#i want to scream this at the entire world

[burningembers91]

The Beauty of Vulnerability - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up Piece to: Not Who I Want to Be

Synopsis: Thanos is ready to show who he really is

Warnings: Alcohol and drug misuse/addiction, p in v, oral, 18+ only!

Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times before you finally picked it up. Thanos had sent you a selfie of him posing on his balcony, the Seoul skyline in the background. He had his usual goofy expression on his face, his tattoos visible on his shirtless body. He’d followed the selfie up with several emojis and a plea to join him on his balcony. You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but zoom in on his abs visible in the lower lefthand corner of the screen. It had been six weeks since your meeting in the nightclub, and as much as you’d tried to resist, he’d charmed his way into your life.

Thanos was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was so vibrant, so full of life and yet so broken. His eyes were filled with such sadness, a sadness that never quite went away no matter how hard he laughed, or how many jokes he told. He was the classic class clown, always striving to make you laugh. You hadn’t believed him when he told you he was a famous rapper, not until you’d Googled him the next day. Your friends didn’t believe you’d met him either, not until you showed them the message you’d sent him. you’d listened to his music, and although it wasn’t entirely to your taste, there was no denying the man had talent.

You’d met a few times since then, mostly at Thanos’ apartment. You’d once made the mistake of heading to a restaurant for dinner and spent the entire time fighting off screaming girls armed with iPhones and killer glares in your direction. You hadn’t quite got a feel of who this man was, didn’t quite understand what made him tick. He was a wildcard, but there was an underlying sweetness about him.

While you were reserved with your feelings, Thanos was head over heels for you. You gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, gave him purpose on days that without you would have been filled with drugs and booze. He hadn’t quite managed to quit the narcotics, but a lifetime habit was hard to break. But you’d inspired him to write music again, had given him an entirely new lease on life. The day after he’d met you, he spent all day messaging you on Instagram. The next day, he removed the parasites from his apartment, the ones who only came round when they wanted to party, take drugs or cling to his coattails. He deep cleaned his apartment, tipping bottles of booze and pills down the toilet. He sat at his piano for the first time in years, penning a song that was so different to anything he’d written before. The music seemed to flow through him, the words coming so naturally. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written something sober, the melody overwhelming him until he was reduced to tears. He’d spent so long pretending to be someone else, it was nice to have a piece of the real him shine through.

He understood you wanted to take things slow, and he’d be a fool to rush into this headfirst. That had always been his mistake. Thanos usually acted first and thought later, but he didn’t want to fuck up whatever this was that he had with you. There were a few times when he slipped back into his old habits, taking a pill when the world got a little too much, drinking himself to sleep when his racing thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. He hadn’t told you about his addictions, but you knew.

You saw it in his eyes, saw the ways his hands shook when he was starting to withdraw. You’d seen friends addicted in the past, and it hadn’t ended well. That’s why you were taking things slow; you were waiting for the moment Thanos would inevitably break your heart. Your head screamed at you to leave, but your heart told you this man was worth fighting for.

You joined him later that evening on his balcony, just as the sky turned candy floss pink as the sun began to set. He handed you a glass of champagne worth more than your monthly salary, kissing you softly on your cheek. His days were long and lonely without you, counting down the hours until he saw you again. You were the anchor that kept him grounded to the world, the woman who stopped him from floating away into the clouds. His fingernails were painted black today, the colour matching the thickly tattooed line that snaked from his middle finger to his neck. you liked to trace that line, smiling as he shivered against you. you hadn’t slept together yet, but every day you found it harder to find a reason not to. His lips skimmed your cheek again, making their way down to your lips. Thanos loved kissing you, loved the way your lips felt against his. You were impossibly soft, your tongue meeting his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the glass of expensive champagne long forgotten.

“I wrote a song for you,” he whispered, playing with them hem of your skirt. “Can I play it for you?” You nodded, tilting your head back as his lips continued to kiss you, trailing across your jawline and down your neck. He was so crazy about you, so head over heels he felt like he might go insane. You made his entire body tingle, from his scalp to his toes, and he found himself constantly getting lost in your eyes.

Pulling you from the comfort of his outdoor sofa, he led you to his music room, offering you a seat on his plush leather stool. He sat at his piano, nerves wracking his body as he took a deep breath. Usually, he’d pop a pill to calm his nerves, or down a few shots of tequila. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to sit with those nerves, to show his vulnerability to you in a way he’d never shown anyone. As he began to play, his voice singing in perfect harmony with the notes, you watched in silence. Every inch of you was covered in goosebumps, the tune on the piano so beautifully encompassing his feelings towards you. Never had a man treated you the way Thanos had; he made you feel like a Goddess.

When the song was over, Thanos stayed at the piano, his bottom lip trembling. You watched him for a few moments, your heart aching as a lifetime of emotions bubbled to the surface. He was so tired of being someone he wasn’t, of surrounding himself with people who didn’t give a shit about him. Until 6 weeks ago, he had no one to call when he was lonely, no one to hug him when he was feeling sad. He’d had no one to turn to when the world got dark, but you were here now. Sitting across from him, your eyes brimming with tears, he didn’t know how to convey his feelings towards you other than through song.

Nothing about him was real; nothing was authentically him. His name wasn’t even real; he’d modelled it on a fucking purple CGI villain. A single tear fell from his eye, landing on the ivory keys with a splatter. A deep, wracking sob escaped him and his closed his eyes as he felt the darkness closing in. He longed for a release, longed to feel the numbness that came with the pills he popped like candy.

