, and the light poured through the window, bathing the room in warmth.

The world outside might have been a battlefield, a place where survival meant everything, where love and peace seemed impossible. But here, in this moment, with Sukuna’s fingers tangled in your hair and the world reduced to the two of you, it felt like anything was possible. You could make your own good things, even if it was just for a little while.

"Stay with me, forever, ‘kuna." you murmured, the words almost too soft to hear, but he heard them all the same. You tilted your head up slightly, looking into his eyes. "Please, stay."

Ryomen Sukuna looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he nodded, his voice steady. He lets out a small smile on his lips. A smile he always reserved warmly for you. Only you.

"I’m not going anywhere, little lamb." he said quietly. "Not if I don’t have to."

You smiled back at him. “Good.”

[rootspiral]

hi, hello!! i absolutely adore your deep dive series into the aaa episodes, and i was wondering if you could/would feel like expanding further into agatha’s guilt towards wanda and all the emotion she shows in the first episode, when she sees wanda’s corpse? the way agnes seems to value human life is especially interesting to me, considering how much agatha has killed (and i understand agnes is a character in what’s supposed to be a very stereotypical detective series, but i remember how you said agnes is in some ways agatha at her most transparent). anyways, i thought i’d try to pick your brain a little more on the subject, because your takes are very interesting to me!

Hi hello to you, thank you for stopping by! And also thank you for your interesting question, consider my brain officially picked. I'm gonna ramble QUITE a bit because I want to talk about Agatha and misogyny first (as requested by @leoleolovesdc ) but hold in there, I'll get to wanda too.

To get to the point directly, I think that Agatha's actions are steeped in internalized misogyny, and I think it's something she inherited from her mother and the salemites. It's actually pretty common for marginalized communities or individuals to turn against their own and replicate the patterns of the oppressor, looking to ease their self-hatred or for outside acceptance or a sense of control. Think for example about super conservative wives voting against their best interests, think about all the homophobia and biphobia and transphobia and acephobia (etcetera etcetera ad infinitum) in the queer community.

The persecution of witches was essentially a war on a kind of womanhood that went against imposed gender norms. Witches (in the marvel universe and in real life) were more often than not women who lived independently, who knew herbs, who didn't marry, who worked as midwives etc. And talking about the salemites specifically and the way they treated Agatha: they did to Agatha what the external world did to them, they replicated a pattern. They targeted the odd one out, the woman in their group who was the most different, and called her evil and essentially tried to burn her at the stake.

We don't know a thing about evanora, but I would BET that a lot of her hatred stems from her own internalized misogyny / agatha being born female, and I honestly wonder if Agatha would have found it harder to love a daughter the same way she does Nicky or Billy, without any of her internalized bias kicking in. Since she was a kid Agatha had been hurt and persecuted by other witches, she's pretty much wired to mistrust and hate them. And it gets even more muddled and complicated because she hates witches but loves witchcraft, she hates women but is sexually and romantically attracted to them. She yearns to belong, but she ends up torturing and killing her own community. She allies with people like that disgusting prick who violated Jen.

Enter Wanda, who is essentially Agatha 2.0: she was born doomed by the narrative or, to say it like evanora, she was born evil. Evanora would have had a FIELD DAY with Wanda. The Scarlet Witch? The destroyer of universes? She would have tried to kill her on the spot. There is A LOT Agatha instinctively hates in Wanda, she's a woman, she's a witch, she's dangerous. Agatha does what the salemites did to her and what men did to witches: she replicates a pattern. She punishes Wanda for being too alone and too different and complicated and scary. And yes Agatha is doing it to get her hands on chaos magic and all that comes with that, but this is all the baggage she brings in.

There's the other side of the coin: Agatha hates women and witches, Agatha loves women and witches, and Agatha hates and loves Wanda. She's been essentially killing and running away for the past two centuries, refusing to dwell on the consequences of her actions, but we know that she is no unfeeling psychopath, that's just a role she plays. We know all her actions weigh on her. With Wanda that sense of guilt is even stronger because Wanda is not a random witch she kills and abandons in the woods, she has to live with her and witness all of Wanda's pain up close, how lonely she is, how scared she is, the grief of losing Pietro and Vision, it's all there to torment Agatha. She cannot be a child about it, she can't close her eyes and cover her ears and go lalala until it's over, she has to take it all in order to get what she wants. And what's worse, Wanda is so similar to her that Agatha can picture exactly what she's feeling down to her bones, that's empathy to the max. And she goes through with her plan and does horrible things to Wanda anyway.

Knowing Agatha like we know her now, I'm convinced that her guilt about Wanda is especially hard to deal with, but Agatha has always refused to deal with any of her inner struggles, so Wanda just goes on the pile together with all the painful and complicated feelings she's pointedly ignoring, and which are not haunting her at all, thank you very much!

Except when she's Agnes, because all the feeling are still there but she doesn't know where they come from. I'd say that more than transparent Agnes is unfiltered, she doesn't know she should censor her struggles like Agatha does. Based on Agnes, we can plainly see what the biggest issues on her Inner Pile of Shit and Sorrow are: grief over Nicky's loss, anger and yearning for Rio, extreme loneliness, and guilt over those she hurt, with a particular emphasis on Wanda.

[lovezbrownies]

Machinery (Yandere!M!BioMechanic x Gn!Reader.)

Masterlist

Another character you might like...

Synopsis: You've worked your ass off to get to where you are today. And watching the guy who was naturally gifted intelligence, you can't help but admire him and he seemed to have noticed and lends you a helping hand.

Inspired by Viktor from Arcane :3. A random burst of inspiration came upon me to write this i looveve Viktor :3

The university was a place of perpetual twilight, where the sunlight above barely reached. Instead, a faint glow emanated from etherlamps scattered throughout the sprawling maze of stone corridors and mechanical apparatuses, their flickering light casting shifting shadows across the damp walls. It was here, amidst the hum of ancient machinery and the scent of oil and damp stone, that Elias thrived—a figure both enigmatic and unavoidable.

You had always noticed him in passing. How could you not? He was the kind of presence that demanded attention despite his unassuming appearance. Elias moved with a subtle grace, his shoes tapping softly against the stone floor as he navigated the labyrinthine workshop spaces. His amber eyes, sharp and unyielding, seemed to pierce through every surface, every person, as though searching for something beyond their physical form.

