Y/N stood in the Nexus, a place beyond space and time, where the endless fabric of the multiverse converged into a still, eternal silence. Above him, the sky shimmered with the pulse of creation. Vast rivers of energy arced through the ether, winding like radiant veins through an infinite expanse. He was alone, but this was not the kind of loneliness that pained him—it was a solitude of purpose, a solitude wrapped in the delicate understanding that he was the watcher, the keeper of this sacred moment.

Before him lay the beginning of a new universe—nothing more than a flicker, a starry seed suspended in the void. It was imperceptibly small, barely more than a whisper in the vast emptiness. But he knew, oh how he knew, that within it lay the potential for everything: for stars, for worlds, for life, for history.

The seed of creation pulsed once, and the silence was broken. A wave of raw, primordial energy cascaded outward in all directions, like the first note of a symphony. From it, light exploded outward—golden, dazzling light—drawing ripples through the void. The very fabric of the multiverse trembled in its wake. Y/N felt the power in his bones, a gravitational force so great that it felt as if all of existence had drawn a breath at the same moment.

And then, it expanded.

He watched in awe as the seed, once small and inconsequential, now bloomed into something incredible. Tendrils of pure, iridescent energy unfurled, spiraling out like delicate branches. With each pulse, reality began to weave itself together—the raw essence of time and space braided in perfect, spiraling harmony.

Stars were born.

Y/N marveled as light fractured from the core, forming celestial bodies that swirled and spun around one another, guided by invisible laws, undisturbed. Gaseous clouds condensed into fiery spheres, brilliant in their incandescent youth. There were no words for this, no adequate description for the shimmering ballet of creation that unfolded. It was as though the very cosmos was crafting itself from nothing, orchestrated by an unseen hand, and yet so beautifully natural that he felt himself drawn into the breathtaking choreography of the universe's birth.

Galaxies bloomed.

Nebulae of violet, blue, and gold stretched outward from the depths of the universe's heart, swirling and twisting in complex patterns that Y/N could never have imagined in his most vivid dreams. They connected to one another, vast systems of stars and worlds forging complex networks of cosmic unity. The galaxies looped gracefully, entwined like distant dancers locked in an ancient rhythm that predates understanding.

Time and space began to settle into a perfect rhythm, aligning themselves into a ticking cycle of life.

Y/N felt his heart quicken, his pulse synchronized with the universe he observed. He knew that each heartbeat mirrored the birth of time itself—that the seconds, the minutes, the millennia to come were wrapped in the initial waves of cosmic creation. And in those seconds, for those brief, fleeting moments, the world he knew didn't matter.

This universe—this new reality—was perfect. And it was all just beginning. He could feel it; he could feel the first threads of what was to come. A world was not only born of matter and energy but also of choices, of possibilities. It would evolve, change, and grow beyond his understanding, becoming something entirely different, something that had never existed before.

And yet, even in his immortal eyes, it wasn't chaos. It was a symphony. A flawless symphony, as beautiful as the first song ever sung by creation itself. Every star had a role, every gas cloud and orbit intertwined, woven into a tapestry of pure cosmic artistry. Life would take root in the deep pockets of this newly formed universe, unaware of its beginning. An invisible hum of potential filled the air around him, filled everything he was.

For a moment, Y/N's mind was adrift, nothing more than a shadow against the enormity of it all. And yet, he did not feel insignificant—he was part of it. His gaze, his presence, was the faintest whisper in the massive opera unfolding around him, a witness to this incomprehensible beauty.

The birth of a universe was like the whisper of a dream. It carried the hopes of a thousand unknown lives yet to come, forged in the heat of supernovae and in the gentle dance of time's expansion. His role, as caretaker, as watcher, could never feel greater than it did in this moment. To see the birth of something new—something untouched—was as close as he would ever come to understanding the pulse of the multiverse itself.

For a fleeting instant, he could hear the melody of creation reverberate through his very being.

And in that melody, he understood something deeper than all logic, all reason:

Creation was perfect because it was endless. The multiverse, infinite, eternal, and boundless in its possibilities, was alive.

The universe had been born.

Y/N turned his back on the cosmic explosion of creation, the mesmerizing light and energy of the new universe still lingering in his mind's eye. There was work to do, as there always was, and the beauty of the universe's birth, while awe-inspiring, would fade as it matured—into something he could only watch from the quiet spaces between realities. So he walked.

