#guardian urak | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whizzinpast · 7 hours

Text

Lord, Give Me One More Chance

Chapter 1: Requiem

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Ivan (Alien Stage)/Till (Alien Stage), Ivan (Alien Stage) & Till (Alien Stage)

Chapter Warnings: Drug Abuse, Implied/References Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicide Mentions

Chapter Summary: Till experiences an unusual chain of possibly unrelated events after the sixth round.

A/N: So, uhm, that Round 6 Behind The Scenes Patreon post, huh?

Anyway, give me your flower emojis below if you want to give that one design of Till in a black turtleneck + harness a big smooch and a fancy bouqet.

Read on AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)

Till’s god died in the fifth round.

The last he had seen of her face was a beastly display of shrieks and torn Mercurian silk. Her long, lithe arms struck her fellow contestant, Luka of Guardian Heperu, hands clasping around his slim neck like a serpent’s jaw. She had beaten the man bloody. Sentinels dragged her and her wild tendrils of pink hair, kicking and screaming.

Then the stage was invaded. Amidst the red, flashing lights and blaring sirens, Mizi was taken out of the competition.

Ivan believed she was not dead. Till wasn’t nearly as certain. Heperu prayed she wasn’t— only so she could be brought back and have several holes burned into her skull, then have it screened live across the entire Virgo supercluster.

Regardless of her fate, something broke out of her skin that day. On the curated stage of a deceased segyein’s ossuary, something ripped its way out of her chest and left behind the dead skin of a depraved, grieving Mizi. Something too raw and too bloody to be worshiped.

Ivan knew it would not kill Till’s faith, but it was tested.

“No, no, I understand. As soon as the round is over, it’ll be off your shoulders. He can be very sweet, I promise, he’s just shy.” Ivan explained saccharinely over the phone. “Thank you. I wish you the best.”

His face fell as soon as he hung up.

Ever the opportunist, Ivan’s guardian sent him off to deliver gifts for Luka before he could make his way to Till’s containment chamber. Last he heard, Till’s hysteria was so loud he had to be collared, muzzled and accompanied by two sentries. If Ivan intended to keep his privileges, including his visits to Guardian Urak’s sector, he had to play his part.

And so, with his gloved hands clenching the package and flanked by two henchmen, he was driven to his guardian’s most sought-out business associate.

Guardian Heperu’s sector boasted a distinct luxury compared to Urak’s. Its expansive alabaster interior housed multiple floors exclusively adorned with trophies of diverse kinds. Ivan was greeted by a receptionist, who marveled at his absence of a collar. One polite smile and a compliment later, he was directed to the escalators.

Luka’s enclosure was at the top, a stunning cage of bone and glass. He was kept in a neo-Gothic chamber, with pointed arches and spinal columns holding up a dome of hazy glass panes. Ivan found him in a gazebo below the great oculus, propped up like a doll in a round, oversized bed and surrounded by cables and pale machinery. Against so much paleness, the bruises on his face can be seen from the entrance.

Ivan and his escort’s entrance was announced by an approving, tinkling sound when they crossed the doorstep. Their black attires broke the bleached monotony, capturing Luka’s and Heperu’s attention.

“If victory came at this price, I’d hesitate to congratulate you.”

Luka acknowledged his presence with a curious tilt of his moonlit head. He seemed otherworldly, as if he were never fully present in this world, the next, or any that followed—somewhere beyond reach.

Guardian Heperu stood by the bedside, his small mouth curling in displeasure. “Nonsense! All victories of the Alien Stage are bloody. This— this is—“ He vented all too eagerly, gesturing aimlessly at his prized possession, decorated with bruises instead of medals. “Absolute animosity. Unacceptable. Shine should be ashamed of herself.”

“All the more to perpetuate the true virtue of the victor,” Ivan said. “And all the victories to come.”

Heperu was pleased enough with his comfort before his bulbous, violet eyes were drawn to Ivan’s package. “You bring gifts?”