You’d admired his intellect from afar, envying the quiet precision with which he worked. His projects were always on the cutting edge—clockwork automata imbued with eerie lifelike movements, and crystalline contraptions that seemed to pulse with raw energy. But there was an intensity to him, a kind of fervor that made others keep their distance. You weren’t entirely sure why he had chosen you to notice.

It started as a flicker on the edge of your awareness—a glance here, a lingering moment there. You’d look up from your own work to find his eyes on you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle. He didn’t look away when caught; instead, he would offer a faint, almost imperceptible smile, as though he was pleased you’d noticed him too. At first, you brushed it off as coincidence, but the frequency of these moments made that harder to believe.

Then came the night when you found yourself hunched over your workbench, your frustration mounting as you struggled with a stubborn gear assembly. The machinery before you was intricate, its interlocking pieces refusing to align no matter how many adjustments you made. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt metal, your fingers aching from hours of effort.

“That’s not the way to do it,” came a soft voice from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned, your breath catching as you found Elias standing there, closer than you had realized. His amber eyes were luminous in the dim light, their intensity softened only slightly by the faint smile playing at his lips. Before you could respond, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate yet quiet, and reached for the wrench in your hand.

“May I?” he asked, though he was already taking the tool from your grasp. His fingers brushed yours in the process, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver up your spine.

He leaned in as he worked, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his voice low as he explained the mechanics in a tone more suited to a secret than an instruction. “This mechanism… it’s delicate, but not fragile. You need to coax it into place, not force it.” His hands moved with precision, adjusting the gears with a practiced ease that made you feel clumsy in comparison.

“You’re very focused,” he murmured after a moment, his gaze flicking toward you. “It’s admirable, really. Most people here are… careless.” The way he said the word made it sound like a personal offense, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

You weren’t sure how to respond. His praise felt heavy, almost intimate, like it carried more weight than it should. But before you could dwell on it, Elias finished the adjustment and stepped back, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed the wrench back to you.

“There,” he said, his voice softer now. “Try it again.”

You did, and the mechanism slid into place with an ease that made you blink in surprise. You turned to thank him, but the words faltered as you met his gaze. There was something in the way he was looking at you—something that made your chest tighten.

“It’s late,” he said suddenly, his eyes not leaving yours. “You shouldn’t stay here alone.”

“I’m used to it,” you replied, though his concern was unexpected.

Elias tilted his head, studying you for a moment before he took a step closer. “That doesn’t mean you should. The city isn’t always safe.”

Before you could protest, he reached out, his hand grazing the small of your back as he gestured toward the corridor. “Come. I’ll walk you.”

His touch was light, fleeting, but it lingered in your mind long after he’d pulled away. The walk to your quarters was quiet, his shoes tapping softly against the stone as he kept pace with you. He stayed close, too close, his shoulder brushing yours with every other step.

“You’re too kind to people,” he said quietly as you neared your door. His tone was gentle, but there was something beneath it—an edge you couldn’t quite place. “Not everyone deserves that from you.”

You glanced at him, startled by the sudden comment, but his expression was unreadable. He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and it made your breath catch in your throat.

“You’re remarkable,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

The moment felt suspended in time, his hand lingering near your face as his amber eyes searched yours. And then, just as quickly as it began, he stepped back, offering a faint smile before turning to leave.

But as you closed your door behind you, your heart still pounding, a quiet realization crept into your mind: Elias didn’t just notice you. He was watching you.

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: fighting. lots of fighting. wounds. mentions of pain. flashbacks. 'alluding' to prostitution.

#NOTES: i actually feel so weird for this chapter because not much happens (in a sense), but i can't stress enough how much i want you to feel the mc as an actual character instead of this just being a romance story, and i'm establishing this not only for you but also for myself! you will need to read the mc's character arcs and individual chapters, even if they're long or you might think are unnecessary. if you don't read them, you're going to miss out on crucial points of the story! character arcs for your mcs are essential! even when they're just y/n! y/n is still a character, and they need a good backstory and moments to flesh them out thoroughly. fanfiction should be made with as much love and care as a 'real' book would need to be. with my usual rant issued, enjoy <3

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

You remembered setting down the tiny bundle of belongings you carried, the meager possessions you owned neatly placed on the edge of your new berth, and your new pickaxe and hammer drill. You were still deciding where to put your things when the voice of who would be your new berthroom companion caught you off guard, breaking the silence like a sudden gust of wind.

“You can come out, my love. All is well.”

You had quizzingly looked at her after the words left her mouth, but you grew even more confused when you realized she was not looking your way. Instead, she was looking at the small locker at the end of her berth.

There was a hesitant creak, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. A small servo gripped the edge of the locker’s door, trembling slightly, and then a tiny figure peeked out—a sparkling, her frame barely more than a fragile outline against the dim light. She was almost painfully small, her light turquoise plating catching the faint glow in the room. 

“Come here, my light,” Starlight called out gently, extending a servo in a welcoming gesture as she sat at the edge of her berth.

The sparkling hesitated, her optics flicking nervously between you and her carrier. Her whole frame trembled with uncertainty.

You tried to make yourself look smaller, less imposing, feeling your spark crumple and crush with sympathy and curiosity at the existence of such innocence in this hellhole. So many questions and doubts ran through your processor at a speed that even the most talented racers would be jealous of.

Then, with a deep vent that sounded almost like a sigh, the sparkling took a cautious step toward her carrier. And another. And another. Until she was close enough to be scooped up into her arms.

“There you are,” She said with a tender smile, gathering the sparkling to her chest as if she were the most precious thing in the universe. The little one buried her face against her mother's chassis, and you could hear the faint whirr of her tiny cooling fans as she snuggled close, seeking comfort in the familiar embrace. Her servo moved slowly up and down the sparkling’s back. “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetie. You’re very brave, are you not?”

Suddenly, she looked at you.

