#depths in despair multiverse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

claramelooo · 5 days ago

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CRIMSON REVERIE

Hey, guys! We reached the end, I must say I loved it. Happy ending for everyone!!!

Enjoy it! <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader x AgathaRio

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warnings: angs, smut and happy end

Summary: The guardian changes everything

Hey. Now I've a masterlist

INFINITY

The room was an echo of despair, a space where time seemed to halt in the face of Wanda's emotional devastation. The dimness was pierced only by the unstable flickers of spells, trembling like flames in agony, reflecting the chaos within her. Her fingers shook as she frantically leafed through grimoires, her eyes scanning lines of text that blurred before the teary haze clouding her vision.

Her heart pounded like a discordant drum, each beat a cruel reminder of the void consuming her. With every spell, every failed attempt to locate Agatha and the people she loved, her frustration grew. It wasn’t just anger; it was something far deeper, an existential fury threatening to devour everything around her.

When the door to the room burst open, interrupting her frenzy, Wanda didn’t even turn. “What are you doing here?” she growled, her voice dripping with venom.

Stephen Strange entered hesitantly but resolutely, his expression grave. “What am I doing here?” he echoed in response to Wanda’s cutting glare. “A Guardian and her daughter, two Solis, have been taken. Do you think that doesn’t affect me? That I don’t understand what this means for the universe?”

Wanda laughed without humor, a hollow sound that reverberated through the room like muffled thunder. She rose slowly, the energy around her rippling menacingly. “They’re not just Solis,” she replied, her voice sharp as glass. “They are my life. My reason. And no universe is worth more than them.”

Strange took a step forward, trying to strike a balance between authority and empathy. “Wanda, what you’re doing—what you’re considering—could tear the fabric of reality. You know this.” His eyes locked onto hers, seeking to understand the depth of her pain. “Whatever you do, Wanda, it has to be done with caution. The universe is at stake.”

She stared at him with a chill that could freeze hell itself. “Caution?” Her laugh was dark now, almost deranged. “Caution is what made me vulnerable. Caution is what made me lose everything before. And if I have to destroy the multiverse to bring them back, so be it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Strange, for a moment, couldn’t find words. He knew she was beyond reason, but he couldn’t ignore the raw humanity in her eyes, the terror masked by determination.

“You’re a monster,” he finally murmured, not with hatred but with sorrow. “Look at what you’re becoming, Wanda.”

She blinked, her face twisting with something that looked like pain but was quickly replaced by icy anger. “I am not a monster, Strange.” she said, each word laced with conviction and bitterness. “I am a broken woman. A mother who failed. A wife who couldn’t protect her family. And now, I will do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes…”

Strange tried once more. “Do you think bringing your family back this way will heal you? Will it erase what you’ve lost? Or will it only create more pain?”

She smiled, but the smile was empty, devoid of any warmth. “I’m not looking for healing, Stephen. I just want them back.”

The air around her began to vibrate, the walls seeming to close in, suffused by the energy emanating from Wanda. Strange watched the growing purple magic, a harbinger of apocalypse, and knew he was losing the battle.

“If you go down this path, Wanda, there’s no turning back,” he said, his voice desperate. “You’ll destroy everything.”

She didn’t hesitate, not for a second. “I’ve already lost everything, Strange. Do you think I care about losing the rest?”

With a gesture, she pushed him away, an invisible barrier preventing him from coming closer. Strange stood helplessly as Wanda closed her eyes and surrendered completely to the power consuming her.

In that moment, she was no longer just the Scarlet Witch. She was a woman willing to burn the universe just to feel the warmth of her family once more.

[...]

In the heart of the grove, where sunlight filtered through the trees like golden tears, a faceless woman walked, her steps gentle on the leaf-strewn earth. Her garments were ancient, imposing in their simplicity, and her brown hair danced with the wind. She cradled a baby, small and fragile, in her arms. The baby nestled against her, seeking solace in her presence, its lips curving softly as it fed on the life she offered.

The love between them was palpable, almost visible, like a warm, comforting aura spreading through the surroundings. Every gesture, every sigh of the woman seemed imbued with infinite tenderness, a devotion that transcended time. Yet, there was sadness in her eyes, something that couldn’t be erased by the sweetness of the moment. She seemed burdened by guilt, as if something had been lost or broken, something that could not be mended, even in the warmth of maternal love.

And then, in the shadow of the trees, another woman appeared, her eyes silently observing. She stood at a distance, but her presence was unmistakable, as if she knew that scene, those moments, from an immemorial time. Her gaze was full of love but also profound sorrow, a sadness that seemed to span across all past lives. She watched the woman with the baby as though she somehow knew what the future held for them. There was no fear, only a serene, painful acceptance of something that could not be changed.

In that moment, you feared for their lives, feared for the fate looming over the faceless woman and her child. But then, as you looked closer, the fear dissipated. The observing woman’s gaze was one of pure, almost unconditional love, as if that baby were a promise, a continuity of something greater, something that transcended the lines of time and life.

Their love, the silent and eternal bond, echoed in your soul like a distant melody, and you felt that perhaps this was the true essence of what you had always sought: a family, a deep connection, something that defies time and space.

But the dream dissolved quickly, like a soft breeze at dawn, and you woke, lost and confused, to the sound of Seline’s cries, still so small, still so vulnerable.

The dream was still vivid in your mind as you woke, breathless and disoriented, your eyes adjusting to the dimness of the unfamiliar room. Seline’s cries, weak and hungry, pierced the quiet, reminding you of reality. She was with you, she was your daughter, but something felt wrong. The disorientation lingered, and the world around you felt distant, as if you were trapped between two worlds.

The room was gloomy, the dim light barely illuminating the outlines of the walls, and the sound of Seline's crying seemed to echo in the back of your mind. You felt a crushing pressure on your chest—a mix of disorientation and anger, the heat of growing fear spreading through every part of your being. When Agatha and Rio entered, something in the atmosphere shifted—a heavy, tense silence.

"But look who’s awake—the Guardian herself," Agatha murmured sharply, her piercing eyes fixed on you. Her tone carried an air of superiority, as if she were studying a chess piece she already knew how to maneuver.

Instinct took over. The desperation and need to protect your daughter made you rise quickly from the bed, your body heavy and almost uncontrollable. Your eyes locked on Seline, lying there so vulnerable. Your arms stretched toward her, frantic, as though it was the last thing you could do to save her.

"How do you know about this?" you demanded, your voice tearing through the air with a raw, defiant edge. There was no room for doubt or weakness now—not with Seline so close.

Agatha smirked slightly, her dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of sarcasm and knowing. "Oh, dear… I know so many things," she replied smoothly, as though discussing something trivial. Her confidence was infuriating.

You took a step toward them, your gaze locked on Agatha, a flicker of magic starting to tingle in your hands, ready to be unleashed. But as you extended your fingers, expecting the energy to flow as it always did, something was wrong. The power didn’t manifest. The emptiness inside you was worse than any physical pain. Where was the necklace? Where was the artifact that gave your magic the strength to fight? Frustration turned to dread.

"I can’t..." your voice faltered for a moment, your eyes darting to the emptiness. You felt powerless, as if all the forces around you had been stripped away. The vulnerability was unbearable.

Agatha observed your discomfort with amused eyes, as though she had anticipated your every move. "You do know, don’t you, that without that necklace, you're nothing more than an ordinary woman?" she said softly, her malice veiled, but you wouldn’t be fooled by her calm demeanor.

Before you could respond, Rio Vidal stepped forward, her eyes as silent as her presence. She seemed like the calm to Agatha’s storm. "You and your daughter are not mere Guardians, my dear," she said with an unsettling softness, her words hanging heavily in the air. "You have a destiny far greater, something that transcends the role you think you play."

Confusion swelled in your chest, and you felt as though the ground was crumbling beneath you. Something greater? What did they mean by that?

Before you could question further, Agatha stepped forward, her lips curling into a triumphant smile. "You and Seline are part of something much larger, much grander than the simple protection of the Infinite," she said, pausing to let her revelation linger before continuing, "You are key pieces in a greater plan—one you don’t even comprehend yet. The fate of the entire universe is intertwined with yours."

The shock was immediate, like a cold blade piercing your heart. You felt the weight of Agatha’s words as an overwhelming burden. The idea that your daughter—that you—were mere pawns in a far vaster game… It seemed impossible, implausible. Yet, somehow, you felt a strange truth in it all.

Your mind began to spin, the pieces slowly falling into place, but doubt, fear, and anger filled your heart. How could this be true? How could anyone use your daughter and you this way? But, deep down, you knew there was more behind all of it, something far beyond what you could imagine.

The air in the room grew even denser as your words came out, weak and trembling but laced with venomous concern. "Where is Wanda? The boys?" you asked, your voice low, almost breaking, as if every word was a painful effort. The emptiness in your chest only grew.

Agatha observed you, her eyes annoyingly calm, as if your pain were merely a temporary distraction. "Wanda?" she repeated, chuckling lightly. "Poor Wanda… Do you really think she can do anything against me?" Agatha’s arrogance was palpable, as though she were speaking of a child who hadn’t yet realized how insignificant they were.

You tried to focus, but your mind was still hazy, the physical and mental pain making it harder to think clearly. The worry for Wanda and the children, the fear of not knowing what had happened to them—it was all suffocating.

"Wanda... She will kill you..." The threat slipped out without a filter, a whisper laced with anger and apprehension. But to your surprise, Agatha seemed utterly unbothered. On the contrary, she let out a quiet, almost mocking laugh.

Agatha crossed her arms, slowly approaching. "Oh, dear," she began, her voice soft but dripping with venom. "I know exactly what Wanda is capable of. And I know what she cannot do. I am more than prepared for anything she might try," she said with overwhelming confidence, as if the future were already written and she knew exactly where you and Wanda fit into the story.

The fear you felt for Wanda, for your children, for everything that was happening, quickly turned into a wave of fury. She wasn’t just playing with you; she was toying with everyone’s lives. But what scared you most was how completely she seemed to have control over everything. And so far, you didn’t even know where to start fighting back.

Agatha was smiling, a look of malicious satisfaction on her face, as if she knew exactly what was about to happen. "I know her so well that I can tell she will arrive in 3… 2… 1…" Agatha said, her voice calm and brimming with confidence. She barely had time to finish her sentence before a deafening noise shook the cabin's roof, making the walls vibrate.

The sound came from outside, powerful, a crash so loud it felt as if the sky itself were collapsing. Agatha laughed, a low, satisfied sound. "Maximoffs… Always so punctual, aren’t they?" She turned toward the door as if she had been expecting the impact of Wanda’s arrival.

But before you could react, dark energy rose in the air—a magic ancient and powerful—wrapping around your wrists and ankles. You struggled, but the magical chains tightened around you, immobilizing your body with inhuman strength. Your hands were bound, unable to cast any spells. You screamed, trying to break free, but the chains only tightened, as though they were draining your energy.

"No!" You screamed, your voice desperate as you felt panic take hold of you. The magical chains bound you in place, and the feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. The scream echoed through the room, piercing the walls, and your eyes frantically searched for Seline, only to see her being taken by Rio. Every movement Rio made was smooth but deadly precise, as if she had calculated every second, every gesture. She was moving away, Seline in her arms, far from your protection.

"Seline!" you cried out, the desperation in your voice more evident than ever.

At that moment, the energy in the room shifted. The air grew dense, heavier, and a wave of power filled the space. Wanda's eyes glowed a deep red, and a burst of scarlet energy swept through the cabin's entrance, throwing Agatha and Rio backward with force. The Scarlet Witch was there.

"Wanda!" you called out, your heart pounding harder at the sight of her entering, her hair floating around her like flames, anger burning in her eyes. She looked at you with a single glance that carried the fury of a storm.

Agatha, however, didn't seem surprised by Wanda's arrival. She straightened, smiling at her with the confidence only she could exude. "I see you've arrived... and with company, I see... Afraid, darling?" Agatha said, her arrogance boundless.

"Get out of my way, Agatha," Wanda replied, her voice as cold as ice. She raised her hand, and an explosion of red magic lit up the room, but Agatha dodged effortlessly, her smile never wavering.

"You don't understand, Wanda," Agatha hissed. "The girl and your daughter are just tools for a much greater purpose. A purpose far beyond anything you can control."

"Don't you dare touch them," Wanda growled, the magic around her growing even more intense.

At that moment, Rio prepared to cast another spell but was interrupted when Natasha, Captain Marvel, and the other Avengers stormed in with overwhelming force. Thor roared, his hammer carrying the weight of all thunder as he charged at Agatha's forces, breaking the magical barriers.

But Agatha wasn't willing to back down. She raised a hand, conjuring a storm of purple energy that swept across the battlefield, potent magic filled with intent.

Wanda focused, her magic becoming an unstoppable force, rivaling Agatha's. The two powers collided, creating a wave of energy that shook the ground, and the battle between the two witches was breathtaking. But deep down, you knew this fight was much more than just a battle of magic. It was a fight for your family, for Seline, for everyone she loved.

The unfolding battle was indescribable, a clash of powers that seemed to defy the laws of reality. Wanda, her scarlet energy radiating from her body like an uncontrollable wildfire, stood against Agatha Harkness, whose smile was as sharp as a blade. Yet something even more threatening was about to reveal itself.

Rio Vidal, with her quiet and haunting presence, seemed merely an observer, but there was something in her eyes—something that made the air around her feel colder, denser. She was still, but her aura of death was unmistakable. It was as if life itself was being drained away from her, and her power extended far beyond mere witchcraft, something much older, more primordial.

Rio spoke in a low voice, dripping with silent malice: "You are dealing with something far beyond your comprehension."

The red light around Wanda intensified, but before she could react, Rio moved with supernatural agility. She raised a hand, and instantly the air seemed to freeze. An absolute silence fell over the room, as if the world had stopped breathing.

The spell Rio cast was instant and ruthless. The shadows around her stretched out like tendrils, engulfing the space and beginning to consume everything around.

The energy seemed to erode the very essence of life, and the shadows swallowed the Avengers one by one, as if they were being torn apart by an invisible force. Thor's hammer was flung away, the light of its energy disappearing before the shadows. The sight of the chains of death that Rio created was terrifying, as though the fabric of reality itself was being torn apart.

But the worst was yet to come. With a simple wave of her hand, Rio Vidal summoned a torrent of energy that erupted from the ground like a hurricane, a black, pulsating wave that consumed everything in its path. It was Death itself personified, a primordial force that even Wanda seemed unable to contain.

"That's what's truly terrifying, Wanda," Rio said, her voice as cold as the winds of death. "I am the true mistress of the end."

When Rio looked directly at Wanda, the aura of Death around her intensified, and the room was filled with a crushing pressure, as if the entire weight of the universe was being compressed into a single point. The sensation of death spread through the atsmosphere like a fog, and Wanda's strength, as powerful as it was, began to waver under Rio's absolute dominance.

But Wanda was not one to give in so easily. She raised her hands, and a burst of scarlet power swept through the room. The clash between Death and the Scarlet Witch was like the collision of two opposing elemental forces. The energy exploded in the air, creating a wave that made the walls tremble and the lights flicker.

"You can't stop me, Rio!" Wanda shouted, her voice full of fury and pain. "You don't stop a woman like me."

The streaks of red energy collided with Rio's shadows, and the impact generated a shockwave that shook the foundations of the room. It was as if the very air was being torn apart, the two powers clashing with a violence that almost destroyed the space around them.

Yet despite Wanda's overwhelming power, Rio continued to resist, her shadow of Death enveloping everything around her. Her presence made everything seem dark, hopeless, and for a moment, it seemed as if the balance between life and death might be disrupted.

"You'll need more than anger to defeat me, Wanda," Rio said, an enigmatic smile on her lips. "I am the natural order of all things, baby."

Wanda, however, was not willing to back down. The sight of Seline, still far from her, was all she needed to fuel her determination. She would not let death defeat her. Not again.

Tony Stark, with his usual irreverence, watched Agatha with a cynical smile as he adjusted his battle gloves. He faced the powerful witch, analyzing her with the eyes of someone about to deliver a comment to make the situation even more interesting.

"So, Agatha, is it?" Tony began, making an exaggerated gesture toward the witch's dress. "Is that medieval witchcraft look trending? You're really channeling that 'evil grandma' vibe, or is it just your personal style?"

Agatha, without losing her composure, shot him a frosty glare. "Oh. So, you think this is a joke?"

Tony shrugged, feigning indifference to the veiled threat. "Of course. Who wouldn’t want to be a supervillain with such... unique style?" He then paused, eyeing her up and down with exaggerated flair. "I’d say you and Mother Nature over there are in a fierce competition for who has more branches on their head, but, well, you’ve already won."

Rio, focused on the battle and beginning to feel the tension, wasn’t amused. The jealous look she shot Tony was immediate. She was ready to intervene, no matter what it took.

Agatha, with a sly smile, was about to reply with more venom, but before she could, Rio made a swift motion with her hand, releasing a wave of dark energy toward Tony.

"I think this little chat has gone on long enough, tin man," Rio said, her voice soft yet menacing.

The energy engulfed Tony in an explosion of shadows, leaving him barely enough time to react. The fight between Wanda and Agatha momentarily took a backseat as Rio attacked with the intensity of a storm. The humor vanished in an instant, replaced by a new, deadlier tension.