Ivan smiled cordially, then handed the steel box to one of his escorts so it could be carried to Heperu’s small, grabby fingers. He took off his white gloves, their purpose fulfilled now that the package was delivered without a trace of human contact.

“Guardian wishes Luka a speedy recovery. This is something you could use to keep yourself nourished and entertained before Luka’s next round. They’re the best on the planet.”

Heperu eagerly unlocked the box’s mechanism and peered inside. “Ah, Gara. Excellent, excellent! He knows how to sort his specimen well. I myself never had the patience.” He looked up at Ivan with a critical eye, and once again, seemed pleased with what he saw. “But you’ve turned out the finest I’ve ever seen. Are you certain you’re not homegrown?”

Ivan shook his head with a little laugh. “No. My qualities are my master’s.”

“Then your master has potential.” A bot was dispatched to take the package, so Heperu could fix the sleeves of his robe. His focus didn’t last long when his appearance demanded his attention. “Send him my regards, I cannot keep you here any longer. My child requires rest.”

Ivan bowed as he was shooed off by flicking gestures of Heperu’s hands.

“Poet.”

Luka’s need for oxygen was so desperate it sucked all breathable air out of the room. Ivan paused, and so did his escorts.

Mizi’s hand prints painted his neck a vicious pink. Heperu had the money to fix it before his next round, but until it was dealt with, it cracked Luka’s acclaimed baritone. “When should I be expecting your requiem?”

It was a better acknowledgement than his dull, absent-minded gestures— and a challenge. Ivan recognized it, and responded in kind, his shoulders squared.

“Soon.” He outstretched his hand in good will. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Instead of shaking it, Luka’s icy fingers took hold of his own. He pressed his lips against his knuckles, dried blood brushing against Ivan’s skin.

“I know,” he rasped, his blue lips stretching into a slow, sordid smile.

Ivan rarely believed in bad omens, but when he left the sector, he made sure to ask for wet wipes instead of contaminating his suit.

Till’s god died in the fifth round. The last he had seen of her face was when tin-cans gathered to keep her on her scratched knees and pointed a rifle at the back of her head.

Her dress was torn. Her fists sore. Mizi’s face was a twisted, alien grimace that showed the strained wrinkle of her skin and the vicious cut of her brow. Seeing her bathed in red lights made him think of Anakt flowers in full bloom, and it was terrifying. Till was terrified. Despite the distance, he could see it clear as day— he drew her jaw wrong. Not only the jaw, but the lips, too. The teeth. The eyes.

Ivan was right.

She was gone. Gone. Gone.

And Till was left all alone as a finalist, which called for celebration.

Urak rented a VIP lounge to a group of gold diggers. They lifted him up on a pedestal to sing them his woes. Till didn’t— sing his woes, that is. He sang whatever came on screen. They asked for Black Sorrow five times in a row. The most recent addition, Cure, seven. A mogul with two planets under his belt, whose name Till remembered only because of how it was growled against his neck, mentioned how he had more flavor than the previous reigning champion and the brand ambassador combined. Till barely processed that he was talking about Ivan, too.

Brand ambassador. Child protege. Model. Musical powerhouse. Titles spat at his face like he was supposed to know what it meant. Like he was supposed to know who Ivan was.

Ivan was.

He was.

That was it. He was; no longer is. What is— is a drenched corpse. Dried and cleaned. Displayed in a museum or hidden in the back of his owner’s freezer, right next to some bougie extract or segyein champagne. He was too expensive to be dumped. What is— is the white coat that Urak let him keep.

Urak’s associates laughed at his fortune, their spittle on his face, and pushed blue pills into his hands. No, it was the spindly one. The one on his neck. Karlak. He was no longer a mere pet, he said. Now, he could party like a segyein.

A dead part of Till, the one with the collar, would’ve told him to go fuck himself on a pike.

What remained of Till, the unshackled one, downed it like it was candy.