“I’m glad they sent another femme, I wasn’t about to take chances with someone who wouldn’t understand what it’s like.” She said. Although her voice was steady and unembellished, an undercurrent of intensity ran through it—tender and fiercely protective, issuing a warning. You could sense that this caution wasn’t aimed at you, but rather at some shadowy threat that lingered just beyond reach. “If they’d sent a mech, I would have thrown him out myself.”

You blinked, taken aback by her straightforwardness. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your expression open and unthreatening. Your voice was a little hesitant, unsure of how to respond to her. “I... I’m glad I’m here too.”

“Good,” she said, a half smile on her lip components, her gaze not wavering. “Then we’ll get along just fine. I’m Starlight, this is Vaportrail... she’s my everything. And I won’t let anything—or anyone—hurt her.”

Her tone now had no softness, only a hard-edged determination that made your spark tighten. This wasn’t a carrier who would let her guard down easily, not for anyone, and certainly not for someone she didn’t trust. But there was a flicker of relief in her optics, a softening around the edges as if admitting that your presence didn’t feel like a threat was a victory all on its own.

Which, in a way, made you very sad.

You opened your dermas, unsure of what to say, but Starlight cut you off with a small smile, her laughing, purple optics seizing you. “Don’t take it personally. I’m just... careful. They don’t make it easy for femmes like us. Especially not for carriers. I’m not about to apologize for doing what I must to keep her safe.”

You nodded quickly. “I—I understand. I don’t want to intrude. I just... I didn’t realize you had a little one here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Starlight said, waving a servo dismissively but not loosening her hold on Vaportrail. “You’re here now, and that’s that. They didn’t exactly ask my opinion before sending you, but... you seem alright.” Her optics scanned you up and down like she was weighing you, judging if you were genuinely trustworthy. Whatever she saw, it made her relax a fraction. “We’ll see how it goes.”

There was a silence that felt heavier than it should, and Vaportrail shifted a little, peeking out from the safety of her carrier’s hold. Her optics were still wide and oscillating, but there was a flicker now, like the spark of a tinderbox, and you managed a tentative smile. It felt awkward and unsure, but it seemed the right move because Vaportrail didn’t look away.

Starlight’s expression softened again, just a little, as she glanced down at her daughter. She leaned in and murmured, “This is…” She looked back up at you precipitously, “Sorry, what’s your name?”

You told her your new designation, the new number of the H branch in Mining Outpost R–02. You’d need to get used to it, but it would be easy enough. The overseer of your branch had already taken to refer to you as simply ‘8’.

Starlight almost grimaced at your words but soon looked down at the sparkling. “This is H-08. She’s going to stay with us for a while.”

The sparkling didn’t respond, but she didn’t hide either, and you took that as a small victory.

Starlight turned her optics towards you, revealing the complexities within her gaze—gentleness intertwined with determination, a fierce sense of protection that nearly felt rebellious. Above all, you noticed a tentative hope. It was delicate, nearly fragile, resembling something seldom relied upon and sustained by pure resolve. It felt like she was challenging you, silently urging you to either validate her doubts or, maybe, to offer her a reason to believe.

“Just make yourself comfortable,” she said with a half-smirk. “But don’t go thinking you’re a guest. You’re part of this now. And if you’ll be here, you’ll do your part to keep her safe, too.”

You nodded, meeting her gaze with all the sincerity you could muster.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll do my best.”

You didn’t expect to follow Bluey’s advice that well.

Although you still felt anxious, there was one important lesson he ensured you understood, which was the primary reason you were managing to perform mediocrely well in the current match. Five simple words, but ones he made sure to drill into you, even at the cost of hearing him utter the sentence in your dreams.

“Always keep your head cool.”

The arena bore the scars of your prolonged clash—scorched craters, gouges in the walls, and the acrid tang of overheated metal. Across the battered expanse, your opponent circled behind a wall of waste metal. He was tall and bulky, his frame a juggernaut that had already tested your limits more than once. 

A younger you might have faltered by now, let exhaustion or his relentless power shake your resolve. But this wasn’t then. You adjusted your stance, steadying your frame and keeping Bluey’s advice sharp in your processor. This wasn’t over yet.

“Let them think they’ve got the upper hand, then take it from them in one clean swoop.”

Your opponent grinned, baring sharp teeth, his optics gleaming with something dark and eager. He lunged toward you, hurling a heavy swing of his greatsword, too fast and keen for a clean kill.

Good. You could work with that.

You ducked low, slipping just out of reach. He lunged forward, his momentum betraying him as he faltered, thrown off balance for a fleeting moment. The crowd's uproar filled the air, their cheers rising in a mighty wave, drowning out all other sounds. Bright flashes of light erupted around you, glinting off your polished armor and that of your opponent, creating a dazzling display that danced in the periphery of your vision.

“Most mechs here don’t think before they swing. Let them come to you. Half the fight is watching them trip over themselves. They’ll do half the work if you let them.”

You let him close in again, his optics narrowing as he swung, aiming for your helm this time. A broad swing of his arm—you had seen it a dozen times in practice with Bluey by now. You sidestepped and his fist cut through space, too slow to catch you. The warhammer in your grasp seemed to flow into your movements, and you did not even feel its heaviness.

He cursed, stumbling again, his frustration evident as he recovered, his vents heaving. Bluey was right; your opponent wasn’t thinking, only reacting. And now, with him unbalanced, it was time to make your move.

"Think quick, strike quicker. You don’t need to go for a kill shot in friendly matches. Just hit them where it hurts.”

So you did. Darting forward, you aimed low with your weapon, catching him squarely in the side with a swift, well-placed jab to his knee joint. The impact reverberated through your frame, his armor giving way just enough for you to feel the shock of metal against metal. He staggered, his vents hissing in pain, and you took advantage of his faltering balance, pressing forward with another strike to his leg.

His frame buckled, his weight crashing to one knee as he tried and failed to push himself back up. His optics flared with rage as he swiped at you again, desperation taking over, but you were already out of reach, watching his movements with a clear, unclouded gaze.

"A calm mind’s your greatest weapon. Most fights end the second your opponent loses his cool. Hold onto yours, and you’ll outlast them every time.”

You watched as your opponent struggled, rage overtaking his features as he realized his momentum had failed him. He staggered back, clutching his damaged leg, his optics wild, searching for some way to turn the tide. But you were already moving, closing in before he could react. A quick swipe to his shoulder joint sent him stumbling back again, a desperate growl tearing from his vocalizer as his arm dropped, sparking where the wiring had split.

