#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

[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."

[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.”

[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 & 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/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 ❤

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[papenathys]

This new media/bookish trend of writing vaguely soppy "morally grey" villains with tragic backstories + sanitizing evil and making it safe enough for the soft gay uwu crowd by adding that "this guy is mean, racist and aids a fascist govt but AT LEAST he SUPPORTS LGBTQ!" means that nobody can properly enjoy well written evil and unhinged villains in media anymore, without some 20 year old on Twitter writing essays about how liking these characters means you're a Nazi sympathizer, child abuse apologist etc.

A lot of viewers can only digest and champion the "misunderstood tragic villains" who deserve "redemption arcs"- Azula, Jinx, s8 Dany, s4 Villanelle, the Darkling etc. On the other hand, deliciously and gruesomely irredeemable villains in darker, more mature media become "one-dimensional" or "mid" because they are unpalatable to fandom culture.

There is a weird pressure upon creators to make all characters likeable, unproblematic and "relatable" by the same hammy tropes: tragedies (dead partner, daddy issues), armchair progressive politics (Fire Nation is Evil but it has Women Soldiers in the Military, Feminist Icons!), or "I hate everyone but you" style dark romance (Daemyra and Alarkling). I am sorry but if the only villain you can appreciate is an "unproblematic", misunderstood one, you are NOT ready for media consumption outside of mainstream YA fantasy and children's literature.

This is the reason why tame liberal progressive books like The Priory of the Orange Tree and The Jasmine Throne gets shelved as "morally grey sapphics" while She Who Became the Sun and Baru Cormorant are called problematic and get negative reviews. This is the reason why CSM fans cry and sob about Makima being a villain and doing villainous things ("Omg how dare she not ask for consent??" She is a literal devil from hell, a war criminal and an allegory of govt. authority abuse of power. Sorry she isn't a feminist.)

You're free to filter the tags, but that's on you and nobody else. They are painted as villains. They are not misrepresentation. It's not on creators to make you feel comfortable about their evil characters. "A truly cool villain must be willing to murder but respect their wife and not be racist"– ok go back to reading AO3!!!! Personally I need more Makima Chainsaw Man and Lee Woo-jin Oldboy and Dorothy Daniels A Certain Hunger and Tywin Lannister ASOIAF and Logan Roy Succession!!!! Make villains nasty and unlikeable and unpalatable and bigoted and evil and gut-wrenchingly unpleasant again!!!

PS: HOUSEKEEPING→ There is a human being and abuse survivor behind this blog. Please be mature adults and do not bring up your specific traumas, triggers and personal information to misdirect a conversation about fictional villains and guilt trip everyone by strawman arguments. This is about FICTIONAL VILLAINS. NOT invalidating your personal trigger.

[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.

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Favorite New Manga and Graphic Novels I Read in 2024

I read 114 manga volumes and graphic novels last year! Here’s a link to my Goodreads year in books, which tallies one book from each manga series ( I've arranged it so the manga/gns at the beginning, the novels start with Red, White & Royal Blue) and my storygraph wrap up.  

I have a post for my favorite books of 2024 you can read here! I also have a post on my top 12 anime for 2024 and you can read it here! (Also, since a lot of this is yuri, check out my broader yuri manga rec post here!)

Now let's get to all the new manga, with a little check in on ongoing titles at the bottom!

Love Bullet by inee

When someone who never had the chance to experience love meets an untimely death, they're given a chance to become a cupid. If they help enough people fall in love, they earn the chance to have another shot at life. Koharu meets her end after her best friend, Aki, confesses her love to her, and she becomes a cupid...

Love Bullet is a brand new yuri with fun characters and a cute art style that feels a little charmingly retro. The concept of modern day cupids using firearms and behaving like sharpshooters in an action movie is so fun, but there's also a beating heart behind it. The tragedy of Koharu's life being cut sort and the bittersweet arc where Koharu tries to help her living best friend deal with her lingering trauma over her sudden death...it's touching and well written. All the cupids already have a really great dynamic, and as befitting a yuri, the way the girls approach their jobs is casually queer, with the "targets" often shown to have both guy and girl options.