And it was easier—so much easier—when he was another famous acid freak, puppeteered by the bourgeoisie. Everybody could have a piece of him, the old money dickwads and the nouveau riche. Till was spun around, weightless, and brought back to the stage, where he sang and swayed for them. Even out of his mind, they thought he sounded like a fucking angel.

Till grunted, his pulsing temple pressed hard against the mic while he waited for the chorus, grasping ecstasy before it slipped through his fingers, like the blood, like the rain—

Ivan is— was— is—

Till’s voice cried out the lyrics and the room boomed. Thunder and lightning. Blazing trails streaking the sky.

Twisted freak. Snaggletoothed bastard. Handsome corpse.

Till knew the shape of his fist better than he knew him. He knew his dead-eyed gaze and the fake quirk of his lips, and the swathe of his pale skin plastered across every holographic billboard. Of course he wasn’t scared of dying. He was immortalized on every commercial Till came across. It would take weeks to wipe his image from public conscious. It would take centuries to wipe him from Till’s.

He walked off the stage and draped himself across some segyein’s lap, who offered him a shot and a pat on the back. Their claw ran through his sweat-soaked hair. In return, Till bore his neck to the room, and the room marveled, its walls sodden with blood and gold. The music smelled like booze, and Till could see cigarette smoke wafting in cloudy patterns above his head. His jaw parted so it could drip down his throat, his tongue curling for a taste, only to be greeted with nothing.

Bored, he stumbled to the stage and sang three more songs. Then he went back.

He tripped on something, and when he rotated, stumbling, he realized it was a comet-white corpse. Till went around it, and fell back onto a table with shatter-screams in his wake. White-hot light burned his eyeballs. He nearly thought they strapped him to a table to poke his skin again, until a spiked shell loomed from above and pincers clacked above his beloved neck. Something roamed across his chest, but Till’s limbs were made of rubber. His head lolled back over the edge of the table, and he flinched at how the room spun. Vertigo struck him. Curtains of pink hair covered the door of the lounge. A tall, anthropomorphic form phased through.

Somewhere between staring at all the unimaginable redness of everything and licking his incisors, a jagged sound crawled out of his throat. “Dead meat,” he laughed, “you’re all dead fucking meat.”

And then— a shatter.

The lounge stopped pulsing.

Groaning in effort, Till tilted his head upwards. Blood-soaked forms of segyein shifted around, and somewhere in the background, he could hear Ivan halfway through the second verse of Cure. Till’s head lolled around Karlak’s pincers to see what all the fuss was about, and was promptly disappointed. A tin-man. The same kind of one-eyed tin-man that dragged Mizi off stage and nearly shot her in the back of her pretty head. He could hear gargling sounds and some warbles. He didn’t know that tin-men could talk.

Its metal head swiveled to face Karlak’s hot-white eyes. Till watched as it stepped forward and raised its arm to—

—shoot Karlak’s skull clean through.

Till’s eyes blinked through the spray of violet fluids. Karlak’s decapitated body slid off him, rolled over and hit the ground with a hard thump, soft belly facing the ceiling.

Another deafening shatter rang out. Till watched with bloodshot eyes at the result. Colors. Colors spraying the walls. Blues and greens and yellows.

A massive indigo form screeched and stormed across the lounge, knocking over sofas. The tin-man blew a clean shot through one of their kneecaps, then another through their chest as soon as they collapsed. Their body skidded to a stop at the sentry’s feet. The room suddenly exploded with glorious, saturated colors, and Till’s hand violently twitched with inspiration.

The rest of the segyein scrambled to the door, clawing at the keypad in hopes of getting it open. One was dragged by the back of its uniform, smacked with the butt of a gun before its head was raised above the edge of a table— splat. Yellow. Its skull was battered once, twice, thrice in continuous splatters of neon liquids and marrow.

It continued. It squashed, punctured and melted forms like sculpting art. Till couldn’t bring himself to move. The show was too fucking good to be true. It only got better when the upholstery caught fire. That— that was when he started cackling.