The crowd’s roars escalated, but for once, the noise didn’t faze you. You kept your focus on him, your field of vision narrowing down to this one mech and his dwindling options.

“A hit’s only as strong as the bot that lands it. Don’t go for flashy moves if a simple strike will do the job.”

So you didn’t. You kept it simple and calculated, landing a swift, final blow to his remaining arm joint. His frame shuddered, forced down by the impact as he slumped forward, defeated but still functional, vents whirring unevenly as he struggled to catch his breath.

You took a step back, exhaling as you held your stance, ready to react to any last-ditch effort he might make. But there was nothing—no fight left in him, just the slow, begrudging slump of a mech who knew he’d been bested.

Another one. You’d done it! Shifting your helm toward the other side of the arena, you glimpsed the opening that connected the arena to the Gladiators’ lobby, and you swore that behind the bars, you could see a pair of familiar ochre-pigmented optics looking at you.

Bluey was there too, flashing a cheerful, childish thumbs-up as a wide grin spread across his face. He mimicked a series of playful punches aimed at the air, then broke into applause, cheering you on with boundless enthusiasm. You did not mind it. It actually made you smile.

Just as you turned toward the exit, you were so close to doing so as you began taking the first step; a pair of guards came to haul the mech onto a stretcher, and one of them harshly gripped your shoulder, evoking a grunt from your voicebox.

“You’re not done.”

You wrenched yourself free from his hold but stared at him confusedly, “We were the last ones on the list for today.”

“Not anymore.” The other answered for his partner, staring intensely at you despite his visor. “There’s been a last-minute change for your matches.”

‘Bullway.’ You looked away with irritation in your features (never directed at them), which was answer enough for the pair of guards. They began carrying the wounded gladiator away, fighting the urge to stifle their laughs while the mech deliriously quaked about his pain.

With a languid motion, you allowed your shoulders to roll back, reclaiming your position at the heart of the arena. To entertain the multitude of cybertronians around you, you threw your arms wide above your helm, sending a ripple of exhilaration through the crowd, igniting a cacophony of cheers and shouts.

You gazed at them in mild, calculated satisfaction. In some manner, the audience determined the level of excitement in the fight, and you felt a sense of relief knowing it would be exceptionally some time before you started boring them, even if you felt disgusted by their entertainment.

Suddenly, the other gate opened.

He emerged from the shadows. You’d seen him before, though only in passing. You hadn’t paid much attention to him then; now, it was impossible to look away.

His frame was massive, and his armor was scarred from dozens of battles. The faint glow of his optics burned like embers, and the sharpness of his gaze cut through the haze of dust and noise that filled the arena. His steps were heavy and measured, the kind of stride that wasn’t rushed because it didn’t need to be.

He stopped in the center of the pit, his helm tilting slightly as his optics locked onto you.

“So,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, carrying easily over the noise. “This is what they’ve got for me today?”

You tightened your grip on your warhammer, your digits aching. He was assessing you. You could feel it—a predatory gaze that lingered just long enough for you to start overthinking. Still, you said nothing. Words were a distraction. Both Bluey and Megatronus made points about that.

He seemed to take your silence as an insult. His mouth pulled into a sharp grin that didn’t reach his optics.

“They’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, aren’t they?” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain, each word sharp as a dagger. “Sending me, Celsius, some nobody.”

Your helmet shifted slightly, and the question slipped from your dermas before you could rein in your need to make him angry. “Who?”

In an instant, the atmosphere around him transformed dramatically, thickening with an almost electric tension. It surged through him, coiling like a tightly wound spring just moments before it snapped, tight and expectant. The playful mockery that had once danced mischievously in his optics was snuffed out, leaving behind an unsettling void. In its place, a chilling darkness crept in, settling heavily over his features, distorting the lines of his face.

“‘Who?’” he repeated, his voice dropping to a growl. “You don’t know who I am?”

You stared at him, unflinching. “No.”

The crowd caught wind of the exchange, and a wave of laughter rippled through the stands. His frame stiffened, his optics narrowing as the noise grew louder.

“You’re funny,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t find it amusing. “That’s good. Keep that up—it’ll make this more entertaining.”

Without warning, he lunged.

For a mech his size, he moved with startling speed, closing the distance between you in a handful of strides. His fist came down like a hammer, a strike meant to pulverize. You twisted away just in time, his blow slamming into the ground with a force that sent tremors up through your stabilizers.

You darted back, your hammer raised defensively as you sized him up.

He was fast, yes, but his movements were heavy, over-committed. He fought like someone who had never needed to think about his strength—who had always relied on brute force to overpower his opponents.

“Stay still!” he barked, his voice sharp with irritation as he swung again, the arc of his arm slicing through the air.

You ducked, letting his momentum carry him past you.

“You’re wasting energy,” you said, the words slipping out before you could think better of it.

His growl was low and guttural, and when he turned back to you, his optics blazed with rage.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, I heard,” he said, his vents heaving. “Let’s see how smart it is when I’m done with you.”

He lunged at you once more, his movements becoming increasingly wild and unrestrained, each swing of his fists wide and erratic. You sidestepped, remembering the footwork Bluey had practically made you memorize. Your opponent wasn’t relying on his tactical knowledge; instead, he was fueled by a burning sense of pride. That pride, however, was proving to be his greatest weakness, as it blinded him to the precision and finesse with which you fought.

“Who trained you?” he sneered, his words cutting through the air like shrapnel. “Or did they just toss you in here to die?”

You didn’t answer. There was no point. Instead, you waited, watching for the next opening.

It came sooner than you expected.

He swung wide again, his arm sweeping out in a broad arc that left his side exposed. You stepped in, driving your hammer into the joint of his leg. The impact sent a jolt up your arms, and his armor buckled under the force. He staggered, a snarl tearing from his vocalizer as he struggled to stay upright.

“You’ll regret that,” he spat, his optics wild with fury.

Once again, you didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.

He lunged again, his movements growing sloppier with each passing moment. His rage was blinding him, clouding his judgment. He was making mistakes, and you were ready to exploit them.