With each step, he traversed the Nexus—the place between places, the crossroads of everything that existed and could exist. The Nexus wasn't a location that could be defined by mere matter and space. It wasn't a place any normal being could even attempt to comprehend. If time were a flowing river, the Nexus was the eternal current—its waters invisible, intangible, yet encompassing every shore of every possibility. It was a vast, open expanse, yet felt impossibly small, like a room too big for one's eyes to truly see. The air felt both dense and weightless, humming softly with a rhythm that only Y/N understood—an oscillating hum that flowed through the Nexus like a living pulse.

The floor was a mosaic of swirling constellations, a living map of the multiverse itself. Each glowing dot represented a universe—some that were thriving, others languishing, and a few teetering on the edge of unraveling. They pulsed in and out of existence, shifting colors as they matured, darkened, or flickered under the strain of invisible forces. But the most defining feature of the Nexus was that it could bend and stretch. It defied what most would call "up" or "down," or even the very nature of where one was standing. Here, gravity did not apply; time moved in shapes, spirals, and flickering paths, its direction held together only by the force of reality. For every step Y/N took, there was the eerie sense that the landscape responded. The Nexus reformed with every thought, its walls and roads reweaving themselves to mirror the shifting flow of his mind.

The corridors of the Nexus stretched endlessly into the dark—some filled with undulating stars, some with surreal shifting geometries, and others buried beneath cascading curtains of space and shadow. There were pathways that appeared to float in midair, suspended by the gravity of impossibility, leading to doors or windows to parts unknown.

And in this space between all that was, and all that might have been, Y/N moved like a shadow, a presence less than a physical being—more a part of this place than separate from it.

What Y/N did here was what had always been required of him: he maintained, he observed, he watched over the delicate balance of all realities.

In one chamber, he entered an infinite library of records—tomes made of light and strange text that only he could decipher. The chronicle of every universe, every timeline, and every anomaly lived here, written in the ether between space and time. He flipped through records of universes born and destroyed, their successes and failures, their ripples in the endless sea of possibilities.

The room hummed with stories. Some of them were pristine, polished reflections of their potentials, existing for eons without incident. Others trembled like the cracked, fragile bones of something no longer whole. A sudden flicker on a distant screen caught his eye—the pulse of something wavering, a timeline threatened. He felt it before he saw it: an anomaly had crept through the cracks, leaving a dissonant echo.

It was almost like a ripple in the water. Just one ripple.

With steady hands, Y/N adjusted the course—he reached for a small, translucent device held together by the barely-there strands of reality. Its surface contained nothing more than a shimmering current of energy. He traced his finger along the fluid, and with that touch, a stream of energy veered from its troubled path, returning the timeline to its original form. The anomaly dissolved, never to be.

But the Nexus did not mourn. It didn't even blink. The collapse of one, the rise of another—it was all just parts of the rhythm. The flow.

There were times when Y/N would meditate in this place, where space itself seemed to swirl in spirals around him. The energies that resided here were not bound by rules, and the feeling of fluid time took on an almost tactile presence—a texture you could feel with your hands. But such moments were few. As the Guardian of the multiverse, he did not have the luxury of waiting or sitting idle. Every reality, every fragmented branch, every collapsing universe had its own heartbeat that he was bound to protect.

He left the chamber and passed through winding halls that seemed to dissolve as he moved, the very air thick with the pulse of creation and destruction around him. It was quieter here—intimate. The space between was always colder, emptier.

As Y/N moved, his senses remained honed to the continuous dance of existence and entropy. There were more universes to watch, more cracks to mend. He didn't live in the Nexus—not truly. He kept it. He was its custodian, standing eternally at the intersection between all things, part of its infinite machine but separate, observing and adjusting things not as they were but as they should be.

Somewhere, far in the distant planes of reality, The Overseer watched too. And in those rare moments when Y/N was called for guidance or a decision beyond his scope, he would have to return to the highest chamber, the crystal-dome-like observation deck. He had only a fleeting glimpse at the grand scope of everything he protected.

But right now, he continued to walk through the Nexus, one soft step at a time—aware that beyond the doors ahead, beyond the infinite ripples, beyond the intricate weaving of timelines, was the heartbeat of all things that would echo through time until the end of existence. And he, Y/N, was its watchful guardian.

Y/N checked his watch. Its soft tick echoed through the ethereal silence of the Nexus, signaling that it was time—time for another delicate task, one he had long since grown used to, yet never fully comfortable with. He stood still for a moment, steadying his breath, his gaze flickering over the winding expanse of worlds that surrounded him. Universes stretched before his eyes, each delicate thread of existence weaving in its own chaotic and beautiful dance.

He muttered under his breath, almost to no one in particular, "I need to find it... a branch..."

