#tragic backstory = redemption arc

[bsdtakanenohana]

Exhibit 1 of people in this fandom basing their forgiveness of a character’s crimes based on how much they’ve suffered.

the strangest thing to me about the BSD fandom is the fact that the vast majority of people in it are dazai fans, while also consistently assuming the absolute worst of him, disregarding the circumstances around his actions and giving him no grace or consideration of his situation whatsoever.

there's no doubt dazai is a bad person in many ways. he did plenty of unjustifiable, inexcusable things. he's pathologically manipulative with a totally skewed moral compass, most of which was undoubtedly brought on by his upbringing in the mafia. but at the same time, i see such a huge number of people taking that and somehow ending up with - and vehemently defending - this idea that he's a remorseless, indifferent, innately cruel person by nature?

are we forgetting this is the same dazai who was forced to false-witness a murder at fourteen years old? the same dazai who already wracked up numerous suicide attempts barely out of his pre-teens?the same dazai who was referred to by everyone around him as a 'demon' at fifteen years old? the same dazai consistently described as having grief-filled, empty expressions and detached, vacant reactions to practically everything when he was so young? the same dazai that oda described as "a child crying in the dark, alone, left to fend for himself with a hole in his heart as large as the world itself"?

that dazai is an indifferent, heartless, innately psychopathic person? really? i'm not convinced.

[sol-insidious]

Post-Episode 5 reaction

[fiddlesix]

Thank u for being a billford hater ur blog is a Safe Space for those of us who hate that stupid triangle I was lowkey tearing my hair out during the stream from how much billford nonsense was in the chat thank u for being a kindred spirit, peace and love

fanks anon 🤸🏼‍♀️ peace n love

[tvaccaro]

Not Every Villain Needs To Be Sympathetic

Hero: "Why are you doing this?!" Villain: "Well you see, when I was a child, my parents were killed before my eyes." Hero: "Oh my. So... the trauma led you onto a path where you believed you were the hero of your own story?" Villain: "Actually no. In fact, it made me embrace the fact I'm an unrepentant piece of shit." Hero: "Wait, what? How?" Villain: "I mentioned I was the one who killed them, right?" Hero: "..." Villain: "You really need to stop making assumptions about people, dude. Very condescending. Anyhow, if you could be a darling and just run into my knife a few times."

[bsdtakanenohana]

Akutagawa stans be acting the same way as the Dazai stans they claim to hate 😭💀 Reducing him down to a sad emo boy who was abused and not as evil as people try to make him seem.

The way this fandom uses the amount of abuse someone has suffered as a way to exonerate them from the horrible things they did is a major problem.

Even though most fans who say “there is a cycle of abuse in BSD. Mori -> Dazai -> Akutagawa -> Kyouka” tend to oversimplify things and struggle with the true depths of characters and organizations and how good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things and people who straddle both lines (all things covered in BSD), I’d rather deal with them than the people who try to say one of the three people mentioned above never abused the person in the cycle below them but did them good, but all the other members involved did abuse someone else/were abused. Bc they like that character and will bend reality to suit their tastes.

[mistystarshine]

Salvation on the Radio - Taste of Reality

“Yes,” Sera repeats. “It will take time and effort, but if you can prove that the Hazbin Hotel can redeem enough sinners to keep hell’s population in check, I will do everything in my power to see that the exterminations end.”

Charlie opens her mouth, not even knowing what to say, and—

“Great. Woo. So excited for you,” Adam cuts in. “But what about me?”

Sera turns to Adam with a frown. “I would have thought that I just gave you your solution.”

Adam sputters, hurt showing for a bare instant before shifting into incredulousness and finally settling on a stubborn refusal to believe what he’s hearing. “Come on, Sera,” he says, the faintest hint of a plea bleeding into his dismissiveness. “You can’t be saying that you expect me to go through with this hotel bullshit.”

[that-ineffable-devil]

I remember a conversation I had relatively recently with a group of guys lamenting over the fact that Boba Fett wasn't treated as a true villain in his series, which they extended to the argument "nobody is allowed to just be a villain anymore they have to have some sort of tragic backstory with a redemption arc" and like...

I'm sorry y'all aren't more open to queer media because you're fucken missing out, my guys.

[incensuous]

me, in 2023: *adopts scaramouche as my son*

me, in 2006: *adopts gaara as my son*

oh.... i understand now

[angels-heap]

Did not make nearly as much writing progress this weekend as I would have liked to, but don’t worry, Dr. Magnusson is still getting his redemption arc. Just... very slowly.

[deception-united]

Let's talk about character arcs.

Character arcs refer to the transformation or development of a character over the course of a story. This typically involves changes in their beliefs, attitudes, or behavior in response to challenges and experiences and how the confrontation of their flaws leads to eventual personal growth.

Developing compelling character arcs is essential for engaging storytelling and characters that resonate with your readers. Here are some tips to help you craft effective character arcs:

Establish Clear Goals: Each character should have clear, specific goals they want to achieve. These goals can be external (e.g., defeating a villain, finding a lost treasure) or internal (e.g., overcoming fear, finding redemption). The arc will revolve around the character's journey towards these goals.

Create Flawed Characters: Characters should have flaws or weaknesses that they need to overcome throughout the story. These flaws make them relatable and provide opportunities for growth.

Initiate Change: A character arc involves change. Whether it's a positive transformation or a tragic downfall, the character should not remain static throughout the story. They should evolve in response to the challenges they face and the experiences they undergo.

Conflict is Key: Conflict is essential for driving character development. Characters must face obstacles, both internal and external, that challenge their beliefs, values, and abilities. These conflicts force them to confront their flaws and make choices that impact their arc.

Show Progression: As the story progresses, illustrate the character's growth and change through their actions, decisions, and relationships. Show how their experiences shape their perspective and behavior over time.

Foreshadowing and Setup: Lay the groundwork for the character arc early in the story through subtle hints, foreshadowing, and backstory. This helps create a sense of continuity and believability in the character's development.

Include Setbacks and Failures: Characters should not succeed at everything they attempt. Setbacks and failures are crucial for character growth, as they provide opportunities for reflection, learning, and resilience.

Internal and External Arcs: Characters should experience both internal and external arcs. While external arcs focus on tangible goals and obstacles, internal arcs delve into the character's emotions, beliefs, and personal growth.

Resolution and Transformation: By the end of the story, ensure that the character undergoes a significant transformation or resolution that reflects their arc. This conclusion should feel earned based on the challenges they've faced and the choices they've made.

Consistency and Authenticity: Maintain consistency in the character's development and ensure that their arc feels authentic to their personality, motivations, and experiences. Avoid sudden or unrealistic changes that don't align with the character's established traits.

Hope this was helpful! Happy writing ❤

Previous | Next

[bonefall]

Clear Sky is a Monster.

Of all the characters in Warrior Cats, I think Clear Sky was the most heavily mishandled.

At every turn, the narrative begs you to sympathize with him, to "understand" the "misunderstood." To this end, his brother Gray Wing is used to "keep faith" in his inherent goodness, his abused son, Thunder, is forced to go back to him over and over, and his second dead wife is completely lobotomized in death to absolve him of all sin.

Because of this, of all this set-up for the "redemption" arc they're trying to tell in the last three books, DOTC is Clear Sky's story. Everything primarily exists to benefit and serve his arc. Thunder and Gray Wing might have POVs, but HE is the character who truly drives the plot. So in order to HAVE conflict for that back half, two evil foreign cats, Slash and One Eye, are summoned to act as contrast.

Their narrative purpose is to display "true evil" to make Clear Sky look less bad in comparison. Unfortunately, Clear Sky is the most malignant, deadly character who has ever blighted Warrior Cats.

The "pure evil" examples they summon aren't effective contrasts because they're flat. Clear Sky is what real abusers look like.

His rhetoric is what it sounds like when a cult leader is trying to keep control over a group. He lies when it benefits him, justifies his actions with his tragic backstory to assuage his guilt and manipulate others, and violently lashes out when his feelings are hurt before blaming his victim for making him angry.

He only made "some mistakes" in that SOME of his actions were accidents-- the vast majority of them were malicious, self-absorbed, intentional choices to punish, hurt, and kill others.

I've spoken about Bumble. I've tallied his body count next to Tigerstar. I've talked about how his infant son's death was his fault in sequel books, and called attention to the infected wound face shoving scene that no one talks about. I can't fit every detail into a single post-- because he's so rancid that I would practically be posting entire books.

So what I want to do here is tackle the heart of Clear Sky. Everything he does, everything he's motivated by, is absolute and utter control over other people. He leverages his "trauma" to evoke empathy from his targets to make them easier to manipulate. He's a dirty liar. He breaks down to physical violence when all other tactics stop working.

He's one of the most severe and realistic abusers I've ever read about outside of very adult literature-- and when I read the reasons why he's attracted to Star Flower, my stomach immediately lurched.

The Killing of Misty

Starvation Rhetoric and the Memory of Fluttering Bird

Aside; a question

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation

Exoneration arc

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

I think that index is an evocative content warning. But to say it again; this post contains child and domestic abuse, physical assault, public humiliation, incestuous grooming implications, and a lot of murder.

I need to start with the death of Misty. I see a few people saying that Clear Sky killed her for "being on his land" or trespassing, but this is actually a misstatement that I feel is important to correct.

Misty and her children were on their own land. It was her house. Clear Sky killed her to take it.

This is one of the most important details to remember about Clear Sky, that this is the consistent end point of his obsessive need for power and control. By harassment, by violence, or by death, he will brutalize anyone who does not give him what he wants, or who makes him feel bad, and find some way to justify it.

This territory expansion was for no logical reason. There was plenty of food and plenty of land. Any aggression that's happening on this territory is in response to how he's been stealing land and mauling people.

When it's found out she was fighting to defend her children, Clear Sky's immediate response is to slaughter them too.

Petal doesn't have milk either. It wasn't about the logistics. He wanted to kill the kids, because looking at them made him feel bad, and she just managed to stop him.