Your arms encircled him, pulling his shaking body into yours. You stood there for a while, stroking his shock of purple hair while he sobbed into your chest. He’d never cried in front of a woman before, had never shown any emotion other than unabashed confidence. “My name isn’t even Thanos,” he choked after a while. “I know,” you smiled, “I doubted your parents named you after a Marvel villain.” You wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb, placing a soft kiss on each of his eyelids. He looked so fragile, so broken as his head slumped against your breasts, his body still shaking with the occasional sob. “What is your name?” He looked up at you. He hadn’t said he real name for years; Thanos had become his brand, the crutch he used almost as much as the drugs and alcohol. “Choi Su-Bong,” he whispered. “My name is Choi Su-Bong.”

You kissed him, pulling him down onto the soft carpet of his music room floor. “Choi Su-Bong,” you smiled, “My Choi Su-Bong.” He made love to you right there on the floor, the sounds of your moans melting into the sound-proof walls. Su-Bong had never felt like this with anyone before. He was usually completely numb when he fucked someone, if he remembered fucking them at all. But with you, he was sober, perhaps for the first time in his life. He felt every touch, every thrust so deeply. He let you take charge, straddling him as you lowered yourself onto him. Your fingers traced his abs, the sensation overwhelming him as your nails dragged gently across his skin, tracing the tattoos that littered his torso and chest. He’d never known something could feel this good, had never realised that your entire body could feel like it was on fire in the best way possible. He was desperate to touch every inch of you, to feel every part of your exposed skin. He guided your chest towards his mouth, his lips locking around your sensitive nipple as he took it gently between his teeth. Your moans were heavenly, more beautiful than any song he’d ever heard. He came with an earth-shattering groan, his fingers gripping the skin on your thighs as he finished inside of you. He carried you to his room after, laying you down on his silk sheets before drawing out your pleasure again and again. Your body shook for him, your breathy moans spurring him on. You tasted like heaven, your slickness coating his mouth and tongue as he devoured you again and again.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, waking up as the sun broke over the horizon. Thanos was gone, but Choi Su-Bong had replaced him. His arms cradled you as you watched the sun rise, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. Finally rousing from bed, he padded through to the kitchen. He was no chef, but last night had worked up quite the appetite. He ordered breakfast from a local café, spreading out the food across his expansive kitchen. He wasn’t sure what your favourite was, so he ordered one of everything. You sat and ate together, smiling at each other over your coffee mugs.

There would be hard days ahead, but Choi Su-Bong was determined to start fresh. New music, new friends, a new perspective. He’d never had anything in life that made him want to be a better person. But now he had you, and you were worth fighting for.

[killerelysia]

Bro Luna's one of my fav OCs I wanted to write something for her. I legit love the OC please, Plus their art is chef's kiss! Do I need to say more?

Before the Disaster... (The kid at the back) Crowe x OC! (Not Sol, Sorry)

(The OC belongs to @kazueisaloser)

Happy belated birthday to Luna (Please give her a happy ending, Oh creator)

It was always another day.

Luna sat at her usual spot her eyes fixed on the horizon. The sunset painted the sky in breathtaking strokes of gold and crimson, but she felt none of its warmth. To her, it was just another sunset, another reminder that beauty existed in the world—just not in her.

Her fingers absentmindedly tugged at the hem of her oversized sweater, one that hung loose enough to hide everything she hated about herself. She didn’t even know why she wore it anymore; nothing ever seemed to help. Her reflection in the glass caught her eye, and her stomach twisted. The faint outline of her face felt like an accusation, like it was mocking her.

Her heart sank as a familiar wave of self-loathing began to creep in.

"Why can’t I just… look normal?" she thought bitterly, her nails digging into her palm. Her reflection stayed silent, staring back with empty, striking blue eyes that she could never bring herself to like. People often told her how beautiful they were, how beautiful she was, but the words fell flat. They didn’t see what she saw. They didn’t have to live in her skin.

The compliments always felt like lies, cruel little reminders of a world that refused to understand. Even when her friends laughed and joked with her, even when strangers turned their heads to admire her, Luna could only see flaws—glaring imperfections she couldn’t escape.

The sun dipped lower, and shadows began to spill into the room.

She let out a shaky sigh, resting her forehead against her knees. The room felt so cold, so unbearably quiet, save for the muted hum of her thoughts echoing louder than she could handle. She wanted to scream, to shatter the silence and tear apart the version of herself she couldn’t escape.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Instead, Luna stayed there, She clenched her fists tighter, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. She hated this—hated herself. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t stop comparing herself to everyone else, couldn’t stop wishing she could tear herself apart and rebuild someone better. Someone worthy.

"Why can’t I be enough?"

The thought hit her like a punch to the chest, stealing what little air she had left. Her breathing hitched, and before she knew it, silent tears had begun to fall. They streaked down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, like they’d been waiting all day for this moment to spill out.

And yet, even in her lowest moments, she bit her lip and swallowed her cries,

Determined to wear her soft smile again tomorrow.

After all, it was what everyone expected.

Crowe stood a short distance away, staring down at the bouquet of roses in his hands. The soft rustle of the petals as the evening breeze passed through them reminded him of her—delicate, beautiful, and entirely unaware of her own brilliance. The note, folded neatly between his fingers, felt heavier than it should have, its simple words carrying the weight of his unspoken feelings.