This was his life. Nothing else could surmise it better: Till splayed out on a coffee table in a blazing VIP lounge, laughing like a maniac while a mad sentry masacred segyein to the sound of Ivan’s requiem.

He had to pause to take a breath and close his damp eyelids. His head was throbbing. When he opened his eyes again, the firey silhouette of the tin-man came into focus, bleeding black out of the gap in its left shoulder.

Then and there, in the center of chaos, was Till. Then and there, haloed by licks of flame, was the cold, red orb of the sentry’s optic.

A broad hand floated towards him, its fingers spreading to close his eyelids.

Till allowed it. He smiled for the cameras.

His body slumped backwards, falling into the familiar comfort of a black abyss.

He heard murmurs of rain. The wind’s whistle followed his descent.

Lower, and lower, and lower.

…

But the spotlight followed him, spearing the darkness to catch Till for one last show—

And Till had no other choice but to open his eyes to a pure, bone-white ceiling.

He screamed.

His hands flew up to claw his eyes out. To block the light. To fight it. To shut it off. Shut it off. He whined through ten minutes worth of mind-numbing agony before his pupils adjusted to the light.

It was a pain to look at, but Till could discern shapes. A ceiling, walls, furniture, floors. A pale figure perched on an old-fashioned, alabaster chair beyond the foot of his bed.

Till recognized him. It was the lab-grown showpony; the other finalist.

The bleached blonde ghoul sat with his legs up on the edge of the seat, his chin resting on his knees while he spun colorful sections of a cube-shaped puzzle. He was mumbling something into his knees.

Till felt something on his face twitch.

“Hey.”

Silence.

Till growled harder, “Hey.”

The ghoul’s, the other finalist’s, eyes snapped upwards.

Gracefully, he hopped off the chair, his white nightgown flowing as he walked, glided, to Till’s bed.

“Where—“

In one smooth motion, he laid his palm down and lifted his legs up onto the sheets, hopping into the bed right beside Till’s frozen body. He leaned in close and personal. Thick, pale lashes brushed against his bloodless cheeks. Up close, there was too many wrong things to consider him human. It was Ivan, but worse. It was manufactured humanity, copy-pasted until it was mere parody of the source material.

“Who did you see?” He asked in a curious, lilting tone.

“What?”

“Not what,” the ghoul sighed and that, too, was musical. “Who?”

Till’s gaze skittered to anything except his murky, champagne eyes. “Flowers, rainbows and dancing corpses. T’was a death parade and I was the only guy alive. Dunno. I was tripping.”

He stared for a solid five seconds before his gaze glazed over, and his mind went fuck-knows-where. Till forced himself to clench his teeth through it, and waited. The competitor rolled his neck. His blue fingertips tapped absentmindedly against Till’s new collar.

He didn’t tell him anything. He sat, he thought, then his lips pursed in a delicate, peeved motion before he slid off the sheets, barely leaving a wrinkle. Till couldn’t even form a sentence before he slipped out of the room with his cube puzzle.

And left him alone with the sentry posted beside the door.

Till released a long, painstaking groan. Nothing was making sense. Urak’s shindig was a blur of colors that still made him crave paint and paper. He assumed he spent his night comatose. The reality of his visions was too questionable to be considered reliable. In which case, why did the ghoul ask him about it? What was he asking him about?

Till’s gaze was drawn to the sentry. It barely differed from the one he saw that night. Same height, same white plating, same optic. Different optic color, indigo; two arms, both intact; and a less robust frame. It didn’t make it look any less capable of snapping a human in half.

Generally, they can’t talk.

“Hey. Tin-can,” Till nodded at it. Its head calmly shifted his way. “Where am I?”

“Heperu’s sector.”

Its voice was smooth and modulated, like a filtered human voice. The organic nature of it sent shivers down his spine.

“Why? Urak lost a bet?”

“Urak has been fatally injured in a surprise attack by the Human Resistance Forces.” It explained in an unnervingly calm tone. “Ten investors were murdered on his property, half of which was lost to bombing.”

Till’s silence was long and heavy.