It's a story with great potential that seems like it could go a ton of interesting places. It's a little different than the rest of this list that it's not officially out in English yet. The reason it's here is because the author sent out an SOS that the first Japanese volume is struggling in sales, and the international yuri community, excited about the awesome story they've seen so far, rose to the challenge and bought out the first volume in Japanese! So far it's been successful! If you end up reading it (you'll have to rely on scanlation but they're easy to find) or even if you just simply want to support a cool story. I really encourage you to do the same. Here's a document on how to buy the Japanese version. Hopefully, the grassroots support will mean we get an official English release soon!

The Summer You Were There by Yuama

All you lovers of tragic lesbians, this is for you. The manga follows Shizuku, a deeply depressed girl who is so guilty about something in her past she's got some serious suicidal ideation going. But when Kaori, a girl in her class, reads her writing and guesses what's behind it, she challenges Shizuku to a bet where she has to write a novel about a romance between the two of them. Now they're suddenly spending a lot of time together, and Kaori is helping Shizuku unpack her guilt. However, Kaori is struggling too. She's actually very sick, and though she hides it, it's getting worse.

The manga is a heart wrenching meditation on grief and redemption. For very different reasons, both girls think they don't deserve love and both girls are shown they're very, very wrong by the other.

I like how Kaori tries to be the manic pixie dream girl who fixes all of Shizuku's problems, but then Shizuku very firmly says "what the hell. no. You need support too" and they're both allowed to be full characters who find solace in each other. Shizuku's backstory is also really interesting, and it hits hard. It's just a very touching, but very sad read.

Barefoot Gen by Keiji Nakazawa

Barefoot Gen is a semi-autobiographical manga by Hiroshima survivor Nakazawa Keiji. Nakazawa said the story is taken not just from his life, but those of fellow survivors he talked to and lived with.

The story follows a boy named Gen, depicting how most of his family were killed by the atomic bomb, and how he struggled to survive in a post-war Japan, while surrounded by the horrible effects of radiation poisoning, economic devastation, and American imperialism.

It sticks out from other animanga I've seen about WWII bombings in that it's very critical and angry at the Japanese government, to the point that Gen even calls the Emperor a war criminal. What stands out even more is how direct it is in denouncing of Japan's war crimes against Korea and China, as well as condemning Japanese racism against Koreans. It makes sure you know that Korean POWs and forced laborers also died and suffered because of the bomb, and that the Japanese doctors discriminated against them, forcing Koreans to wait on receiving medical treatment until every Japanese person was treated.

It does a stomach churning, effective job depicting the horror of radiation poisoning and war, and its message is extremely firm: Its the common people who suffer in the wars while those in power exploit them, that war and violence are an endless vicious cycle we must break free from, and nuclear bombing must never happen again.

Though it puts a lot of blame on the Japanese government for entering the war and on citizens for supporting it, the story is also critical of America's cruelty and imperialism, depicting lot of things America did to Japanese citizens post-war we don't get taught-- like soldiers sexually assaulting Japanese women, like getting Japanese labor activists and protestors removed from their jobs, like literally torturing Japanese leftists, like luring Japanese citizens to treatment centers with promises of medical aid for radiation sickness, only to collect the data and send them off with no help...

Though the manga is brutal, there are moments of comradery and kindness (and a lot of silly humor). Gen helps a lot of people along the way, and his resilience and his message not to give up is the heart of the manga. It's educational and very direct about subjects that both sides don't want to acknowledge-- both Japanese nationalists and American nationalists do not like it (you can learn more about that here). Despite extremely gruesome content, it's aimed at kids, so it's very blunt and direct in its messages and dialogue. But that can be kind of refreshing.

 It can get a little repetitive on occasion and storylines and characters tend to be introduced very abruptly, but it does keep you rooting for and feeling for the characters all the way through. I think it's an essential, highly informative and unforgettable read, and everyone should read at least a little bit. Or at the very least, read this interview with Nakazawa. If you can't handle the gruesome imagery of the comic, he describes his experience pretty in depth here, and there's a lot of other insight.