He sighed, glancing upward to the sky, where the faintest stars were beginning to dot the deepening blue. He had spent hours staring at them the night before, hoping for some kind of clarity. And then it hit him: the brightest, prettiest star wasn’t in the sky.

It had always been her.

Luna.

Crowe adjusted the collar of his shirt, brushing back a few loose strands of his dark hair. He wasn’t one for nerves, but this—this was different. For all his confidence, his charisma, he now felt like a lost boy, desperately hoping the roses would somehow speak the words his heart couldn’t seem to say.

He took a step forward, his polished shoes crunching softly against the gravel pathway outside the campus. He knew where she’d be—she always went there when the day felt too heavy, sitting quietly in her little corner to watch the sun sink beneath the horizon.

And there she was, just as he’d imagined.

Luna sat in her usual spot, her silhouette bathed in the golden glow of the fading sunlight. Her chin rested on her knees, and though her expression was soft, there was something undeniably sad about her. Crowe’s chest tightened at the sight, but it only strengthened his resolve.

He couldn’t keep pretending. Not anymore.

Drawing a steadying breath, he stepped onto the path that led to her. With each stride, his heartbeat thundered louder in his ears, drowning out everything but the thought of her—her shy smile, her quiet laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about the things she loved.

The distance closed between them, Crowe’s grip on the roses tightened. The note crinkled slightly under his fingers, but he didn’t care.

This time, he wouldn’t hold back.

This time, he would tell her.

Crowe walked toward her.

Crowe crept quietly behind Luna, his steps soft against the gravel path. His heart raced, not from the fear of startling her, but from the weight of the moment he had planned. As he reached her, he hesitated for just a second, his free hand clutching the hidden roses and the note tightly behind his back.

With a mischievous grin, he leaned in closer. “Boo,” he whispered softly near her ear.

Luna yelped, her body jerking slightly in surprise before she turned to see him. Her startled expression quickly melted into a sweet, familiar smile, one that tugged at something deep inside Crowe’s chest.

“Crowe,” she said warmly, her voice soft as her hand instinctively went to her chest, calming her racing heart.

Crowe chuckled, his grin widening. “Caught you off guard, huh?”

She playfully rolled her eyes but said nothing more, her gaze flickering back to the horizon where the last rays of sunlight were spilling over the earth. Crowe, still holding the bouquet and note behind him, moved to sit beside her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to shrink around them, the golden glow of the sunset cocooning them in a peaceful silence. Crowe finally broke it, his voice quieter than usual.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the horizon, though he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Luna nodded, her lips curling into a soft smile as she stared at the brilliant hues painting the sky. She didn’t need words to answer. Moments like these, surrounded by beauty and quiet, always felt sacred to her.

But this wasn’t just a moment for the sunset—it was Crowe. She didn’t have to put on a mask or pretend with him. Around Crowe, she could simply be. Still, the sunset held her tongue, its beauty too overwhelming for speech.

Crowe’s gaze lingered on her, watching as the light danced across her delicate features. His fingers tightened slightly around the roses behind his back as he spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“The sunset…” he began, his voice trailing off for a moment as he chose his words. “It’s kind of like you.”

Luna blinked, tearing her gaze from the horizon to glance at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. “What?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion.

Crowe smiled at her, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a way that made her heart skip. “It’s breathtaking,” he said simply.

Her blush deepened, and she quickly turned her face back toward the sunset to hide it. The compliment felt like too much, too overwhelming, and she couldn’t bring herself to accept it. Her lips curved into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “The sunset’s way prettier than me.”

Crowe’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted his focus back to the horizon, silently marveling at the girl sitting beside him who couldn’t see the radiance he saw so clearly. The roses and the note remained hidden for now.

Crowe’s expression softened, his voice gentle as he spoke. “I mean it, Luna,” he said firmly. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

Luna blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in his tone. “What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without a second thought, Crowe reached out and caught her hand in his, his touch warm and steady. Her eyes widened as she looked down at their joined hands, feeling the strength and sincerity in his grip.

“If you ever feel like doubting yourself again,” he said, his tone unwavering, “it’s okay. I don’t care if you believe me right now or not, but I’ll keep saying it anyway. Because I’ll always tell you the truth, Luna. Always.”

Before she could respond, Crowe brought the bouquet out from behind his back and held it out to her, the vibrant roses glowing faintly in the last light of the sunset. Nestled among the petals was the folded note.

Luna’s lips parted in surprise, her gaze shifting from the bouquet to him. “Crowe… what is this?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and disbelief.

Crowe’s smile was faint but genuine, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart skip. “It’s what I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” he said quietly. “I’m done hiding it.”

The realization hit her all at once, like a tidal wave. Her eyes flicked back to the bouquet, her mind racing as she pieced everything together. He was confessing. Crowe was confessing.

Her cheeks burned bright red, and she instinctively brought both hands up to cover her face, hoping to hide the blush spreading across her skin. Crowe chuckled softly, his voice rich with affection as he reached out and gently moved her hands away. His fingertips brushed against her cheeks, holding her face lightly, as if she might disappear.

“You don’t need to feel insecure around me, Luna,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “You don’t need to hide anything.”

His words left her breathless, but what truly undid her was the way he was looking at her—as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Her striking blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her cheeks glowed a soft pink. In that moment, she looked so vulnerable, so pure, that Crowe found himself unable to look away.

“Crowe…” she whispered, her voice trembling as her emotions welled up inside her.