His eyes darted between the realities around him, watching them ripple, seeing their movements, their changes. Like trees whose roots reached into infinity, each branch held the potential to grow and shift, creating alternate timelines, realities, or distorted worlds. Some of them thrived, others withered and were discarded. Yet, some... some reached beyond their bounds. And those were the most dangerous.

Y/N reached out with a subtle flick of his fingers. His senses connected with the vast web of dimensions, drawing him in as his fingers glided through the threads. It didn't take long. There it was. Among the millions of branches, one flickered erratically, bearing the title he had learned to dread in recent months.

"Ah... Cupcakes."

The branch shimmered in front of him, a sickly glow painting the edges of this particular reality. A twisted, distorted reflection of an innocent world—My Little Pony. Where colorful mares roamed the land of Equestria, there existed darker, unholy deviations. The name Cupcakes had long been burned into Y/N's mind, an anomaly that spiraled dangerously into realms of horror and madness.

He had been monitoring it for a while now. The Cupcakes universe had started innocently enough, mimicking a harmless cartoon reality, but it quickly birthed darkness in ways Y/N had never foreseen. In this world, corrupted by an eternal hunger—horrifying killings, grotesque machinations, and corrupted friendships manifesting into a nightmare. Worse still, Cupcakes wasn't just singular anymore. It spawned countless, parallel universes—each one worse, darker, and more dangerous than the last.

Y/N's brow furrowed as he focused on the unsettling energy of this particular branch. He could see the flicker of them—the worlds it spawned, trapped in their own terrifying loops. He had been forced to prune those universes earlier, but now, this particular one had reached a critical threshold. It had started to become... too much. Too potent, too deeply embedded in the fabric of existence.

His hands tightened into fists at his side. At first, he wasn't supposed to interfere—he'd been told by The Overseer that he was not to prune the Cupcakes branch unless absolutely necessary. It had only started as an infection within its own realm—a perversion of an innocent world. But in the last few years, this infection had mutated, spreading across new and existing timelines, spiraling into other realms, causing widespread disturbance. The very essence of the Cupcakes universe now bled out like a poison.

Y/N sighed deeply, his breath drawn through the quiet expanse of the Nexus. There was nothing more to be done now. The strain had spread too far. It was time to prune—no matter the toll it would take on this reality, no matter the grief it stirred within him.

The Cupcakes universe flickered, flashing once more, pulling Y/N's focus entirely. The disgusting scent of rot and decayed reality filled his senses as he approached the fracture.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered softly, barely audible even to himself. He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted to slice through a universe once teeming with innocent possibility and twisted, vibrant lives. But this world, this distorted reflection of joy and darkness... it was too far gone.

With a slow, deliberate step, Y/N raised his hand and pressed his fingers against the fabric of the branch, feeling the heartbeat of the universe within it. He focused his energy, reaching deep, pushing his will into the very core of the Cupcakes reality. The current of existence beneath his hand vibrated, cracked, and began to split.

In an instant, the universe began to unravel in front of him. Slowly, painstakingly, threads of reality pulled themselves apart. He watched as worlds collapsed, timelines bled out and faded like ethereal smoke, disappearing into oblivion. The twisted echoes of screaming laughter and moans from forgotten souls disintegrated, silenced forever, and the ripple that had taken root across the multiverse slowly receded.

But even as he erased it, even as the universe that birthed such horror vanished entirely, Y/N couldn't shake the sensation that lingered in the silence left behind. The scent of burnt sweetness, of something deeply wrong, clung to the air.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the energy of the pruning settle into his body. Each prune carried its own weight—its own personal cost. It wasn't just the destruction of a universe, it was a piece of something else lost to time. There would be no mourners here, no catharsis to heal this.

And yet, this was his job. He did what was necessary, not for revenge, not for justice, but because reality had demanded it. Anomaly after anomaly, thread after thread, until his hands had brushed across them all. Each moment like this reminded Y/N of the loneliness he lived with every day—an eternal guardian with no true companion other than the cosmic hum of the Nexus, and his eternally ceaseless task.

But it had to be done.

He let out a long breath, allowing the calm of the task's completion to settle over him, before he turned away from the fractured remnants of what once was, preparing to continue on his endless watch.

This universe, like so many before it, would fade into oblivion. And another cycle would soon begin.

Y/N lingered in the fading aftermath of the pruning process, his senses extending outward as they always did, skimming through the disintegrating threads of a collapsed universe. The winds of time and space carried away the twisted horrors of Cupcakes, but something... something didn't feel right.

A flicker.

A pulse.