This Monster wants to Eat Me by Sai Naekawa

Hinako is a depressed girl who survived a terrible trauma and has been searching for death ever since. One day she gets approached by, Shiori, a mermaid who wants to eat her…but the thing is, this monster mermaid is a gourmet who wants her to be as delicious as possible, which means she’s going to make Hinako happy first before she eats her (as apparently that enhances her flavor). In the meantime Shiori has to fight off all the other monsters who want to snack on Hinako.

This is TOP TIER yuri horror and a must read for any lover of monster girls. It was custom made for a freak like me, who thinks a monster girl covered in the blood of her enemies seductively telling the protagonist she wants to devour her is the stuff that dreams are made of.

Shiori, the woman-eating mermaid in question, is a fascinating character right off the bat, always having a hint of menace and inhuman mystery, but showing some potential for genuinely caring for Hinako someday. There's an ongoing mystery of why monsters are so attracted to Hinako that's a good hook, as is the irony of Hinako starting to come alive thanks to a girl who wants to kill her. It's good stuff! And it'll get an anime soon, which I'm praying is worthy of such a cool story.

The Guy She Was Interested Wasn’t a Guy at All by Sumiko Arai

The green yuri! This web manga finally gotten a physical release this year! It tells the story of Mitsuki, a girl who works at a record shop. Her classmate Aya wanders in. Aya doesn't recognize Mitsuki with a face mask and hair hidden by a cap and immediately assumes Mitsuki's a guy. They bond over their mutual love of rock music and slowly start to get closer…and Aya finds her heart is fluttering not only over this mysterious boy, but her female classmate that seems a lot like him...

Despite it's clunky title, this manga makes a premise that could have been painfully cliche and, in the worst case, extremely uncomfortable and makes it work. It never swings into homophobic or transphobic territory imo. It helps that Aya is clearly catching feelings for "girl" Mitsuki along with "guy" Mitsuki from the beginning, subconsciously knowing they're the same person.

The focus of the story is the way their relationship develops through a shared love of Western rock music and it really captures the joy of finding someone who can share your interests and the affection that can spring up for that. The characters are very likeable and cute, the art is absolutely gorgeous, and the story as a whole has this laid back, naturalistic feeling while still developing at a good pace. I just really enjoy kicking back with my green yuri, and it's good reputation is well earned!

Maus by Art Spiegelman

This comic about Spiegelman interviewing his father, a Holocaust survivor, and learning his story (with Nazis being represented as cats and Jewish people as mice) is, of course, incredibly well known to the point it feels almost redundant to talk about it. But I did read it cover to cover for the first time last year, and unsurprisingly it's a great piece of art and an important story for anyone to look into.

The parts recounting the Holocaust were heartbreaking and horrifying as expected, and I'd expected that. But the things I hadn't heard as much about was how much the book explored Spiegelman's complicated relationship with his father, and his anxieties as an artist and whether he was the right one to tell this story. It was fascinating to see him struggle with those things, and it added a lot of layers.

The Moon on a Rainy Night by Kuzushiro

One rainy night, Saki runs into Kanon and is immediately infatuated with the other girl. When she sees Kanon at school, she discovers Kanon is hard of hearing. Kanon is understandably frustrated at the ableism she tends to endure. But as Saki reaches out and gets to know her, Kanon starts to open up. And Saki, having gone through struggles related to her sexuality in the past, starts getting anxious about her feelings for Kanon...

The Moon on a Rainy Night is just... REALLY good. Kanon is just a great character, and as a lover of stubborn, prickly girls I just find her so charming. She has a lot going on with her, like her interest in music and relationship with her family and various quirks.

One thing I really like is how narrative allows her to be frustrated about the stuff she goes through, allows her to have complex feelings about being disabled, and pays attention the little details. She has to clear up misconceptions she can't hear anything, she points out that only 20 percent of deaf people use sign language (but starts using it when she really relates to a movie and the way the cute actor uses it, which is such a teenager thing to do), the lip reading isn't treated as some magic thing, Kanon has to remind people to look at her or she can't hear them, and she misreads things a fair amount.