Starvation Rhetoric and the Image of Fluttering Bird

It is often said that Clear Sky is doing this because he's "traumatized" from how his little sister, Fluttering Bird, starved to death in the mountains. That the emotion came from wanting to feed people. That's incorrect. It wasn't about food. Fluttering Bird's death, and all the "starvation" he's faced, are used as manipulation tactics to guilt, influence, and control other characters, particularly when he might meet resistance or be held accountable for something.

It was always, ALWAYS, about control.

He does not care about actually helping people; "Starvation Rhetoric" through Fluttering Bird is an image he can invoke to justify the actions that are as bloody and cruel as the one this post starts off with. Either in his own mind, or in the minds of the cats he's manipulating.

He does this to Falling Feather, before slicing her face open in anger when she doesn't buy it. He does it to Rainswept Flower, before he strangles her to death. And he does it in the chapter just before Misty's murder, both to his Clan and then to Thunder,

Clear Sky climbed up in front of an entire crowd and gave a grand speech about hunger and "adjusting" the borders around territory he plans to conquer. When he gets to "forgiveness" he feigns pain to make his point because he is performing. If the sentiment is not a total lie, then at bare minimum, he is intentionally playing this up for the crowd.

He is rallying the Clan to support his violence against the cats whose land he wants to steal, and selling it with his life's hardships.

The audience is clearly well-trained, because several cats recognize the cue, particularly Frost who is praised for loudly comforting him. This signals "loyalty" because showing your sympathy towards his "suffering" is how this type of emotional manipulation works. It creates a persecuted, righteous in-group.

He's also apparently used this tactic before, since this entire crowd knows what "I Would Never Forgive Myself " means.

He's made sycophants out of his followers. Like a cult leader.

His abused son, however, hasn't been fully indoctrinated yet. Seeing Thunder uncomfortable with the idea of expanding the borders for no reason, Clear Sky calls him over for a personal propaganda session.

Clear Sky begins the exchange by calling this a "duty" and a "great honor." Immediately framing what he plans to do as righteous.

He puts on the act when Thunder shows resistance, dramatically pausing to let the guilt trip sink in.

"Thunder waited, realizing that he said the wrong thing."

And then Clear Sky launches into infantilizing Thunder, talking down to him like a child who's too inexperienced to see the "signs of starvation," acting like he's being "patient" in "explaining" it.

And then we get it. "I know what starvation looks like (so stop trusting your own eyes) because I have been through more than you (so shut up and do what I tell you), and I'm being a HERO for what I'm about to do (so opposing me would make you a bad person)."

Thanks to these crocodile tears, looking "moved," the act works. The victim is immediately wracked by guilt because the abuser seems genuinely emotional.

He even lovebombs him over the corpse of Misty in the next chapter, making Thunder feel threatened.

Thunder doesn't have the words to describe what is happening to him, but he knows that this sudden snap to praise isn't natural. That something is very wrong.

A Question.

Before I move on to show that this IS an act, and that he is lying about how important avoiding starvation is to him, I will ask a question. Please think about it, because I promise I mean it genuinely;

Why does it matter if Clear Sky actually believes this or not?

The victims are just as dead either way, yes? Thunder is just as abused and guilt tripped. The entire Clan has been driven towards violence while coddling and cooing at their Supreme Leader. Clear Sky is slowly annexing the entire forest. If you have ever accepted that he had "good intentions" as an excuse for the harm he did, or that abuse and murder was what he imagined was "the right thing," or that his trauma justifies the way he leverages his own pain to make cats do what he wants... why do you think that?

Why does that make it morally better, as the narrative concludes? Would you accept the same for every other WC villain or antagonist? Tigerstar? Slash? Tom the Wifebeater? Brokenstar? Rainflower?

How could you tell the difference, if you couldn't read their actual thoughts on the page? ...are there any other "good intentions" you've accepted, somewhere else?

Don't share that answer with me. It's a question for you. Sit with it.

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation.

...but, regardless, Clear Sky is not deluded about starvation. It's a justification for his obsessive need for control, and always has been. There was no shortage before stealing Misty's land and kits, he is fully aware that there's more prey than they can eat.

He punishes Falling Feather with hunger and harassment for thought crime, by briefly thinking of leaving. But first, he invokes Fluttering Bird at her like he did before, flying into a screeching fit of rage when she doesn't buy it,

"I'm sorry I hurt you... BUT" is THE wifebeater phrase. THE stereotypical line of a domestic abuser. "I'm sorry I hit you... but it's your fault for making me so angry."

She went through the same exact starvation he did, calls out that he's just framing his greed as being for the collective benefit of his subjects, and is assaulted for that.

When we're in his head, we see his REAL concerns are not about hunger. He invoked Fluttering Bird to try and make her shut up and bow down to him; what he's focused on is her "gossiping" and "whining" about the open wound he left on her face. He's still furious at Fircone and Nettle for how Thunder QUESTIONED him. So he will "strengthen their commitment."

When "starvation" DOES enter his thoughts, it is to assuage his own guilt and JUSTIFY what he already did. What he already WANTS to do. It's post-hoc.

He had to suppress his own guilt at how his greed and ambition made these children into orphans, completely unable to admit that he's ever been wrong or has a change to make, so he invokes the starvation rhetoric at himself to excuse it. So he feels less bad.

Everything, EVERYTHING, in this confrontation is about his pleasure at being able to torment his subordinates. To continue the abuse when the initial confrontation is over. If it isn't pride in his power and control over them, it's plain sadism.

He invokes starvation in front of the crowd, again, after being pleasured at the guilt in her eyes, hoping that everyone sees her writhing with shame and embarrassment. Fear wasn't at the root of why he assaulted Falling Feather; rage was, and now he feels better that he got to humiliate the person who offended him.

Starvation Rhetoric is a manipulation tactic.

It goes RIGHT BACK to his twisted idea of "loyalty." Obedience.

A cat who's actually, primarily concerned about starvation wouldn't encourage other cats to steal her food if they feel like it. He wouldn't be using it as a weapon to retaliate against her because she hurt his feelings.

This is paired with the fact he restricts and monitors the diet of his cats. They eat when he allows it, and only what he gives them, in spite of there being piles of dead animals rotting, going to waste.

We then find he personally doles out food from these piles, plucking carcasses off them and flinging them at his cats, one by one. Probably so he can watch how grateful they are to him and make sure they stay a little hungry-- and definitely because it means he can control WHO gets to eat at all.

If Clear Sky chucked a mouse at Falling Feather and someone took it? She would have gone hungry. For not groveling to him. Like when he decides to starve her brother; a hostage who he promised to feed and care for.

He's a dishonest snake. He lied about abandoning baby Thunder, calling it a "test of strength," he lied about Bumble's death, he lied about keeping Jackdaw's Cry fed.

And he lied about starvation to Thunder, because he was just making up an excuse to steal more land.

He wasn't "seeing the signs" of starvation when he moved to "adjust" his borders. Even FURTHER into this so-called "delusional slip" into tyranny, he's freely admitting that it takes months for a person to starve when it benefits his sadistic need to punish undeserving cats.

"Dumb moor cats, always expecting more than they DESERVE."

Not need. DESERVE. It's not a delusion about starvation and it never was. STARVATION is how he CONTROLS SkyClan, and once again he's angry that his pleasure has been sullied.

The massacre at Fourtrees was started over Jackdaw's Cry catching a bat after being starved, on land that Clear Sky has decided RIGHT NOW that he also owns, because it mades him think about being disobeyed.

The bat is forgotten as Clear Sky pivots into a tantrum, wanting to make his family HURT for being 'disloyal' and 'ungrateful.' For leaving him. He LIKES seeing people grovel, cower, and beg, getting PLEASURE from watching how he can hurt and command other cats, and if you don't give him what he wants he will kill you.

Which, make no mistake, is what the "First Battle" actually is. Clear Sky attempting to murder those who don't worship him or swear their undying fealty to him and his twisted dictatorship. Particularly his own son, the most prominent victim of his emotional abuse.

It's not about the bat. It was never even about food or starvation. It's about retaliation for any perceived lack of control.

Once again he breaks out starvation rhetoric to try and manipulate someone, and when Rainswept Flower doesn't buy it just like Falling Feather didn't, he murders her in another fit of entitled rage.

Exoneration arc.

At the end of this battle that was entirely his own fault, we're introduced to the hollowed-out ghost of Storm. She has been flushed of all personality, so that she can be the perfect narrative mouthpiece.

She accepts yet another Fluttering Bird Invocation in spite of how we saw it's not sincere. He was lying the entire time and using starvation rhetoric as a manipulation tactic to get control over his victims.

And that's it.

That's the consequence. Storm's a little mad at him until he says "Buttering Flird" and she swoons.

He doesn't have to be ""afraid"" anymore because the cats just invented an afterlife to believe in. He keeps all of his power and influence and gets off scot-free, because "guilt" (which we SAW him repressing anyway) is supposed to be the best consequence for murder, abuse, and tyranny.

The husk of Storm even materializes again at the end of book 5 to say it outright; he "never drove anyone away." Not even after Book 4 where it's also his fault One Eye took over his Clan for 5 minutes. It was just destiny.

His "redemption arc" is just an exoneration arc. The narrative doesn't think he really did anything wrong.

EVERYTHING about Clear Sky has ALWAYS been about making grabs at power, but since the narrative didn't see a problem with him extorting his personal tragedy and the death of a child, his own sister, he continues doing it. As if these behaviors are normal personality 'traits'.

Even when that sister COMES OUT OF HEAVEN TO YELL AT HIM DIRECTLY,

He finds a way to COMPLETELY miss the point, so he can interpret her words in a bizarrely specific way that will conveniently end with him being the supreme dictator of the entire forest. Just like he ALWAYS does.

It's the entire 5th book. Clear Sky trying to convince everyone, including himself, that it's Fluttering Bird who wants him to grab at power, NOT himself and his own ambition, that THIS time, he promises, for realsies, it's actually about keeping everyone safe.

But just like ALWAYS, because he does not change, when this tried and true tactic manages to work on Thunder, during ANOTHER exchange where he's dramatically pausing and using the cold shoulder to make his pitiable act land harder,

He lapses right back into bullying his child, creating situations where Thunder will have difficulty or be put in pain, so that he can have an excuse to mock and belittle him.