He smiled gently, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “I mean it, Luna,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful. Inside and out. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to show you that, if you’ll let me.”

Luna held the bouquet close to her chest, the soft fragrance of roses filling the air around her. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her lips curved into an uncontrollable smile as her heart raced with the realization of what had just happened. Crowe—her best friend, the one she had quietly admired for so long—had confessed to her.

She could hardly believe it. Someone like Crowe—kind, charming, and effortlessly cool—had feelings for her. The thought alone made her almost squeal, but she held it back, instead squeezing the bouquet in her arms like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Crowe’s phone buzzed, pulling him out of the moment. He frowned slightly as he checked the screen and let out a small sigh. “Duty calls,” he muttered, his tone tinged with reluctance.

He stood, brushing off his pants, and glanced down at her, his gaze softening when he saw how she clung to the flowers. “I hate to cut this short, Luna, but I’ve gotta go,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Luna looked up at him, her smile still lingering. “It’s okay,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of shyness and contentment.

Crowe hesitated for a moment, then leaned down slightly, his expression earnest. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s talk more about… this. About us.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she nodded, smiling softly. “Okay,” she whispered.

He returned the smile before stepping away, raising a hand in a casual wave. “Goodnight, Luna.”

“Goodnight, Crowe,” she called after him, watching as he disappeared down the path.

Once he was out of sight, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Hugging the bouquet even tighter, she allowed herself a small, delighted squeal, her cheeks burning as she thought about his confession.

Crowe… he really likes me, she thought, her mind racing as she imagined what the future might hold. The idea of them together felt almost too good to be true, yet she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face.

But as she sat there, lost in her thoughts, a strange sensation began to creep over her. Her smile faltered, and she instinctively glanced around, her grip tightening on the bouquet.

The feeling was subtle at first, like the faint prickling of goosebumps on her skin. It was as if someone was watching her—someone just out of sight. The once-comforting quiet of the evening suddenly felt heavy, and the shadows around her seemed darker than before.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Slowly, she stood, clutching the flowers protectively as she cast another wary glance around the empty campus grounds.

The sunset’s glow had faded into twilight, and the world around her was eerily still. The sensation didn’t fade, though. If anything, it grew stronger, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on her with every passing moment.

“Hello?” she called out softly, her voice trembling as it broke the silence.

Luna’s gaze fell back to the roses in her arms, their deep crimson petals glistening faintly in the dim light. They were so beautiful—so alive in their vibrancy. Yet, as she stared at them, an unease began to crawl up her spine.

The red… it was striking, mesmerizing. Almost too much like… blood.

She leaned closer, the world around her fading into an oppressive stillness. The edges of her vision blurred as she focused on the roses, their once-delicate beauty now tinged with something ominous.

Then, the scene shifted.

The roses were gone, replaced by something far heavier in her arms. Her breath hitched, and a guttural sob escaped her lips as she looked down. Crowe’s almost-severed head rested in her hands, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. The dirt smeared on his face mixed with the vivid streaks of blood running from his neck, pooling onto the ground beneath her.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head in denial, her voice breaking. “This… this isn’t real. You’re not—”

Her hands trembled as she clutched his head tighter, her nails digging into her palms. The dirt beneath her knees felt cold and damp, grounding her in a horrifying reality she couldn’t escape.

“Crowe…” she whimpered, her tears falling freely now, splattering against his lifeless face. She pulled him closer, her sobs wracking her body as she cradled him like something fragile, something that could still be saved.

“This isn’t real,” she repeated desperately, her voice raw with grief. “You’re not dead. You’re not—”

Her words choked off as she noticed the blood staining her hands, the same shade of red as the roses he had given her yesterday. The memory of his gentle smile, his heartfelt confession, flashed through her mind, and she let out a cry of anguish.

“Who did this to you?!” she screamed, her voice echoing into the emptiness around her.

The once-comforting warmth of his presence was gone, replaced by the cold, cruel weight of his severed head in her arms. The world around her blurred and twisted, the line between reality and nightmare dissolving as her sobs filled the air.

She buried her face into his bloodied hair, holding him as tightly as she could, as if sheer force of will could bring him back. The scent of roses lingered faintly, mingling with the metallic tang of blood, a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Luna cried harder, the sound of her heartbreak shattering the suffocating silence.

Luna screamed, her voice piercing the cold, unfeeling night. It was raw and broken, filled with anguish so deep it seemed to tear through her soul. She shook her head violently, as if denying the reality in front of her could somehow change it.

“This couldn’t have happened! This can’t be real!” she sobbed, clutching Crowe’s lifeless head to her chest.

Her tears poured freely now, blurring her vision as she rocked back and forth on the dirt. The blood smeared across her hands and clothes, its sticky warmth chilling her to the core.

“No… no, no, no…” she choked, her voice trembling with desperation. “Crowe, please, wake up! You’re okay! You’re not gone!”

But the lifeless weight in her arms offered no response. The vivid memory of his kind smile, his steady hands holding hers, and his soft words from just yesterday flashed through her mind like a cruel trick.

“Who did this to you?!” she screamed again, her voice hoarse and cracking under the strain. Her chest heaved with the force of her sobs, each breath feeling like a knife in her lungs.

Her fingers tightened around him as though holding him closer could keep him from slipping away completely. “You promised me… we were supposed to talk tomorrow. You said we’d talk! You lied!”