I'm not hard of hearing, so I'm far from the authority, but most examples of deaf and/or hard-of-hearing female characters I can think of in anime (okay so there's only two I can think of, can't say that qualifies as a pattern) are depicted as shy, super sweet and socially naive, so it's refreshing to have a character who brings some variety.

Saki is also super compelling as she wrestles with her insecurities.I really related when she was learning sign language and got bummed out by the heteronormativity of one sign (using "man" and "woman" for marriage). I also like that Saki finds an adult lesbian who gently supports her and mentors her, it's all very sweet. It's just a fantastic romance and character study, and I hope the upcoming anime does it justice.

Wash Day Diaries by Jamila Rowser and Robyn Smith

Wash Day Diaries follows four best friends and their daily lives through interconnected short stories. As the official summary states: "The book takes its title from the wash day experience shared by Black women everywhere of setting aside all plans and responsibilities for a full day of washing, conditioning, and nourishing their hair".

The comic makes a great use of color to reflect the characters' moods, and the girls are drawn vibrantly and distinctively. The peek into the characters' daily lives feels like getting to know some good friends, and there's a great attention to detail, especially with the comic's beautiful step-by-step depiction of how each woman does her hair and what it says about her.

 The comic touches on topics like depression, dementia, and homophobia. Just like real life, these things aren't neatly resolved, but the story does offer some hope and catharsis. It's a pretty quick read, but it's packed with good stuff.

Magilumiere Magical Girls Inc. by Yu Aoki

I'm going to give myself a little break and just reuse my entry for the anime. (The only difference between them is that the manga flows a bit better than the anime, moving at a faster pace with huge panels suiting the art style and the action!)

Being a magical girl is no longer the domain of teenagers, and has evolved into an actual career dominated by adult women. Kana becomes a magical girl for a scrappy start up company, and tries her best to navigate working life.

It’s the magical girl story about adult women I’ve been craving for years! Magical girl media often explores the struggles of adolescence and growing up, and this show takes us to the next step by using magical girls to explore what it’s like to be a young woman entering the working world. The focus is one Kana struggling to grow her confidence and accept support from her workplace, but it also has a lot to say about companies exploiting their workers, prizing efficiency and growth over actually taking care of their customers, and it shows how the world could be better than what it is right now. Check out my review here for more detail!

I Married My Female Friend by Shio Usui

A pair of best friends enter a platonic marriage they both agreed to with the promise they’ll divorce if one of them falls in love. But one woman has decidedly not platonic feelings for her wife, and is trying to repress them...

This is a sweet, laid-back story from the creator of Doughnuts Under the Crescent Moon. It has a very slice-of-life feel, with the characters feelings and conflicts developing subtlety. There's a focus on domestic life and the compromises and struggles one makes along the way. It's set in a world where gay marriage is legal in Japan, which is cool to see. If you liked Doughnuts, or are just looking for a chill yuri, I'd check this out!

Himawari House by Harmony Becker

 Himawari House follows the story of Nao, a half-Japanese woman who immigrated to America when she was young. She's now returning to Japan and feels a feels a deep sadness from how disconnected she's gotten from Japan's language and culture. While in Japan, she lives with two other girls, Hyejung and Tina, who are from South Korea and Singapore respectively. They form a friendship as all of them struggle to get used to Japan and deal with language barriers.

We get the interconnected stories of all three girls, and all of them are really interesting in their own way. This story does a lot of cool things with language, for example, showing words fading out when someone can't understand them, giving the reader the same experience the character is having trying to understand the language. It was a fascinating experience. The book does an effective job exploring Nao's feelings of alienation from both America and Japan, while having a lot of other interesting plotlines that made all the characters feel rounded and developed, such as struggles with independence and expectations from parents, trying to navigate romances, and dealing with homesickness. The art is beautiful as well. This is a well crafted and insightful story, that you might find especially great if you're interested in languages, cultures, stories about identity, and stories about Japan.

Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl by Canno

Kiss and White Lily follows multiple lesbian relationships, with its main storyline being about two academic rivals, where one is determined to rank first in class, and the other is an effortless genius who becomes intrigued at the possibility of someone beating her.