And this all comes to a head when Clear Sky takes romantic interest in Star Flower, his abused son's previous romantic interest.

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

Direct parallels are drawn between Thunder and Star Flower. Star Flower contrasts her loyalty to her father to Thunder's "disloyalty" to his own, in an appeal to Clear Sky.

Clear Sky brushes it off for now, citing that he cannot accept her because of who her father was.

But then, Thunder makes the connection between himself and her, because he knows what it is like to be a victim of parental abuse and correctly clocks that they have this in common,

On his vouch, Clear Sky accepts her into the group. She starts trying to offer himself to him; hunting twice as hard as the others, self-imposing harsh conditions like taking a wet sleeping spot. In their second interaction, Clear Sky begins to take interest in her.

Thunder himself points out that Star Flower is seeking an abusive tyrant to replace her own father, which reads like he's deflecting the stress of how his father is abusing him to deny a connection he already made. As if Thunder sees so much of himself in Star Flower that it makes him (rightly) feel sick that his father is romantically invested in her;

Thunder then goes on to follow his own advice and form his own Clan, because Clear Sky IS like One Eye... while Star Flower remains here. At Clear Sky's side. Because she feels like this is what she "deserves," that she "understands" him, truly believing that her crime (warning her father that Clear Sky brought an ambush in case he lost the 1 on 1 death match he requested, which he did) are on the same level as his abuse and murders.

Clear Sky is attracted to Star Flower because, in his own words;

She is young.

She will not betray him.

She won't question him,

and she obeys him.

We've seen what "betrayal" is to Clear Sky-- not taking his excuses or his beatings. To "disobey" is betrayal. To "question" is disobedience.

These are ALL things he's tried to drill into Thunder. We saw him happily exploit their difference in age to tell him he can't have an opinion. He constructed humiliating games in retaliation for ever being questioned. He tried to murder Thunder and his friends for their "betrayal." Even now, being disobeyed causes explosive reactions.

He was previously grooming the things he now identifies as attractive in a young woman into his child.

If your body becomes too useless to serve him, like Frost and Jagged Peak, you're thrown out. If you don't unquestioningly follow his bloody commands, like Falling Feather or Thunder, you're subjected to abuse and public humiliation. If you're in his way, like Misty or Rainswept Flower were, you die.

If you meet all of his expectations...

You will be in a horrific position where you will never have agency over your own life ever again. Every move, every word, will have to be carefully crafted so that he feels like you're "loyal" to him by the arbitrary standard he feels that day. Never step out of line, never doubt his decisions, never live for anyone except him and the children you will give him, not even for a moment, because then you will not be "worthy" of his grace.

Star Flower would be in serious danger if this series wasn't written by abuse apologists. They accidentally wrote a perfect reflection of how child abuse victims often find themselves in unsafe and toxic romantic relationships with large age gaps which mirror what they went through as kids; but this team doesn't clock it, playing this relationship as wholesome and genuine.

He finally has someone who ""understands"" him. Because they think the character they wrote is misunderstood.

but reality is plain to see.

Clear Sky is a monster. The most realistic monster in all of WC-- far, far closer to real life predators and domestic abusers than the "born evil" rogues like Slash and One Eye. The Erins seem to believe that what separates Clear Sky from One Eye is "fundamental" good and "fundamental" evil, when the truth is that they'd be separated by very, very little.

If they had realistic motivations, they would be exactly like the character their existence is meant to excuse.

Slash and One Eye HAD to be kept flat and one-dimensional. If the book was more earnest, the only difference between Clear Sky and One Eye would have been that One Eye is stronger. So strong that Clear Sky needed to manipulate the other groups into helping him.

While anyone can change, not everyone will, and Clear Sky has no reason to. He sees no consequences. He has everything he wants; power, a pretty and obedient young mate, and unchecked authority over a brainwashed forest cult. There is always a victim on a leash, a naive enabler, or a bunch of desperate and gullible marks somewhere in his proximity to bully into doing his dirtywork

Whether his "intentions" were sincere or not (evidence points towards not) at its root it was always about control. Power is something he perpetually keeps, and continues to violently use.

[kvothbloodless]

EXACTLY

Most redemption arcs take the easy way out and make sure their poor little meow meow is like, somewhat sympathetic or contrasted with Worse Villains from the start.

Akua on the other hand is easily the most detestable major character for several books

Yknow its Extremely sad that the objectively best redemption arc and enemies to lovers arc ever written will always be obscure because it takes place over a 3.5 million word web serial.

[novlr]

Do you have any tips of how to write a villain that is a bad person, but is also likeable?

There are several options for writing villains that build the foundation for a reader’s perception of just how evil they really are. The villain is often a story’s antagonist but can also be the story’s main character. But they are not always a pure evil character. So how do we create a villain that our readers will like? 

Sympathy

The strongest way to bridge the gap between your villain and the reader is by appealing to sympathy. A tragic backstory goes a long way in setting the stage for a character’s fall to villainy. Many people can identify with the fear—or knowledge—of how much one bad thing can persuade someone to do bad things. No matter how strong a person appears, there’s an extreme situation that can push anyone to make a bad choice. 

The two common avenues you can pursue within the sympathy track are the impossible situation and desperation. To embody the ‘impossible situation’, your villain’s motivations need to stem from something where the bad choice was the only real choice. In a fantasy world, your villain may be a dark wizard that was an average person before they were abducted by a larger evil force, and forced to become evil or die. They may be indoctrinated into the wrong cause now—thus becoming the villain. In a modern setting, your villain may have grown up in an environment that promoted crime or violence as the only way to live. 

Desperation is a good motivator when the villain needs to gain (or re-gain) something, and there’s a “bad” option that will get the desired results faster. Perhaps your villain had to make a terrible choice to keep their livelihood or significant other, and covering up that choice continues to make their actions antagonistic. More specifically, desperation shows up in a pivotal time of need: where someone could take the high road, but we understand the appeal of the so-called low road. 

So how do we keep the sympathy real?

Your reader needs to see how they, or a loved one, could stoop to the villain’s level. This may be the most difficult part of creating this character because you can’t appeal to every individual member of your audience here. 

I suggest starting with research on whistleblowers (people who report illegal or unethical business practices that are undeniably in the ‘right’ but are certainly the ‘villain’ to the company) and thinking about the perspectives of the business’s employees. Many of them didn’t know about the wrong their company was doing, so now they’re angry with the whistleblower for taking away their jobs or ruining their professional reputations. Then, think about the people who were aware of the acts and were eager to keep profits high at the risk of getting caught. 

Do you need a redemption arc?

Nope. People go too far sometimes, and there’s no saving them. For some people, redemption may only come in their total and utter defeat, whether they’re imprisoned, killed, or otherwise incapacitated. 

If you are considering a redemption arc, you need to stick to the character’s established principles: it was all for nothing if their villainous actions are washed away by regret or the hero’s need to defeat them. We sympathize with conviction — you have to let your villain keep theirs to maintain character integrity.

A villain can realize their actions were wrong (murder often isn’t a good answer!), but they need to still believe in their actions, even if they wouldn’t do it again. A likable villain does the wrong things for the right reason. Stripping them of that reason strips their character of meaning. Who are they, in the end, if they were a monster for no reason at all? 

Perceived injustice and your villain

I want to talk about using perspectives and hidden information to play on the sympathy of your readers. If the circumstance that led to the villain’s actions was a lie from the start, the audience gets to experience the grief of being a monster for no reason at all. They could spend the entire story hating the villain along with the character’s telling the story and have it come crashing down in the denouement.

The burden of realizing their actions were all for nothing, or that they wouldn’t have done it if they’d known the truth, is a powerful emotional appeal. We don’t necessarily need to like the villain from chapter one; we can like them in the epilogue, where they have to deal with the consequences of their actions. 

In the end, the villain is just a character

A villain has just as much opportunity to be likable as the hero does, though it’s trickier to get there in a tale of good versus evil. Anyone short of truly evil can be likable, and I’m sure someone out there still has a soft spot for the truly evil and irredeemable.

People do bad things for good reasons every day. You just get to figure out how to balance those with redeemable qualities or convictions. 

[isagrimorie]

I’ve been watching video reviews praising Agatha All Along, and while I more or less agree with their points, one thing that bothers me is the claim that Agatha remained 100% evil, and she didn't change, and that doesn’t sit right with me.

Agatha didn’t have a redemption arc (or as Schaeffer put it, “This lady did not arc out.”), and I understand why. In fact, I love that about her character. The show doesn’t try to sand down Agatha’s sharp edges. I love that Agatha can feel so deeply while still being unapologetically a dick.

But the reason it bothers me when people claim that Agatha didn’t change is because she did.

To put it into context, for a character who hasn’t changed and remains firmly on a villainous path, the reviewers should look at another comic book show that aired at the same time: The Penguin. While it’s not an exact comparison, there are notable similarities: both main characters love purple (sorry, Oz, I mean plum), have a fascinating, wide-eyed, unhinged brunette antagonist, a teen sidekick, and a ruthless quest for power. But there are key differences between Agatha Harkness and Oswald Cobblepot.

The Penguin is the story of Oswald’s rise to power as Gotham’s crime boss. Agatha, on the other hand, was already at the height of her power and villainy. Over 300 years, she killed fellow witches, schemed, and connived. This all came to an abrupt halt when Wanda trapped her in a hex. With the help of Rio and Billy, Agatha eventually clawed her way free from Wanda’s distorted spell.

Initially, it seemed like nothing had changed for Agatha.

But Agatha did change. The Agatha Harkness of three years ago—the witch killer—wouldn’t have sat around a campfire trading stories and feeling emotional about it. She wouldn’t have felt any remorse for accidentally killing Alice.

(It’s funny how, between Rio and Agatha, Agatha reminded me more of Dream than Rio. Both are capricious and prone to holding grudges. Both were held captive by mystical forces and when freed, they denied they had changed—even though their captivity altered them in both small and profound ways. In the end, both characters die because of their capacity to change and are reborn, metaphorically or literally, wearing white.)