His head hit the bed frame. The canopy above his bed was so clean and pristine it made him want to climb up and smash it open.

“How— how long is it gonna take him to recover?”

“A month at least. Guardian Heperu volunteered to keep you until his recovery.”

A month. A whole month.

Till couldn’t tell whether he should laugh or cry or both.

Something bunched up in his throat. He swallowed it down and inspected the room. It was so white he could’ve been in a medical facility, and yet, the hue signified more age and less disinfectant.

The size of it, the segyein calligraphy carved into the ivory pillars; the massive, pointed window showing off a view of the two moons circling their host planet; his canopy bed with white chiffon sheets and pointed arches— it was night and day compared to the kitschy indulgences of Urak’s newly attained riches.

This room had none of that. This room had history. It was old money, through and through.

“Is this—“ Till’s arm vaguely gestured at the room, “—mine?”

“This is your enclosure.” The sentry nodded, then gestured at the wardrobe opposite of his bed, an ornate capsule with rib-like engravings. “You can find some of your belongings here, although some of it was damaged in the fire.”

“You come with the package or what?”

“I was assigned to be your escort and bodyguard until the winner of the fiftieth Alien Stage is declared.” The sentry placed its hand atop the holster on its hip. “There is reason to believe that HRF will make attempts on the contestants’ lives in order to sabotage the competition.”

Gingerly, and with far less grace, Till slid out of the bed. He was barefoot, and the tiles were cold and worn under his soles as he made his way towards the capsule. He didn’t know how they knew what his belongings were. Till had never owned much in the first place.

The wardrobe clicked open. The contents made his face morph into a pained expression.

The sentry was right; it was all his. The sketchbook, a stack of papers clamped together with staples, tape and sheer force of will; the two pencils and a pen, one used to vandalize his first page with Ivan’s clean, blocky signature; a slightly singed recorder; and the coat.

Till’s fingers reached for it. The edges of its coattails were heavily singed. The three holes, rusted over with blood, were still there.

He clenched his teeth, shoved the damn thing back inside and slammed the wardrobe closed.

Till had nothing and nobody. No believers, no gods. And yet, Ivan’s death made him impervious to wasting his life out of spite. He couldn’t do it by overdosing. He couldn’t do it by giving in to a HRF fighter’s gun. His fate was in the hands of Alien Stage— again, and forevermore.

There was no other route of escape except one: a demonstration. Win and kill the overpriced pet or die by gunfire, or whatever the tin-cans decide to do after he slaughters the fan favorite.

He pivoted, then made a beeline towards the door with his heels stamping prints on the fancy floor. “Tin-can, show me around.”

The sentry perked up. “It is recommended for you to rest one more day.”

“Can’t,” Till said grimly. “I need to write a requiem.”

The sentry didn’t respond immediately. Its indigo optic flickered. It stared through him, beyond him. Till thought it would block the way, until it smoothly stepped aside, and grandiosely gestured at the door. It spoke like he was more than a mangled thing covered in weary flesh.

“As you wish.”

AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)

#alien stage #alnst #alnst till #alnst ivan #ivantill #alien stage round 6 #alien stage fanfiction #whizz writes

11 notes · View notes

plummyplums · 3 years

Text

Some UrSkek thoughts/ideas, cut cuz it's long

skekOk the Scrollkeeper + urAk the Scribe = OkAk the Historian

These roles are quite similar; people who write and record things. Thus, this one was easy for me. OkAk would be the one who recorded and knew all of UrSkek history, and would likely have a large library.

skekAyuk the Gourmand + urAmaj the Cook = AyukAmaj the Chef

These roles go hand-in-hand, one who eats and one who cooks. Thus, I went with the logical mix; a Chef, one who improves and creates new dishes. They would obviously be the chef of the UrSkeks, providing meals for the others.

skekGra the Conqueror/Heretic + urGoh the Wanderer = GraGoh the Explorer

While I was tempted to make GraGoh an artist due to their shared interests during AoR, I went with their official titles, both known for traveling. I think GraGoh would be the type to be constantly finding new places, meeting new creatures, and relaying the things they learn to the other UrSkeks.

skekHak the ??? + urHom the Carpenter = HakHom the ???