Her cries echoed into the night, carrying her heartbreak to the empty sky above. The stars, once so bright and beautiful, now felt mocking in their distant serenity.

She buried her face against his blood-matted hair, her tears soaking into his skin. “You can’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Not you, Crowe… not you.”

She heard a sound....

A pair of fiery red orbs grew wide like saucers as their owner beholds your slumped, blood-stained figure. His gaze reveals a mix of surprise, dread, and panic

"Luna..?"

"N-no... You shouldn't be here... You need to leave!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Instead, you stare at the bloody hand axe that he dropped, his equally bloody hands, and his dark shirt wet with red liquid.

He reeked of blood.

He killed Crowe.

The beginning of a nice friendship he said..?

It was only moments before disaster...

I'M SO SORRY FOR THIS. IT'S SO SHORT AND UGLY I DIDNT DO UR OC JUSTICE BUT PLS I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING.

Luna's moments before disaster... (⁠个⁠_⁠个⁠)

sol when I catch u sol 👿

[hellinistical]

You asked Zayne for a Darry Ring.

wc: 1k

Morning light streamed through the frosted windows of the small café, casting a warm golden hue on the wooden floors. Outside, the world was cloaked in a blanket of white; snow dusted the rooftops and lined the branches of bare trees. A sharp chill in the air made each person who entered shiver and stamp their feet to shake off the cold.

Inside, the café was a sanctuary of warmth. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. Soft jazz played in the background, barely audible over the gentle hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.

Near the counter, a young woman in a knitted scarf and an oversized coat cupped a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Her breath fogged the rim as she leaned closer, savoring the warmth. At a corner table by the window, a man flipped through a dog-eared paperback, his gloved fingers still red from the cold.

The barista, clad in a green apron, worked methodically, their movements fluid as they crafted intricate foam art atop each latte. A line had formed, patrons clutching scarves around their necks and speaking in low, muffled tones.

Beyond the window, people bustled along the icy street, their steps brisk, their heads bowed against the wind. The café was their respite, a place where time seemed to slow, where the cold couldn't reach.

Zayne’s green eyes narrowed slightly, the confusion in his gaze giving way to faint amusement, though his expression stayed firmly unamused. His black hair, tousled by the brisk winter wind, framed his face in a way that gave him a roguish charm. The pink flush on his cheeks and the tip of his nose betrayed just how cold it was outside, though he didn’t seem to notice—or care.

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair and raising a single brow as if challenging you to explain yourself.

“And… you want a Darry ring, why?” he repeated, drawing out the last word as though he couldn’t quite believe the ridiculousness of your request.

Behind him, the café bustled on. The soft clinking of mugs and the gentle hum of chatter filled the air, but it all felt distant under his steady gaze. You could see the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though he clearly wasn’t giving you the satisfaction of smiling outright.

“Well?” he prompted, his tone dry but not entirely devoid of curiosity. “I can’t wait to hear this one.”

“Because you can only get it once—” you began, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

Zayne didn’t even let you finish before cutting in, his tone laced with dry skepticism. “Which is a marketing tactic, but go on,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips now. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, clearly enjoying himself more than he wanted to let on.

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to throw your scarf at him. “No, it’s not just that. It’s... special.”

“Right. Because a mass-produced, limited-edition trinket sold to a frenzy of people with fear-of-missing-out syndrome screams special.” He tilted his head, the teasing in his tone now undeniable.

“It’s not about the ring itself,” you said, your voice a little sharper. “It’s about what it represents.”

“And what does it represent? A triumph over capitalism?” Zayne quipped, raising both eyebrows now, his smirk fully formed.

You huffed, glaring at him. “Forget it. I should’ve asked someone else.”

“But you didn’t,” he said, leaning back in his chair with the satisfaction of someone who knew he’d won this round. “So I guess I’ll keep listening... if you really want me to.”

You almost groaned, the sound bubbling in your throat, but the waitress arrived at your table just in time, setting down your orders with a warm smile before disappearing into the cozy bustle of the café.

As Zayne reached for his coffee, smugness practically radiating off him, you decided to strike back. Without a word, you grabbed his mug and took a defiant sip, glaring at him over the rim.

The taste hit you instantly—an overwhelming, cloying sweetness that made your face scrunch up in reflex. It was as though someone had dissolved half a candy store into the cup. You swallowed, though it took more effort than you cared to admit, and slammed the mug back down on the table.

Zayne didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He simply watched you, calm and collected, his expression unchanging save for the faint sparkle of mischief in his dark eyes.

“You knew,” you accused, your voice low, the bitterness of betrayal mixing with the lingering sugar assaulting your taste buds.

“Of course I knew,” he replied smoothly, picking up the mug you had so brazenly stolen from and taking a leisurely sip. “You don’t like sweet things. And this?” He gestured to his coffee. “This is a masterpiece of sweetness. It’s art, really.”

You glared, wiping at your mouth with a napkin like it could somehow erase the taste. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe,” he mused, setting the mug down with a soft clink. “But I’m also the guy who’s going to hear more about this Darry ring nonsense. So, I guess we’re even.”

Zayne sighed, the sound soft but laced with amusement as he watched you all but chug the ice water in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of the overly sweet assault on your taste buds. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing lazily over his chest, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’ll get you the Darry ring,” he said, his tone unexpectedly—though not entirely surprisingly—affectionate.

You froze mid-sip, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded, his smile widening slightly as he tilted his head. “I’ll even stand in line in the freezing cold if that’s what it takes. Because apparently, you’re willing to wage war over a sugar bomb just to prove a point.”