His eyes narrowed as he refocused, gliding his hand across the remnants of the dying world. It wasn't unusual for life forms to survive pruning—after all, the multiverse was vast and resilient, and the cracks of the universe often allowed pieces of life to slip through, clinging on to their last shred of reality. This occurrence was rare, but Y/N had seen it before. He remembered what happened when he'd pruned Sony's version of Marvel Universe—some inhabitants slipping by unnoticed, Venom, Eddie, Milo, Ben Parker, Calypso, Chameleon, like shards of glass from a shattered pane, falling between timelines.

With a quick mental push, Y/N peered closer into the void, his consciousness reaching toward what should've been an empty expanse. He felt something. Movement.

A pulse.

Faintly, nestled within the splintered, decaying remnants of Cupcakes, something was still alive—hanging on in defiance of all the forces at play. His gaze sharpened as his fingers danced across the fractured threads, weaving through the unraveling veil to locate the anomaly.

And there she was.

He found her just beneath a twisted sky, broken pieces of the once vibrant Equestria strewn around like the wreckage of a fading dream. Rainbow Dash—bruised, battered, and near-unrecognizable from the exuberant figure she had once been. Her fur, usually a brilliant blue, was marred with cuts and gashes, and her wings were bent awkwardly, one of them barely functioning. Her breathing was labored, ragged, and weak, and Y/N could see her trembling against the splintered remains of a decayed Rainbow Kingdom. Her sky-blue eyes fluttered as she struggled to keep her focus, the haunting remnants of her world closing in around her.

"What... happened?" she whispered to herself, barely conscious, her voice thin as the last echoes of her reality broke away.

Y/N felt a shiver travel up his spine. A piece of the fallen world had indeed survived, one survivor amidst the final destruction. Rainbow Dash had become a mere shadow of herself, half-destroyed and slipping through the cracks of the prune, a stray thread clinging to its last desperate attempt at existence. He exhaled, staring down at her with a grim resolve, knowing what would come next—knowing what would have to come next.

But something stopped him.

This wasn't supposed to happen. A fragment of the Cupcakes universe—a universe twisted and filled with death, violence—now lived in the Nexus, a piece that didn't belong here.

His mind raced. Usually, when something like this occurred, Y/N would have ensured that any escapees from the pruning were... dealt with. The process was meticulous and unflinching. But the sight of the fallen Rainbow Dash stirred something within him. She was different from the entities he had encountered before. Her very presence—the struggle in her eyes, the fragments of innocence lingering in her torn body—pulled at his sense of duty.

Y/N did not hesitate, though the faintest inkling of guilt tugged at him.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N gently extended his hand towards her, kneeling to where she lay among the dying echoes of her universe. He could see that she was fragile, like glass just about to shatter. But she was a living being—one who, despite the corruption around her, had somehow managed to survive.

"Rainbow Dash," he murmured, as he reached for her. "I don't know how you've made it through, but there's no place for you here. You can't stay... This reality... it doesn't welcome survivors."

But even as he spoke those words, there was no malice in his tone. No cruelty. Just an understanding of the order of things—the irreversibility of the multiverse and the precision of the work that he was bound to.

And yet, Y/N felt an odd pang deep within his chest as Rainbow Dash stirred under his touch. He watched, briefly, as her eyes focused on him, confusion and exhaustion marking her expression. This wasn't something she could even begin to comprehend—a creature lost between worlds, a survivor from a twisted and broken timeline.

"Wh—where am I...?" she croaked, blinking against the pain and the fading remnants of the world she had once known. "Why... what happened? Where's Twilight? Where's Scootaloo?"

Y/N hesitated for just a moment longer. He had seen this before—life was incredibly resourceful, and he'd been tempted to let something live, even in the cruelest of timelines, despite the impossibility of their survival. He found no true malice in Rainbow Dash—just a victim of circumstance.

Yet, he was bound to maintain the multiverse's integrity, to prune when needed. It was for the greater good. It had to be. Right?

With a barely audible sigh, Y/N straightened himself, resolved, and quietly nodded to himself. "You can't exist here. Not in the Nexus. And certainly not in the middle of this."

He raised his hand again, to erase the piece of the past. To erase the broken remnants of Cupcakes. And yet, just before he could act, Rainbow Dash, eyes wide with newfound clarity, whispered to him.

"Please... don't... let me go," she whispered weakly. "Please, I can't... not again..."

There was something deep and palpable in her plea—her voice a fragile echo of something innocent and, in some ways, human. Y/N paused.

———

This is connected to my autistic reader books

Here's Y/N