Unfortunately, we don't know what skekHak's role was. Thus, I can't combine their roles as I did with the others. For them, I speculate that skekHak would have ended up being some sort of craftsman or builder, and it would have extended to HakHom.

skekUng the General/Garthim Master/Emperor + urIm the Healer = UngIm the Leader

After the deaths of skekSo and urSu, skekUng took over as Emperor of the Skeksis. I'm not sure what their role would have been before this, as I can't find any real comparison between them. Maybe a Medic? Like, a battle medic.

skekLi the Satirist + urLii the Storyteller = LiLii the Entertainer

Though we've never seen them, these two were also easy for me. In my mind, Lilii was the one who would come up with humor and stories to entertain the other UrSkeks, based on the halves' titles.

skekVar the General + urMa the Peacemaker = VarMa the Strategist

In the case that the UrSkeks would ever have to fight, it would come down to VarMa to figure out what to do. They're a master negotiator, but also skilled in battle when need be. All in all, they would be the one to figure out how to best face a conflict.

skekNa the Slave Master + urNol the Herbalist = NaNol the ???

Honestly, I have no idea what to do with these two. Their roles seem completely unrelated to me. If y'all can come up with something for them, let me know, I'd be excited to see.

skekSa the Mariner + urSan the Swimmer = SaSan the Sailor

Similarly to GraGoh, SaSan would be a constant traveler, the only difference being that they focused on the sea.

skekLach the Collector + urSen the Monk = LachSen the ???

These two seem like complete opposites. Honestly, I'm not sure what to do with them. Maybe something to do with sorting or rating.

skekSil the Chamberlain + urSol the Chanter = SilSol the ???

While I can't quite figure out exactly what I'd want their role to be, with their titles being so different, but I know that they were likely an assistant to whoever bore the title of Leader. Perhaps something to do with speaking, due to skekSil's tendency to mess with people through words.

skekSo the Emporer + urSu the Master = SoSu the Leader.

They were the original leader of the UrSkeks, before the role was passed to UngIm with their death.

skekTek the Scientist + urTih the Alchemist = TekTih the Researcher

They spend all of their time trying to learn new things, trying to find information about the world around them. Unlike GraGoh and SaSol, however, they don't travel, instead researching through books and experimentation.

skekEkt the Ornamentalist + urUtt the Weaver = EktUtt the Tailor

EktUtt was likely the one who provided clothing for all of the UrSkeks, and in my mind, were the most materialistic UrSkek. They like high-quality clothing that tells a story and expresses the wearer.

skekMal the Hunter and urVa the Archer = MalVa the Warrior

MalVa was likely one of the physically strongest UrSkeks, fighting/killing for food and to protect the others when needed. They likely worked closely with ValMa, both dealing with battle more than the other UrSkeks.

skekYi the ??? + urYa the ??? = YiYa the ???

Legit have no info on either of them. No idea what they could've done.

skekShod the Treasurer + urYod the Numerologist = ShodYod the Mathematician

They're a master of math, with their accounting skills moving to skekShod. If UrSkeks had a system of currency, they totally were the one who handled it.

skekZok the Ritual Master + urZah the Ritual Guardian = ZokZah the High Priest

Their titles are near exactly the same, so I treated that as ZokZah being extremely ritualistic and focusing on tradition, moreso than any other UrSkek.

35 notes · View notes

shakingparadigm · 2 months

Text

Would the human pets be capable of basic tasks like washing their clothes or preparing food? I can see some pets knowing how to prepare food as like, a fun little party trick to impress others, but as a basic survival skill I don't think it's commonly taught to humans anymore. There's most likely a line drawn between pets that are helpful and reliable, and pets that are too capable, to the point where certain owners may feel threatened by their level of intelligence and independence. I wonder just how helpless the humans would be without their aliens.