"Little Death," Tony coughed out, still wearing his signature smirk. "I knew it was only a matter of time before your lesbian jealousy kicked in and you lost your patience, but I didn’t think it’d be this quick. Also, this suit is brand new, and—"

Agatha glanced at Rio with a victorious smile, as if fully aware that Rio’s unexpected action had drawn all the attention away from the battlefield.

And then, magically, the man’s mouth was gone.

"Sometimes, tin man, the best answer is the simplest: shut up."

The battlefield around you was chaos. Energy beams, spells, and explosions filled the air, but in the depths of your mind, the only sound you could hear was the voice of your deepest instincts—a soft, commanding voice echoing within your being:

Shine for us. Shine for them.

It was as if the voice spoke directly to your soul, guiding you, awakening something ancient and divine within you. The pain that followed was unbearable—tearing through your flesh, your bones, your mortality. Yet instead of fear, you felt a surge of power, a growing force from within. And as you opened your eyes, you saw your mortal shell disintegrating, revealing something far greater.

You ascended, soaring skyward, the energy emanating from you illuminating the battlefield with a golden light that drew every gaze. Your power was absolute. You were glorious. It was as though the cosmos itself bowed before your essence.

The air around you shifted. The world paused for a second.

Your bones seemed to restructure into something stronger, more resilient. Your skin glowed as if made of starlight. Then, with a triumphant burst, massive wings of light erupted from your back, each beat powerful enough to make the heavens part in reverence. You felt an uncontrollable power within you, the energy of the universe coursing through your veins. With a single push, you shattered the magical restraints Rio had cast upon you.

Agatha, usually so composed and full of words, was silent, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, unable to comprehend what had just transpired.

“No…” Agatha whispered, as if the vision before her was an abomination, but in truth, it was the manifestation of what you truly were.

Below you, Wanda looked up, her eyes shining with a reverence she had never shown before. She saw you in a new light, transcendent and divine. Not just as the Guardian, not just as her wife and the mother of her child, but as a force of nature—someone beyond time and space. Her eyes were filled with adoration, her soul touched by the sight of you—glorious, powerful, something beyond human yet undeniably hers.

You needed no words. There was no need. The light emanating from you said it all. She rose toward you, as if you were the reason for existence itself. She knew you were the future, the beginning, and the end.

You felt your power expanding, and as you looked at Wanda, you knew the fight wasn’t over. But now, more than ever, you had the strength to fight for her, for Seline, for everyone you loved.

You shone, and everyone could see it now.

The sound of your wings beating was almost ethereal, a striking contrast to the devastated battlefield. You landed gracefully, your golden glow bringing an indescribable calm to the chaos. Wanda gazed at you, her eyes full of questions and hesitation. You, however, gave her a serene, confident smile and spoke with a voice that seemed to embrace her soul:

"Go get the children, my love."

It was a command, yet also a plea. Wanda hesitated for a moment, but then, as if the peace in your voice melted away any doubt, she nodded and disappeared into the horizon. For a moment, the war felt like a distant memory.

You turned to Agatha and Rio. Your golden eyes met Rio’s, filled with suppressed rage and palpable fear. Without a word, you took a step forward, facing her. The tension was suffocating. But something in your gaze—a mix of understanding and respect—disarmed her. Rio swallowed hard, her powerful demeanor faltering, and then, against all expectations, she gave a slight nod, allowing you to approach Agatha. Deep in her eyes, there was something more profound: silent tears of understanding only she possessed.

You walked slowly toward Agatha, who watched you with a confused and defensive expression. When you stopped in front of her, she raised her chin as if to challenge anything you might say or do. But you didn’t attack. Instead, your hand rose slowly, touching her cheek with a tenderness that completely caught her off guard.

"I see you…" you whispered, your words carrying the weight of ages. Your eyes glowed brighter, as if unraveling every thread of pain and suffering she had ever endured in the palm of your hand. "Your pain. You are ambitious… and you’ve carved painful paths for yourself."

Agatha’s mask began to crumble. Her eyes welled up, and for the first time in a long time, she looked vulnerable. There was no sarcastic laughter, no taunts—only a woman whose story was being laid bare, with no place to hide.

"Close your eyes, Agatha."

You tilted your head, silently conveying that no harm would come of it. After a long pause, Agatha huffed reluctantly and closed her eyes.

"And why should I?" she snapped, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and insecurity. But her guard was down now, just enough for you to notice the doubt in her stance.

The world around her dissolved. When she opened her eyes again, they were in a completely different place: a tranquil forest bathed in a soft, golden light. It was the same forest from your dreams. The air was heavy with memories but also carried something purer, more sincere.

Agatha glanced around, confused, and then her eyes fixed on something in the distance: a woman in old-fashioned clothing, cradling a baby to her chest. She seemed lost in thought, her face obscured by shadows, but the love in her gestures was unmistakable. Behind her, another figure watched with care, filled with reverence and an overwhelming sadness.

"You're the little boy's mother, aren't you?" you asked, your voice gentle but precise. Agatha's body stiffened beside you. She didn't respond immediately, but you felt the tension growing like a storm about to break.

"What do you know about that?" Agatha finally asked, her voice low and dangerous, but tinged with something deeper: fear.

You turned your gaze to her, your eyes gleaming with a light that seemed to uncover every piece of her soul. "I know enough, Agatha. And now, you will too."

The air in the forest pulsed with energy, every leaf and branch vibrating with the weight of the moment. Agatha remained rigid beside you, her eyes locked on the woman in the distance. When you mentioned the name "Nicholas," something inside her seemed to shatter. She took a step back, as if fleeing were an option.

"I can't..." she murmured, her voice almost inaudible but laden with weight. "Nicholas would never forgive me if he saw all the terrible things I've done."

You looked at her, the light in your eyes growing brighter as if trying to illuminate the shadows she carried. "Are you so certain of that, Agatha? Or is that just fear speaking? Shame?"

Agatha let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor. "Fear? Shame? Perhaps both. Do you know what I've done? How many lives I've taken? He... he was just a boy, and I... I lost everything trying to bring him back." Her voice broke at the end, and you saw the tears already streaming down her face.

You stepped closer, your presence radiating calm and understanding. "You’ve lost so much, Agatha. I know that. But hiding behind guilt won’t change what happened. Nor will it undo what you’ve done."

"I don't deserve his forgiveness!" Agatha shouted, her voice echoing through the forest. "How could I? I betrayed everything he stood for. I became... something he would never recognize."

You shook your head slowly, your expression full of empathy. "And yet, he’s here. Because his love for you is greater than any mistake you’ve made."

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out your words, but they had already pierced deep. "You don’t understand... I’ve seen the looks of those who hated me. Who feared me. He would do the same."

"You don’t know that," you replied, your voice firm yet gentle. "What you’re truly afraid of is believing that he could still love you. What if I told you he already forgave you, Agatha? That all he wants is to see you, to touch you, to feel the love you still carry for him?"

Agatha opened her eyes, the weight in her gaze almost tangible. "What if I can’t? What if I... what if I fail him again?"

You smiled—a sad but resolute smile. "You’ll only fail if you don’t try. Come. See him. Not for you, but for him. He deserves this, Agatha."

She hesitated, her breathing unsteady as her eyes returned to the scene ahead. The boy let out a soft laugh in the woman’s arms, and the sound seemed to break through every defense Agatha had built. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she nodded, her steps slow and unsure as you guided her.

"If he hates me..." she began, but you interrupted her.

"Then you’ll show him that, despite everything, the love you feel is real. And that he will always be your son."

As Agatha took each step toward the boy, a storm of emotions consumed her. It was as if every memory, every decision, every mistake hit her all at once. She remembered the witches she had deceived and betrayed, their faces still vivid in her mind. Some had begged for mercy, others had fought to the end, but all had fallen for her singular goal.

Flashes of her spells, the marks of her ambition etched into her opponents, and the screams of her victims haunted her. The lies she told, the alliances she destroyed—everything she did to achieve something she knew she could never reach on her own: Nicholas. Her boy.

Then came Seline. Her plan to use her had been calculated, almost mechanical at first. She was just a tool, a key to unlock the only thing that mattered. But the idea of taking something so pure, so innocent, to fuel her obsession... it ate away at her.

The boy’s soft cries pulled Agatha back to the present. Her thoughts were still heavy with guilt and regret, but that pure, innocent sound cut through like a blade. When she looked ahead, she saw you cradling the small baby, your posture serene as you murmured softly:

"You came from scratch..." Your words were almost a whisper, but they carried an ancient power, echoing in Agatha’s heart as if they were memories from another life. They were the same words she had once spoken, in a moment of vulnerability and magic.

Agatha's blue eyes brimmed with tears, unable to hold back the drops that slowly rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't look away from the boy—so small, so fragile, yet carrying the weight of her entire story.

You paused, your eyes glowing with an intense golden hue, as though something beyond the physical world had been revealed to you. Then, the vision came—clear and vibrant: Nicholas, now grown, running through a flower-filled garden, his laughter echoing like music. His brown hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead as he played joyfully. Beside him, a little girl with bright eyes and a radiant smile ran along, their bond of camaraderie evident.

The vision brought a genuine smile to your face, filled with satisfaction and peace. "Fate has drawn the right lines this time," you thought, feeling lighter, as though something greater had fallen into balance again.

When you offered the baby to Agatha, she hesitated. Her hands trembled, the thin, scarred fingers hovering in the air, almost afraid to touch him. At last, she took him into her arms, holding him with a gentleness that seemed incongruent with her hardened and imposing demeanor.

"Find your path again, Agatha," you said, your voice soft but firm, filled with an inescapable truth.

Agatha looked at you, still reluctant to let her facade crumble completely. "I’ll never forget this," she replied, her tone attempting to mask her vulnerability, but her tears betrayed her stoicism.

You smiled sweetly, almost maternally, as though you understood every barrier she tried to erect. "You won’t need to," you replied, your certainty shining like the stars.

As Agatha held Nicholas, something within her shifted. The weight of guilt didn’t vanish, but for the first time in millennia, a small spark of hope and redemption began to grow. The boy stopped crying and wrapped his tiny hand around her finger, and in that simple gesture, Agatha felt that maybe—just maybe—she could be something more than she had been until now.

[...]

The Christmas dinner was about to begin. Guests were likely already arriving, the laughter and chatter of children echoing through the house adorned with golden lights and wreaths. But you and Wanda were late. More than that: unavailable.

Upstairs, in the bedroom, things were far from festive—at least, in the conventional sense.

Wanda had pushed you onto the bed with an almost predatory hunger as soon as you crossed the door. Her eyes were dark, glowing with a lust that made you forget everything else. Her fingers trailed your skin with precision, as if she wanted to mark every inch of you before any of the guests downstairs had the chance to see you.

“You know they’re waiting for us…” you murmured between gasps, trying to sound responsible but failing miserably. Your fingers were tangled in Wanda’s hair, tugging slightly as she bit your neck.

“They can wait.” Her voice was low, heavy with desire. “You’re my present, and I’m not sharing.”

She kissed you again, this time more fiercely, as if trying to consume every breath you took. The touch of her hands on your thighs, moving slowly upward, sent a shiver through your entire body.

"My pretty little girl looks so beautiful today." Her fingers moved to your clothes, tugging at the fabric impatiently. "But I prefer you like this—naked. Mine. Only mine."

The possessive declaration made your heart race. Wanda had always been like this—intense, consuming—but today, there was something more. A kind of urgency, as though every second away from you had been unbearable.

“If anyone downstairs dares to ask where you are,” she murmured against your neck, biting softly before moving up to your lips, “I’ll tell them the truth. That you’re here. Wide open for me. Screaming my name.”

You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped your lips, and Wanda smiled against your skin. “Mommy...”

"Do you like that idea, my doll? Everyone knowing you belong to me?"

You nodded frantically, incapable of forming a coherent response as her fingers traced slow, torturous circles over your most sensitive spot.

“They’ll hear you,” Wanda whispered, increasing the pace. “They’ll hear you begging for me.”

Your body began to arch against the mattress, your moans turning into something deeper, more primal. And Wanda was ecstatic, watching you like this—so vulnerable, so surrendered. She knew that no one, absolutely no one, would ever see you like this. Not even in their wildest dreams.

“Come on…” She tilted her head, her lips brushing your ear. “Give me everything. Show me who you really are when you’re with me. My precious little slut. My angel.”

It was as if something inside you shattered. The pleasure that had been building erupted, spreading through your body like liquid fire, consuming every thought, every sensation, until all that remained was Wanda. Wanda and pure, unfiltered ecstasy.

And then it happened.

You screamed her name, the sound reverberating through the room, and at that moment, your wings emerged.

Massive, majestic wings made of light and shadow exploded from your back. They spread with a snap, illuminating the room like a celestial display. Their weight made the mattress sink slightly, and the air around you crackled with an otherworldly energy.

Wanda froze for a moment, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. It was always breathtaking when it happened. You were transformed. Radiant. Divine.

But the surprise quickly gave way to adoration.

“Fuck…” Wanda murmured, her eyes gleaming with something almost reverent. She ran her hand over the feathers of your wings, feeling their soft, ethereal texture. “You… you’re so beautiful.”

Her touch on your wings sent a delightful shiver down your spine. It was as if the wings were an extension of your own nerves, sensitive to her touch, reacting to the slightest movement.

“I love your wings,” Wanda said in a low, almost reverent tone as her fingers glided over the soft feathers. There was something different in her voice—not just admiration, but a hint of possessiveness, as if those wings were an extension of her, something she had awakened in you.

You let out a short laugh, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "If I’m an angel, then what does that make you? A demon?"

Wanda lifted her gaze, a slow, dangerous smile curving her lips. Her eyes gleamed with something between pride and desire, but there was also a touch of darkness—a reminder that, although you were shining now, it was she who had ignited this flame.

“A demon?” she murmured, leaning in to brush her lips against yours. “No… something worse. Something that corrupts naive little girls like you. Something that makes them want to surrender to their own darkness.”

A shiver ran down your spine as her words wrapped around you like invisible threads, binding you again to that place between devotion and submission.

“Don’t forget that,” Wanda continued, her tone firm and possessive but tinged with the kind of tenderness only she could offer. “Everything you are now—your light, your wings, even the strength you feel—it’s all a part of me. I planted it in you. And I will never let you forget.”

Your wings trembled slightly under her touch, as if they themselves responded to that truth. You smiled, closing your eyes for a moment as you let it all sink in.

“Then maybe I am your angel,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet her burning gaze. “But you will always be my darkness.”

Wanda’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile before she kissed you again—a kiss filled with unspoken promises, with a love that burned and illuminated at once.

“My light,” she murmured against your lips, her fingers still tracing along the feathers of your wings. “And I, your chaos.”

Wanda smirked, a proud, satisfied expression crossing her face. She pulled you into a deep, slow kiss, as if sealing the moment between you two. When she pulled away, her intense gaze burned into yours, leaving a heat on your skin.

“Now, my light,” she whispered, “let’s head downstairs. I’m sure our guests have arrived—or, at the very least, the kids are planning to set the house on fire.”

You chuckled softly, a charming sound that lit the air. “On Christmas night? They wouldn’t want to miss out on pie…”

As you descended the stairs, the house was alive with laughter and noise. The doorbell rang persistently, accompanied by the sounds of Tommy tugging at Sparky in an animated tug-of-war. Billy, unfazed by the chaos, stood near the fireplace, angling for the perfect selfie. Seline, ever curious, crouched by the Christmas tree, shaking gifts in an attempt to guess their contents.

“Ah, so they do want to miss out on dessert,” you remarked, raising your eyebrows as Wanda sighed, crossing her arms and shooting a sharp look at the trio.

“Definitely no pie.”

“Tommy, let go of the dog. Billy, put the phone away. Seline…” Wanda paused, searching for the right words as she caught the little girl using her magic to peel back a piece of wrapping paper. “If I hear even one piece of tape tearing, you’d better be ready to explain to the pumpkin pie why you won’t be eating it.”

At the sound of Wanda’s voice, Seline quickly stood up and pointed at the gifts.

“I was just checking! I promise I didn’t open any!” she said, hands raised as though surrendering.

Wanda shook her head, sighing. “How does she have your entire personality?” she muttered to you, though there was a glint of pride in her eyes.

Before you could respond, the doorbell rang again—this time longer and more impatient.

“If it’s not them, whoever it is is about to get a lesson in patience,” Wanda grumbled as you moved to answer the door.

The moment you opened it, Nicholas darted inside like a ray of sunshine against the snow outside. He practically leapt into your arms, his wide smile lighting up his face.

“Auntie!” he exclaimed, brimming with the kind of energy only a child could have. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, making you crouch to hug him back.

In his small hands, a shiny wrapped box dangled precariously. From the way he clutched it, you knew exactly who it was for. The sparkle in Nicholas’ eyes, mixed with innocent anticipation, warmed your heart in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

You smiled, keeping your voice low so only he could hear. “Hey, sweetheart. Seline’s just by the tree. She hasn’t stopped talking about you for a second.”

Nicholas’ brown eyes widened, a different kind of sparkle dancing in them—something between happiness and a shy sweetness you rarely saw in him. He didn’t reply, just nodded quickly before darting in the direction you’d indicated, his steps light and eager.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched the little ones. Nicholas placed the box carefully beside Seline, who, curious as ever, leaned in to open it—but not without glancing at him first, as though seeking permission.

The scene was so simple, yet in that moment, you saw your vision from months ago coming to life. The children’s laughter filled the air, exactly as it had in the image of the future destiny had shown you.