I appreciated that the show didn’t dull Agatha’s sharp edges. She was, and remains, a killer. Even when we get glimpses of Agatha’s tragic backstory with Nicky, the show doesn’t excuse her actions. She was a killer before Nicky, during her time with Nicky, and after Nicky. In fact, she became an even more prolific serial killer after Nicky. Her contempt for fellow witches deepened every time they fell for her road scam.

So, it’s tiring hearing that “Agatha didn’t change.” The ending of Agatha All Along made it clear that while she didn’t change—because such a drastic shift can’t happen in just nine episodes for someone with a 300-year history—there was, as Jac Schaeffer put it, progress.

Agatha never considered the consequences of her actions. For example, when she tried to avoid harming Jennifer Kale back when she was a rootworker and midwife, she inadvertently hurt Jennifer for a century.

Agatha spent her life trying to fill the gnawing black hole inside her, running from pain and avoiding anything resembling personal growth. She finds the Darkhold, and she becomes invisible to Rio, her remaining connection to her life with Nicky.

And, even when the world around her burned, nothing truly touched Agatha Harkness—until she found herself in the Hex, facing off against the Scarlet Witch.

Agatha was overconfident. Armed with her vast knowledge and the Darkhold, she thought she was invincible. But she miscalculated, becoming powerless and losing three years trapped in Agnes the Nosy Neighbor's life.

This disruption in Agatha's pattern is enough that when Agatha was about to restart her Killing Game, it gave Agatha pause. When Alice shows up at her house hoping to visit the Road, only to end up dead in Agatha’s basement.

There was even a moment when Agatha went to recruit Sharon Davis as a replacement backup Green Witch, she had to take a moment to confirm to herself that she could live with killing Mrs. Hart.

Agatha’s story (for this season, at least-- because there will be another season or sequel, dammit) wasn’t a redemption—nine episodes isn’t enough to atone for 300 years of killing. It's a story of moving Agatha into a position to transform. Or, as Jac Schaeffer called it, progress. Redemption may come later, but progress isn’t linear. For someone who is an unrepentant killer and con artist, even the smallest shift is big.

Agatha All Along doesn’t try to make Agatha into a hero, nor does it attempt to soften her sharp edges. Instead, the show offers a nuanced portrait—a reminder that even an unrepentant bad guy can evolve, even if they don’t fully understand or accept it themselves.

Agatha Harkness might not be “redeemed” but she isn’t the same either.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

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

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Ryomen Sukuna

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

Trigger Warnings: Contains Spoilers: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Redemption Arc, Alternate Endings, Heavy Angst, Mentions of Suicide, Grief, Emotional Neglect, Smut (18+), Pregnancy Loss, Cursed Energy Themes, Love Triangle, Second Chances, Found Family, Protective Sukuna, Tragic Backstories.

Minors DNI. As always, parts marked with {} can be skipped.

A/N: Hi, babes! So, this is the FINAL part of Alt Ending 1. Thank you for sticking with me through the emotional rollercoaster. Up next is Alt Ending 2 (Grovel Arc™), where Nanami and Gojo try to fix their sh*t. Honestly, no man has ever apologized to me properly, let alone grovel, so this is gonna be… interesting to write. 😭 Pray for me. Lastly, I NEED your thoughts: How did the smut go? This was my third attempt at writing it, so be brutal but kind. Oh, and for those worried about Sukuna meeting a woman at the hospital, don’t worry, I got you—mystery solved in this chapter! 👀" Sukuna literally goes feral mid-something in this, so brace yourself.

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 9 (alt ending 1.5 Final Part) - The Shadows We Bury

// Playlist

The sea was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You sat cross-legged on the beach, a blanket draped over your shoulders, while next to you, Sukuna leaned against the low table, arms crossed. The air smelled faintly of rain, the night’s chill biting but bearable.

He was watching you—he always was—but tonight there was something different in his gaze. A weight, an intensity that made your skin prickle despite you watching in the waves in the opposite direction, far from him.

“What?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He didn’t answer immediately, just reached into his pocket with a deliberate slowness that made your chest tighten. When his hand emerged, it held a small, velvet box.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as he opened it, revealing a ring. The diamond shimmered faintly under the city lights, but there was something about it—something that made your stomach flip.

“They’re yours,” Sukuna said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

They are yours.

Those words were engraved in your soul at this point.

“I had the lab make this... from them. Took longer than it should’ve because the idiots didn’t know what they were doing.”

Your hands trembled as you stared at the ring , realization crashing into you like a wave.

“It’s okay if you don’t want this,” he continued, his crimson eyes flicking to yours, cautious but steady. “If you’re not ready, if this feels like too much, I’ll wait. Hell, I’ll wait forever if I have to. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you—all of you. And if nothing else... you should keep it. They’re yours, after all.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until your vision blurred, the first tear slipping down your cheek. Sukuna’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

“Say something,” he muttered, his voice rough, almost pleading.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against his shoulder. His arms encircled you instantly, strong and grounding, holding you like you might slip away.

“Ryo,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin.

“I mean it,” he said, his breath warm against your hair. “You don’t have to—”

You cut him off, pulling back just enough to press your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, a whisper of a connection, but it deepened quickly, the raw emotion between you igniting like a spark to dry tinder.

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, desperate and unsteady, as if anchoring yourself to him could keep you from drowning in the moment.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the cool night air.

“I’ll keep it,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And I’ll keep you too, if you’ll allow me.”

His chuckle sounded like relief-wolfish, but his eyes betrayed something softer, something that made your heart ache. “It’s about damn time, princess.”

The weight of the world felt lighter as you leaned into him again, his arms around you and the city lights stretching out before you.

---

// Playlist

Japan

The penthouse was dark, the blinds drawn tightly enough to block out the world. The faint glow of the city seeped in through the edges, casting jagged patterns on the floor. Gojo sat against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, the bottle of sake dangling from his fingers. The liquid inside sloshed lazily, mirroring the emptiness in his chest. His gaze drifted toward the mirror across the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. The last time he had, he’d seen your tear-streaked face, heard your muffled sobs echoing in his mind.

His six eyes still flickered with phantom images—the twisted forms of the children who never had a chance. Every blink brought them back: the boy’s elongated limbs, the girl’s fused fingers, the shared split-colored hair. His hands shook, the bottle slipping slightly before he tightened his grip.

Across the room, Nanami stood by the window, his shirt wrinkled—a stark contrast to the man he used to be. His reflection stared back, gaunt and lifeless, a stranger wearing his face. He hadn’t slept in days, his mind too loud and unforgiving, hadn’t eaten in days, and the tremor in his hands betrayed the toll his guilt was taking.

“Do you ever stop seeing them?” Gojo’s voice was barely audible, the words slurred and heavy.

Nanami didn’t answer immediately, his hand pressing against the cold glass. “No,” he said finally, his voice brittle. “I see them every time I close my eyes.”

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, hollow and broken. “Figures.” He raised the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. The alcohol burned, but it wasn’t enough to drown the ache in his chest.

//

Later that night, Nanami found himself on the rooftop. The wind bit at his skin, sharp and cold, but he barely noticed. The city sprawled out before him, a sea of lights that felt impossibly distant.

I was supposed to protect her , he thought to himself. I was supposed to be better than this. Better than those creatures we gave her.

He gripped the railing, the steel cold under his palms. The height didn’t scare him. Nothing did anymore. The thought crept in again, unbidden and relentless. 

One step. Just one step, and it’s over.

Behind him, the door slid open. Gojo stepped out, his hair disheveled, his shirt hanging off his frame like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t say anything as he walked over, leaning against the railing beside Nanami.

“You thinking about it?” Gojo asked, his voice devoid.

Nanami’s grip on the railing tightened. “Every day.” He answered; Gojo was probably asking about his first thought, not the second one.

Gojo nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then, without preamble, he pulled out his phone as it buzzed with an incoming text, the screen glowing in the dim light.

“Sukuna wants to talk,” Gojo said, his voice low. He held the phone out toward Nanami, his expression unreadable.

Nanami’s brow furrowed as he hesitated.

Gojo dialed him back immediately, “It could be about her.”

The name went unspoken, but it was enough. There had never been anyone else, and there never would be, except you.

Nanami’s grip on the railing tightened before he stepped back, taking the phone. He pressed the speaker, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Stop trying to reach her,” Sukuna’s voice came through, unforgiving. “Stop pretending you’re regretful. You failed her. Both of you did. She doesn’t need your guilt, and she doesn’t need you.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched. “How is she?”

“Alive,” Sukuna replied, his tone casual, mocking. “Happier than she’s been in years. And she’s staying that way. You two will stay out of her life.”

Nanami’s shoulders sagged, the words hitting harder than he expected. He glanced at Gojo, who was staring at the phone with no expression, unable to think or speak.

Gojo leaned forward, his hands trembling. “Can we—”

“No,” Sukuna interrupted, his voice cold. “You can’t fix this. You can’t fix her. You don’t deserve to.”

Before he could respond, a faint sound filtered through the call. Laughter. Your laughter. Nanami’s breath hitched, his chest tightening painfully. Sukuna hadn’t hung up. He was letting them hear. You probably didn’t know.

“Hey!” Your voice came through, light and unguarded. “Guess what I remembered today? A ridiculous song I used to love.”

There was a rustling sound as you continued talking; they couldn’t hear what you were saying; they heard the next parts loud and clear.

“You’re mine,” Sukuna’s voice came next, low and possessive. “I’ll never share you with anyone.”

Your laughter bubbled up, unrestrained and genuine. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gojo’s grip on the phone tightened, his jaw clenching as he heard you hum a tune, your voice carrying a joy that had been absent when you were with them. The silence stretched as he listened, the pain evident in his eyes.

Nanami watched Gojo, the tension between them unspoken but palpable. The call was still live, but neither could bring themselves to speak. Sukuna’s voice cut through again, smooth and calculated, as you left.

“You hear that?” Sukuna’s tone was dripping with amusement. “She’s happy now. You both should’ve let her go sooner; she wouldn’t have had to go through that cursed pregnancy. You must have seen the reports. She stopped talking for months.”

Gojo’s eyes closed, his breath shaky as he muttered, “You’re hiding this from her. She doesn’t know we’re listening.”