#alien stage #alnst #rambles #my take is this: hyuna is completely independent and knows every basic survival skill (a long process of learning if she was self-taught)#but afterwards she taught every single recruit how to take care of themselves.#i think hyuna would be the closest to a normal functioning adult in terms of skillset among the main cast #mizi would know how to prepare certain foods but only very simple ones #im not sure if till would know how to do anything properly but he's at least resourceful enough to keep himself going on his own #(since it seems like Guardian Urak leaves him to fend for himself most of the time)#Ivan would know how to do a lot of things in theory but has most likely never performed them himself #and i think sua and luka perform very decorative trophy-esque roles to their owners #so they wouldn't really know how to do anything other than what they're trained to excel at #of course theyre smart people so theyd pick it up eventually #but as of now they probably dont know how to cook or wash or properly clean aside from the basics of tidying after themselves #especially since sua is stated to constantly be in a daze with no plans #and luka as a kid seemed in his own world most of the time #THIS IS JUST ME THO LOL my opinions are bound to change eventually im jist #im just speculating and headcanoning for funsies

11 notes · View notes

shakingparadigm · 3 months

Text

Is it confirmed that Till's parent is Guardian Urak? When I first heard the name I thought that he wasn't related to Till specifically, just that he was in charge of all Anakt children in general, since he goes by the title of Guardian. Also he's seen to be present in the Anakt Garden when most alien parents are not, so I assumed he was a resident/staff of sorts.

Is this supposed to be Guardian Urak??? He seems to be floating, so I assume he has some sort of special ability. Would've been cool if he didn't keep using it to beat up Till. If anyone has extra information on him please let me know!

#i lowkey thought till was abandoned by his parent LOL but then again he wouldn't be here if someone didnt put him in #also im still going to call guardian urak tills parent just because. idk i like associating the characters with their aliens sometimes #wonder what hyunas alien was like #alien stage #alnst #alien stage till

15 notes · View notes

shakingparadigm · 9 days

Text

Speaking of Guardians, I'm just going to make a list on the information I have on the ones associated with the main cast so far.

Note: the information here is mostly from official material (patreon interviews, merch, the videos themselves etc) but some portions of it are my own assumptions based on this information as well.

Mizi -> Guardian Shine

Guardian Shine is a prominently pink and white alien that wears a peaceful expression and bears resemblance to certain aquatic creatures, most predominantly associated with the jellyfish. Their body largely consists of floaty pink frills.

Guardian Shine is the only alien of the main cast that is explicitly stated to have a close and loving relationship with their human pet, treating Mizi like a "daughter" and ensuring that she is happy and well-provided for.

Guardian Shine created Mizi's performance dress for ROUND 1.

It seemed that whenever Mizi accomplished something good in the Anakt Garden, she would become ecstatic and excited to tell Guardian Shine about her victories.

Sua -> Guardian ???

Not much is known or seen about Sua's Guardian (the information isn't public, at least), but from the glimpses we see in MIZISUA, her Guardian is a rather luxurious and feminine alien with clawed, ring-laden hands and a lower half akin to a flower-patterned dress. It seems as though they are wearing a pale-colored fur coat.

In the disc:mizisua artbook, its stated that Sua was raised by influencers, which seems to be why her Guardian is dressed so lavishly.

Sua's Guardian did not particularly care for her, only raising her as a means to "show off".

While Guardian Shine warmly entertains Mizi before her departure, Sua's Guardian has their back turned and is instead busied with an interview (as seen by the alien holding the microphone next to them).

Because Sua's Guardian didn't care for her and only raised her for public image, they dressed Sua in doll-like clothes without care as to how it would fit her. The book states that despite it's lovely look, Sua's dress was stuffy and ill-fitting.

Till -> Guardian Urak

Guardian Urak (in earlier iterations) is a humanoid alien with a predominantly white color scheme, most recognizable by a covered upper face and floating chair. (I highly suspect the alien from ROUND 6's first verse to be the new Guardian Urak design, but I could be wrong.)