You darted around him, landing a blow on his shoulder joint. He cursed, the sound raw and guttural, as his arm dropped, sparking at the connection. His frame trembled with the effort of staying upright, his vents rattling like loose machinery.

“Fight me!” he roared, his voice cracking in frustration. “Stop running and fight me!”

You held your ground, your optics steady as you watched him. “I don’t need to fight you,” you said, your tone calm, almost detached. “You’re beating yourself.”

The words struck him like a physical blow. He froze, his optics wide with disbelief, before the rage returned in full force. He charged blindly, his movements a chaotic blur of desperation and fury.

You stepped aside, his momentum carrying him past you. Then, with one final swing, you brought your hammer down on his remaining shoulder joint.

The impact sent him crashing to the ground, his frame buckling under the weight of his arrogance. He lay there, his vents sputtering, his optics dimming as he struggled to lift himself.

You stood over him, your stance steady, your frame casting a shadow over his.

He looked up at you, his optics burning with hatred and humiliation.

“Who,” you said, your voice low, broken by your tired breaths between syllables, “are you supposed to be again?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, like a thunderclap, the crowd erupted. Their cheers and jeers mingled in a cacophony that reverberated through the arena walls, their voices rising in a frenzy. Some shouted your name; others hurled insults at the fallen gladiator. The noise was deafening, but you let it wash over you, standing tall as their energy rippled through the air.

Their way of letting you know: That was an excellent match.

You allowed yourself a glance upward toward the tiered stands. The Overseers’ box loomed above, a dark shape crowded with figures seated in detached luxury. A few of them nodded, the faintest inclinations of approval that barely registered against the clinking of energon cubes and muted laughter from their table.

Most weren’t even watching.

Your optics narrowed as you saw what held their attention. A courier had delivered a tower of tiny energon cubes to their table. One of the bosses reached out, plucking a cube from the precariously stacked pile with the same carelessness as a mech selecting a datapad. Another laughed as the tower wobbled but held its balance.

Your spark twisted violently in your chest.

They weren’t watching. After all the effort, after the pain and adrenaline, the gamble of your life against another’s... you weren’t even worth their attention.

A tower of energon cubes was upstaging you.

A surge of fury swelled in your core, hot and all-consuming. You acted before you could think, your frame moving on instinct alone. With a sharp pull, you wrenched a shoulder plate free from your defeated opponent’s armor, the battered piece of metal groaning as it came loose in your servo.

Then, you hurled the plating across the arena. It sliced through the air, the momentum carrying it in a deadly arc straight toward the Overseers’ box.

The piece struck the energon tower dead-center.

The cubes tumbled spectacularly, scattering across their table and clattering to the floor. Shouts of alarm erupted as some of the bosses scrambled back, some leaping from their seats as the impact sent their delicate drinks and datapads spilling across their laps.

The crowd gasped, the collective intake of air almost louder than their earlier cheers. A shocked silence fell over the pit, stretching taut and electric as every optic turned to you.

For a moment, you simply stood there, your plating heaving as the heat of your anger coursed through you. Then, you inclined the upper part of your frame—just a fraction, the gesture somewhere between mockery and defiance. Your optics locked onto the Overseers as if daring them to look away again.

When you finally turned, you saw that the arena gates had opened at some point, the path to the exit yawning before you. You walked toward it without hesitation, without awaiting dismissal, your pedsteps echoing in the stunned silence that followed you.

Behind you, the crowd erupted louder than before, their voices carrying an amalgamation of shock, awe, and delight. They weren’t just watching now—they were riveted.

An excellent match, indeed.

But as you crossed the threshold into the dim corridors beyond the pit, the noise faded into the distance, and you could feel the weight of the Overseers’ glares pressing against your back. For the first time, you were sure they were paying attention.

Good. Let them.

[askhezureviews]

If I remember, you criticize the diamonds from Steven universe for being complex villains and having personalities. Then, you criticize Stella from helluva boss for being an abusive wife for seemingly no reason. Can you explain to me why this shouldn’t be considered hypocrisy (besides your hatred)?

Hello anon, your tone makes me believe you are a biased Viviziepop Stan who has missed the entire point of my criticism for both shows, so I’ll take this time to clarify:

The diamonds are amazing characters. They are complex. They are terrible people, but have redeeming qualities. They are their own characters outside of Pink Diamond.

Stella is not complex. She’s a terrible person with no redeeming qualities. Stella is not her own character outside of Stolas.

I’m extremely confused how you think these two are related. The only thing I’ve criticized the diamonds for was their rushed , not believable redemption. Let me explain; Blue and Yellow are the exception to a degree. They were expected and forced to conquer and control by White Diamond.

They were racist, homophobic (fusion) , and totalitarian. They murdered hundreds of thousands of people for the sake of their perfect empire, but they were imperfect themselves. If they didn’t do what White said, they would be in trouble and she would take their wills from them.

Blue and Yellow, the only reason they woke up is because Pink Diamond left. Because their closest family member died. After hundreds of years of shutting their emotions out and feeling nothing but emotion respectively, they finally woke up and realized how miserable they were. How miserable they’ve always been, and that’s what ultimately pushed Pink away. Pink was the only one that brought them together, who made them truly happy. Knowing they were responsible for their own misery, they realized they needed to change.

Blue and Yellow decided to become better people, but they still had a long ways to go. There’s a lot of damage to the universe they can never undo. It’s not too late to change, but we only saw them wanting to change for the sake of their family member. Magically, their biased racism and homophobia vanishes and they just become saints to their people over the course of a few years when their destructive terrible nature and belief system has been instilled into them for thousands of decades. The show didn’t have enough time to make this change to their morality believable, but had we had more time, it probably would have been perfectly acceptable.

The biggest issue here however is White Diamond. The show set up to pin the blame of the empire onto her. White diamond does not become a better person because she misses Pink Diamond. Even after the finale she still believes organic life, fusions, and off colors to be disgusting; her racism still peaking through. The thing that “redeems” her is a literal joke. Steven embarrasses her. She becomes insecure when she realizes she’s not living up to her own expectations. It’s all still completely narcissistic in nature.