“Of course not,” Sukuna replied, almost lazily. “Why would I let her see the people who broke her? Unlike you, I don’t hurt the people I care about.”

“You sent the reports?!” Nanami asked, frowning.

“Of course I did. You were spared because I was there in the hospital. I actually saw. Both of you deserved to carry the cursed knowledge of what you did to her.” Sukuna said, jaw tightening.

“Thank you for letting us know.” Nanami said, despite everything. They would have liked to know under any circumstance.

“Whatever, the last favor I will do is send you their remaining ashes. And you will stay away, or I’ll kill you. Capisce?” Sukuna challenged.

“Fine.” Nanami spoke after a beat too long.

Sukuna finally ended the call. For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the city below, indifferent to the wreckage above.

Then he turned away, his hands curling into fists. The rooftop seemed smaller, the air heavier.

“She’s better off without us,” Nanami said finally, his voice hollow.

Gojo didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

There was nothing left to say.

---

Far away, you sat in Sukuna’s lap with your head on his chest, sipping a glass of wine as you sang the tune you’d remembered. Sukuna’s hand rested on your waist, his smirk softening into something almost tender. He watched you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

“You’re happy,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your smile radiant. “Yeah. I am.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his smirk sharp but softened by something deeper. In his pocket, your old phone sat buried, silenced forever.

Sukuna wouldn’t let the past touch you again. Not Gojo, not Nanami, not even the truth. Because for the first time, you were free—and he’d burn the world to keep it that way.

You looked up at him as his crimson eyes held a fierce intensity, drawing you into a world where darkness and allure intertwined, awakening a sense of danger and exhilaration. In that moment, you felt both vulnerable and alive, caught in the intoxicating dance of Sukuna's presence.

{Without much thought, you kissed him, nipping at his lower lip.

He lowly growled in response, sending heat pooling in your stomach, and before you could think, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist.

The world blurred as he carried you to the bed, his movements deliberate and unhurried. 

He kicked the door shut behind him, his hands firm on your hips as he carried you effortlessly into the room. Both wine glasses clattered somewhere on the floor outside, forgotten in the heat of the moment. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, your fingers tangled in his hair as his lips moved against yours with a hungry, almost desperate fervor.

Your back pressed against the wall, your breaths shallow as his hands gripped your waist, firm but reverent. His body heat radiated through your clothes, and the faint scent of his cologne—spicy, dark, and utterly intoxicating—wrapped around you like a second skin.

“Still sure about this, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with restraint.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the hem of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, pulling him closer until your lips were a breath away from his. “I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you as his mouth claimed yours, the kiss deep and unrelenting. His lips moved against yours with a skill that made your knees weak, coaxing soft gasps from you as his hands roamed, tracing the curve of your hips and the small of your back.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as you tried to anchor yourself in the storm of sensation. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the walls, the warm light painting his sharp features with a golden hue.

His hands moved with purpose, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your thigh, the hollow of your neck. Every touch was deliberate, reverent, as though he were memorizing every inch of you. When his thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the intensity, so rare it made your breath hitch.

The world blurred as Sukuna moved with you into his arms, his movements unhurried but filled with intent. He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently, as though you might shatter under anything less. Hovering over you, his lips trailed from your jaw to the tender spot below your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The scrape of his teeth made you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

“Bewitching,” he murmured, the word low and reverent as his hands slid beneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. His crimson eyes darkened, hunger and awe warring in his expression as he took in the sight of you.

Your fingers worked at his shirt, fumbling in your urgency to push it off his broad shoulders. The fabric fell away, revealing the intricate tattoos that wound across his chest and arms, their lines shifting subtly in the dim light. Your fingers traced their paths, marveling at the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His breath hitched, the sound low and guttural, as you explored the hard planes of his body.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin. The faint graze of his teeth sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you. His name slipped from your lips, breathless and soft, spurring him on.

Sukuna’s kisses trailed lower, his mouth mapping your body with an intensity that left you spinning. When his teeth grazed the edge of your bra, you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Patience, princess,” he teased, his voice rough, but his smirk betrayed his own restraint. His hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it with practiced ease. The garment slipped away, leaving you bare to the cool air and his heated gaze.

His lips returned to your skin, tracing the curve of your breast. His hand squeezed gently, his touch firm, as his mouth followed, lips closing around your nipple. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and your hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands.

He groaned, a deep, resonant sound that sent heat pooling low in your belly. His fingers traced the line of your throat, their touch impossibly gentle despite the fire burning in his gaze.

Your back arched into him, his mouth and hands working in tandem to draw sounds from you that you didn’t know you were capable of making. His tongue and teeth teased you relentlessly, each movement precise and devastating. For a fleeting moment, jealousy flared at the thought of anyone who had experienced this before you, but it evaporated as quickly as it came.

You were too close, too lost in him, your body trembling on the edge of release.

Sukuna pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. His crimson eyes burned, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

Dammit, the fucker knew what he was doing.

This was insurance for Sukuna, not that he needed it.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was brutal, his tongue invading your mouth with a possessive fervor that left you gasping. His large frame, his strength, overwhelmed you, and yet you found yourself leaning into it, craving more.

He made quick work of your shorts and panties, discarding them in a single motion. Before you could process the loss of contact, one of his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His free hand moved with precision, and suddenly, a second mouth materialized on his palm.

Your eyes widened, your breath catching, but the memory of his earlier teasing about his extra limbs calmed you.

“Relax,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a mix of amusement and command.

The mouth below moved, its tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line up your slit. The sensation was overwhelming, a shock of pleasure that made your body arch into him. Sukuna’s lips never left yours, his kiss fervent and unrelenting, muffling the moans spilling from your throat.

The tongue below was relentless, its movements brutal in their precision. It licked and sucked, the pressure perfectly calibrated to drive you to the brink. Your hands clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as your body trembled beneath him.

Your vision blurred, your senses narrowing to nothing but the feel of him—the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the intensity of his presence. He devoured you, body and soul, leaving no part of you untouched, no desire unfulfilled.

Then, without warning, he curled one long finger, then a second, and slid them inside you with a deliberate slowness. The stretch made you gasp, your body arching instinctively into his touch. His right arm gripped yours, holding you in place as his fingers began to scissor inside you, exploring and opening you with an expertise that had your breath catching while simultaneously his other mouth continued suck your clit.

It felt like you were being sucked and fucked at the same time.

Your body betrayed you almost immediately, writhing and trembling under his relentless attention. It had been so long since you’d felt this—since anyone had touched you like this—and the pleasure hit you like a wave, fast and unrelenting.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way his biceps flexed as he worked you open, the faint clench of his jaw as he focused entirely on you—it was intoxicating.

“Ryo—” you choked out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, pulling a cry from your lips.

But he didn’t stop.

His fingers continued their relentless pace, his palm-mouth sucking harder as if determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you. The overstimulation made you thrash, your hands grabbing desperately at his hair, pulling harder than you intended. He groaned against you, the sound low and guttural, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers added a third.

The stretch was exquisite, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. You screamed his name, tears stinging your eyes as he pushed you into another orgasm almost immediately. Your body shuddered beneath him, your nails dragging across his scalp as you held onto him for dear life.

He groaned, his voice heavy with satisfaction as he felt you fall apart again and again beneath him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his tone rough but tinged with pride.

And he didn’t stop.

By the time he coaxed the fourth orgasm from you, you were a mess beneath him—your body trembling, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. His smirk grew with every shudder, every broken sound you made, his crimson eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction.

“Ryo, please,” you finally cried out, your voice shaky and desperate.

His palm-mouth withdrew, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat he’d left behind. His gaze burned into you, feral and unrelenting, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk. 

You didn’t hesitate, your hands fumbling to undo his belt. He helped you, his movements quick but controlled, until his pants and boxers were gone, and he stood before you in all his glory.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was huge, his cock thick and heavy, perfectly complementing his frame. The sight made your mouth water and sent a pang of nervous anticipation through you.

Tentatively, you reached out, your hand wrapping around his length. His breath hitched, his chest heaving as you began to stroke him slowly.

Your confidence grew as his breathing quickened, his head tipping back slightly, his eyes glinting with barely restrained hunger. You cupped his heavy balls with your other hand, rolling them gently as you increased the pressure on his shaft. A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he gave himself over to the sensation.

“Enough,” he growled, his voice strained. He caught your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed with a force that left you breathless.

You smiled smugly at him. Two could play this game.

The sound of the condom tearing was quick, his movements inhumanly fast as he rolled it on. He lined himself up with your entrance, his gaze meeting yours as he paused.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice softer, a rare moment of restraint.

You nodded, your body already arching toward him.

He pushed in slowly, the stretch making you gasp. The burn was sharp, but the way he peppered your face with kisses, his deep baritone voice murmuring reassurances, made you crave more.

“You’re perfect,” he grunted, his forehead resting against yours.

You gripped his hips, pulling him deeper despite the overwhelming sensation. By the time he was fully seated, you were trembling, the fullness leaving you breathless.

Sukuna stilled, giving you time to adjust, his lips brushing against your wrist in a gesture so tender it made your heart ache. When you nodded, he began to move, his pace slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment.

Your nails raked down his back, drawing a growl from him as his restraint began to slip. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, each one drawing a cry from your lips.

He was unable to control it anymore.

The air shifted as Sukuna leaned back, his smirk turning feral. His tattoos began to glow, spreading across his skin like dark ink as his true form emerged.

You gasped when another set of arms materialized, their strength pinning your hips gently but firmly. Panic flashed through you for a moment, memories of past hurts threatening to surface, your husbands.

“Shh,” Sukuna murmured immediately stilling, his voice soft and grounding. He rested his forehead against yours, his gaze steady. “It’s just me, princess. Just me.”

You nodded for him to continue, your breathing evening out as his lips captured yours again, pulling you back into the moment. The extra hands gripped your hips as you held him closer, their hold unyielding but careful, anchoring you as he thrust deeper, his pace unrelenting.

The stretch, the pressure, the sheer overwhelming sensation—it was too much, and yet not enough. You moaned his name, your body trembling as he drove you higher and higher, his voice and touch grounding you even as he unraveled you completely.