The main couple have the kind of messy combative sexual tension I wish we’d see more often in yuri because it’s so good. I just love the drama and mixture of rage and attraction. The manga follows other couples too and while some stories are stronger than others, they're all usually entertaining in some way and its fun to watch the characters grow. The art's also very cute and the characters are vibrant. The ending is really strong too, putting a perfect cap on the story of the main couple especially.

However, big warning for some nonconsensual kisses in early volumes, with Kurosawa being especially pushy. There's also a storyline with...well it does leave you a little wiggle room on whether it's actually incest between a minor and an adult portrayed romantically??? but um. the implication is strong. Fortunately, that's mainly contained to the seventh volume--you can just skip any stories about the sisters.

When the manga is good, it's really good, and that makes up for some of the questionable elements for me, even if I wish they weren't there. You might agree or disagree!

Ongoing and ended titles:

Here's a look at some of the ongoing titles I've been following! You can look at this post for breakdowns of what they're all about and why I recommend them.

I Think My Son is Gay and I Want to Be a Wall both wrapped up with fairly open endings but remained good reads over all. I finally got around to finishing After Hours, a yuri about a girl who gets ditched by her friend at the club, only to meet a cool punk girl who introduces her to the world of DJ-ing. It's a very charming three volume tale, and I love the playful vibe and more natural-sounding dialogue, especially for the cool party-girl love interest.

There are several manga that just stay the course as far as being excellent go: Otherside Picnic (which is finally at some of the best parts of the light novels! It's getting real!), Monthly Girls Nozaki-kun, Witch Hat Atelier, A Man and his Cat, How Do We Relationship, March Come in Like a Lion, The Summer Hikaru Died and She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat.

For Yuri is my Job, I have to warn for a intense predatory sexual assault scene between an adult antagonist and one of the underage main characters. It's even ambiguous whether the underage character in question got raped for a few pages (but she wasn't). It's completely framed as a an evil, bad act by the antagonist, but how it was handled was SO intense and kind of weird I'm not sure how I feel about it. Yona of the Dawn has gotten incredibly intense lately and continues extremely slowly but surely approaching the finale. Maybe we'll get it in four years or something.

And that it! I'm going to happily keep reading all these manga, as well as continue checking out some new ones, like Akane-banashi! I hope you enjoyed these recs.

[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)

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[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.

[8bit-cookie-thief]

A Story Done Right

Kill Bill, The Princess Bride, Blue-Eyed Samurai, Wrath of Khan. Our media is saturated with revenge stories. Even children's tales often have revenge as a sweeping premise (e.g., the countless Star Wars villains as a modern example, but older tales such as Cinderella were even more rife with vindictive messages). And to be honest, I have never cared for this plot type.

Revenge stories are usually violent, merciless, myopic, and pretty disregarding of 'collateral' losses. Not all, but most lack any type of interesting moral symbology and substitute dynamic storylines and complex character development in lieu of exciting action scenes and a prosaic fixation on bloodshed. There are certainly exceptions to this, many of the titles I listed above actually have a lot of great things going for them. But I would say that these qualities are in spite of their focus on revenge and not because of it.

And there are an endless number of animes, movies, books, and other stories based on revenge that simply do not appeal to me (not judging other people if they like violent action media, just not my personal taste). Most of the time, I am just left feeling empty at the end, like Neo after volume 9.

But there is one exception to this theme. One revenge story that leaves me feeling whole, not empty. From the banner image, I think it is pretty obvious which story it is. This is my own highly subjective opinion, but I truly believe that the fight with Adam represents the perfect revenge story. And here is my reasoning.

Revenge is Not The Hero's Purpose

In too many stories, the premise begins with douchebag 'X' killing damsel 'Y', leading to hero 'Z' killing a lot of henchmen and blowing up a lot of buildings all for the singular purpose of making Mr. X pay. Once they achieve this purpose, they look around aimlessly before wandering off to have a milkshake or play golf or something. Yeah well, this story does not do this. Killing Adam was never the objective for Blake and Yang, because they have actual goals that involve saving people and not just executing some vendetta.