Even to “redeem” herself, she goes around and lets other people control her body and will instead of the other way around, which, after ordering the conquer of hundreds of thousands of planets , with all the blood and gem shards on her hands- this is an extremely unusual , counterproductive way to undo any damage she caused to the universe. It feels like she didn’t suffer. One does not necessarily have to suffer to be redeemed, but when you are someone so full of yourself, so shut off and uncaring and not empathetic to the world around you, I believe, in order to truly change, you need to understand what other people have gone through because of you. You could argue she’s doing that by synchronizing with other people, but she’s not actually doing anything about the pain or suffering she’s caused them. She just lets them use her and take things out on her which isn’t productive either.

Long ramble short,Stella is flat, the Diamonds are complex. Helluva Boss has time to explore its villain characters, Steven Universe did not.

Stella is an annoying waste of screen time, while the Diamonds are integral to the series as well as the overall message.

These characters and series are incomparable.

[naehja]

Ok I'm for the Angst today.

For a little (very) angsty idea.

One day Airplane is very tired and frustrated. His work didn't become like he wanted. He had a lot of lore ideas, of relationships ideas…but people wanter porn. People wanted SQQ to suffer (looks to a certain cumcumber). He ended killing or not using characters he loved (without being able to use his ideas about them). People enjoyed Luo Binghe becoming violent, sadistic, pervert (becoming a r*pist). It's not what he wanted. He wanted to write something else with his characters. He wanted another story. Not THAT. But he needed money and people wanted THAT. But he's so frustrated. His story became something he hates….he hates what it became.

At a point, he listen a potcast about Conan Doyle and how he killed his main character to (try to) end the stories about him. Even if he failed since people wanted so much the character's return that he forced himself to find a way to make him survive and return.

And this famous day, he's so frustrated and disillusioned that he wrote about Luo Binghe's death. Like his demon blood, at a point, start to poison the human parts of his body because he's too powerful with his demon powers and he damage his body without realizing it. He writes how Luo Binghe becomes more and more tired, starts to cough blood, etc. How nothing can help him (no plants, meats, or even s*x).

He even writes lore about half demons to justify what happened. So it would no look like if he just invented it recently but had planned it. And so his book…his story, who became something he hated and was frustrated with, ended with Luo Binghe's death.

Half demons doesn't live long. Being 50/50 is dangerous.

Half Demon Body can't bear the fight between the two egal parts of his being: It's like if his own body was destroying half of his adn.

It's only happen with the Heavenly Demons. So the most powerful ones. Airplane even writes that Binghe's father never thought of the possibilty to have a child with a human so never spoke about those problems with his lover (Binghe's bio mum)

To avoid any reincarnation plot, he evens say that Binghe can't reincarne because demon reincarnation and human reincarnation are differents. And since he's 50/50, he can't use any of them.

Airplane, maybe a little drunk: Ha! fuck you! That's for have forced me to do stupid harem plot rather that all the serious and lore things that i wanted to write! You forced me torture and kill SQQ!! Well i kill Luo Binghe!

Airplane: I wish i could see Cumcumber's face when i'll publish that! In your face Hater =)

He has never the possibility to publish it (like for Shen Jiu's backstory) because he dies and is reincarnated as SQH.

He feels bad about a lot of things. Because SQQ's horrible backstory for exemple.

Everything Airplane wrote about this universe happens, right? The backstory of the characters, the deaths of certains characters…except after Shen Yuan being sent there, things seems to change: SQQ's change of behaviour, LQG is saved, etc…

But the change are not because the story is different but because Shen Yuan takes over SQQ's body. So yeah, some things become more and more differents. But others things stay the same.

And SQH realizes that nothing can change Luo Binghe's fate because he 100% wrote that NOTHING could save him and even wrote LORE to justify that nothing could save him. And that seen how everything happens sooner in this universe....

SQH: Well Fuuuuuck

SQH: …Should i tell Cumcumber bro?

*later*

SQQ: What do you mean, the inevitable death of Luo Binghe is coming in the future? OoO

System: Ask the author :/

[ecofear]

hi you're The rogue trader mutual to me so if it's not too much work could you tell me a bit about it :) i'm interested in trying it out and i did read the wikipedia article but i would like to hear something less formal

of course no pressure if you don't have time or energy for it

TAKES A DEEP BREATH

let me set up warhammer 40k a little bit.

this is a very rich with lore universe, it is full of things to consume and learn about, every warhammer 40k fan has their favourite things about it, and there's so many sub-communities based on these things. people who love the imperium, tech-priest fans, necron fans, all sorts, all in their little bubbles. it's fascinating! there's also multiple points in history people can fixate on! i know some people who only care about the emperor's sons (known as the primarchs) and the lorea and stories around them!

to give a very tldr rundown... warhammer 40k is a post apocalyptic world, long after humanity had left terra to explore the galaxy.

to start: people started to be born as psychic mutants, and that's how we got the first navigators, which allowed humanity to explore further than ever before, along with the creation of the warp-drive. this is when the imperium was first created. humanity thrived for a long time, but over time, psykers started to be born, think of them as humans who could use a form of magic. unfortunately, psykers are at risk of being possessed by daemons, or opening portals to allow daemons in, which caused the downfall of humanity.

and then, the emperor of humanity, started a great crusade, in simple terms, to save humanity. he formed the pact with mars' tech-priests to use their technology, and created the primarchs (his sons, which are just genetic clones of himself) as well as the space marine legions... thus the imperiums expansion began. and the start of the horus heresy... which is chronicled in like one of the longest book series ever... just consider it the imperium (humanity) waging war after war after war trying to expand and grow and save themselves, and losing, and winning, and dying, and... yeah. eventually this ends but - humanity stagnates, is probably the best way i can put it.

the game rogue trader is theorised to take place around 999.M41. this means it takes place in... warhammer 40,000! the horus heresy takes place in 30,000... but i think it's important just just set up that beginning part. humanity is fucked, lets put it this way. everything that happened has let humanity to be terrified of power. they cling to the emperor, cling to the past they've lost, much of their history, their knowledge, completely gone. but they are so afraid of things getting like they were, of someone gaining so much power like horus had, that they just.. can't allow themselves to advance again. to the point people who think about that or suggest it are called heretics and killed. to say the imperium isn't perfect as it is now is heresy - but without advancement.. humanity is going to die. they have stagnated and eventually they won't be able to continue - but they are so proud, they can't admit it, or see it.