Sukuna’s claws scraped against your skin, the faint sting leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The sensation wasn’t frightening; it was exhilarating, a primal rush that left you breathless. When you met his gaze, his four crimson eyes gleamed with a mixture of raw desire and something deeper—reverence.

For a fleeting moment, Sukuna hesitated. His form, larger and more imposing, wasn’t meant for tenderness. He feared you might flinch, might look at him with the same disgust he’d seen in others before. But then you wrapped your arms around him, your hands threading into his hair as you pulled him into a kiss that was all teeth and ferocity.

The message was clear: words would fail you, but your actions wouldn’t. He wasn’t just desired; he was wanted.

Sukuna groaned into the kiss, his claws gripping your hips as his larger body pressed against yours. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

His lips claimed yours again, desperate and feral. The weight of him, the sheer power radiating from his form, should have been overwhelming, but it wasn’t. It grounded you, pulling you into the intensity of the moment. Your hands explored the new ridges of his body, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his horns, the rippling muscles beneath his cursed marks.

Your hips bucked against him instinctively, drawing a low, wicked chuckle from his throat. “Needy little thing,” he murmured, his smirk teasing. 

“Take me, princess,” he grunted, his claws gripping your thighs as he thrust deeper.

The intensity grew, Sukuna’s movements becoming less restrained. His hands—now four—worked in perfect unison. One gripped your hips, holding you in place as he thrust into you with a brutal rhythm. Another two cupped your breast, his thumbs flicking over your nipple, while the fourth wrapped gently around your throat, his grip firm but not constricting.

His other mouth reappeared below his Adonis belt, its tongue flicking over your clit with maddening precision. The combined sensations made you arch against him, your nails digging into his shoulders as moans spilled uncontrollably from your lips.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice reverent yet commanding, the words vibrating against your skin.

The air seemed to thrum with energy as Sukuna’s pace quickened, each thrust deeper and more powerful than the last. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

“Ryo I'm going to—please,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your body trembled on the edge.

“Let go,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “I’ve got you.”

You shattered beneath him, the pleasure consuming you in waves so intense they left you gasping for air. But Sukuna didn’t stop.

He flipped you effortlessly into new positions, his strength and stamina leaving you pliant and trembling. On your back, on your knees, straddling his lap—each time, his thrusts were calculated, his touch both demanding and tender.

By the fifth orgasm on his cock, a few of them ending with you squirting, your body was shaking uncontrollably, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. Sukuna groaned deeply, his grip tightening as he buried himself to the hilt, his growl vibrating through your body as his release followed yours.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths. Sukuna withdrew, his hands moving with care as he disposed of the condom. Then he shifted back into his human form, his arms—still strong but less imposing—wrapping around you as he pulled you close.

His forehead rested against yours, his fingers brushing stray strands of hair from your damp face. “You okay, princess?” he asked softly, his crimson eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You nodded, your lips curling into a tired, blissful smile. Words failed you; you were too spent to form a coherent response. But Sukuna’s smirk grew as he watched you, the smug satisfaction in his expression undeniable.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, soft and unguarded: “I love you, Ryo.”

Sukuna stilled, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if processing your confession. For a fleeting moment, you thought you’d made a mistake, your chest tightening with uncertainty. But then his smirk softened into something rare, achingly tender. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead in a gesture so gentle it made your heart ache.

Then he pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to one of careful scrutiny. “As much as I’d like to hear that, I need to know if it’s real,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “Your judgment might be... clouded after that. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way tomorrow.”

His claws stroked through your hair as he studied your face, his crimson eyes searching for something—hope, maybe, or reassurance.

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. “I’m sure of it,” you said, your voice steady despite the rawness of the moment. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked onto yours. Then he pulled you closer, his breath fanning across your lips. “I never thought this day would actually come,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You chuckled softly, the tension breaking just enough for warmth to creep in.

His smirk returned, sharp and wolfish. “I love you too, mortal,” he said, the teasing edge in his tone undercut by the sincerity in his eyes. He captured your lips in a kiss so intense it left you breathless, his hands tangling in your hair as if anchoring himself to you.

“If you weren’t about to pass out, I’d fuck you through the night,” he added, his grin turning mischievous.

You laughed, weak but genuine, and nestled closer to him. “You are a succubus.”

“Good for you,” laughing he murmured, his voice warm.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as if the world outside didn’t exist. For a moment, it truly didn’t. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the aftermath of something far more profound than passion. Something real. Something unbreakable.

His touch remained tender, his hands cradling you like you were the most precious thing in his world. For once, there was no need for words; his actions spoke louder than anything he could say.

As the night wore on, he cleaned the two of you, and the intensity softened into a quiet, lingering closeness. Sukuna held you against his chest, his larger form enveloping you protectively. His claws traced lazy patterns along your back, soothing and grounding you. His breath was warm against your hair, and the steady beat of his heart lulled you into a peaceful haze.

For the first time in almost a year, you felt whole—safe, cherished, and utterly loved.

The next morning, however, the beast you’d unleashed made itself known.

Sukuna woke you before dawn, his smirk as sharp as ever. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured, his hands already wandering.

By the time you were scrambling to get dressed for work, your legs trembling and your voice hoarse, you’d lost count of how many times he’d made you scream his name.

“You’re insatiable,” you muttered, glaring at him as he leaned lazily against the doorframe, shirtless and utterly unbothered.

His laugh was rich, unrepentant.

You were late for your meetings that morning, and Sukuna wore his wolfish grin like a badge of honor.}

---

Japan

// Playlist

Their apartment was as cold as the men who once occupied it. The furniture, meticulously arranged, now felt sterile—lifeless. The whiskey bottles cluttering the kitchen counter told a story of nights spent drowning in regret. Dust coated every surface, a physical manifestation of the neglect that had seeped into every corner of their lives.

Nanami sat on the edge of the bed, the sheets still wrinkled from the last night he’d spent sleepless there.

Your old bed. The one he had ignored you in. The one that bore silent witness to his failures.

His elbows rested on his knees, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles turned white. He stared at the floor, not really seeing it, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the physical world. His hair, once meticulously groomed, was disheveled.

The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, suffocating. His lips moved, the words barely audible.

“I failed her.”

The room offered no answer. It never did.

His mind drifted back to you—your face, your laughter, the light in your eyes that he had so carelessly extinguished. He had failed you—his wife. You had been overlooked, neglected, and trapped in a marriage where their loyalty had wavered. His nights tangled with Gojo had driven a wedge too deep to repair. 

You had begged him, hadn’t you? Pleaded with him to see you, to acknowledge you, to love you. But he hadn’t. He’d been too consumed by his own desires, too blinded by the illusion of control.

He had known you deserved better, but when you walked away, he hadn’t chased you; he hadn’t even realized you left after weeks.

And then there were the twins—his and Gojo’s. He hadn’t even noticed the cursed energy signatures you carried and hadn’t paid attention to the life growing inside you. Gojo had been his gravity, pulling him into an orbit that left you forgotten.

The miscarriage had been the final blow, a tragedy that shattered the fragile remnants of what once was. The hollowness inside him grew unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them—the grotesque, malformed fetuses, twisted by the very cursed energy that had created them. The image was seared into his mind. Those fetuses weren’t children—elongated limbs, twisted spines, faces that seemed to accuse him even in death. They weren’t children. They were an abomination, a reflection of the sin that had consumed him. He couldn’t forgive himself for what he had done to you, for the pain he had inflicted in the haze of lust and neglect.

His breath hitched as he remembered your last gaze. The fear, the disgust—it had been etched so deeply into your features that he couldn’t forget it even if he tried. You had looked at him as though he were a monster, and maybe you were right.

Nanami’s hand reached for the blade on the nightstand, its edge glinting faintly in the dim light. It was the same blade he had wielded as a grade one sorcerer, a tool that had once been an extension of himself. He hadn’t used it in years, not after becoming a special grade, but tonight, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

He ran his thumb along the edge, the sensation grounding him in a way nothing else could.

A solution to the endless loop of failure and regret that played in his mind.

The silence in the apartment deepened, wrapping around him like a shroud. He thought of you, far away, happy in a life he no longer had a right to touch. He thought of Gojo, somewhere out there, probably drinking himself into oblivion. He would likely bounce back to his usual obnoxious self once his suspension would be removed and he’d be back with his students.

He thought of the twins.

This wasn’t a risk. His life had always been a series of moves, risks weighed and measured, but this—this was certainty.

His breath was steady. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. This was the only way to silence the ghosts, to end the endless loop of failure and regret.

As the blade fell, so did he—into the stillness that had always eluded him in life.

---

// Playlist

Gojo arrived hours later, the front door slamming shut with a loud thud as he chucked his shoes away and drunkenly called out for Nanami. But when he didn’t get a response. His six eyes immediately took in the scene: empty bottles scattered across the floor and the stark red contrast of blood staining everything in its path. The red so vivid it burned into his retinas.

“No,” he whispered, the word barely audible, breaking like glass in his throat. His heart dropped as his feet carried him forward towards the bedroom.

The ground beneath him felt unstable, as if it might crumble and drag him into the abyss waiting just beyond his senses.

Nanami lay on the bed, lifeless. His cursed blade was still clutched in his hand, a cruel mockery of the strength that had once defined him. Even in his final moments, Nanami had been methodical.

Gojo dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands trembling as they reached for Nanami’s face. His fingers hovered just above the skin, unable to make contact, as though touching him would confirm the unbearable truth.

“Kento,” he croaked, his voice cracking. “No. No, no, no—what did you do?”

Nanami’s skin was cold, devoid of the warmth that had always been his anchor.

Tears blurred his vision, but his six eyes betrayed him, sharpening every agonizing detail: the slackness of Nanami’s jaw, the pallor of his once-warm skin, the faint streaks of dried tears on his cheeks.

Gojo pressed his forehead against Nanami’s, his body wracked with sobs. “You were supposed to stay,” he choked out, his voice breaking like glass. “We were supposed to figure this out. Together.”

The silence mocked him, louder than any scream could have been.

His cursed energy flared uncontrollably, crackling like a storm that had lost its anchor. The room trembled under the weight of his despair. Mirrors shattered, furniture splintered, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with the force of his anguish.