You set the glass down, still squinting at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head. “You’re not going to tease me about it the entire time?”

“Oh, no, I absolutely will,” he admitted with a low chuckle. “But I’ll still get it for you.”

Your lips twitched, caught between a smile and a frown. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Zayne replied, leaning forward again and resting his chin on his hand, “here we are.”

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

The news came out that the world didn't believe!!! I really loved this chapter, it is my 'xodó' until now.

Please, read it <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: During a camp you discover what your destination is.

Hey! Now i've a Masterlist

Dawn

The campus was abuzz with preparations for the traditional Camping Week, an old town celebration that mixed folklore, outdoor activities, and a touch of emotional torture—especially for the teachers.

You were in the library, trying to convince Yelena to join the camping organization committee, but she seemed more interested in planning ways to avoid sleeping outdoors.

"Camping? Sleeping on the ground? Eating canned food? Please," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "That’s horror movie stuff. And I’m not going to be the first blonde to die, thank you.

"You’re not even a natural blonde," Kate retorted with a grin.

"Which is precisely why I need to protect my artificial hair," Yelena replied, pointing to her locks as if they were a war trophy.

Bucky, flipping through a survival magazine, finally joined the conversation.

"I think it’ll be fun. Campfires, scary stories, fresh air..."

"And bugs, punctured air mattresses, and grumpy teachers," you added, though your excitement was evident.

"Well, maybe the grumpy teachers will make it more fun," Kate said with a mischievous look.

You knew exactly who she was talking about.

Meanwhile, the teachers were gathered in a room discussing the camping details, and the energy there was entirely different.

"Let me get this straight," Agatha began, adjusting the brooch on her outfit. "You want me to spend two nights in a tent, surrounded by noisy students and mosquitoes? Who invented this, and how can I curse them?"

"It’s tradition," Rio responded, always calm and just a little too enthusiastic. "And it’s important for bonding with the students."

"Bonding?" Agatha shot back, crossing her arms. "I prefer chains. More effective."

Bruce, in charge of logistics, raised his hands in surrender. "We’re not going to survive this if we start with negativity. Let’s organize everything properly and..."

"Sleep on the ground. Eat bad food. Have a nervous breakdown," Carol interjected, tossing her bag into the corner of the room.

And then there was Wanda, sitting silently, her expression unreadable. While the others complained, she was already formulating a plan. The camp would be hell for everyone, of course, but it would also be the perfect opportunity to test someone—you.

Somehow, Wanda would make it worth her while.

The arrival at the site was chaotic, as expected. Students stumbled with backpacks, teachers were visibly annoyed, and Yelena was trying to find a cell signal to post her outrage online.

"I can’t believe you talked me into this," she said, looking around in despair.

"Oh, stop complaining. Look how beautiful it is!" Kate said, pointing to the shimmering lake and tall trees.

"Beautiful? I’m sure this is where they filmed the first Friday the 13th. There—bet that’s where Jason killed his first blonde," Yelena said nervously, glancing at the forest.

"What are you talking about? Everyone knows the blonde is the 'final girl'," Kate countered, raising both eyebrows.

"And that the real killer was Jason’s mom, not him. Haven’t you seen Scream?" Bucky muttered, dropping his camping bag wherever.

You laughed, but your eyes involuntarily drifted to Wanda. She looked far too elegant for the setting, as if she’d stepped out of a magazine, even in a simple coat. Her gaze met yours, and a shiver ran through you.

Principal Cowell climbed onto a makeshift wooden platform in the center of the camp, clapping his hands for attention. His white tank top and tiny shorts, revealing his incredibly pale and nearly blinding legs, didn’t match the overly serious tone he attempted to adopt.

"Attention, children, and older children disguised as teachers!" he began, spreading his arms as if about to deliver a divine revelation.

Yelena, standing beside you, let out such a loud sigh that Kate had to stifle a laugh.

"This camp," continued the principal, "is not just about fun. It’s not just about pitching tents or eating marshmallows. This is a rite of passage! An opportunity to reconnect with nature, with the ancestors of this town, and, above all, with yourselves."

"Is he serious?" Yelena asked, leaning closer to you.

"Serious enough to make my breakfast want to come back up," you replied, trying not to laugh.

Cowell either didn’t notice—or completely ignored—the chorus of mocking whispers and bored looks as he went on.

"As the leader of this illustrious institution, it is my duty to ensure that each of you leaves here with more than just mosquito bites and sleepless nights. I want you to leave transformed, enlightened, and…" He hesitated, looking at the surrounding trees. "…with all trash properly picked up, please, no littering!"

"And we thought he was going to recite Shakespeare," Bucky muttered, tossing a rock on the ground with a bored sigh.

"Now," Cowell said, raising a finger as if about to announce something grandiose, "we’ll uphold the traditions established by our founders. Boys and girls in separate areas. Oh, and for our LGBTQIA+ students… I humbly ask that you choose not to hook up tonight. Please."

A stunned silence fell over the camp, followed by a wave of stifled laughter and incredulous looks.

"He didn’t just say that…" Kate said, covering her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Oh, but he did," Yelena replied, laughing openly.

The teachers around were clearly divided. Rio shook his head with an expression of pure exasperation. Agatha raised an eyebrow at Wanda as if to say, Is this guy for real? Carol crossed her arms, clearly debating whether to laugh or intervene.