Don't get me wrong. I love redemption stories, I find them so much more satisfying, especially when the character in question has to struggle to overcome the gravity of what they have done (note: a redemption arc does not mean instant forgiveness, it might never end with actual for absolution for what they have done). I love Emerald's story and think it has a lot of interesting twists that it can take. But there are some characters who are just too far gone to save. And Adam fits that perfectly.

He has a tragic backstory and I truly pity him. But he is also an abusive, murdering shitlord who manipulated and groomed Blake (I wouldn't be surprised if he physically or sexually abused her, which is somewhat implied by her frequently defensive body posture, but is not definite). He kills out of spite and represents Yang's demon, who she could have become. It was cathartic to watch him fall, but I am ever so grateful that his demise was not the purpose of Blake and Yang. Because killing him out of spite for what he did to them would not be much different than the way he lashed out at others for the traumas that he has endured. Some might call it justice, but justice and revenge are two sides of the same coin and the edges between them can be blurry.

The point is, Yang and Blake are so much more than Adam. They killed him out of necessity, not out of hate.

They Are Set on the Future

As I mentioned, I often feel empty at the end of a revenge story. When the villain lies dead within a pool of their own blood and the hero has achieved everything they sought to accomplish, what more is there really? Often, I feel like the story has reached its ending without really achieving anything of note. Often, without really making the world a better place. A plot about revenge is not the same as one about taking someone down to save other people. The former is what Adam wanted and it would have made the world a worse place. But Yang and Blake are protectors. The fight was exhilarating and satisfying, but it ultimately humanized these characters whereas most revenge stories do the opposite, treating human life as cheap entertainment to be killed in the most 'epic' way possible.

But more important, the fight left me feeling excited about the future, rather than feeling burn out from seeing the villain die. Adam was fixated on the past. He was a character of the past. He represented Blake and Yang's trauma, their old demons and fears. He had no further place in their character arcs, because they had evolved into something so much more. Killing Adam was not the end of their story as it is in so many revenge plots. It was simply a new beginning. It felt whole and wholesome. Past, present, and future.

Because it is the People Who Matter

Ultimately, the fight was never about killing Adam. It was about bringing Yang and Blake together. About having them overcome the demons of their past. About the importance of mental health. About their individual traumas (abandonment issues & PTSD for Yang and Blake's fear of hurting others). About the challenges that LGBTQ+ people face in finding security in a hostile world. It was about these two, fucking amazing characters and the ineffably wondrous relationship that forms between them. One based on actual fucking support, equality, and love.

That is all I have on this right now. Hopefully, I did not offend too many people by criticizing typical revenge stories. But I have been wanting to talk about my love and appreciation of this scene for years. I know there have been so many more people who have discussed these same themes and points before, probably more adroitly than my rambling mess, but this is my rambling mess. Thanks for reading!

Random side trivia 1: Mandy Patinkin, the actor who played Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, is famous for his iconic line, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Mandy felt that the scene was symbolic of feelings towards the illness that took his father. But regarding revenge against people, he actually dislikes his iconic line and how it idolizes revenge.

Random side trivia 2: I love Jeff & Casey William songs and I just love BMBLY (except or that creepy line about the birds and butterflies knowing, wtf). But as an ecologist, I should note that bumblebees do not make honey. Jeff was thinking of European honey bees. Bumblees are cute, fuzzy, chunky super pollinators that live in the ground, in hollow plant stems, or other obscure spots and are either solitary or have very small hives. They virtually never bother people and are super pollinators, actually much better pollinators than honeybees (which are super awesome cool in their own right, but also highly invasive in the western hemisphere and hurt our native pollinators D: And yes, I cherry-picked the ugliest picture of one that I could find). Many bumblebees are endangered, just like our beloved Bumblebees. Save the bees! AND THE BEES!

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #5500:

Irredeemable villains with no sympathetic qualities are awesome and great, but y’all need to stop acting like it’s an inherently bold, brilliant, and groundbreaking writing move every time a villain doesn’t get a redemption arc or tragic backstory