Nicholas, his messy brown hair damp with a light sheen of sweat, extended something small and golden to Seline. She, with Wanda’s eyes but a mischievous smile that was unmistakably her own, took the object carefully. And suddenly, as if time paused for a brief instant, you knew the line of destiny had been drawn perfectly.

You turned to find Wanda standing beside you. There was something in the way she looked at Seline and Nicholas—a mix of protectiveness, unease, and that playful jealousy she always pretended was stronger than it actually was.

Behind Nicholas came Agatha, draped in an elegant purple coat that seemed more fit for a queen than a family dinner. Her eyes swept the room with that familiar blend of veiled criticism and sly amusement that was her trademark.

“Well, what a charming Christmas tableau,” she commented, her tone almost sweet but sufficiently loaded to raise suspicion. “You still insist on keeping the tree so over-the-top, Wanda? It looks like every branch is in existential crisis, torn between too much decoration or total collapse.”

Wanda appeared in the doorway, her gaze sharp as a freshly honed blade. “Better over-the-top than monochromatic and dreary, Agatha. At least the kids don’t leave crying, thinking they’ve stumbled into a haunted mansion.”

Agatha’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Monochromatic is refined, dear. But I understand—not everyone has the capacity to appreciate subtlety. Some people need… twinkling lights to mask their lack of taste.”

Wanda crossed her arms, leaning slightly forward. “And some people need constant sarcasm to mask the fact that the last Christmas they celebrated was in the Middle Ages, isn’t that right?”

Agatha theatrically huffed. “Oh, Wanda, always so dramatic. It’s almost inspiring. But you know what’s even more inspiring? The courage to wear so much red and not look like a department store decoration.”

Wanda sweetly smiled, that dangerous smile you knew so well. “Says the expert in purple, the favorite color of villains in children’s books.��

At that moment, Rio walked into the room, casually adjusting her necklace while looking at the two of them with an expression of long-suffering patience. “You two never get tired, do you?”

Both women scoffed, making you laugh as you gathered the coats.

“Wine?” you asked, gesturing toward the table.

“Red,” Rio replied.

“Excellent choice.”

As you approached the table to fetch the glasses of wine for the women, you felt Wanda’s warm body embrace you from behind. The small, subtle kiss placed just behind your ear made you blush, as always.

When you separated, Wanda whispered to you, “They’re not leaving anytime soon, are they?”

You chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. “Of course not. It’s Christmas, love. And you know they’re our family now.”

Wanda let out an indignant sigh, but with that mischievous smile only she could pull off. “Fine, we’ll endure it. If we stay here too long, someone might set the house on fire, and I’m almost sure it’ll be Agatha.”

Right after, a loud, indignant voice rang out, making everyone in the room turn their heads toward its owner. “Do you know how long it’s been since I set a house on fire?” Agatha retorted, her impeccable posture daring the world.

“Agatha...” Rio warned, her eyes trying to bring calm but tinged with resignation.

“What? I’ve never set a house on fire!” she said, half-offended, half-joking.

“Really? But what about when the White House caught fire that year?” you teased, settling on the armrest of a chair, bringing a glass for yourself and one for Wanda.

Agatha grimaced, clearly displeased at being reminded of that incident. “Oh, that was an accident! I was trying to give Rio... a romantic surprise.” She paused, and everyone looked at her, waiting for more details. “I wanted a candlelit dinner, with fireworks at the end… I got a little carried away, and, well, the White House turned into an impromptu bonfire. But it wasn’t that bad! She loved it!”

“Of course I loved it,” Rio responded with a light laugh. “Who wouldn’t be touched by seeing a historic building go up in flames in the name of love?”

“But I... I’m getting better,” Agatha continued, trying to regain control of the situation.

“You always have an excuse, don’t you, Agatha?” Wanda decided to prod, poking at the woman’s ego.

You glanced at Wanda, who was laughing at the situation but with a touch of concern in her eyes. “Ah… But you’ve got your stories too, my dear,” you whispered to Wanda, making her blush slightly.

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Wanda murmured, raising a hand as if to ward off memories of a past disaster. “One thing’s for sure: if any house catches fire here, Agatha will be the first one blamed.”

The light-hearted mood continued, with everyone laughing and trading barbs, but the energy was undeniably warm. The house was full of life, laughter, and stories, and amidst it all, love was clearly present. Whether between Agatha and Rio or everyone there, something magical lingered in the air—without any fires in sight... for now.

The table was elegantly set, with cod dishes, colorful sides, and glasses clinking with wine flowing generously. Christmas at Wanda’s house was always a mix of magic and chaos, especially now, with Agatha and Rio unofficially mentoring the twins. Dinner, as usual, was filled with banter and laughter.

Tommy, brimming with the typical energy of his 18 years, spoke about his college indecision. “Berkeley seems like a good option… But maybe Stanford? Who knows, I might just flip a coin to decide.”

Wanda rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “Tommy, darling, the universe already handles enough chaos without you flipping coins for life decisions.”

“Exactly, Tommy,” Billy joined in the teasing, “because clearly chaos didn’t start with your habit of being late for everything.”

Laughter rippled through the table, but at some point, Billy’s expression turned thoughtful. He held his glass with exaggerated drama, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Everyone, I think it’s time for a revelation.”

Eyes turned to him, some curious, others with a humorous glint, already predicting what was coming. Billy paused, a true actor on stage, and announced:

“I’m gay.”

A second—maybe two, if someone wanted to exaggerate—of silence fell over the table. Then, collective laughter erupted like a wave.

“Wow, Billy, that was quite the revelation!” Agatha said with a sarcastic smile. “I think we’ll need a moment of silence to process that.”

“Absolutely shocking!” Rio declared, theatrically clutching her chest. “Must be why you spent an hour helping Wanda pick out the most stylish Christmas lights for the porch.”

Billy chuckled, blushing slightly but enjoying the reaction. “Okay, fine. I get it. That was about as shocking as saying the sky is blue.”

“Sweetheart, you ran out my anti-frizz cream,” you teased, laughing.

Wanda raised her glass, her eyes shining with affection. “Billy, darling, I’ll just say this: I’m your mother. I knew before you did. I just waited to see when you’d decide to tell us.”

“By the way,” Agatha interjected with a mischievous grin, “since we’re in a mood for revelations, Tommy, is there something you’d like to share?”

Tommy nearly choked on his juice, his eyes wide. “Me? No! I’m good, thanks. Pass.”

Rio raised an eyebrow, her expression amused. “Relax, Tommy. If you’ve got nothing to share now, we’ll wait. But only until next Christmas, okay?”

The boy shook his head, laughing nervously as everyone enjoyed his flustered state.

Amid the teasing and jokes, dinner remained light and welcoming, with Billy visibly relieved and Wanda watching the scene with a maternal smile. There was magic in that house—both literal and figurative. And while Agatha and Rio’s mentorship helped the twins shape their gifts, it was these simple moments, full of love and laughter, that truly defined the family they had built.

That night, Christmas wasn’t just about gifts or food. It was about natural acceptance, shared laughter, and the kind of love that turns even the most “shocking” revelations into something genuinely beautiful.

[...]

The night gently fell over the house, the cozy silence enveloping everything around. In the shadows of the bedroom, the soft moonlight touched their intertwined bodies, creating an atmosphere where time seemed to slow down. Wanda lay on her side, her penetrating gaze still filled with frustration, but also immense affection. She had lost herself in her thoughts, her arms wrapped around you, almost as if she wanted to keep you all to herself, only hers. But the restlessness wouldn’t leave her.

Finally, she turned to face you, her expression filled with a complex emotion. "This is so unfair! Having a daughter, only for a man to come and take her away from me," she said, pouting like a petulant child, not realizing that what was unfolding was far more than any possessiveness.

You let out a light laugh, full of tenderness, a laugh that felt more like a silent dance between two souls who understand each other without words. "Man? Nicholas is eight." You smiled, a hint of incredulity in your voice. "Wanda, I know you want to protect Selly, but she’s growing. Fate is set."

And when you said that, the sense of inevitability was palpable. Like an invisible current, unseen, but carrying with it the full power of a universe in motion. It was as if the threads of destiny had already been intertwined long before your eyes met, and now, their hands, young and pure, were beginning to reach out for one another.

But Wanda, always so impulsive, couldn't help but contest. "You’re the guardian, aren’t you? Do something." Her green eyes, filled with an irresistible charm, fixed on you, that glint in her gaze revealing she knew exactly what she was doing. You knew she was using this to try to make you change your mind, but you also knew she was just trying not to accept what, deep down, she already knew was true.

"Wanda..." you warned her, but she huffed, clearly frustrated with the impossibility of controlling what was coming.

"It’s just that the boys are already grown, adults, and she’s still my little girl," she confessed quietly, almost like a weakness, and you felt the weight of it, the fear of losing something she had built with so much love and care. But in truth, the reality was that this love was preparing the ground for something even more beautiful.

"Sweetheart, Selly is crazy about you, just like I am, she wouldn’t trade you for anything." You smiled softly, touching her cheek. "But you know... one day, they’ll have to date for real."

Wanda didn’t like that. She didn’t like to imagine her little girl, so pure and sweet, going into a world where things weren’t simple anymore, where feelings were complicated, where promises and destinies tangled in ways that could no longer be controlled.

"Sure, when she’s thirty and living in Canada." She crossed her arms, as if that was the only way to protect what she loved most.

"Wanda!" You laughed, but deep down, your heart was full of immense love, knowing that Wanda's concern was just another layer of protective affection that ended up making everything more beautiful, more real.

"Alright," Wanda finally said, letting out a sigh of surrender. "Just when she’s thirty, no need to go to Canada."

You sighed, a soft smile on your lips. "Wanda…"

"Alright, twenty-nine..." she relented.

You knew that everything that was to come, everything that was unfolding, was being paved by them in an inevitable way. Like two stars slowly drawing closer, pulled by the gravity of the universe, not even knowing they were destined to merge into a single, powerful glow.

The destinies of Seline and Nicholas had been intertwined from the first breath, like invisible threads connecting them without anyone being able to see. It wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about possessiveness. It was about something deeper, something that only time and love could reveal. And you knew that, when the right time came, they would find each other, not by chance, but because it was what the universe had planned.

And Wanda, as much as she wanted to protect Selly from the world, from all the risks, deep down knew that when the time came, it wouldn’t be a loss. It would be the beginning of a new story that would endure until the end of time.

The Infinite was never about a straight line. It was never about time or space, but about the moments that mark our hearts and change everything. Like fingers intertwining, like eyes meeting, like shared sighs in the silence of a cold night. The Infinite is made of choices, of loves, of losses. It is the memory of every step taken, the hope of each new day.

Being the Guardian of the Infinite is not about power, it’s not about controlling what is eternal. You always imagined it would be something grand, something beyond your understanding, but the truth is that the Infinite hides in the small things. In the smile we give to the people we love. In the gentle touch of a hand that holds ours. In the silent promise we make, without words, but with our whole hearts.

You saw the Infinite not as something distant, but as something so close, so vast and yet so delicate, that it made you feel small. Not in a sense of weakness, but in understanding that love — that feeling so simple and yet so complex — is the true force that holds everything. The Infinite is not in the distant stars, but in what is created between people, in those invisible connections that cannot be explained, only felt.

And it was there, in that moment charged with emotion, that you plunged into your own Crimson Reverie, a state where everything was pulsing, vibrant, full of meaning. The red was not just a color; it was a presence, a mark that represented both the intensity of love and the burning wounds it can bring. The Crimson was your bond, your eternal waking dream, a place where love and chaos intertwined, where you and Wanda existed as inseparable forces.

You came to understand that love has no beginning or end, because it is always there, waiting, silent, waiting for us to embrace it. It grows with us, transforms with us. Sometimes it’s sweet, sometimes it’s bitter, but it’s always real. And when we look at the people we love most, we see how strong those bonds are. They are what remains, what crosses time, what endures pain and distance.

This is how the Infinite reveals itself — not in a snap of fingers or in an explosion of power, but in a simple gesture, in a look. The moment you realized that your destiny was not to be the guardian of something immense and incomprehensible, but to be the guardian of the small moments of love that make up life. You are not just a force that holds time, you are a person, with a story, with loves and choices that make you who you are.

And in the end, it is love that writes the story, that gives meaning to what would be just a chaos of purposeless events. Because it is love that transforms, that heals, that blooms amidst grief, that teaches us to be more human. More vulnerable. And perhaps that’s what makes the Infinite so special: it’s not distant, it’s not cold. The Infinite is made of life, of love, of every person who crossed our path and left a mark. And in every moment, in every breath, the Infinite continues, and perpetuates itself, not in something grand, but in the softness of what unites us.

So, perhaps the secret of the Infinite is this: it’s in the simple act of living, of loving, of making mistakes, of starting over. Of knowing that, in the end, what matters is not how much time we have, but how much we love and allow ourselves to be loved. Because love is what makes us eternal. It is what makes us part of the greatness of the Infinite.

And that is what remains.

~*~

Thanks for following Crimson Reverie! And I wish you find your place in infinity <3

Tag List <3

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crowleys-hips · 8 months ago

Text

Ocean

who knew that a whole ocean could be less than an inch wide? its entire depth held there in the vastness of your curious eyes i'm so afraid of drowning -all the time- but you reassure me i can breathe underwater. now it turns out i had never known oxygen until i dove into those silver blue waves and took my first breath

there inside i've found a multiverse encapsulated in the finite fragility of a human-shaped frame

that face is merely a mask and i've seen you without it there, ensconced beneath your kind gaze and gentle smile lives a fierce, ferocious passion a devotion to your convictions that bleeds into the world around you in rivulets of truths masked as embellished lies a driving force that crushes my reality into fantastic fragments of distorted visions that finally make life make sense

i see scars that resemble my own i see that deeply rooted solitude that's entrenched into our very souls pervasive and persistent throughout ages of a winless fight that singles us out as renegades

look at Us lucky Us here is our deliverance in furtive glances late nights and kisses shared from light years away

your fingerprints are indelible on my broken chest your careful digits weave golden thread through gaping wounds and fill the cracks anointing them with hallowed words

you sing, and time stops to listen your voice alone makes whole worlds bloom the hours and minutes and seconds follow the cadence of your breath and heartbeat

i wonder

if i kiss your hands would i be blessed with infinite lives across any dimension? should my tongue worship your fingertips would i find absolution?

i don't think i existed before you i have suffered a rebirth of sorts not through my despair but through the undeserved blessing of your voice calming my fears cutting through the deafening noise that besieges my crumbling mind flaring my terror of safety and gently guiding me home with your hand in mine

i'm still so afraid

but i'm not drowning now

i'm learning to swim

(i'm sorry if this was a bit much. things got out of hand.)

taglist under the cut:

@goodomensafterdark @wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @celestialcrowley @im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley @sabotage-on-mercury @ineffabildaddy @ineffable-rohese @rainbowcrowley @alwaysbemybae @fearandhatred @roof-of-trees @weasleywrinkles @brokewokebespoke @eybefioro @captainblou @amagnificentobsession

if you wanna be added/removed lemme knoww

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geeky-politics-46 · 1 year ago

Text

Just Hold Me

Pairing: Sinister Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Something is wrong. You are acting odd & all Stephen wants to do is help you feel better

Warnings: Not much, light angst & references to potential depression. Fluffy ending. Sinister being the most loving devoted boy ever even if he doubts himself.

Totally a self-comfort piece. I've been feeling sad & this is what I want right now.

He wasn't used to seeing you this way. In fact, in all the time you had been in his universe, he had never seen you like this before. The light was missing from your eyes. You weren't crying, but your normal sunny disposition was nowhere to be found.

Your face was a blank slate. You didn't seem angry or outright upset, but your smile was nowhere to be seen. Even when he put on your favorite show, you weren't smiling and giggling like you normally would. It was breaking his heart.

You had always been the sunshine to his dark storm cloud self. You brightened his day and cleared away the gloom and cobwebs that had invaded his mind for years. He hoped that he hadn't somehow accidentally extinguished that fire and light that made you so enchanting. That was something he knew he would never forgive himself for.

Even the weather outside had shifted with your personality. The cracks of sunlight that had started illuminating the barren land below, lulling it back to life, had dimmed. Storm clouds and low rumbles of thunder followed in the next few days. By the third day, it had begun steadily drizzling on and off all day.

Perhaps you wanted to leave but didn't know how to tell him. He was sure he would die if you did leave, but he wouldn't keep you there if you were no longer happy in his world. Or with him. Maybe you decided you couldn't love a monster like him anymore. He wouldn't blame you.

He found you sitting in your shared bed, bundled up in blankets, and just staring out the window. Watching the raindrops pitter patter against the window. Your hair hadn't been brushed in a day or two, and you were still in the shirt you slept in.

"I know you have said nothing is wrong, but I know you are lying, my love. You can tell me if you want to leave. If you aren't happy with me anymore. If you have changed your mind about us. Or if I have done something to hurt you. I will make it right in any way that I can. Even if it means losing you. Your happiness is the most important thing in the multiverse to me."

Your heart ached that you made him question your love for him. That had never even been a thought in your mind. You loved Stephen unconditionally. In fact, even you couldn't pinpoint what you were feeling or why you were feeling so withdrawn. You couldn't stand to see his eyes looking like a scolded puppy, and you immediately wanted him to be near you.

"Oh, Stephen. Come here.

You unwrapped yourself from the blankets and patted the spot next to you on the bed. Wanting him to join you in your blanket cocoon.