Wanda, however, seemed oblivious to the situation, her eyes fixed on you in the crowd. When you noticed, she looked away, but there was a glint in her eyes you couldn’t interpret.

"Now, spread out, grab your tents, and start setting up camp!" Cowell concluded enthusiastically, awkwardly jumping off the platform.

"This is going to be the best disaster of my life," you said, shaking your head, already imagining the scenes to come.

[...]

The camp was bustling with activity, students tripping over tent stakes and teachers growing increasingly irritated. You were struggling to make sense of the tent manual, which seemed like it had been translated from another language by an intern.

That’s when you heard a familiar voice.

“Well, look who’s decided to play adventurer today!”

You looked up to see Darcy Lewis, a university senior known for being the most sociable and quick-witted person on campus. She was wearing a wide grin and carrying a hammer to help other students.

“Need some help, freshman?” Darcy asked, tilting her head playfully.

“If I said no, I’d be lying,” you admitted, setting the manual aside. “This manual is worse than an algebra test.”

Darcy laughed and crouched down beside you, picking up the stakes and beginning to organize them efficiently. You chatted as you worked, sharing inside jokes and laughing at the disastrous situations happening around the camp.

The smile you gave Darcy was sincere, warm, and laden with something even you couldn’t quite identify. Ever since you arrived at the university, she had been your guide, showing you everything from the bathrooms to the dorms. And when you found out Darcy would be your roommate, something in your mind sparked—expectations that wouldn’t stop growing.

Darcy always had this relaxed demeanor, like nothing in the world could throw her off balance. As you worked alongside her, you felt the weight of her presence like an anchor amidst the chaos of university life. She was different—not just because she seemed to master everything with irritating ease, but because, somehow, she made you feel comfortable. Seen.

You remembered the first time you met her. She had shown up in the dorm hallway with an easy smile and a box of donuts, saying, "Welcome to hell! I hope you like coffee because no one survives here without it."

From that moment, it was hard not to get attached. Darcy was always the first to offer help, whether it was explaining tough physics concepts or just listening to you vent about endless assignments. She had this way of making any place feel a little brighter, safer.

Now, as she adjusted the tent stakes, your mind wandered to all the little moments you’d shared. Late-night dorm room talks, stifled laughter so as not to wake others, the way she encouraged you without making you feel dependent on her.

But there was more than just admiration there, and you knew it. It was the way your heart raced a little faster when she leaned in too close to explain something, or how you held your breath whenever she casually tossed her hair back, oblivious to the effect it had on you.

As you tightened a loose rope, you glanced at her, trying to disguise the lingering look. Darcy was focused, the tip of her tongue poking out slightly as she worked, her face softened by an expression of calm concentration. She was beautiful—not just in an obvious way, but in a way that came from confidence, intelligence, and the ability to make you feel significant in a crowd.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Darcy suddenly asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Like what?” You tried to sound casual, but you could feel the warmth rising to your face.

“Like… I don’t know, like you just remembered something really good.” Darcy raised an eyebrow, curious but with that playful smile only she had.

You opened your mouth to answer but closed it again, realizing you didn’t have a good excuse. Finally, you shrugged. “Maybe I did. Or maybe I’m just having fun.”

Darcy laughed, shaking her head. “Well, it’s good to see someone is because most people here look like they want to dig a hole and hide until Monday.”

You laughed together, and something about the sound of her laughter made your chest tighten in the best way, as if, for a moment, nothing else mattered.

But that feeling was also terrifying. Because deep down, you knew Darcy would probably never look at you the same way. To her, you were just a funny, slightly clumsy girl who needed help every now and then.

Still, what could you do? Ignore the way she made you feel alive? Pretend you didn’t want more of these moments? It was pointless, and you knew it.

Wanda knew it too.

Wanda watched from a distance, her arms crossed as she pretended to listen to Carol and Agatha discussing the evening’s logistics. Her eyes, however, were fixed on you and Darcy, leaning close together as you set up the tent.

Something burned inside her—a mixture of anger and a discomfort she hated admitting was jealousy. Every smile you gave Darcy seemed brighter than any Wanda had ever received from you. It wasn’t fair. And the worst part was the way Darcy reciprocated, so effortlessly casual and relaxed, as if winning your attention was easy.

“Who the hell is this girl?” Wanda thought, narrowing her eyes.

She tried to shake off the feeling, but the unease grew like a knot in her stomach. What did Darcy have that made you look at her like that? The thought tormented Wanda, and she wasn’t the kind to tolerate uncertainties.

With a cold determination, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting her powers extend. Darcy’s mind was easy to access; she lacked the natural barriers some people built. Wanda slipped in effortlessly, sifting carefully as though flipping through a book.

What she found made her lips curl into a cold smile. Darcy felt nothing but fraternal affection for you—a genuine friendship, without any romantic undertones or desire. It was a relief, but also an insult.

Wanda’s expression remained serene, but her crimson eyes glinted with an intensity that betrayed her calm exterior. Darcy was speaking animatedly with someone, laughing at something, but Wanda saw only how that laugh seemed misplaced. Forced.

“She tries so hard,” Wanda murmured, a faint smile curving her lips. “But it’s not enough, is it? Poor Darcy…”

"You’re nothing special to her, are you?" Wanda murmured to herself, a red glow flickering in her eyes for a brief moment.