Similar to Sua's, Guardian Urak seems rather neglectful and maybe even physically abusive to Till, as seen by the multiple bruises left on him even before he's thrown at the wall. If the head alien in ROUND 6 is confirmed to be Urak, this is further proven by the first few scenes.

In an interview for a magazine portion of ROUND 2, Guardian Urak is shown to be easily dismissive of Till's misbehavior as long as it garners them a win.

Guardian Urak believes that a human's bizarre behavior is synonymous with their talent. "The more talented humans, the more likely they are to be freaks." Urak apologizes for Freddie's murder on Till's behalf, but doesn't seem to care about it beyond the surface level.

Urak barely seems to invest much into Till, at least not as much as the other Guardians do for their own pets. Till's stage in ROUND 2 is the most plain, unlike the other rounds where the stages are unique and decorated with different designs and lights. Till's outfits are also the most plain among the cast.

Ivan -> Guardian ???

Ivan's Guardian is a large, slightly Cthulhu-like alien dressed in dapper clothing, which many fans find akin to that of a mafia boss. They are dressed in colors of mainly red and black, a color scheme that their followers seem to align with as well.

Ivan's Guardian is well-known in alien society. Due to this, Ivan makes sure to behave carefully and properly while out in public as not to sully their name.

It also seems as though they are incredibly wealthy, seemingly involved in a business of some sort.

Ivan describes the relationship with his Guardian to be more like a business partnership rather than something parental.

Ivan's Guardian seems to have invested a lot into Ivan's success. Adopting him from the slums, cleaning him and remaking his image from a lowly slum child to one of the most famous, talented, and influential humans of the current season. Ivan states in an interview that he will always be grateful to them for taking him in.

Due to the investment, Ivan's performances are always of high quality, his costumes intricately made and his stages flamboyantly themed.

Since their relationship stands on business, it's most likely that Ivan was able to connect and partner with several brands due to his Guardian.

Ivan's relationship with his Guardian seems mutual, Ivan himself states it's "not bad". His Guardian provides him with what he needs to succeed and in return Ivan is obedient and always excels at what he's assigned to do. It seems as though Ivan's Guardian is often pleased with him, patting his head when he passes preliminaries and gathering other aliens to celebrate. One of the aliens even presents a bouquet of flowers, clapping their hands together.

Luka -> Guardian Heperu

Guardian Heperu is an alien with a round, squat head, bulging eyes and a pronounced neck. They seem to don a robe of some sort, paired together with a small hat.

Guardian Heperu seems to be yet another influential figure in alien society, possessing the resources necessary to invest in Luka's intensive training.

They also ensure that Luka's performances are always phenomenal, going so far as to rent out a special site for ROUND 5 (iirc, they performed ROUND 5 on the corpse of a large and powerful alien, hence the spine and bones you can see in the back of certain shots).

Guardian Heperu is an extremely envious figure who wished for a pet to trump all others, to stand above all the competitors unmatched.

Luka's unnatural conception and strict training is a result of Heperu's insecurity, the need to remain at the top constantly. Perhaps this desire ended up seeping into Luka as well.

Luka never fought back against the aliens, most likely because Heperu conditioned him to be the epitome of performative perfection since birth. How Luka interacted with his fellow humans was irrelevant, what mattered was how he interacted with the aliens who's opinions were of far greater worth. This may be why Luka seemed to be an outcast in the Anakt Garden yet a beloved prince in the eyes of the alien audience.

Luka directly refers to Heperu as "Father".

Hyuna -> Guardian ???

So far, Hyuna is the only character without even a sliver of alien connection. It makes sense, of course. She cut herself off from everything so long ago.

However, a sketch of Hyuna's alien was drafted all the way back during the production of Sweet Dream.

I'm not gonna spoil anything, but let me just say that's one hell of an alien.

Hopefully we get to see them soon!

#alnst #alien stage #alien stage guardians #idk how to tag this help

122 notes · View notes