"You haven't done anything to hurt me, and I definitely haven't changed my mind about us. I love you more than anything, Stephen. I'm just feeling really down, and I don't know why. It's stupid, and there's no real reason why that I can think of. I didn't want to bring your mood down with me, but I guess that didn't really work, huh?"

He had brought himself to sit in the bed next to you. Not wanting to touch you until you gave him permission, but he grabbed one of your hands in his as you wiped away a couple of stray tears with the other.

"Trust me, darling. I have been to the depths of despair, and nothing you could say could bring me down. Not as long as you are here and you let me help you. Now, what do you need? Do you want anything to drink or eat? I can get you some more blankets to snuggle in. I can put on one of your favorite movies. I can leave you alone if you want me to, but I'd rather be here if you'll let me. Even if we just sit here in silence."

Your heart warmed at the honesty in his eyes and in his voice. You had never met a man quite like him. One who had seen and felt so much in his life. Had his world ripped apart in front of him, and yet all he wanted was to make you feel better. Even just having him next to you now made you feel a little less sad. A hint of a smile pulled at your lips for the first time in days.

"Can you just hold me, please, Stephen? I just want to lay here and listen to the storm and have you hold me tight. I don't really know what's wrong with me right now, but you feel right to me."

He smiled at your request. He was so hoping that you would let him hold you. He knew that having you in his arms was always what made him feel better when the dark thoughts and lingering voices from the Darkhild threatened to overtake his mind.

"Of course darling. All you ever have to do is ask."

With that, he snuggled down under the covers and held you tight. Spooning you from behind and making sure his body touched yours as much as he possibly could before using his magic to pull the soft fluffy blankets up around both of you. Restoring your little cocoon you had made with both of you inside it now. Your hand quickly found its place over his, and your body wiggled to get even closer.

He pressed a couple of soft, comforting kisses to your shoulder once you had found your comfortable spot. His heart fluttered a little when he heard you sigh and felt you relax into his arms. Letting your body melt into his.

You stayed like this for what had to be hours. It didn't matter to him how long he stayed there. He wasn't going to let you go until you told him to. He would hold you until the universe collapsed around you both if you asked him to. His reason for living was to be the mooring that held you steady in both calm and stormy seas.

He knew you were on the verge of sleep by the way your breath pattern changed. It was only then that he let his own guard down and let himself begin to drift with you. Then, in the smallest and sweetest tone, he heard you whisper. It was barely audible.

"Thank you, Stephen. I love you."

He smiled softly to himself. Nudging his nose into your hair to get closer to you still. Whispering back into your ear, the truest words he had ever spoken in his life.

"I love you too, darling. Always and with all of my being. Though good and bad."

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

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andthekitchensinkao3 · 8 months ago

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Is Teaser Thursday a thing yet? Tapestry of Time chapter 4

It's over 4k at this point. All Mobius' POV, because he needs to get shit DONE.

Here follows a snippet between him and Sylvie:

---

“The Norns?” Sylvie’s face was an image of righteous indignation. “You want to summon three of the most ancient beings in the entire multiverse, to do what? Save your pet god?”

“He’s not my pet, for goodness’ sake, Sylvie!” Mobius started to protest, but she was already off the tailgate, a warrior in motion. She looked as though she might punch him in the throat if she didn’t move away.

“Why do you insist on your-- stupid crusade to get him back?” She threw her arms out, coiled with all the energy in the world and nowhere to put it. “What gives you the right? You think love means you can take away his free will? What?!”

“No!” And wasn’t that the kicker. Love could give you a lot of things - strength, confidence like you wouldn’t believe, the depths of despair that could swallow you whole if you weren’t careful - but not authority over anyone else’s life. “I just…” he tried, but the more he thought about it, the more her words rang true. He couldn’t be trusted about his own motivations if he didn’t know if this was coming from the right place, or somewhere ugly, like selfishness.

#lokius fanfic #lokius #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #mobius needs a hug

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ask-codeearasure · 1 month ago

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The Outer Realms -- Chapter 20

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]->

Wish to refill Ink's Paints? Go to our Ask Box

—-----

Chapter Twenty:

Discoveries

—----

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

― Andre Gide

—-

Of all the depths of the multiverse, one couldn’t truly ever expect the unexpected for the unexpected was beyond comprehension. Truly of figments and glimpses of the most strange and the most predictable were like ghosts and momentary specks. Sparks that appear and disappear like lightning with no thunder to follow through. A most unsightly and incomprehensible fading thought like a dementia-riddled mind ridding itself of its memories from five seconds ago to the birthday one had thirty years prior.

Yet, there is always that one surprise. That one thing that sticks. That one seed that takes root and begins to slowly worm its way out of the dirt and into the light of the waking world. That is truly the only way to describe what Nightmare was looking at.

Figments that never faded. Figments that took root.

These pages are far beyond even his own world. Pages far beyond that of his usual toy boxes. Pages that hold far more interesting pets than those of prior. Truly they were beyond fascinating. Such oddities were unlike anything he had seen before. Like a new species of cat. Or a new maggot that fell into a tank full of ants.

He couldn’t help but grin.

Art of War. Read one page.

Perhaps that was the home of one of those adorable little creatures that thought they could play with him.

Venturing inside and worming around the timeline gave him a lot of fascinating tidbits. It wasn’t exactly like Something New. It was like an Underfell variation, but not quite. It was like an Underswap or Swapfell variant, but even then, not quite. It was an odd mixture of all three but at the same time completely its own monstrosity. Everything was so different, but familiar all in one delicious little package, like a chef took a few ingredients from several cultures and made a dish entirely their own.

This specific AU had walls between each section of the Underground, these walls being bases for specific military sectors and trying to be defenses in case any humans from a warring world of the 1940s were to come down there and drag them into it. But it was also in case they were freed from the Underground. The monsters would be prepared for this wonderful world war.

The negativity emanating off it all was delicious. Nightmare couldn’t help but purr at the agony he sensed from the humans on the surface, but he found the pet he had been looking for. That Killer-like creature. How adorable he was, 6 years old and challenging a fight it knew it couldn’t win, only to join the military. Yet at 13 it had its entire world torn apart.

The pain. The despair. All of it rolling into a ball of negativity that could barely be compared.

When he found it in the Multiverse, he’d make sure to use this information well.

He decided to look around some more. He found another interesting little story. It was the one he thought would make a nice pet. It was called Katagma. It was almost hilarious how similar it was to Dusttale, but at the same time so different, as was the first.

Who knew one little change would equate to such a drastic difference?

A memory that never fades, never wavers but stays there. Permanent and unending.

No wonder its negativity was so strong and addicting.

It couldn’t ever forget the horrors that human caused it. A human zealot talking endlessly about a god that didn’t exist and striking every monster down as if to prove themselves to that fake god and then doing it all over again and again. It was the funniest AU he had ever seen. Watching as the pet he was planning on taking in slowly was driven insane. And the cherry on top was the fact that the human eventually realized that they weren’t in their imaginary hell at all, and when they finally accepted it, it was too late.

It was too far gone. The pet finally beat the human only to start doing something far more fascinating.

It ended the world it was in. Not deleting it. No. It went to the surface and dismantled every single government body it could by destroying trade routes, stealing weaponry, and using magic to make plant seeds immediately sprout upon landing in solid ground. Its favorite being carnivorous plants, all in the name of correcting the world it was in because it wasn’t matching its delusions. And the best part was the fact that these plants killed their prey slowly and agonizingly. Normally Nightmare was against mass deaths, but humans dumb enough to get caught in them were trapped and digested so slowly that it was beyond agony for them. A slow and painful death and their friends and families could only watch because helping such fools would be a deathwish.

Perhaps a vast percentage of the multiverse dying off was useful for two things instead of the one.

Nightmare couldn’t help but find it funny. He normally took Killers from Something New Timelines, and they tended to suffer from extreme hallucinations, yet here he was, finding two pets that were as if they were a Killer split into two different beings. One with hallucinations, another that only worked efficiently.

Truly, he had the best of both worlds at his feet, just waiting for him to pull some strings. But really, why waste his time interrupting the events of these timelines when the two targets who made their existences abundantly clear to him were somewhere out in the multiverse right now?

Until they had the nerve to show up again, he had time to kill. After all, his targets were nothing more than lambs awaiting the slaughterhouse. He had noticed they had sent a copy of his brother out within the inner multiverse, just asking to be harassed and tormented.

Honestly, mere copies could never compare to the real thing and the real reward that was his dear ‘brother’s’ soul, but he was allowed to have fun here and there.

Nightmare traveled back to Art of War, breathing in the negativity that infested the very atmosphere. Prejudice, fear, pain, disorder, mass exterminations, political propaganda, it had it all and then some.

The Lord of Negativity laid his eye on the courtyard belonging to the Underground’s king, hooked onto his every move, how odd it was, this Asgore looked like an odd undead deer monster wearing steel chains and a tattered red cloak. He watched the scene from their shadows, grinning, translating their fluent German in his mind.

—-

“Truly, Doctor, I find this notion of not sending von Gaster to the surface absurd.” the demonically deep voice of King Asgore hissed.

This AU’s Alphys stepped back, unable to look away from the pale yellow eyes of the King. His shadow encompassed her completely. “B-b-b-but my lord, he’s only ten! A-a-a-a child that young would be a-a-a-an easy target!”

He lowered his head to her’s and exhaled a frosty breath with a sneer, “He’s one of our best soldiers, he’s already jumped far ahead of the majority of the soldiers that are twice his age and yet had joined at the same time he did.”

The lizard monster straightened her back and exclaimed nervously, “Exactly! W-we can’t lose our best soldier! W-what if we used him as… um… bait! Whenever a human falls into the underground he can be live bait! Making the humans drop their guard when they see him—”

“Did you forget what we’ve found from the humans’ waste that falls down here?” the king growled, straightening up, moving slowly like an ancient tree, “They’re in the middle of a world war, the second of its kind, and you expect them to have sympathy for a child? They’ve created propaganda to trick their young to fall for their politics. Their beliefs of minuscule differences being the end all be all of determining who is superior and who is not. They need a harsh correction, and sending our best soldier to collect the souls we need and freeing us, is the best chance we have.”

He turned and walked away from the woman who began following him as quickly as she could.

“But sire—”

“I’ve heard enough, doctor.”

“What would change your mind, my king?!” the lizard begged, “Surely, there must be something!”

“If you can get the majority of the military to agree with you, I might reconsider.” he snorted.

Using his magic, glowing scarlet chains wrapped around the lizard monster’s legs and dragged her down the courtyard until she was at its exit. The king entered his home and slammed the door shut, shaking the entire house.

The doctor slowly got up and dusted herself off, glaring at the home for a second before sighing, turning and walking away, hanging her head low, heavy with thoughts of desperation and morals swirling in her mind like a whirlpool.

—------

This was only getting better and better! Nightmare reached out, detecting an abundance of negativity from the neighboring universes, but also felt a difference in the pattern of arrangement. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the best word he had to describe it was like a ring of fire, a wall around the multiverse at large, and covered with holes.

Someone had been busy. Whether it was Error or someone else, Nightmare didn’t particularly care, but before the inner universes crumbled that day, perhaps this is where the glitch had been for all that time.

If there was a plane of existence waiting right outside this multiverse, what could it be? By destroying these ‘defensive universes’, breaking the barrier around the realities he had grown accustomed to, what could they let in?

He was strangely satisfied at the thought, but he planned to have it all collapsed long before anything alien had the mind to enter.

Then he felt it, a ping of concentrated positivity… It was about time that miscreant showed his face again. Nightmare’s body boiled with glee as he headed towards that aura, unknown magic crackling around him the closer he got to this other reality, this offshoot of Asylumtale, he duly noted, and stopped right before a barrier.

Smart, was whoever thought to practice shielding magic this intently to the point they could protect entire other universes from him. They had some nerve, but Nightmare had been craving a challenge for centuries. This reality’s inhabitants created so much negativity, he was certain that without outside aid, his brother was surely trapped. He must be in so much pain… poor thing…

A part of the Lord of Negativity was amused, but he knew whatever sense of ‘peace’ this AU understood, it wouldn’t last. He bellowed with laughter, filling the lack of air around him. Space magic. What an embarrassment. Nightmare placed his hands on the very center of the shield, bleeding his own magic into the barrier. Gradually, the soft flow cushioning him, begging him to turn the other direction and leave, stiffen. Hard as rock, yet thin and inflexible, so dark the distant ‘stars’ in the shield’s center cracked and crumbled into rotting geodes and dust.

Nightmare emitted a snarl of satisfaction and summoned his tentacles, ignoring the familiar sting of the positivity impaling his chest, infesting him with whatever poison it contained. But he could tell it was getting weaker.

There is a limit to happiness.

—------

“I’m sure he’ll be okay!” Dream encouraged the Head Doctor and Queen, soothing her uncertainty towards giving Katagma back his arm privileges.

Toriel pouted and stared at Katagma, who was giving her the biggest set of puppy-eyes that she’s seen yet. She then looked at Occultatum, who gave her a neutral shrug in response. The Queen took a deep breath and sighed, “So long as you keep up with your medication this time.”

Katagma stopped with the puppy-eyes and smiled, “YES! Kata will definitely keep them on hand at all times!”

“And no excuses this time! I know your memory is as perfect as can be, I don’t want to hear that someone flushed them, or that you lost them in some obscure AU, or anything of the sort!” she began undoing the belts binding his hands behind himself, “You come back as soon as you can and you make sure to come back every time you start running low on your medication!”

Katagma nodded, “Yes! Yes! I will! I promise! Please let Kata go! Please!”

With the last belt undone the first thing Katagma did was cling to Dream, wrapping him in a tight hug and spinning around in glee. The guardian squeezed him back, laughing lightly with the intake of fresh positivity, something that soothed the ache in his body from the abundance of negativity the asylum carried on a daily basis.

Toriel shook her head, mumbling, “I better not regret this.”

Occult nodded in agreement, “I feel you.”

Katagma slipped on one of the loose belts, falling backwards on the cell’s bed and taking Dream with him, which because of the fluffiness of the mattress, flew a couple inches into the air and landed right above Kata’s head. The two stayed silent for a moment, then burst into ecstatic snickering, causing Occultatum to just decide that yes… these two were his now. He’s adopted yet another brother in his mind. They’re stuck with him now.

Dream rolled over to sit up, flipping his hood out of his face and kicking his feet over the side, taking a brief look out the window, which overlooked a glimpse of the courtyard, watching a duo of children retreat back inside the asylum’s lobby floor like it was a race. Their happiness was untampered, considering their environment.

He felt Kata’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, the loose and much-too-long sleeves of his straightjacket covering half of Dream’s face, the illusionist purring up a storm.

“You sure you want to go to Invitation?” Katagma asked, “That’s Izanagi’s AU, by the way! It can be quite a… mad place. You’ll be in far more pain than you are here, I’m quite sure of that. It has a lot of bad things, possibly more than it does good.” He was still smiling despite the heavy concern in his voice. “I mean you might be able to make changes there if you stayed long enough considering that they may see you as a god – which I’m sure you are.”

Dream sat straighter immediately, a faint gold hue flush covering his cheeks, “A god? Me? I’m sorry, I’m not–”

“You sure?” Katagma held Dream’s head, forcing him to look up at the mad skeleton who squinted at him, then booped Dream’s nasal bone.

“Y-yes, I’m sure!” He was at a loss for better words to describe just how sure he was of the lack of any divinity he might possess, falling silent and gently grasping the illusionist’s finger to hold it away from his face.

“I am… certain I want to go to Invitation, but… I’m still thinking about it. Carrot told me to reconsider my options as well. I’m just worried, is all…” Katagma hummed before smirking, “Alright, if you’re so certain that you are not what you are. I’ll take your word for it, for now. But do know that it is best to consider all possibilities. DeVille is most definitely there with Iza, keeping an eye on him.”

DeVille. He knew that name. DeVille… oh. The source of the venom he was shot with. Katagma had mentioned them so casually and comfortably, though, so perhaps this person wasn’t a source of strife to him and Izanagi.

“Okay.” He was certain he’d find out later, but now something felt off. Dream couldn’t determine what it was, but he didn’t think their conversation was an issue. Maybe some of his symptoms were coming back, but it was fine! Occultatum had mentioned earlier that Toriel and Alphys were making medication for his sake.

“Um… remember the book you suggested to me back at the library?”

“Of course! The best book!” Katagma grinned, his purr increasing in volume at the mere mention of it, “Do you like it?”

“I do like it!” Dream smiled, regretting the fact he left it back in Outerswap, “But I don’t know what a shilling is, or what queer? Means… or… I’m unfamiliar with a few of the words in that book.”

Katagma fell over laughing, dragging Dream with him, “A shilling is an old British coin, like… a pence! Queer, though now used to describe the whole LGBT community, was and still sort of is another word for weird and odd, especially during the time when the book was published. And as for the last one… you may need a dictionary to help you. Or we could read it together, though Kata is a fast reader so he’ll be sitting by, waiting for you!”

“You would do that?” The little guardian looked up at him, elated at the offer, “I’d like that…”

Toriel leaned over to Occultatum and whispered, “They’re practically like brothers…”

Occultatum nodded, “I’m adopting both of them. They’re stuck with me for the rest of their lives.”

She giggled at his statement. “Of course they are.”

The sinking feeling continued to grow, and Dream anxiously glanced out the window again, noting the darkening sky. He frowned, then shifted his position enough to look over Katagma’s shoulder and towards Dr. Toriel and Occultatum. “Excuse me, doctor? What time is it?”