warhammer 40k is a depressing series of watching humanity suffer, and not taking any chances to change it. they just keep trying to expand. to take over planets and systems. to control everything. they see every other alien species are wrong, villainous, antagonists, that must be put down. even pyskers are treated horribly, despite the fact that their own emperor they love so much, is a psyker.

in rogue trader, you play as a character chosen by the emperor to expand into systems much further out than the imperium has, lawless, dangerous... your job is to bring them under heel. to rule, absolutely. while also squabbling with other rogue traders in the same system who also want it - because personal power is just as important. rogue trader is a game where you literally don't deal with money mechanics because you have more wealth than you could possibly know. you have at least 25,000 people living on your ship, some who have never left it, generations of their families born upon your ship, with you as their almighty ruler.

it's a game where you can be the best ruler to your people you can be, either by following the imperium's law absolutely, or by actually doing the right thing - which is against the law, btw. you could even listen to the whispers of chaos in your ear, be a psyker who plays a little too closely to the edge, risking daemons and god knows what else. you are forced to make hard choices. you have weight on your shoulders that risks crushing you. are you going to lead your people to glory? are you going to protect them, and try to save them? are you going to lead them straight into the maw of a god who will consume them whole? rogue trader is a fun roleplaying game. warhammer 40k is a fun roleplaying tabletop game. being lawful good is being just another sheep in the imperium whos going to watch it sail to its death with a salute, being a bad character is actually wanting the best for people - for treating alien races with respect and not killing them on sight, and being evil is like becoming the chosen prophet of a god who wants to ascend you to their right hand like a bride...

and that's before we even consider the absolutely insane dynamics with your companions. your senechal who is so deathly loyal to you he will focus you into the maws of chaos? your psyker diviner who just wants to be loved and appreciated - and how terribly you can twist her in this desire? a sister of battle who finds a sick gratification in killing - but she's killing for her god, so it's completely just, of course. how about a tech-priest who borders on the heretical with such a tight rope that pushing him over the edge is too easy - as if he was already there to begin with? or a space marine - a wolf - who is exactly like what you'd expect a space marine to be. we even have some hidden companions... one of which who is so fascinating to me, a priest, a prophet, a chaos space marine....

and how genuinely interesting the romances are. do you want a classic period drama romance where you woo a noble lady who blushes if you hold her hand and thinks kissing it is too forward? do you want to melt the ice man who has so much trauma and you swear you can fix him? do you wanna seduce a woman by gifting her an entire planet while she broadcasts your sex across your entire ship so all 25,000+ people hear it? do you want to slaughter your own people for sexual gratification and torture your loyal subjects while engaging in bdsm with an alien who can be your dom or your sub but god forbid you try to switch - which also has an ownership branding scene? how about a 'me and you against the world' soulmates type romance with an alien who sees you as a primative beast but your desire to understand her and her people softens her to you - and the furthest this romance can ever go is holding hands within your minds as you meditate together? or how about a death cult assassin whos been slaughtering your enemies who hide upon your ship right under your nose who very much wants to become your right hand like a devoted paladin-assassin of blood and murder?

ok i've typed so much i've made my arms sore but i genuinely could go on if not for this limitation..... i love rogue trader. i love it. i love it so much. i get so sad when i see roleplaying game enjoyers having no interest in picking it up. it's life changing. it's everything. it's a roleplaying game where you are beautifully rewarded for roleplaying. there's so much freedom. it's delicious to be evil, to manipulate and twist people to chaos. its maddening to try and follow the right path and be punished for it. and its gratifying to follow the emperors will.

[eerna]

I have so many thoughts from Arcane S2 (mostly negative) and I was so happy when I saw others had similar views on here! Sorry in advance. This is a bit of a rant 😅

Tbh i think one of my bigger issues with the act 3 would’ve been fixed if Isha lived. I haven’t read too far into your blog so idk your thoughts on Isha but I truthfully like her introduction as a catalyst for Jinx’s redemption this season. To give Jinx a role as both Silco and Vi to someone else and pretty much give her reason to survive and later live as seen in Act 2. It was rushed of course, like everything else this season, but I could see where they were going with Isha and I liked the vision.

But moving on - her living honestly would fix some of my issues with act 3. Mainly the Caitvi sex scene, Jinx reason for listening to Ekko and join the final battle, and her death scene.

For obvious reasons the horrible Caitvi jail scene was so weird!! Jinx just admits to her sister that she’s going to commit suicide and then you get it on, IN JAIL, with your dictator crush??! Ok? Like yay representation but there is a time and place??

They could’ve still have Jinx get arrested by Cait, cause it’s cait… still have Vi come in and free her and try to convince Jinx to help them in their war or whatever. But instead she escapes to find Isha. Then they can have their jail sex scene, which would still be a bit on the nose, but at least less out of place from Vi whose main motivation since forever has been her sister.

Everyone was already predicting that Ekko would save Isha with the ZDrive anyways, so if he did that would have gotten Jinx to trust in Ekko so much more than just a few out of context motivational speeches?? She had lost everyone! Why would Ekko, who was trying to kill her last time they saw each other, actually convince her to live? She doesn’t know what went down in the other universe? Like I love Timebomb, they are my OTP, but I’m still sceptical that he actually convinced Jinx to not kill herself. If Isha lives and Ekko saved her, then the reason Jinx decides to help out in the final battle is a mix of owing Ekko for saving Isha, a mix of still loving Vi and wanting to help her, and to save Isha from dying in Viktor glorious evolution.

And finally her death scene wouldn’t feel so gross. Like in the show the girl was suicidal! Why make the suicidal, semi-redeemed main character die at the end? After just convincing her to live?! I’m pretty sure she survived but honestly I could not see her motivation for trying to escape the explosion after seeing her mental state in the last 2 episodes. But if Isha survived… look at that! A motivator!

And it’s not like they actually need to give Isha much screen time either? She’s a child and the final episodes are a war. Just have a scene or a line about her going somewhere safe to ride out the battle.