But none of it mattered.

“You promised,” he muttered, his voice raw and broken. “You said you wouldn’t leave. You said you’d stay.”

He didn’t know who he was pleading with—Nanami, himself, the universe—but the words spilled out, jagged and desperate.

“You were supposed to stay,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “You were all I had left. You promised.”

Gojo had lost everything. Suguru, his best friend and the only person who had ever understood him completely, had been the first to leave. His departure ripping a hole in Gojo’s heart that had never truly healed.

Then you—his wife, his home—had walked away, pushed to the edge by his arrogance and neglect. He’d been too wrapped up in his own chaos, too blind to see the damage until it was too late.

The twins came next—his fragile, desperate hope. They had been taken before they could even take a breath, their twisted forms a cruel reminder of his hubris. He had destroyed them before they had a chance to live.

And now, Nanami.

The one person who had endured it all. The one person who had stayed. The one person who had endured his flaws, his chaos, his failures—who had held him together when he couldn’t do it himself. The one person Gojo had trusted to never leave him. Gone.

He staggered to his feet, his body trembling like a brittle structure on the verge of collapse. The air thick with the scent of blood and regret. Stumbling out, he didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t stay.

The city swallowed him, its noise and vibrancy an unbearable contrast to the void inside him. He wandered aimlessly, his vision unfocused, his feet dragging him forward without direction.

The streets were alive with chatter and laughter, the kind of mundane joy that had long since become foreign to him. He hated it. Hated how the world kept turning, indifferent to the wreckage of his life.

He stopped in the middle of a crosswalk, cars honking and lights flashing as the chaos of the city surged around him. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru felt utterly, completely powerless.

The strongest sorcerer, brought to his knees by the weight of his own failures.

He whispered your name, barely audible above the din, as if calling out to you might anchor him. But there was no answer. There never would be.

And as the world moved on without him, Gojo stood frozen, a man who had lost everything.

He took a split-second decision to go around Tokyo or its nearby areas—as far as his body would allow—and kill as many curses as possible in one night, but as he ran, the hollow ache, the insufferable pain, grew.

The streets of Tokyo were getting more and more restless, pulsing with the life of a city that never stopped, never cared. Gojo moved through them like a phantom, his body a blur, his six eyes scanning for curses. He wasn’t hunting them out of duty, nor out of anger. This was something else—something desperate, something final.

His cursed energy crackled around him, unstable and feral. Each exorcism was brutal, accurate, and devoid of the flair that had once defined him. He didn’t toy with the curses, didn’t smirk or taunt. He simply destroyed, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

The hollow ache in his chest deepened with every step, every swing of his cursed energy. The pain wasn’t physical; it was a void, vast and insatiable, devouring him from the inside out.

By the time the sky had an hour to lighten, he had crossed half the city, his legs heavy and his cursed energy flickering like a dying flame. He had done what he set out to do. And yet, the ache persisted, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

Somehow, his aimless wandering brought him back to the rooftop. Their rooftop. Your rooftop.

The wind howled, whipping against his face with a biting chill, but it didn’t numb the pain. Nothing did. He stood at the edge, his silhouette stark against the approaching twilight. Below, the city bustled, oblivious to the man standing on the precipice of existence.

Gojo lowered himself onto the edge, his legs dangling over the side. The movements were slow, like he was savoring the weight of his own body, the solidity of the world beneath him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, the act almost ritualistic now.

The flame from his lighter flickered in the wind, but he shielded it with his hand, lighting the cigarette. The first drag burned, the smoke searing his lungs and grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Guess you got tired of my bullshit too, huh, Nanamin?” He muttered, his voice rough and tinged with bitter humor. The words hung in the air, unanswered, as the city buzzed far below. How would a deadbody answer him lying in his own house?

He exhaled, the smoke curling upward and dissolving into the vast expanse of the night.

The rooftop began to tremble, subtle at first, then more violently as his cursed energy spiraled out of control. Cracks formed beneath him, spiderwebbing across the concrete as the air around him grew thick with pressure.

Gojo extended his hand, summoning a miniature Limitless Void. The black orb hovered above his palm, expanding slowly, its presence suffocating and absolute. The edges of reality bent around it, the weight of infinity pressing against the fragile fabric of existence.

For the first time, he welcomed the crushing stillness.

He leaned back, his head tilting toward the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the encroaching light of twilight sun—the sun you had once said he was. His six eyes shimmered, their brilliance dimmed but still hauntingly beautiful.

“See you on the other side, Nanamin,” he whispered, the words soft but resolute.

His eyes fluttered closed as he let the void consume him, the weight of his burden finally lifting.

By the time the sun rose, the rooftop was silent. The first rays of light crept over the city, illuminating the faint scorch marks where Gojo Satoru’s lifeless body lay.

The air was still, the remnants of his cursed energy lingering like an echo. The city below carried on, its rhythm unbroken, oblivious to the loss of the strongest sorcerer.

There were no witnesses, no grand farewells. Just the quiet, empty rooftop and the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

And as the sun climbed higher, the world moved forward, leaving behind the man who had once carried it on his shoulders.

---

A few years later, the bustling streets of Tokyo felt foreign now, though they had once been your home. Each corner carried ghosts of a life you had long buried, fragments of memories too sharp to touch.

This trip wasn’t planned—it was a last-minute necessity. You needed to retrieve your signed divorce papers to legally marry Sukuna. You’d hesitated to return, the thought of facing the past like a jagged blade pressing against your skin, but Sukuna had insisted he’d tag along.

“Can’t let you face this place alone, princess,” he’d said, his smirk softer than usual, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the monster.

The courthouse smelled like old paper and regret, the kind of place where lives were signed away with a flick of a pen. You sorted through stacks of paperwork, your hands steady, your heart a fortress. Then, a familiar voice pierced the quiet.

“It’s tragic, really,” said the lawyer, an old man who had once been on retainer for Gojo’s family to handle the endless property damage claims Gojo racked up. His tone was heavy with the practiced sympathy of someone who dealt in human misery daily. “What happened to Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento? They—well, you must know. It was all over the news back then.”

You froze, the papers slipping from your hands and scattering across the desk. His words hung in the air, suffocating.

“No,” you said, your voice devoid of emotion, as though speaking through a layer of glass. “I don’t know.”

The lawyer’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “You didn’t hear? They… they took their own lives. Together. It was years ago.”

“Ma’am?” A voice behind you called out.

You turned to find one of the witnesses to your wedding with the dead men.

“Hello Ino. You can call me by my name.”

“Umm ya. I was here to get my license back after racking up a few tickets. Gojo San killed all the curses and curse users in one night around Tokyo that day before… But ahh.. I got this a few days after... you know the day... in my mail along with instructions to cremate them with the twins. I flowed their ashes in Tokyo Bay, and I didn’t know where you were, so I have been caring it around ever since.” He said, nervously handing you an envelope.

The room tilted, the fluorescent lights above flickering like a dying heartbeat. You bent to pick up the fallen papers; your movements were mechanical, detached.

You took the letter and kept it. You didn’t care about reading it; you just didn’t want Ino to carry its burden.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice clipped, as though thanking both men for telling you the time instead of ripping open a wound you thought had long been scarred over.

Outside, Sukuna leaned against the car, smoking with Choso. Yuji sat in the backseat, watching some brightly colored anime on his phone, the laughter from the tiny screen a cruel juxtaposition to the hollow ringing in your ears.

“Done already?” Sukuna asked, straightening up as he and Choso flicked their cigarettes.

Sukuna leaned in to press a kiss to your temple as he guided you towards the passenger door, his crimson eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah,” you replied, slipping into the passenger seat, your expression unreadable.

Once he got in the driver's side while Choso hung in the back with Yuji, Sukuna’s gaze lingered, his intuition catching the faint tension in your shoulders, the tightness in your jaw. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, turning to look out the window.

And you were. There was no ache in your chest, no tears burning at the corners of your eyes. The news was a fact, a statistic, nothing more.

“They’re gone,” you whispered to yourself, the words as weightless as the ashes Sukuna had flicked into the wind.

Sukuna didn’t press, his silence offering comfort words never could. He just drove, his hand briefly brushing against yours on the console, steady and unyielding as ever.

That night, as you lay in your bed back in the Seychelles, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside, you thought about them for the first time in years. The memories came unbidden, like waves lapping at a shoreline long abandoned.

You remembered the nights you spent with them, wrapped in the illusion of love and stability, the promises whispered between breaths, the warmth of their hands on your skin. And then you remembered the way they looked at each other, their gazes, a language you were never fluent in, the moments when you became invisible, a shadow in your own marriage.

The twins—your twins, theirs—had been your breaking point. The miscarriage had gutted you, left you hollow and raw, and they hadn't offered anything but their own grief, twisted and selfish when the most powerful sorcerers should have been the first to know of their children in your womb. They hadn’t even noticed you fading; the light in your eyes extinguished. They had been too caught in their orbit, too consumed by each other, to see you drowning.

And when you finally begged them, they didn’t care. Nanami’s stoic silence had been a knife to your chest, and Gojo’s arrogant laughter, masking his disbelief, had been the salt rubbed into the wound.

“They made their choice,” you whispered into the darkness, your voice steady, your heart unmoved.

Sukuna stirred half asleep beside you, his arm pulling you closer to his chest. “What choice?”

You didn’t answer, and he didn’t ask again. His hand rested over your stomach, where life had once flickered and faded, his touch a silent vow that you would never feel that emptiness again.

For the first time in years, you slept without nightmares.

//

“Dada, when will Mama wake up?” Emi’s small voice broke the morning stillness. She clung to Sukuna’s leg, her wide, heterochromatic eyes—one the cerulean blue, the other the deep amber—gazing up at him with an innocence that belied her very nature.

“She’s tired, Emi. From the jet lag,” Sukuna replied, his tone conversational as he sliced through vegetables.

“Mama didn’t get nightmares last night,” Kōen chimed in from the counter, where he was perched, slurping instant ramen. His split-colored hair glinted in the morning light, an eerie echo of his parentage. “I sensed it.”

“I sensed it too,” Sukuna affirmed, cracking eggs into the bowl.