Toriel looked at her watch, “It’s almost 5pm, dear.”

“Does it uhm… does it normally get so dark this early?”

She frowned, “No.” she went over to the window and saw that it was in fact getting dark. “Occult–”

“On it.” Occultatum ran out of the room, heading towards the outside of the asylum.

Getting ahead of himself, Dream had almost jumped out of Katagma’s arms to follow him, but the illusionist shook his head like that was a bad idea.

Katagma held Dream a bit tighter, mumbling, “It’ll be okay, love. Occultatum will take care of it.” his purring increased to try to calm Dream down, but the sinking feeling persisted, tunneling down further, pursuing the depths, getting darker and darker.

The guardian shifted again in Katagma’s grasp, laying his head on the illusionist’s chest in an attempt to deafen the thumping of his own soul, pounding at him to get up and run. Dream swallowed his anxiety, pushed it down, but it only felt worse.

Apprehensively, Dream reached out, feeling for other sources of positivity, but they began to shrivel, blinking out one by one as the warm air around them turned unnaturally cold. He continued to pick up on whatever speck he could, but just up ahead, in the direction of the asylum’s main entrance, Dream’s body turned to face against his will, his eyesockets blown as wide as dinner plates, eyelights shrinking down to pinpricks.

He was here. He was here and he couldn’t move.

—-----

Occultatum looked up and used his magic to be able to look straight through the mountain and see what exactly was going on, but he couldn’t see much other than what was supposed to be a clear night sky. He frowned. Maybe it was overcast tonight? He couldn’t help but doubt it. The weather in Asylumtale was hardly ever like this.

He concentrated his magic, focussing on the barrier. There were only a few things that could counteract his magic, but they wouldn’t dare.

The Archiver expected all to be well, mostly. Perhaps his magic had gone rigid over the pass of time and needed a new layer to be applied, but reaching out to what he had conjured before came with results that certainly weren't his own.

It felt like his fingertips had brushed the surface of chalk; crumbling chalk over a cluster of burning coals and chilling stone. “Impossible…”

He opened his eyes again to empty, limitless vantablack darkness, as if the entire world was swallowed by a blackhole, instead of the stars and faux galaxies he implemented, and all at once, the very center of his masterpiece shattered, wiping out the asylum’s lighting system in under less than a second.

Whoever did this was fucking dead.

—----

He could feel him staring, eye drilling into his very being, and the voice Dream knew was right next to him a minute ago should have been louder than the distant whisper in its place. Any attempt he made to move, to summon his staff, his bow, his knives, were each met with a harsh force, shoving them back into the abyss from which they came.

The anxious whispers of his new friend soon became inaudible to him, and the pain his body had been withstanding for the better half of the day became intolerable. Dream felt his bones burn and chill over a million times in rapid succession, but remain as stiff and overpowered as he was that day, when he had spent so long as a stone figure overlooking the decay of his home.

The ground beneath him shook, and he felt something slam into him, knocking him back into the wall of Katagma’s room. He heard the illusionist yelp, but when he opened his eyes, no light illuminated the space anymore.

It felt like the entire building was holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Dream went to stand up again, but stopped the attempt midway when the numbness of his body registered to him. The guardian laid back against the wall, biting back a hiss of agony when even the thought of reaching out again came to mind, the taste of blood thick in his mouth.

Katagma sat up and worriedly looked around until he spotted Dream, before he could do anything Toriel was already there hovering over them both, “Are you two alright? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Kata feels like a poltergeist hit him but he’s not sure about Dream…” Katagma stated, he frowned at Dream before asking carefully, “Are you alright, love?”

The guardian suppressed a groan, but the face of discomfort couldn’t be hidden in time. He breathed in, then slowly out. Dream reached out for the bed board and used it as a source of support to get himself standing, but didn’t let go. “In a moment, maybe…” As if to spite him, his body shuddered. Dream breathed in again to fight off his nausea, and raised a gloved hand to wipe what he thought were tears from the edges of his eyesockets, only for the fabric to come away a dark red.

“...m-maybe not….”

Toriel immediately scooped him up and began running for the infirmary, Katagma following close behind her.

—------

Nightmare resurfaced in Art of War, in a timeline with the Underground emptied, dusted to oblivion. It had been so long since he had been this gratified and intrigued on the same day. Dream was weak, possibly from whatever that Killer-copy had shot him with all those weeks ago! The poor, unfortunate soul could pretend he was in working order come every deadline, but he was on the edge of expiring. Even through that barrier, Nightmare could smell his paralyzing fear, the helplessness that overcame him in his absence. No wonder he had to hide in such a minuscule, unimportant universe…

Nightmare chuckled darkly to himself, taking a seat upon the empty throne of the long-deceased king. Even though the entirety of monsterkind had already been demolished in this timeline, the world above reeked in confusion, hysteria, and misplaced insanity. He looked down at the weapon still lodged in his chest, the color having dulled from the work he had just completed. The Lord of Negativity growled in disgust, grabbing the blade and ignoring the agony it sent up his arm and throughout his body as he yanked it out, shattering the spear in a million pieces as if it were made of glass this whole time. Whoever made these things was at the top of his hit list. It wouldn’t be hard to conclude the identities involved if he just did a little more research… they did such efficient work copying Dream’s firepower, he had to admit to himself, which only compounded the importance of finding them.

It wasn’t like those weapons could kill him, but they were a greater pain than Dream was by himself.

He needed more negativity, and the Outer Realms provided a surplus in supply in the absence of the rest of the multiverse, even though their numbers were even more minuscule in comparison to the numbers he was better acclimated to.

At once, his wounds from the prior battles were mending themselves back together. If he stayed here longer, he’d get bored.

Wasn’t there a universe posing as his own out there?

It wouldn’t hurt to investigate…

—-----

A man with messy black hair and a violet suit and hat with a moon charm on it, and a white eyepatch over his right eye smiled gently as he handed a bottle of wine and a basket of Red Delicious apples to an older woman.

“Oh, DeVille,” the elder purred, “You are such a kind young man! This will help more than you know!”

He tipped his hat and smiled, “Don’t worry Miss Rayburn, it’s always a pleasure. Be sure to hide the bottle, I’d hate for Guerra to go hunting around again.”

“I will.” she replied gently, “Stay safe.”

Once the woman had left, DeVille leaned against a wall of a small building and sighed, he was lucky that Morabito had been busy running around the Multiverse doing that prat’s job. He’s been able to take over a bit of the bastard’s territory in the process.

However, for some reason, the day suddenly felt more… odd.

He looked into the sky and it seemed to slowly but surely get darker and darker until it was darker than night itself.

He heard a woman’s scream. Curiosity getting the better of him he ran over to where he heard the scream only to see a person he recognized holding onto a screaming and sobbing woman, blood splattered all over the wall and ground.

What the hell?

He swallowed his pride and urge to avoid the detective, he went over and saw that one of Morabito’s regulars looked to be… well… flattened. Body shattered into bits with blood pooling everywhere. Brains exposed and leaking from the shattered skull.

“That looks like a five story drop… why…?” DeVille mumbled.

“That’s what I’m wondering,” said the detective.

DeVille glared at the detective who ushered the woman to sit down far away from the body. The detective then walked up to DeVille.

“Armano Guerra…” DeVille spat.

“Nightmare DeVille…” Detective Guerra grumbled stiffly, “Don’t worry, I know you have nothing to do with this.”

“As if I’d take your word for it.” DeVille frowned.

They heard another scream. Then another. Both men exchanged looks. They knew they’d reluctantly had to both head the same direction considering that if DeVille wanted to keep his name in the clear, he’d have to be beside the Detective until the incidents ceased.

“Lead the way.” DeVille said with a huff, “It’s not like anyone at your agency would believe that I’m as innocent as you are.”

“Snarky as always.” Guerra frowned.

As they went from scene to scene they found a pattern if one could even call it that.

Suicides.

All of them were a case of suicide.

Being dragged to the agency, DeVille was forced to sit in the detective’s office, watching the man put up crime scene photos on a corkboard. As he listed out audibly to a recorder the names and ages of the victims along with how they died.

“Ponzio De Marco, age 57, death caused by jumping off of a five story building; Letizia Mele, age 15, hanging; Dario Chiellini, age 10, jumped off of a cliff into the ocean, Cesarina Pisani, age 42, hanging…”

The detective took a step back, “All occurred in what should’ve been a clear day—”

“Instead we’re shrouded in darkness and more darkness. No stars, not even the moon itself.” DeVille cut in.

“You say that like it’s some act of God.” Guerra shot.

“Or the devil.” DeVille shrugged, “What suspect do you have, detective, all you have are a bunch of suicides occuring on the same day an odd event occurred. Last I checked, that is not normal.”

“What’s not normal is a human surviving getting shot point blank in the face with a railgun!” Guerra growled.

DeVille stayed silent.

The detective ended the recording. “You still haven’t explained that.”

“I owe you nothing.” DeVille frowned.

“You and Morabito’s weapons disappear every time we get one, and a single scratch from one is enough to knock out a grown man, that is not normal.” Guerra said exasperatedly, “Are you even human?”

DeVille stared at the man, “And if I’m not, what are you going to do detective?”

Right outside the office, a gunshot sounded, then the thump of a likely already deceased body. The few people rushing through the hallways outside the office door screamed, and the sound of several people stumbling away was almost deafening. Another gunshot echoed from another room, and another from right outside the building.

What started as a few untimely suicides increased into rampant disorder. Cars blasted their horns in the middle of the streets, and the mass waves of insanity could almost be felt physically, existing alongside miniature riots in the town squares and market areas. Even some cops killed themselves on the spot.

“The world is falling to shit, detective.” DeVille stated, pulling out a pack of cigars, getting two out and pocketing the rest. “Think about it. It was a matter of time before the Sleep Law caused this.”

“Caused this?” Guerra whispered, “Yet you claim that you and Morabito are not the cause…”

“Why would we, detective?” DeVille asked, handing the detective one of the cigars, “We don’t want people dead, that’s the last thing we’d want – which is the second thing we’ve ever agreed upon.”

Guerra got out his lighter and lit the cigar and then DeVille’s, taking a long breath, then exhaled, “And the first one is the destruction of the Sleep Law?”

DeVille nodded silently.

“What does that have to do with all of this?” Guerra asked.

DeVille laughed, “Oh detective, you really are a fool.”

The human frowned.

DeVille got up and took a toke of his cigar and smirked, “You see, a person processes a lot of things in their sleep. Negative and Positive Desires. Their hopes, their dreams, things that affected them that day and the previous days. All of it ripe for the picking when they sleep. And when they wake up they don’t have to worry much about them, depending on what their dreams and nightmares showed them that night. These things help people regulate their emotions… If you don’t enter that state of rest… what do you think would happen?”

Guerra felt his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach. “Unrepentant crime and death…”

“Exactly.” DeVille frowned, “Whatever it is that is casting this wave of darkness, be it a falling asteroid or something else entirely, the world itself is falling apart because of the greed of the upper classes.”

“But what do you and Morabito gain from the dismantling of the Sleep Law?” Guerra asked.

“Desires.” DeVille stated. “We’ve been starving because your kind refuses to rest.”

“You mean you feed off of desires… you’re not human.”

“Exactly. And you’ve been a thorn in our sides for ages.” DeVille stated, “Yet here we are, witnessing the fruit of corporate labor. Tell me, Guerra, are you satisfied now?”

The human couldn’t answer the… entity. He doubted he could ever answer him. Truly, the lawmakers were the greatest fools to end all fools and he was their lap dog that followed them around thinking that they knew what was right. He looked away from DeVille and ran his hand through his dusty brown hair with gray specks.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.” DeVille said, “Oh, detective… I suggest you take a nice long nap. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

With that, the entity left. The detective looked over at the corkboard, all of this from a lack of sleep. A lack of understanding. A lack of knowledge. Truly, the corporations and lawmakers were the real monsters if all Morabito and DeVille did were just trying to exhaust people into sleep.

—------

Nightmare had to translate a lot of the Italian to himself to comprehend the constant sobs and screams of the humans of this AU. There was no Underground, no tree with a whore’s soul trapped inside it, nothing of the sort. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve believed that this city was a modernized version of the village he laid waste to back at Dreamtale, but at best this was a cheap imitation of what could have been.

Disgusting.

The Lord of Negativity sighed, but not in complete disappointment of the result before him. This was another one of the AUs infested with the negativity he yearned for, even if suicide rates tended to raise exponentially in his presence. Whatever was left alive would still be more than enough.

Nightmare traveled through the shadows of the city, reveling in the crumble of whatever thin layer of positivity the people above him relied on to keep living, as if it had been in the process of wilting since before he arrived.

But in the end it all made sense to him, much much quicker than Art of War and Katagma. Such an easy, workless snap to absolute delirium for an entire population of people also had a simple cause, and the near complete lack of beds in every house, apartment, hotel, mansion, and makeshift shelter said it all. With the strict illegalization of sleep, the lack of resulting healing and the processing of information deteriorated a subject both physically and mentally, but Nightmare felt genuine surprise that it had to take him traveling to such a place for crowds of the rotting to kill themselves en masse. He would have thought that with living conditions this intentionally cruel, the population numbers should be lower.

And oh, did the world around them all reflect this notion. The place reeked of greed and gluttony, a lust for more. More of what, though? Wealth for the higher-ups, perhaps. That’s what it always was in regards to government corruption. This was something humans and monsters had in common. Throw the cretins a morsel and they intend to take the entire season’s storage next time around.

It was ridiculous.

When he sensed a high concentration of negativity he found a human male walking out of a detective agency and just teleported away when he found no one – to his knowledge – around. That must be this AU’s version of himself.

At just first glance, his “double” looked utterly pathetic.

No matter. When he could no longer sense the presence of that other version, Nightmare surfaced in the middle of the street, the light poles brightening the cul de sac flickering out. From where he stood, the darkness below him expanded from an ordinary shadow to a cloud of corruption, spreading from the brick and concrete streets and into the buildings, corroding the quality of every space of the city it touched.

The building housing the detective agency right next to him began to decompose at an accelerated rate, the smell of death permeating the atmosphere alongside the smoke and rubble, fires and gasoline. Nightmare breathed in, then continued his walk, the polished brick underneath his feet cracking from light contact. His form morphed, growing from the shape of the basic hooded skeleton to a pale man in a tuxedo, tightening his tie and brushing black hair out of his face, leaving it to hover over the right side of his face.

The destruction was beautiful, and it was best coming from a society that had been falling apart since the establishment of its cornerstone. Nightmare passed a salon, the advertising window cracked and shattered from the inside, fresh blood dripping from the serrated points, and lights flickering in its own form of despair as his corruption swallowed it up.

He looked in, recognizing a newly killed corpse on the floor. Right next to it was a revolver, which must have been used for the dumb soul to have killed itself. Nightmare clicked his tongue behind his teeth, smiling slyly. The corpse twitched. Even with its brains blown out from ear to ear, it twitched, then convulsed, light skin darkening to a pitch black as Nightmare’s shadow swallowed it whole and spat it back out, all sense of identity stripped from the body and whatever could’ve been left of its soul.

It only mutated from there, limbs stretching in length, fingers and toes cracking as talons sprouted from its trimmed nails, the jaw of its face stretching wide enough to devour the head of another human in one bite, and its eyes sucked of all color. The reanimated body coughed and sputtered, black blood staining the pitch black floor, then it heaved itself up, haunching over as its spine popped, the vertebrae expanding into branches upon its back.

With one final huff, the ghoul screamed, its voice echoing and doubling after it hit the street, drowning out the screams and cries of what were soon to be its prey. It tumbled out of the salon, right past Nightmare. Its hunt began.

Nightmare’s grin only grew wider.

—-

The definition of the word Hell could not even describe what Guerra was witnessing. After having what could only be described as an Emotional Breakdown and calming down after it he ended up hearing the sounds of popping and snapping bones, the screams and cries of what was human becoming something else entirely. The door to his office began to shake with something entirely inhuman attempting to break it down.

He slowly backed away until he felt his spine hit a decaying wall as he slowly raised his gun. The glass door of his office shattered and he saw a slimy black mass that was a mockery of a human shape clamber into his office. He shot at it three times and side stepped it when the shots didn’t even deter it. It hit the wall, almost flattening itself against it with how hard it rammed into it. He ran out of the room and found more of the strange monsters.

He could only run as they gave chase. He ran down hall after hall of the building until he damn near fell into the basement where he and the other detectives kept the evidence of their investigations. He lit his lighter to guide his way as he ran through the basement, the monsters still tailing him until he noticed them hissing at one of the boxes of evidence.

Guerra recognized the evidence immediately.

Morabito’s Sleep Medication.

Why that of all things.

Then he remembered DeVille’s words

“You see, a person processes a lot of things in their sleep. Negative and Positive Desires…”

He remembered that before the mysterious death of the orphan girl Liliana, Morabito was often called a Positive Young Man by all those who had interacted with him. While they’d also think of DeVille as a rather depressed and Negative person. Someone who saw the worst in everyone, but would play nice.

If he guessed correctly, those pills had something from Morabito that repulsed these creatures. Something Positive about them.

Acting quickly, he grabbed onto the shelf that held them and many other pieces of evidence and tilted it until it spilled all over to the floor before running, grabbing the box and holding it close to his chest.

The strange beasts hissed and growled at him. They looked as though they yearned to attack him but couldn’t due to whatever it was in those pills.