And look at that! Now Isha is no longer a character just created for dramatic purposes! She’s still there only for Jinx’s development but now has the opportunity to grow into her own individual character cause she not, you know, dead?

Isha surviving wouldn’t fix a lot of my issues with Season 2. There are MANY more. but at least some of my problems surrounding Jinx’s characterisation in the final act would work a bit better for me in MY opinion.

Idk if any of this actually makes sense but I really needed to get my thoughts out before i go insane from the ending. Cause what the hell was that??

Feel free to rant, expel the demons before they expel you!! I don't think Isha was a good addition to the story, but I can totally see your point in how her survival could have lessened the issues plaguing arc 3 (and her characterization). Jinx' suicidal tendencies were definitely mishandled (even though she does choose to live in the end, just not in Piltover) and granting her at least some consistency in motivation could have gone a long way!

[motsimages]

How did this character get his education? How old is he?

Even in a modern setting, in a city, it could be difficult for him to have an interpreter in every class. In some countries, this is not conceived (he would have to go to a school for the deaf, specifically); in some others, there aren't enough interpreters, and if they have to travel to his town, maybe they are there for a couple of hours and then leave to another school with another deaf kid. Maybe there is a bilingual school with both deaf and hearing children and some teachers sign or they have interpreters in every class. If he had an interpreter for his education in this small town, did they stay in touch later on in life?

If he had to go to a school for the deaf, why did he come back to the small town? Very often, deaf people who leave the village for the school stay wherever that school is because all their life ends up being there (it's easier to find jobs as well, given that your network is there). So what made him come back? Does he miss it? Is he in touch with people?

Another thing to consider for him would be: how bilingual is he? Because Sign languages have a different structure from Oral languages, and learning to read and write in an oral language while being deaf is reading and writing in a language that is not your own, and many of them read and write very poorly (the older the generation, the bigger the gap, but often subtitles are hard to follow which is why they have been pushing to have an interpreter on tv). In my experience with deaf people, even those with university studies struggle to write like an oral speaker. Their syntax and grammar is off in various degrees. This, amongst many other things related to how Sign languages work, can create a lot of communication problems (even if deaf people tend to be very good at communicating). How literate is this person and how bilingual will affect his isolation too. Hearing people will assume he speaks the oral language as good as them, and he will very likely also think that whenever he uses the oral language, it's the same language all the other people use.

Also, all these questions apply to his mum, but even more. If he lives in the year 2024 with whatever advances deaf culture and sign language has for him, his mum did not have them, which could make her even more isolated than him in this small town (could she get higher education? If so, how? And again, why did she end up here with a hearing husband?). This is important because it will affect their relationship.

one of the main characters of my story is Deaf, and because the story is set in a very small town, he doesn't really have any chance to connect with Deaf culture, so should i change that?

his parents are divorced, and he used to live with his mum, who's also Deaf, but has been living with his hearing dad for a while now in this small town. the story kind of focuses on a theme of isolation in small towns, so my current plan is to show how he's isolated from the rest of the town because they don't bother to learn sign language to communicate with him. the other main character, is his best friend, has learned sign language, so he can communicate with her and his dad (there's some other people who know very basic signs but aren't really putting in the effort if that makes sense)

is it better if i acknowledge that living in this very small, isolated town means that he is cut off from Deaf culture (especially compared to when he used to live with his mum) and ergo doesn't really fit into the rest of the town. i want to make it clear that it's on the town for expecting him to assimilate and not use sign language, all because they don't want to learn yk?

any advice in this is appreciated!!!

Hi!

Why doesn't he live with his mom anymore? Is there times he can go back to her and the Deaf community he (presumably) has there?

Also consider when this story is set. If it's modern day, there are so many ways to connect to people online, so he wouldn't be entirely cut off from his community.

The thing about small towns is people will know him, as the Deaf person. Consider what that attitude will be like. Will people be understanding and know, even if they're not willing to learn sign, to get out a pencil and paper for him? Or will the attitude be more condescending, infantilizing, or unwilling to accommodate in any way?

Another thing to consider in small towns is access to accessibility resources. Is he able to get interpreters? Are they qualified? If he can't access qualified interpreters, what accommodations is he being provided?

Community is important, and especially depending on these factors, your character will react differently. If he genuinely cannot connect with anyone else in his town, what are the consequences? Is he depressed? Does he seek out online community? etc.

I'd also like you to consider: why are you isolating your Deaf character? Deafness in a hearing setting on its own can be a huge isolator, without even factoring in the "small town with no other signers" part. Is there a reason he's been separated from his community?

You don't necessarily have to change your story, but there are several more aspects you should consider to figure out exactly how your Deaf character goes through his daily life.

Mod Rock

[cartoonkitten]

JUST LOOKED THROUGH MY OLD FICLETS AND FORGOT I DID THIS WHEN ATSV CAME OUT

[fujii-draws]

“Ohh Bidoof has a Journal!” “Sunflora has a Diary if you go into her room”— WHAT ABOUT PARTNER???

[oneluckydragon]

"Suddenly the world was gray and dull and my heart was so heavy I felt like I couldn’t move, let alone make it back to Treasure Town. But because of Echo’s last wish… I was able to keep living.”

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

SORA : (Partner)

Abilities: Justified / Inner Focus

Nature: Gentle / Hardy

Moveset: Aura Sphere / Metal Claw / Poison Jab / Dragon Pulse

[fragmentedblade]

The "Dan Heng is Dan Feng" dogmatics annoy me a lot. It entirely brushes off one of the most interesting and prevalent questions posed by the game, incarnated by several characters and stories that give the question different hues with different potential answers, and a constant also in HI3, like a thread waving the two games together

[tigergendermoved2tigergender]

Remembering the toxic hellscape that was 2015-2019ish SU fandom and just how much hate the show got is really insane when you rewatch the show after it's been a while. Like the show is good what the hell were any of these people talking about

[firstofficerkittycat]

when the doctor asked emma grayling who clara is and she was like "she's a perfectly ordinary girl shes very clever and she's more scared than she lets on is that not enough" literally me to moffat

[brittlebutch]

finally found a place to read With the Light online and i'm thrilled; if you haven't read this manga i do Legitimately recommend it