Despite his thousand years as a curse, Sukuna had never imagined himself in this role: a father to beings so uniquely terrifying. His long existence had been marked by solitude, reflection, and eventually, the decision to end it all—only to be reborn, half-human, half-curse, in his own descendant’s bloodline.

He had tried being a sorcerer again, but the endless cycle of death and corruption left him disillusioned. The weak died; the strong grew drunk on power. He had walked away, vowing never to look back.

When Megumi had first arrived looking for you and Sukuna had to leave for a few days, he hadn’t anticipated the call from the hospital. It was the same place where you’d undergone the dilation and curettage after losing the twins. Uraume’s frantic voice still echoed in his ears.

“There’s something happening at that precise hospital. Suicide rates have spiked out of nowhere,” they’d insisted. While the hospital floor manager spammed him every hour.

Reluctantly, Sukuna went. The morgue was cold, sterile, and silent, save for the faint cries echoing from the shadows. His stomach twisted as he stepped closer, his eyes landing on the source of the sound.

Two grotesque forms writhed on the floor. They were the size of newborns, their twisted limbs and split-colored hair an unmistakable resemblance to the children you’d lost. Their cries were hauntingly melodic, a siren song that chilled the air and sent shivers down his spine. They crawled after the hospital staff on their knees, like infants seeking comfort.

They didn’t even acknowledge Sukuna at first.

His chest tightened, an ache spreading through him as he stared at the malformed beings. Slowly, he began to hum. The lullaby—their lullaby. The one he’d made up for them when they were restless, keeping you awake through the night.

The cries softened. Their heads turned toward him, their movements jerky and unnatural.

But they were horrifying to look at. Their forms were wrong, their very existence a violation of nature. Sukuna knew he couldn’t leave them like this.

When Uraume arrived, Sukuna had already made his decision. He moved the twins to a secure location and did the only thing he could think of: he shoved ten of his own fingers down each of their throats. It’s not like his soul would possess them; his soul was reincarnated.

The transformation was immediate. Their twisted forms gave way to soft, perfect skin. The grotesque cries became soft coos. They were no longer curses of suicide; they were infants, whole and complete.

But the relief was short-lived.

As Sukuna studied their energy, the truth became clear. These children were curses of death after their own deaths. Any non sorcerer who saw them—truly saw them—would die within sixty seconds. Only the dying could perceive them safely.

Bringing them to you was out of the question. Letting you know could result in you doing reckless things in order to see them, and Sukuna would not let that happen. The kids understood this as they grew, their burden weighing heavy on their small shoulders. Sukuna, Uraume, Choso, and Yuji became their guardians, raising them in secrecy. The twins adored you, but they could only watch from the shadows, unable to interact directly.

It seemed they had inherited their fathers’ burdens. But they didn’t have a hand in their death; they had been with Sukuna at the time. That was all their fathers’ own doings.

They were special grades unlike anything the world had ever seen, their cursed energy carrying traces of Gojo, Nanami, and Sukuna himself because of his cursed fingers. At just four years old, they had not one Domain Expansion, but three—one from each of their fathers, with the potential to develop more. Even Gojo and Sukuna didn’t know what the fuck domain expansion was at that age.

Sukuna’s thoughts broke as he heard you stir in the bedroom, the sound of the sheets shifting pulling him back to the present.

He turned to the twins, who were now perched on the couch, waiting for his instructions. Their mismatched eyes glinted with curiosity, though they didn’t speak.

“Time for school,” Sukuna said, his voice firm but gentle. “Choso’s waiting downstairs. Don’t make him yell.”

The twins scrambled off the couch, each hugging one of Sukuna’s legs before running out the door. Their laughter echoed down the hall as Choso’s exasperated voice rang out, “Don’t run! You’ll trip and break something!”

Sukuna sighed, shaking his head. They were a handful, but they were his. And he'd do everything to keep them safe, not that they needed it.

As he turned back to the kitchen to finish the omurice, he couldn’t help but glance toward the bedroom, where you were beginning to wake. For all the burdens he carried, the sight of you—alive and at peace—was enough to keep him moving forward.

----

It was folded so carefully that it seemed Nanami believed its neatness could shield you from the chaos within. The scent of aged paper filled the room. It's ink was slightly smudged, as if tears had fallen on it during its writing.

The words stared back at you, raw and unpolished, unlike Nanami’s usual precision.

To the woman I failed to deserve,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. Maybe I’ll find the courage to send it; maybe it’ll stay buried here with everything else I couldn’t say aloud.

If you’re reading this, I wasn’t strong enough to say it aloud. I always thought there would be more time—more moments to make things right, to fix what I broke. But time has a way of slipping through your fingers when you need it most.

I don’t even know where to begin. How do you apologize for a crime so immense it feels woven into your very being? How do I tell you that every breath I take now feels stolen from someone better, someone who wouldn’t have left you alone in the dark?

When we started this, I thought I could give you everything you deserved. Stability. Love. A partner who would always stand by your side. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of you. I let myself get caught in the orbit of something I thought I needed, and I let you drift further and further away.

I should’ve seen you.

Every day, I should’ve noticed the way your shoulders carried a weight too heavy for one person. I should’ve seen the way your eyes dimmed as you fought to hold yourself together. Instead, I turned away, selfishly clinging to the things that made me feel whole, even as they shattered you.

I let you carry us. And when you couldn’t anymore, I let you go.

The twins…

God, I can’t stop thinking about them. I dream about them every night. They’re always there, reaching for me, crying out, extending their tiny hands... but I can’t hold them. I can’t even touch them. They never had the chance to exist outside of you. It’s like the universe is punishing me for daring to believe I could be their father.

You carried them, even when it tore you apart, because you loved them in ways I never gave you the space to love me. And when you lost them—when we lost them—I wasn’t there to hold you. I wasn’t there to take even a fraction of that pain. I can never forgive myself for that.

I wasn’t there.

You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. But I also know that strength comes at a cost. I see it now—the toll it’s taken on you, on your heart.

If I could rewrite the story, I’d choose you every time. Not out of obligation, but because you were always the one. You were the constant, the one who made everything else bearable.

You deserved someone who could’ve seen the warning signs, someone who would’ve been by your side before the storm hit. Instead, you got me—a man so consumed by his own failures he didn’t notice yours until it was too late.

And now, I’m left with nothing but this: words on a page you likely will never read. Words that will never be enough to undo the damage.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this, why I’m making you carry this too. But the truth is, I can’t leave this world without telling you the one thing I was too much of a coward to say before:

You were my salvation.

Every smile, every glance, every moment you gave me—those were the only times I felt like I was worth something. But I wasn’t. I see that now. I wasn’t enough for you, and I wasn’t enough for them.

You were my lighthouse in a storm I couldn’t escape, and I turned away.

I’m not asking for forgiveness—I don’t deserve it. But if you can find it in your heart, I hope you can find peace. Not for me, not for Gojo, but for yourself.

You deserve a life without shadows. A life where you can breathe freely again.

You deserve love. You deserve someone who will see you for the incredible, breathtaking force of nature you are.

Sukuna deserves you. From the only time I met him, I knew he would do anything to keep you safe. He looked at you the way Gojo and I used to look at you. Maybe he will keep you safer than we ever did. And even if he doesn’t, I hope you are happy and protected wherever you go. I hope you and Megumi become friends again.

I love you. I’ve always loved you.

I’ll never be able to stop loving you.

Even now, even when I’ve become the very thing I feared most—another ghost haunting your life.

Goodbye, my love,

Always your Ken

A/N: AND THAT’S A WRAP ON ALT ENDING 1! I’m sobbing; how about you? Let’s unpack: I’m already bracing myself for Alt Ending 2. Y’all wanted groveling Gojo and Nanami, so it’s coming. And by ‘coming,’ I mean give me a few days because writing men who actually apologize is harder than exorcising curses. I know Sukuna kind of dominated this fic (pun intended). Confession time: I used to LOATHE Sukuna, but after reading Bloody Inheritance by the legend @@sadistic-kiss, I am now officially a Sukuna apologist. Like, who gave him the right?? If you’re in a Sukuna hangover after this (like me), I HIGHLY recommend it. But please, for the love of cursed energy, read it's trigger warnings first. Okay, I NEED your thoughts on three things: How was the smut? Be honest but gentle—this was my third attempt, and I’m sweating. Did Sukuna as "Daddy Sukuna™" hit as hard for you as it did for me? The hospital floor manager mystery is solved in this chapter. Satisfied? Or do y’all still think I rushed it? 👀 Also, let’s talk about the playlist. What’s your favorite song to cry to while reading this? Asking for research purposes. 👀" P.S. If this chapter emotionally destroyed you, comment so we can cry together. 💔 Let’s make AO3 and Tumblr our group therapy session.

Next Chapter 10 (alt ending 2.1) - Silent Reckonings (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

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

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

[meetinginsamarra]

Fanfics I Really Liked in November 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

++++

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror @silentauroriamthereal

As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

A suspenseful S4 fix-it with a fearsome Mycroft, John's redemption arc and some surprises. Happy ending, of course!

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror @silentauroriamthereal

Starts as Sherlock's plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he's being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

HLV fix-it with lots of pining and misunderstandings and a happy ending!

My, She Was Yar by blueink3

YAR: adjective (nautical term, of a sailboat) agile, quick, easily manoeuvred

Or, the exact opposite of what Sherlock Holmes is when he stumbles into John Watson's cinema and turns his life upside down.

Lovely different first meeting with a bit of hurt/comfort!

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo @blogstandbygo

Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Fake boyfriends for a case is always a good start for friends to lovers. LOL

Whispers of Highgate by standbygo @blogstandbygo

During his hiatus, Sherlock is chased into the Paris Catacombs, with unexpected consequences.

A little bit of spookyness and a twist at the end!

Christmas Lights by emma221b

It's tough being homeless, especially at Christmas. When Sherlock finds himself cold and alone on the streets of London, he can see no way back. What he needs now is one more miracle, and he might just be about to find it - even if it's not the one that he thinks that he wants.

I love this young Sherlock and the tragic backstory that made him go homeless. Mycroft is a good big brother. Hurt/comfort.