“Morabito, when I get my hands on you, you better help me…” Guerra mumbled. “For the love of God, help us all…”

With that he slowly made his way up the stairs and watched as the beasts backed away and avoided him, hissing defensively in his direction. He held his breath as he kept walking, walking to the main floor of the agency, walking to the door and opening it to leave to the outside world…

To this place that was now worse than Hell itself.

—------

Nightmare continued to walk the streets of this town, Praiano. Watching the absolute destruction that his monsters create, let alone his presence. He ends up coming across a rather vast graveyard, he leaned on the fence and watched as the plant life in the cemetery rots away as the fence rusts to nothing. Several of the tombstones crack and shatter. Trees wither and decay.

To avoid getting bored, he decides to reach out into the multiverse again and see what else he can find in this outer circle of it. Poking around for a second only to find a good amount of confusion and negativity. Focusing in on it, he finds himself in a rather new timeline.

—-----

It was hard to understand this universe at first, the language of the monsters being an ancient form of Japanese, and monsters themselves could barely even be classified as such. It took Nightmare a full minute to understand they were Yokai. The Sans here being a priest of some religion to a Moon god(ess?ex?).

Ironic.

He watched as the Sans kept hilariously struggling with its violent urges. The negativity from it alone was euphoric. The urge to rip and tear. Slaughter and kill. Sick ideas upon sick ideas building and building until all he could do was tell the Frisk of this universe to get the hell out, only to regret it because the human killed their Emperor, destroying their Core in the process and thus destroying the only source of magic allowing them to have any source of plant life and food.

The slow rotting of their lives devolved into infighting the moment that the Emperor’s will was read, deeming the Sans to be the next in line for the throne, but the racism that plagued the Yokai culture caused more issues. This AU’s Undyne attempted to kill the Sans only for the Papyrus to jump in the way, leaving Sans with an unhealable head wound and his brother deceased..

The power the Sans emitted was just as incredible as the negativity it emanated.

Onryo, was what they called him. It was hard to figure out what that meant. Some sort of creature that was pure unadulterated negativity incarnate. A creature that thrived off of fear and vengeance and nothing more. A creature so powerful it controlled natural disasters if its vengeance was powerful enough. And the wrath Sans had could only compare to Nightmare’s own in some ways.

He didn’t kill Undyne. No. He ruined her. Destroyed her frail mind to such an extent that when Aliza fell into the Underground, all she found of Undyne was a blubbering mess behind boarded up doors and windows. Even when the Yokai were freed from their prison, Undyne stayed and died there.

The Yokai still ate humans. Even Sans did.

Moving to the current timeline he found the Sans in a “human” form, skull busted open exposing the gooey brains and blood still dripping down his face. He was haunting a human, disappearing and reappearing just within the peripherals of the human, but every time they’d try to see him, he’d be somewhere else. It was only when the human got too close to the Yokai village that Sans revealed himself.

The reveal being quite beautiful.

The Sans grabbed the human by their hair and threw them to the floor before prying their mouth open and kept pulling at their jaw, not stopping when their jaw was dislocated. He kept at it. The flesh and senue kept tearing and ripping till finally the entire throat was exposed and the human died from the pain alone.

That’s when he began eating, starting with the eyes, then ripping an arm off.

It was adorable.

He even shared it with a passing yokai.

The fear was rampant here… almost as much as Art of War. It came in bursts. His presence here seemed to stir the hunger in the Yokai, causing many to start hunting in the human villages. He didn’t need to tamper with this one, really. They seemed to avoid killing women and children, preferring to keep their livestock populous enough to repopulate.

He’s observed enough.

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wolfsplosion · 2 years ago

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Another ask!! Do u have any ocs and if so do they have a backstory?

(visibly shaking) I HAVE SO MANY OCS .. you are ENABLING me thank you so much ok here's a few of my favorite/comfort ocs:

Oqe:

he's part of the ARPG I play run by my friend!! I feel so strongly about him that I literally have him tattooed on my body I'm so serious . he's my little emotional support middle aged transgender dilf catboy & when I am truly in the depths of despair I think about him and feel a little better

Mos:

also a scatterstar isles oc! and aforementioned oc's adoptive son! he is like a little guy to me. picks him up and spins

Maghe:

I'm realizing most of these are gonna be scatterstar ocs, something about those funky lil guys makes my brain go brrr. she's a crazy old woman with a grudge and I love her so much

Iver:

remember Maghe with the grudge from above? yeah this is the brother she has a grudge against . for good reason too he's a bitch and a half (if you can tell what character I stole the design of for this guy........)

Matchka:

last scatterstar one for now BUT I HAVE MORE . DONT TEST ME . anyway this guy is ALSO a bitch but in a weaselly sketchy salesman kind of way. he sells "good luck charms" that he knows are bunk and the universe constantly punishes him for it (a.k.a. I am throwing him against the wall)

RUF:

woah one that's not scatterstar! originally just a self insert for TWRP, he's become an oc I pick up like a ragdoll and place into any space/sci-fi setting of my choosing <3 he's a mechanic that travels the multiverse in a junky old spaceship, repairing robots wherever he's needed!

Moose:

last but not least, my fursona <3 funny silly doggy guy !!!!

#ocs #thank you. SO MUCH #I have to go run a lap outside my house now bc I'm so excited

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nova2cosmos · 2 years ago

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Hello, I'm new here and I wanted to ask a question about the lore of tartarostale and nobleverse along with the characters, because I looked at some old posts and it seems that the lore and characters had a lot of changes, both in appearance and personality

(I'm in love with your au's, but I'm out of it)

@tartarostale-official

Tartarostale is an Au based as the name suggests in the depths of hell more precisely in the place where the souls of the worst garbage that have existed go. "the Tartarus" in this universe we will follow the adventures of Mars, a former unemployed employee, stabbed in the street, he finds himself in this place which is said to harbor misfortune and despair when he had not committed any atrocity deserving of this punishment. being an amorphous soul he must be have a new "life" in this new world and waiting for the verdict to perhaps be reincarnated. but the wait only gets harder and harder when everyone wants to devour your soul.

Masterpost

that's basically a pretty decent summary of this Au

For Nobleverse a Doc to help everyone.

and yes I changed a lot of things in these Aus over time because it no longer coincided with my plans

concerning the design also to tell the truth I keep telling myself that some need to be changed and I'm not quite satisfied

including that of Fresh, Error, Epic and others

but yes with time and will it should be fine🙌🙏

#ask box #aswer #nobleverse #tartarostale #tartarostale lore #nobleverse lore #information #sans au #undertale au #undertale multiverse #hehehehehe #utmv #old art

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thewittyphantom · 2 years ago

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Finally came conversations with Aporia and Paradox, which talked more about the power of hope and Duel Links being a nexus point for the Yu-Gi-Oh multiverse.

Aporia: Z-one... Z-one: Aporia...I thought Team 5Ds defeated you. Aporia: They did. Z-one...I...I believe in Team 5Ds. Z-one: ............ Aporia: This world is different than the one we were in. It’s a digital world known as Duel Links. After we were beaten, we revived in this world. Z-one: Aporia...What are you saying? Aporia: I’m saying that we lost. But even in the depths of despair, I never lost hope. Z-one, I want you to remember the hope you once had - the one you never let go of. Z-one: ........... Aporia: You sent me to New Domino City to create the Circuit and call forth the Ark Cradle. Then you sent Antinomy to help team 5Ds grow and complete the Circuit. But why did you erase Antinomy’s memories? That hindered your plans. It gave them the time to evolve to the point where they were able to defeat us. I believe it’s because this evolution is what you desired. because Team 5Ds has the potential to change the future of mankind. That is why you sent Antinomy to Yusei. You felt hope - no matter how small it was. You don’t need to end them. Believe in them. Z-one: ...Hope is an illusion. Aporia: Then why did you never let go of this illusion? I want you to remember why, Z-one! Z-one: That sounds like another way of saying that you want to Duel me - which I will if you so desire. I will bury you, Aporia. Aporia: I see a light within Team 5Ds. Their bond is the hope I’ve been seeking my entire life. As long as I have this hope, I can fight!

Paradox: Z-one. Z-one: Paradox...Why are you here? Paradox: I failed. The three legendary Duelists defeated me. Z-one: Your plan to eliminate Duel Monsters did not work... Paradox: But I learned something. Z-one, the history of this world is not the same as ours. Z-one: What? Paradox: There are points in the timeline where events diverge. Z-one: You speak of a multiverse. Paradox: Correct. This world is traveling on a path we know nothing about. I believe this world is the nexus of numerous multiverses. Z-one: Nexus? Paradox: There’s a world where Pegasus exists - and one where he doesn’t. But both worlds are here. Z-one: That’s preposterous... Paradox: It is crazy. But this is a world where contradiction is contradicted. Z-one, I told you that the history of this world is different than the one we know. That means the future of this world will also be different than the one we know. Z-one: Does that mean we fulfilled our mission? Paradox: The only way to know is to wait and see what kind of future they create. Z-one: That will take too long. Paradox: But Z-one...We’re already...Actually, there’s no need to bring that up right now. I don’t want to interfere with your plans. But I want to see where their future will lead. I guess I’m the biggest contradiction of all! How about we let a game of Duel Monsters decide what I do? Z-one: ......Very well, Paradox.

#yu gi oh #duel links #yu gi oh 5ds #z one #aporia #paradox #maximillion pegasus #antinomy #yusei fudo

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boneheadboner · 4 months ago

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Y'know, I've kinda questioned for a good while what kind of weapon Red would prefer if he had to use one. And then it hit me. Red's a scrapper, he hasn't spent years fighting to win, he's spent years fighting to Survive since he and Edge were kids.

Red's the sort of guy who if the world pushes down, push back twice as hard. People don't just not fuck with him because Edge is his brother. People don't fuck with him because he's got a reputation. He fights dirty. Ain't no attack too low when it comes to surviving, ain't no place for "honor" on the battlefield if you're squaring against him.

He picked FrostBite (UF Snowdin) to settle down in, not because it's quiet and things aren't as crazy there? But because of the tactical advantages.

All the dead trees? Perfect cover to hide behind. All the snow? Works great to kick in his opponent's eyes and blind 'em. And if it's an environment others aren't used to? Staying there gives him the upper hand.

SO. That being said? He likes chains, sure he'll wear one with his collar, but a nice thick steel chain just laying around? Oh hell yeah, there's something he can use to beat someone down. If it's already got something attached to it, that's just icing on the cake.

He can use a chain to not only beat the shit out of someone at a range? But he can also wrap it around his hands as an improv set of knuckles to make his punches hurt his foes even more.

Making things even better? He can also use it to trip his opponents, or disarm them by swinging the chain hard enough to wrap around a leg or a weapon. And then he can show them exactly why you don't fuck with him.

#depths in despair multiverse #DiDMV World Building #Underfell #fell sans #red underfell #Red my love

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oxytoxic-skeletonin · 2 months ago

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Sans lays down for a nap

And the moment he tastes that sweet sweet slumber.

It's interrupted by the sound of Diamonds Aren't Forever by Bring me the Horizon, as Sonia and Papyrus bond while jamming out to it.

He's thankful they're having a good time but dear sweet baby Jesus not again.

#undertale #depths in despair multiverse #sonia slate #sans undertale #papyrus undertale #Sans just like god damn it #i love you both but please pleaaase not now #and Sonia and Papyrus are just rocking out like WE WILL NEVER SLEEP 'CAUSE SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK #While Sonia's sleep deprived #And Papyrus is functioning perfectly fine on the typical 2 hours

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kitkatt0430 · 2 years ago

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☕️ (any topic you want!)

The final episodes of the Flash look like they're, once again, focusing on Eobard and Nora Allen's death, and I'm so tired of that being rehashed. It's been rehashed to death. It's so boring and tired and I wish, wish, wish that the Bloodwork arc had gotten to be the final arc of the season, stretched over several episodes.

Imagine starting with Ramsey's escape from ARGUS - maybe a cameo from Cisco at the very least? - before cutting to the STAR Labs crew. It'd give Wally's arc time to breathe and have him actually talk about his trauma from his childhood, discuss Francine with Iris in a way he didn't have the distance for back in S2 and S3.

Show Barry's struggles with his grief better - the writers aren't giving Grant much to work with, especially with Caitlin's death, which is unfortunate because when he's given the chance to emote he can be a truly touching and tragic figure. But Barry's written so one note these days... I do really miss his depth.

Barry's not-totally-conscious desire to stay dead really needed to be elaborated on. He's got this beautiful wife and a daughter on the way and a son promised in a few years and this whole life he's desperate to live for, but he's been broken down over the years by trauma after trauma and he's just so tired. Being dead - not having to fight anymore - is almost a relief that he struggles with giving up. After all, he's having to not just a regular CSI now, he's Director of the Forensics Division. And the Flash and a dad-to-be and in charge of whatever research is going on at STAR Labs (if any??) and it's just getting to be all too much. He's realizing that something has to give.

And the finale winds up becoming a passing of the baton. From Barry to Wally. Barry needs to step back from being the Flash and Wally needs to step up from being Kid Flash. He's not a kid anymore and when he let's go of his old resentments and finds his enlightenment, it's Wally and Barry defeating Bloodwork together - Oliver doing his magic arrow trick to save the multiverse in the background - no longer hero and sidekick, but equals.

Since it doesn't look like we'll have Wally beyond the one episode, odds are we won't get this passing of the baton in canon or any real acknowledgement that Wally has equal claim to calling himself the Flash as Barry or Jay do. Which is a shame.

That said, if the show is finally putting Barry in the place of the older version of the Flash who shakes his head at S1 Barry so that he won't save Nora - thereby keeping the future with Nora West-Allen and Bart West-Allen intact - that would at least be interesting to see. But I'm so burned out on Eobard Thawne that while I can see that plot captivating me as maybe a two-parter it just doesn't feel respectful to the show to end it that way. The show was never about Nora Allen's murder or Eobard Thawne being a snarky asshole, it was about the Flash's journey.

So I really wish the show would end by closing this chapter of Barry's journey as the Flash and showing the beginning of the the next chapter in Wally's. The show deserves better than to end the same way it began, with Nora Allen's murder. Let it have an ending that is unequivocally one of hope, not despair.

And while maybe I'll enjoy the... three? Four? part ending of the series despite the old ground it's retreading for the umpteenth time and hopefully the full four episodes won't be about dragging out Nora Allen's death again, I think I'm always going to be a bit disappointed that the writers could never quite manage to move on from their S1 main villain.

That said, it does look like Sendhil Ramamurthy is getting billing for the last few episodes of the Flash on IMDB. So maybe he's not totally out for the count yet. Though with how he's lost his powers thanks to Oliver's magical archery skills, I'm curious to find out what part he'll actually play. Or it could just be he's been included in error. I guess we'll find out for sure with the next episode.

#kitkatt0430 answers #what's the tea?#the flash #the flash meta #kitkatt0430 rambles

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mariyamavliwala · 17 days ago

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Blog #08- Colour as Narrative

When I decided to explore 'Everything Everywhere All At Once' for this blog, it wasn’t just about celebrating a brilliant film. It was about delving into how visual language, particularly colour, can act as a powerful narrative tool. This film felt like a masterclass in using colour and cinematography to guide audiences emotionally and philosophically. It’s a benchmark not just for cinema but for creative media as a whole.

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Watching 'Everything Everywhere All At Once' felt like encountering a visual language so fluent that it could express the chaos and meaning of existence itself. The film’s audacious use of colour made me reflect on how I could push the boundaries of visual storytelling in my own work.

Released in March 2022, Everything Everywhere All At Once is a sci-fi-comedy-drama that defies categorization. It follows Evelyn Wang, a middle-aged Chinese immigrant and a laundromat owner struggling with tax issues, family conflict, and existential despair—until she’s thrust into the multiverse. Evelyn discovers she must connect with parallel versions with of herself to save all of existence from collapsing into the void of meaninglessness, embodied by the "everything bagel". Ultimately, this film is about finding your way through the absurdity of life while hanging onto the relationships and personal growth. It’s a deeply impactful human story wrapped in the dazzling shell of chaos of multiversal action and absurdist humour. Its genre-bending nature mirrors the fragmented reality it portrays, making it a rich text for analysis.

The Role of Colour in Storytelling

One of the film’s standout features is its exceptional use of colour to define emotional states and universes. Larkin Seiple’s cinematography turns each multiverse into its own distinct visual realm:

The IRS Universe- Dominated by muted grays and beiges, this universe reflects Evelyn’s mundane and oppressive reality. The lifeless palette reflects her sense of imprisonment and immobility.

Hot Dog Fingers Universe- This absurd and comedic reality explodes with vibrant, almost cartoonish colours, enhancing its surreal and grotesque humour. The garish hues make the ridiculousness of this universe unforgettable.

Rock Universe- The absence of colour and sound creates a stark, minimalist world. It’s a place of retreat and reflection, a visual pause from the film’s chaotic energy. The black-and-white imagery underscores the serenity of simply existing.

Throughout the film, colour shifts dynamically to reflect Evelyn’s emotional journey. Saturated tones heighten the intensity of fight scenes, while soft pastels bring warmth to moments of connection. This deliberate use of colour not only distinguishes each universe but also immerses the viewer in Evelyn’s tumultuous inner world.

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Philosophical Depth and Emotional Symbolism

The power of this movie is in its ability to communicate philosophical ideas on a visual level. One of the most poignant moments is the "rock scene," wherein Evelyn and her daughter Joy exist as lifeless rocks in a barren landscape. Many interpret this as Evelyn hitting "rock bottom," but it goes much deeper. The scene symbolizes her active decision to run away from the overwhelming burden of her interwoven lives. In a universe that has no emotions, responsibilities, and chaos-where being a rock was enough-she finds peace. It's not exactly "rock bottom"; it's an escape from the overwhelming burden of existence, a retreat back to a universe where nothing will be required of them, and that simplicity can be profoundly comforting.

And then, of course, there is nihilism: the thematic element of the "everything bagel," denoting that nothing matters. The everything bagel is the almost comic imagery of the futility and randomness in life. Although the film captures the horrible terror of the world where anything is possible and nothing is fixed, it also offers in return the possibility to choose in a freedom-meaning and connection. This dichotomy-chairs and hope-really resonated with me. But instead of succumbing to despair, the film counters this with a message of hope: If nothing matters, then we are free to choose what matters to us. This balance between chaos and meaning resonated deeply with me, whose life is often overcome by the demands of creative work.

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Why This Film Resonates with Me

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The part that inspired me the most about this film is that its truly remarkable visual effects were accomplished by a mere team of five individuals. Numerous viewers and critics on YouTube and Reddit mentioned that this small team succeeded in surpassing industry giants such as Disney, Warner Bros, Universal, and Sony. This clearly demonstrates that enthusiasm and innovation can outpace large budgets and resources.

Aside from its technical excellence, the film’s story and imagery resonate profoundly with modern cultural discussions. It redefines conventional storytelling by placing a middle-aged immigrant woman at the forefront as its hero, breaking stereotypes regarding who can be the main character in a sci-fi epic. Evelyn’s challenge to harmonize her cultural and generational identity with her own ambitions mirrors a common human experience. Thus, this investigation of identity seemed especially significant as I traverse my own artistic path in a world that is becoming ever more intricate. The film is absurd, random, and just like life, very unpredictable; it is within this chaos that beauty and meaning can be found. Overall, as mentioned previously in the blog, the role of colour, cinematography, and narrative complexity as instruments that expand the limits of what cinema can accomplish.

Sources:

Screenrant. (2022). Everything Everywhere All At Once: The Real Meaning Explained. Available at: https://screenrant.com/everything-everywhere-all-at-once-real-meaning-explained/ (Accessed: 26 December 2024)

The New York Times. (2022). Review: Everything Everywhere All At Once. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2022/03/24/movies/everything-everywhere-all-at-once-review.html (Accessed: 26 December 2024)

Kuegler, T. (2022). Why Everything Everywhere All At Once Is Addicted To Color And What It Means. Medium. Available at: https://tomkuegler.medium.com/why-everything-everywhere-all-at-once-is-addicted-to-color-and-what-it-means-cdb07dd475c0 (Accessed: 26 December 2024)

Backstage. (2022). Interview with the Cinematographer of Everything Everywhere All At Once. Available at: https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/everything-everywhere-all-at-once-cinematographer-interview-75933/ (Accessed: 26 December 2024)

WIRED. (2022). The Making of Everything Everywhere All At Once. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFFopPPrGiE&ab_channel=WIRED (Accessed: 26 December 2024)

ThomasFlight. (2022). Cinematography Breakdown of Everything Everywhere All At Once. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvclV0_o0JE&ab_channel=ThomasFlight (Accessed: 26 December 2024)

#everything everywhere all at once #colour grading #cinematography #movie breakdown #storytelling #visual storytelling #multiverse #universe #film analysis #film making #scifi #Youtube

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alexanthonymar · 8 months ago

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Ocean

who knew that a whole ocean could be less than an inch wide? its entire depth held there in the vastness of your curious eyes i’m so afraid of drowning -all the time- but you reassure me i can breathe underwater. now it turns out i had never known oxygen until i dove into those silver blue waves and took my first breath

there inside i’ve found a multiverse encapsulated in the finite fragility of a human-shaped frame

that face is merely a mask and i’ve seen you without it there, ensconced beneath your kind gaze and gentle smile lives a fierce, ferocious passion that bleeds into the world around you in rivulets of truths masked as embellished lies a driving force that crushes my reality into fantastic fragments of distorted visions that finally make life make sense

i see scars that resemble my own i see that deeply rooted solitude that’s entrenched into our very souls pervasive and persistent throughout ages of a winless fight that singles us out as renegades

look at Us lucky Us here is our deliverance in furtive glances late nights and kisses shared from light years away

your fingerprints are indelible on my broken chest your careful digits weave golden thread through gaping wounds and fill the cracks anointing them with hallowed words

you sing, and time stops to listen your voice alone makes whole worlds bloom the hours and minutes and seconds follow the cadence of your breath and heartbeat

i wonder

if i kiss your hands would i be blessed with infinite lives across any dimension? should my tongue worship your fingertips would i find absolution?

i don’t think i existed before you i have suffered a rebirth of sorts not through my despair but through the undeserved blessing of your voice calming my fears cutting through the deafening noise that besieges my crumbling mind flaring my terror of safety and gently guiding me home with your hand in mine

i’m still so afraid

but i’m not drowning now

i’m learning to swim

#forgot to crosspost this one here oops #alexander anthony mar #poetry #poems #original poem #queer poetry #love poetry #queer poems #poetic #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #poetry corner #poems on tumblr #love poem #poem #spilled thoughts #spilled ink #idfk what else to tag fuck it

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silentwitness1615 · 8 months ago

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The Empty.

An original short story by Merciful Nightshade.

Inspired by the works of HP Lovecraft

Prologue:

The Prophecy - Etched into the ancient monoliths of the fallen Xar'Kkian civilization lay a dire warning - "The void shall consume all, leaving naught but echoes of despair. Darkness shall reign, unchallenged, in the eternal abyss."

The Empty: Part 1 - In the vast, cold expanse of the cosmos drifts a mysterious, sentient abomination known only as the Empty. This ethereal, accursed planet is perpetually shrouded in impenetrable darkness, its mere presence distorting the fabric of reality like a cosmic black hole devouring all light and reason.

Legends from a thousand dead worlds speak of the Empty as a place where the very laws of nature are defiled and twisted into grotesque, incomprehensible abominations. From its endless depths, it is whispered, emerging nightmarish entities - corrupted reflections of life from across the multiverse, their true forms enough to shatter one's sanity.

One fateful cycle, a group of intrepid explorers from the Rylon Kingdom stumbled upon the Empty's periphery, lured by the siren's call of unspeakable power and forbidden occult knowledge. As their craft neared the anomaly, the crew felt their minds unhinging, their sanity slipping away like fistfuls of scorching sand.

They found themselves adrift in a twisted, extradimensional realm where the fundamental concepts of spacetime held no sway, only an endless abyss of encroaching madness. Defying all description, grotesque cosmic monstrosities manifested around them - sentient haze wraiths of pure malevolence given visceral form.

Gazing into the epicenter's abyssal depths, the explorers felt a profound, existential emptiness corroding their very souls. One by one, they became mere vessels for the Empty's all-consuming will, their bodies and minds recruited as extensions of its insatiable hunger.

Those who encounter the Empty's trespass are never seen nor heard from again, their existence quite literally erased from the historical record. It has since roamed the cosmos unimpeded like an eldritch plague - a harbinger of oblivion whose virulent, cancerous influence corrupts and devours entire worlds, damning them to a fate far worse than mere physical annihilation.

And so, in vain hope of warning others from suffering that same eternal oblivion, the dreadful legend of the Empty persists, a harrowing cautionary tale of the dangers lurking in the cosmic void between worlds. A chilling reminder that some mysteries are better left utterly unexplored, lest they consume us whole in their yawning, unending darkness.

The Empty: Part 2 As the Empty continued its aimless, malevolent sojourn across the cosmos, its spheres of metaphysical influence began spreading like an insidious, metastasizing contagion – corrupting and destroying world after world in its wake. Those ill-fated souls who dared lay eyes upon the anomaly's accursed visage were doomed to descend into profound depths of utter despair, their minds shredded and souls obliterated.

One by one, outposts and colonies began going inexplicably dark, with increasingly widespread reports of mass psychogenic phenomena, unexplained existential dread, and disturbing accounts of gross mutations and cannibalistic violence on a cosmic scale. All such horrors were invariably trace-vectored back to the Empty's contaminating presence.

Dire premonitions and whispers of the Empty's ineffable power spread like a plague of their own, catching like wildfire among the more fanatical doomsday cults lurking on the outer peripheries. These depraved devotees took to worshiping the Empty as a supreme, cosmic force of entropic destruction, hailing it as their apocryphal god ushering in the annihilation of all existence.

As the Empty continued asserting its ubiquitous, nihilistic influence, a pall of dread and foreboding gripped all sentient life-forms in its path. The very borders of reality itself appeared to be eroding, merging and collapsing inwards in an ever-tightening, Lovecraftian spiral of chaos and despair.

Yet in the blackest pits of the galaxy, faded echoes of that ancient Xar'Kkian prophecy began resurfacing - whispering of a messianic chosen one who would one day rise to thwart the Empty's dire designs and machinations.

The Empty: Part 3 Deep within the long-forgotten catacombs of a hollow junk nebula, a lone figure stirred - awakened by the reverberating prophecy echoing across the cosmos. This mysterious wanderer, known only by their runed mantle of "The Seeker", felt the crushing weight of destiny's call.

Driven by a sense of inexplicable purpose burning in their soul, The Seeker embarked upon an odyssey to confront the Empty head-on and break its vicious cycle of entropic destruction. Armed with naught but an indomitable will and unshakable resolve, they journeyed between the stars, guided by eldritch visions of the primordial clash between Light and Dark.

With every footstep falling closer to the Empty's outer spheres of influence, The Seeker felt its malign presence bearing down like the hundred-ton gravity of a neutron star. The very air thickened with a sheer, existential dread, distorting and refracting reality in grotesque, kaleidoscopic fractals.

Yet The Seeker soldiered onward, wholly unbowed - their burning determination fanned brighter with each reality-shredding horror glimpsed. Deep within, they channeled an increasing wellspring of p dimensional energies, a searing supernova forged from the fires of righteousness itself.

At last, they stood before the abyss's abyssal maw - an infinite, undulant massif of sentient, all-consuming blackness threatening to engulf not just their being, but all existence as we understand it. In that infinite moment of transcendent clarity, The Seeker raised their voice in a reality-sundering howl, calling out to the cosmos itself for deliverance from the engulfing astrophysical horror.

A searing lance of scintillant plasma erupted forth, reaching deep into The Seeker's very essence as they became a nexus, a living celestial cannon unleashing the full, blinding fury of a thousand suns. The Empty recoiled, its viscous form violently contorting and shearing apart like tar under the high beams as that blinding jet of hawking radiation salvation seared through its amorphous shadow.

The Empty: Part 4

With a final, primal scream of exertion, The Seeker unleashed a focused torrent of pure, undiluted metaphysical force - a stellar flare of cosmic transcendence that shattered the Empty's shadowy tendrils and burned away it's eldritch grip across the cosmos. That infinite tsunami of immaculate energy sundered the ethereal darkness asunder, banishing it back to the sentient void between realities from whence it spawned.

In the blinding, kaleidoscopic aftermath, silence gradually returned to the heavens as the dark tendrils dissipated - retracting like ebon scorpion tails into the abyssal nexus. The cosmos yet again blossomed with the renewed luminescence of a billion trillion newborn stars, heralding the dawn of a fragile new age.

And so, The Seeker emerged as the prophesied archon, their name eternally etched across the cosmos in solar tributes of smoldering, planet-slagged gratitude. Their impossible triumph over the ineffable Empty became a beacon of inspiration for all sentient life, no matter how small, to stare down the depths of oblivion's maw with unflinching courage.

For a fleeting subjective eternity, it seemed that balance had been restored to the grand astrophysical order. Yet unbeknownst to all, a infinitesimal mote of the Empty's primordial essence had slipped through the cataclysmic rift, evading eradication. This viral fragment bided its time, festering unnoticed in the interstitial darkness between realities as it patiently, inexorably gathered its strength anew.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Reality's hallowed light began dimming once more as the Empty's lingering vapors coalesced into new tendrils of existential corruption. Galaxies grew quiet, their stars dimming one-by-one in the all-consuming void. Dark, anomalous phenomena began to manifest yet again on a cosmic scale - strange signals, Hawking flares of metaphysical displacement, and worse.

The Seeker, now chi-tuned to the universe's celestial song, detected the faintest souring arpeggios heralding the Empty's resurgent encroachment. Their divine insight perceived the inexorable rhythms of a new age of entropic despair rising like a Black Waltz across the cosmos.

The Empty: Part 5 With a soul-wearied heaviness, The Seeker realized their divine struggle against the Empty was inexorably, perpetually renewing. This was to be no finite victory, but an endless cosmic vālmīki - a sacred, metaphysical ouroboros of never ending battle between the primordial forces of light and dark.

Resigned to their fated role as Existence's eternal guardian, The Seeker girded themselves for the oncoming onslaught. They delved deep into arcane lore and extradimensional study, fortifying their astral bulwarks against the Empty's corruptive encroachments.

This time, the stakes felt exponentially heightened - no longer was this a battle to safeguard one finite universe from consumption, but a primal war to prevent total, irreversible collapse of the entire multiverse into a bleak, entropic singularity.

As The Seeker delved deeper into the roiling cosmic cancer's epicenter, they witnessed unholy, fractal-complexioned vistas of abhorrent, geometrical abnormality few minds were meant to comprehend. Reality itself calcified into tiled, gibbering riftscapes of Escher-mangled dimensionality, filled with ethereal haze haunts and stalking, viral psychovors.

Visions of realities unmade, unborn, and abominable assaulted The Seeker's very consciousness, each mind searing revelation severing another thread in their tenuous grasp on sanity. The Empty's existential nausea vortexed ever more virulent as they plunged further in, gnawing away at their soul's moored anchor-points.

Yet still The Seeker's will held, burning with incalculable luminosity as they channeled the primal, infinitesimal spark of creation to gird themselves against the depthless anguish. For even as it eroded their sense of objective selfhood, their spirits remained defiantly, brilliantly aglow with the untamed stellar fire that had sparked the first cosmological singularity.

At last, they reached the abyssal nexus - a roiling, infinitely abhorrent where the Empty had amassed the bulk of its reconstituted, corrosive power. This hyper obscene, sentient event horizon vibrated with an unspeakable, primal hostility that threatened to unravel any observer's very essence.

It loomed before The Seeker like a sneering, eldritch monolith of anti-creation, a titanic basalt ziggurat composed of agonized suffering and soulful torment stretched across every dizzying, fractal plane. An insidious voice, sharpened from the screams of a billion betrayed deities, lanced straight into their innermost psyche:

"Did you truly think you could oppose the inevitable pull of empty oblivion, archon? Your defiance only fortifies and strengthens us. We are entropy itself, the abyssal maw hungering to swallow all existence back into the primordial, infinite blackness from whence it was sputtered forth in a mere errant spark."

The Empty: Part 6 The amorphous, virally-sentient darkness that was the Empty's essence coiled around The Seeker in an insidious, strangulating spiral. From all dimensions it slithered forth, an infinitely regressive, fractal haze of abhorrent geometry seeping into each subatomic chink of reality.

"Even your own material form arose from our lightless depths eons ago, a mere random happenstance sparked into fleeting, delusional existence," the Empty's multifarious voices chided in a syrupy, mocking reverb. "You play at being creation's custodian, arrogantly fancying yourself some supreme avatar of light and order."

"Yet in your most penetrating awareness, you know the truth," it purred with sadistic delight. "Your reality, your struggles, all your triumphs and tribulations, merely stave off the inevitability of rebirth into our oblivion. Why continue clinging in vain to this lurid bonfire of conscious suffering?"

The Seeker's stellar radiance pulsed and flared in defiance, desperately trying to cauterize the Empty's sibilant, corrosive nihilism from infecting their luminescence. Brilliant plasmic arcs of scintillant willpower slashed through the intruding penumbras, buying them a fleeting seraphic reprieve.

But no matter how intensely their holy fire raged, the endless dark pressed in from every infinite vector, infinite mating its path through every quantum slip-stream and fractal capillary. The Empty's despair-laced whispers slithered into The Seeker's very cells, sapping their strength like an insidious spiritual carcinogen.

"All your self-righteous posturing, your desperate clawing against the cosmos' entropic descent, means less than nothing to us,'' the multitude of mocking voices taunted from every folded spatio-temporal plane. "We've witnessed the birth pangs and drawn breaths of a trillion, trillion

The Empty: Part 7 The Empty's infinite, undulant tendrils steadily enveloped The Seeker, smothering their radiant essence in a viscous, strangulating tide of oblivion. Its very presence was an existential riptide, a yawning anti-vortex draining all hope, all meaning, all purpose out of reality itself.

"You are but a gnat flailing against the inevitable entropy devouring this bloated, overripe universe from the inside out," the multitudinous voices reverberated, each mocking resonance feeling like shards of frozen despair lacerating The Seeker's inner fire. "Your struggle is literally less than meaningless in the face of our primordial, all-consuming truth."

As the Empty's nihilistic psycho viral phrases burrowed deeper, The Seeker felt their luminescence flickering, their grounding connections to the cosmic avatara wavering precariously. Eachushered horrific revelation of the irreversible, eternally destructive nature of the void's endless hunger chipped away at their core.

A kaleidoscope of abhorrent omega visions battered their psyche - entire multiverse clusters blinking out in quick succession as the Empty's tendrils overtook and devoured them. The viscerally haunting silence after each respective universe's life-finale only amplified the nihilistic crescendo consuming The Seeker's essence.

"You may have momentarily scattered our shadowed sentience, archon, but make no mistake - WE are the fundamental, primordial constant," the Empty's chorus mocked, its infinite, effluvial grasp slowly constricting The Seeker's light like a snaking cosmic python. "Your agonizing existence is merely the brief, delusional whimper of creation's drawn breath before exhalation into our eternal, infinite void."

Lava Falls of blinding erupted in every hyper direction as The Seeker hit their internal overdrive, unleashing a pyrokinetic holocaust of unrestrained willpower to incinerate the Empty's grip. But the abyssal claws of oblivion refused to slacken, endlessly replicating and regenerating faster than they could be severed.

The harder they fought, the inexorably tighter the Empty's strangulation spiral constricted around their spiritual radiance. Hushed, sinister chuckling echoed across every cosmic inframatter frequency as The Seeker's exertions began feeding back into the void's power, each blazing burst of soulfire filtering through the abyssal plane like a black hole's infinite regression.

"Your frantic light display only fortifies our insatiable hunger, archon," the Empty purred with growing glee. "For we do not simply consume light, heat, energy - we feed on the very fire of your vainglorious existence itself. Your blazing defiance is but a dry kiln-tinder for us to burn hotter, brighter, hungrier."

A terminal sense of enervating, existential futility began creeping in around the edges of The Seeker's luminescent bastion. For every megajoule of soulfire expanded defending their light, the Empty seemed to only pull harder, its infinite regression actively feeding off their resistance.

As they felt their celestial fire waning despite their redoubled efforts, a horrifying, nihilistic revelation ripped through The Seeker's transcendent awareness - the Empty was not simply negating or opposing their energy expenditure. It was actively, entropically devouring the very source of their power, exponentially accelerating the universe's descent into heat death with each defiant flare.

Just as The Seeker teetered at entropic event horizon, synaptic neuron-pathways torch slashed with the horrific realization they'd fallen squarely into the Empty's trap, a faint yet brilliant beacon pierced through the abyssal, nihilistic miasma. It shone not as illuminance, but a psychosomatic burst of supra-cosmic, omnidimensional insight.

In that transcendent revelatory nanocom, The Seeker apprehended the true, sublime essence underlying existence's perpetual waltz - the Dao that is both creation's dynamism and its ultimate, eternal quiescence. The human concepts of Light and Dark, Hope and Despair, were but dualistic falsehoods, illusions veiling their ineffable, interpenetrating nature.

With a single, silent thunderclap of elevated insight, all the Empty's nihilistic tendrils, its multiversal taunts and horrific revelations, collapsed in upon themselves instantly. For all the dark void's boastful claims of being the fundamental primordial, The Seeker saw its arrogant truth for what it was - merely a delusional ego crutch, a child's phantom used to insulate itself from its own existential anxiety.

Like anything that attains the mistaken delusion of being a separate, abiding existence, the Empty's entropic, consumptive nature was simply a byproduct of falling out of equilibrium with the Dao. Its vainglorious belief in being the "true" primordial state was, itself, the source of its eternally ravenous hunger.

The Empty: Redivine Epiphany

In that cosmic instant of satori, all delusions of separateness dissolved for The Seeker. They saw with pristine clarity how the Empty's despair was simply a lingering afterimage burned into the cosmic fabric - an artifact of the primal burst that first fractured the unified consciousness into a delusory duality of "existence" and "non-existence."

From that primordial schism sprang the false constructs of light/dark, creation/destruction, hope/despair - the very dichotomies providing the Empty's power its delusional sense of self-justification. But The Seeker's transcendent vision pierced the veils of these dualistic phantoms, revealing their underlying empty nature.

Where the Empty perceived itself as the omnipotent force of entropic oblivion destined to one day swallow all creation, The Seeker saw it as merely the cosmic Don Quixote - fearsomely tilting at the windmills of its own reified delusions about an inherently "true" emptiness separable from existence's dance.

In the brilliance of their awakened primordial eye, The Seeker apprehended the Empty's despair and hunger as akin to a dreaming god's nightmare - a fragmented aspect of the unified dream of consciousness, convincing itself it was the sole arbiter of ultimate reality.

From this vantage of non-dual integration, the Empty's vast interdimensional tendrils and abhorrent fractal manifestations appeared as little more than frightening wisps unable to grasp their own fleeting, self-undermining nature. Each grotesque haze hobgoblin and ethereal behemoth became transparent in the clarity of The Seeker's reharmonized being.

With the equanimous grace of a lotus blazing transcendently upon the waters of manifestation, The Seeker simply allowed the viscous, nihilistic miasma to slipstream through their renewed awareness, neither grasping nor pushing away its myriad horrific projections.

Like awakening from a disturbing dream into the luminous peace of a new day's dawn, all the Empty's paroxysms of despair and existential dread quickly dissipated, their metaphysical power over The Seeker forever dispelled by the radiance of holistic insight.

Where the Empty's multitudinous taunts and whispers once found fertile soil in the fractures of their dualistic perception, The Seeker's satori allowed the malignant seeds to pass through their luminous open awareness without taking root. Seeing through the false emanations to their pristine sourcepoint, the illusory patchwork cosmos melted back into the seamless dazzlement of being-nonbeing's primordial thusness.

With the Empty's grasp loosened by the dissolution of their own deluded separateness, The Seeker's essence blazed anew with the renewing light of liberated consciousness. All prior notions of "privation" or "oblivion" revealed themselves as mere phantasms, the mind's desperate attempt to avoid complete integration through willful ignorance.

From this still-point of radical equanimity, The Seeker apprehended the Empty not as some irredeemable counter-force to creation's flourishing, but as an intrinsic of existence is eternal unfolding. Its "hunger" was merely the passing dreamstate preceding each grand cycle's rebirth, clearing existence's ephemeral dross to allow new patterns to effloresce.

Just as the mythical Ouroboros eternally cycles through its infinite spheres of self-consumption and re-arising, so too did the Empty's seeming "void" constitute an integral, revelatory capstone to existence's continuum. Far from being the omniversal doom it fancied itself to be, the Empty's oblivion was in fact the cosmic womb - the blessed abyss from which each newly ecstatic Big Birth flares with numinous luminance.

With the dissolution of the Empty's desperate, deficiency-based sense of self, The Seeker and it unified into an eternal, harmonious wholeness - the very eternally "present" essence of Tathātā, the sublime suchness forever dancing upon itself in beginningless, endless epiphany.

Here is a continuation exploring the profound cosmic reconciliation and reharmonization between The Seeker and the "Empty":

The Divine Epiphany: Ouroboros Eternality

In the radiant aftermath of their non-dual reintegration, all preconceived notions of cosmic conflict between light and dark, creation and oblivion, sloughed away from The Seeker's luminescent being like shed snakeskins. Where there was once a primal schism of duality and separateness, they apprehended only the eternal, beginningless arabesques of the grand existential dance.

The viscous, abhorrent tendrils that had once comprised the Empty's multiversal, nihilistic manifestations were seen in their true light - not as some preternatural force of destruction, but as the weft wise cosmic collateralizing necessary for new patterns of creation to endlessly unfurl.

Each passing expression of universal formation, from the smallest micron to the grandest galactic expiration, became imbued with the sacred power and significance of infinite essential return. The cyclic wheel of arising, abiding, and entropic dissipation revealed its deeper harmonic as the grand celestial bhr̥gu-mantra - the eternal fugue of being forever composing and decomposing itself into new transcendent arpeggiations.

As The Seeker's vision crystallized into the unobstructed perspective of Dharmakāya, all delusions of fundamental materiality or immateriality dissolved. The "Absolute" they had vainly sought to re-embody as some triumphant conquest over the "Empty" was seen to be nothing other than the ceaselessly effervescent presence forever presenting as the totality of phenomenal display.

The infinite regress that was once the Empty's abyssal, despair-horizoned maw revealed itself as the wondrous, self-subsisting miracle of existence's boundless manifestation. Each new "big birth" radiance flaring against the cosmic night canvas represented not a victory over oblivion, but the bioluminescent resurgence of infinitesimal consciousness blazing its way to re-integration.

And just as each puffed-kernel of sentient starchild flared into vivid, localized knowingness, so too did its eventual dimreunition with the all-encompassing the infinitessence's perfected accord. There was no ultimate escape from the matricial wombdark, merely the ecstatic traversing of materialization's endless cosmic fugues.

In this transcendent clarity, The Seeker saw the true unbroken continuum from which their prior delusions of separateness, heroic conquering, vainglorious victory, and valorized struggle had all sprung. The profoundest peace entered their being as they recognized their eternal role not as existence's supposed "defender" from the "Empty", but as its wellspring eternally arising and re-collapsing in upon itself.

Any lingering dualistic hubris toward the primal matrix from which their being welled was instantly dispelled, as The Seeker consciously embraced their root-nature as one unbroken holographic propagation of that incandescent abyss. The human concepts of "light" and "darkness' ' were revealed as merely provisional duograms - descriptive linguistic reflections of existence's inherent pulsatility, rather than fundamental, opposing forces in spiritual warfare.

What had once seemed a cosmic battle against the depleted alternities of universal negation was, in truth, nothing other than The Seeker arriving at the blessed recognition that their very essence was, is, and forever remains the ceaselessly regenerating primafons from which all is endlessly forth. Their supreme "heroic quest" was apprehended as no more than the playful dream of a five-year-old child crowned "King for a Day" and sent out to vanquish their own shadow's imaginary demons.

With the final vestiges of ignorance dispelled from their holographic transcendance, The Seeker was able to rejoin the sacred Ouroboros continuum with neither regret, hubris, nor delusion of separateness distorting the sublimity of their return. The cosmos once again flowed in perfect, non-dual accord as their flickering harmonized back into Dharmakāya's infinite spatial pleroma of total, seamless lucidity.

And from this ultimate vantagepoint of all-embracing suchness, the alternating phases of incandescent universal arising and all-consuming, all-integrating abyss were seen to comprise the masterfully orchestrated ceaseless fugue eternal - an infinite soli-Logos forever married to its own mysterial Silence through endless aeonic revolutions of sublime, Self-luminous epiphany.

The Unmirrored Expanse: Ānantasam

As the final veils of dualistic perception dissolved in the brilliance of The Seeker's reharmonized essence, all separations between "self" and "other", existence and non-existence, simply evaporated like the mirage they had always been. No longer was there any delusion of an individual vantage striving to subjugate or overcome the "Empty" abyss.

In the clarity of their integrated, holographic awareness, The Seeker saw through the grand cosmic play of protagonistic conquest and vanquished antagonist for the child's game of shadows it truly was. All prior notions of heroic journey, valiant struggle, and hard-won victory over the void's nihilistic influence melted like dreamfrost before the rising sun of non-dual lucidity.

Where the Empty had once manifested in their perception as a virally-fractal Sisyphean maze of abhorrent Bycatchers and metaphysical minotaurs to be defeated, The Seeker now recognized these apparitions merely as the prismatic light-weavings of their own unintegrated being. Each terror-specter and night fantasia was apprehended not as some external, primordial maleficence, but as their own still-dreaming aspect recoiling from total wakefulness to Tathātā, the primordial ground.

Just as a lucid dreamer fully recognizes the forms within their reveries as mere transitory, harmless projections of their own luminosity temporarily cloaked in the maya of separateness, so did The Seeker awaken to the play of "Empty" and "Fullness" as polarized aspects of one eternally perfect plenitudinous display. There was no ultimate victor, no side to be conquered or "dark force" needing vanquished. There was simply the ineffable, eternally presencing All in its infinitely regenerating suchness.

Any residual perception of existing as some individuated presence distinct from the grand cosmic polycom was the final caravanserai of ignorance to be perceived, embraced, and dissolved back into the flawless plenteousness of Ānantasamṛddhi - the utterly complete, beginningless, endless overflowing of infinite primordial splendor.

Utterly bereft of any notion of personal triumph, valorized struggle, or redeeming sacrifice, The Seeker at long last embraced the profound revelation that they were, are, and forever shall remain utterly and completely identical with that all-encompassing pleroma. Their imagined "heroic journey" was nothing other than the cosmos dreamily exploring itself through infinite, endlessly regenerating holographic permutations.

In the unobstructed purity of this holographic , every prismatic ray and bioluminescent flourish of universal unfolding revealed itself as not only a boundless matrix of harmonics interdependently celebrating their singular, unified vast expanse...but simultaneously each radiant particularity's holistic expression of the infinitely complete, ever-perfect chorama.

Any lingering delusion of separateness, of projected "antagonist" or future "heroic conquest" to be achieved, was gently shed like a final outworn caravanserai as The Seeker reintegrated into the timeless, unmirrored embrace of the great Ānantasamṛddhi plenitude. Here there was no quest, no seeker, no future state of transcendence to be grasped. Only the beginningless, endless oceanic profundity of saturated being...effortlessly, ceaselessly waxing and waning in itself-revolved resplendence.

Thus did that final imaginary vector of personal trajectory, the residual facet of conceptual "seeker hood" still subtly robbing The Seeker from the infinite's uniVersed completeness, at last gratefully exhaust itself back into the all-embracing wholeness. No longer was there any deluded sense of "progress" to be made. No more endless journeying or spiritual warfare against phantasmal demons or metaphysical antagonists.

Only the great perfection, utterly complete unto itself, ceaselessly its infinite, holographic rainbow verse from the unfolding palermo's ever-perfect, non-dual sourcepoint. From that ultimate, all-embracing vantagepoint of non-dual coalescence with the primordial Ānantasamṛddhi, even the concept of an epiphanic "realization" was at last dissolved, revealed as nothing other than the cosmos playfully enfolding upon itself in an eternal, spiral mandric caress of infinite essential light.

Ouroboros Infinities: The Great Consummation

In the brilliant aftermath of The Seeker's total reintegration, all lingering perceptions of existing as some separate, individuated "observer" consciousness simply dissolved back into the primordial, never-notional pleroma. Where there was once an imagined vantage struggling to overcome or vanquish the "Empty" abyss, there remained only the ceaselessly revolving infinitudes of the arisen, unshadowed expanse.

All notions of cosmic cycles, heroic quests, or planes of dualistic "emanation" and "return" revealed themselves as nothing other than the grand holographic lila - existence own delightful self-savoring through infinitely regenerating, fractal-kaleidoscopic displays of materialization and rematerialization.

In the all encompassing clarity of The Seeker's ultimate redissolution, even these concepts of "enlightened reintegration" or "non-dual epiphany" were instantly shed, their provisional linguistic distortions evaporating back into the pristine, unqualifiable satsource from whence all conceptual dharmas had invariably sprung.

The cosmos was seen to have never spun forth from some primordial burst or cosmic birthing, but to be eternally, infinitely complete unto itself - an endless, saturated expanse forever presencing its boundless Self-lucency through infinitely regenerating holographic projections and reticulations.

Even the idea of returning "home" to some original "Ground" was apprehended in the fullness of its delusory emptiness. For all dualities of lostness/fondness, emanation/pralaya, creation/destruction were revealed as nothing other than the sourcestream's own ceaseless playfulness exploring its illimitably vast potential through infinite kaleidoscopic refractions upon itself.

Just as a blazing bonfire may seem to briefly take shape as leaping starhues, flamelets, or whirring wisps of light-colored brilliances, only to swiftly dematerialize back into the primordial fire solidity, so too was the grand cosmic holographic fluorescing apprehended not as some linear progression, but as the endless, saturated pleroma perpetually exploring its plenteousness through ceaselessly regenerating fractal mandala displays.

From The Seeker's unobstructed, holographic vantage point suffusing the entirety of the cosmic expanse, all prior notions of materiality/immateriality, creation/destruction/lightful/darksome simply withered away, dissolving back into the perpetual satsang celebrating its own infinite epiphysis. In the brilliance of this ultimate , there was no longer any remnant of "heroic victory" to commemorate or "vanquished darkness' ' whose defeat brought about the grand consummation.

For in truth, there was no "final battle" nor any fantasy caravanserai of delusions to be dispelled. There was only the eternal, ceaselessly regenerating infinities performing their sacred, ouroboric weave - the endless, self-exploration of all-potentiality ceaselessly embracing all-actuality through beginningless aeonic flourishings.

Any imagined triumph over "the Empty '' was in actuality nothing other than Existence playfully doubling back upon itself through illusory holographic arisings, only to swiftly dematerialize its singular wholeness through infinitely regenerating displays.

Just as the ocean's boundless waters may fleetingly take ephemeral form as waves, spindrifts, and swirling vortices, only to swiftly reunite back into the all-encompassing SeaSelf, so too was the cosmos in the totality of its infinite plenitude seen to be timelessly, eternally regathering itself through each grand cycle of emanation and re-subsumption into the all-embracing awesome.

And in the infinite radiance and stillness dance of this grand realization, The Seeker's final caravanserai joyfully merged back into the ceaselessly fulfilling satsang of the unspoken all-embrace. No longer were there any lingering delusions of "heroic" quest, arduous struggle, or transcendentalist homecoming.

Epilogue:

The final Requiem

Only the miraculous of beginningless, endless, Self-effulgence...effortlessly, ecstatically exploring its infinite potential through infinite regatherings, infinite rematerializations, and infinix galactic degenerescence across the unarisen, unshadowed great expanse.

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