For an instant, the Scarlet Witch—her darker, more primal side—nearly took over. "Then she doesn’t need to be here anymore," murmured the voice in her mind. But Wanda took a deep breath and stepped back. It wasn’t necessary. Darcy was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

Even so, Wanda couldn’t resist the urge to leave her mark. She planted a subtle thought in Darcy’s mind, something that would make her hesitate if she got too close to you. A small shadow of doubt—not enough to harm the girl, but sufficient to keep her distant, allowing Wanda to feel in control once more.

The witch crossed her arms, her fingers drumming lightly as she scrutinized every gesture, every nuance. Darcy was an unfinished canvas, an attempt at grandeur that failed to capture the depth needed to be truly remarkable.

Inside her, a darker part stirred. The Scarlet Witch, primal and possessive, whispered insidiously, urging her to remove any threat to her position. “She’s nothing. An insignificant obstacle. Get rid of her. Y/n wouldn’t even notice.”

Wanda inhaled deeply, steadying herself. No. It wasn’t necessary. Darcy was no real threat, just an inconvenient distraction. Still, Wanda understood the power of doubt and how a tiny fracture could spread until it consumed everything.

She raised her hand, her fingers dancing lightly in the air as if weaving invisible threads. Her lips moved in an almost imperceptible whisper, and a subtle breeze swept past Darcy, like a gentle touch on her consciousness.

"Always the helper, never the helped."

The thought seemed to emerge from nowhere, nesting in Darcy’s mind like an imperceptible seed. She furrowed her brow slightly, as if something had brushed against her awareness, but quickly shook her head, trying to ignore the feeling.

"Little Darcy, a sidekick in her own life, isn’t she? Just... ordinary."

Wanda let the spell do its work—subtle, almost undetectable. It wasn’t enough to destroy Darcy, but it was enough to plant that shadow. A thought that would surface on the loneliest nights, when she looked in the mirror and wondered who she could have been.

Satisfied, Wanda stepped back, a slight smile of triumph on her lips. It wasn’t just power that defined her—it was control. And as she watched Darcy cast a distracted glance of insecurity at her reflection, Wanda knew she was in command once again.

When Wanda opened her eyes, she was calmer, but anger still simmered beneath the surface. She couldn’t bear the thought of you dedicating any part of yourself to someone else, even if it was just friendship.

As Darcy stood and laughed loudly at something you said, Wanda clenched her fists at her sides. The red of her powers glimmered briefly in her palms before fading away.

"This is only the beginning," Wanda thought. She couldn’t allow anything—or anyone—to come between the two of you.

Wanda turned toward the lake, her eyes fixed on the horizon as she wrestled with the conflicting feelings inside her. The sorceress within her constantly whispered, urging for more control, more dominance, but Wanda wasn’t ready to fully give in—not yet.

For now, Darcy was safe. But Wanda knew that if she had to, she wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to ensure you stayed exactly where she wanted.

The campfire crackled, sparks shooting up into the star-speckled dark sky. The sweet aroma of toasted marshmallows mingled with the fresh night air. Students were scattered around, sitting on makeshift logs or blankets. Laughter echoed as everyone settled in for an evening of stories and fun.

Rio, with her contagious smile and an out-of-tune guitar, was leading the group in a singalong, struggling to keep up with the chaotic voices of the students.

“Come on, guys! Louder! You sound like zombies!” she exclaimed, laughing as she strummed simple chords.

“Louder and more off-key…” Agatha grumbled from the other side of the fire, rolling her eyes dramatically. She sat with a cup of coffee—seemingly conjured from nowhere—wearing an expression of pure boredom.

“You’re killing the vibe, Agatha,” Rio teased, strumming a chord for comedic effect. “Be happy for once in your life!”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, replying in her trademark sarcastic tone, “Oh, sorry. My happiness is stuck in the same place as your ability to play the guitar.”

The fire exploded with laughter.

“That’s so mean!” you laughed, pointing at Agatha. “I think you just lost your chance to be the night’s favorite.”

“As if I care about being the favorite,” Agatha retorted, though a small smile played on her lips.

Meanwhile, Yelena and Kate were trying to balance marshmallows on improvised sticks, with Kate complaining that hers was burning.

“That’s how it tastes best!” Yelena argued, biting into a marshmallow charred black with enthusiasm.

“That’s pure ash!” Kate said, horrified.

“Gourmet ash.”

Across the fire, Wanda sat with a rigid posture, watching the scene with a mixture of fascination and discomfort. The firelight danced in her eyes, making the green orbs almost ethereal. You noticed that, even amidst the chaos, her gaze always seemed to find you.

“Time for ghost stories!” one of the students shouted, excited.

Rio clapped her hands. “Great idea! Who’s starting?”

A skinny student raised his hand with a mischievous grin. “I have a story about Professor Harkness. They say she’s been spotted wandering around at midnight, talking to cats and—”

Agatha raised her hand, cutting him off with a sweet but threatening smile. “Finish that sentence, and I promise you’ll have the lowest grade of your life.”

More laughter erupted as the student gave an exaggerated bow.

Bruce, sitting a bit farther away and cleaning his glasses, finally chimed in: “Why not a science story? Something truly terrifying?”

“Terrifying? Like your physics lectures?” Yelena quipped, earning another round of laughter from the group.

As everyone laughed and shared stories, you noticed Wanda had a faint smile on her lips—something rare and precious. When Rio began strumming another lighthearted tune, you saw Wanda relax slightly, though she still seemed distant.

“Hey, Wanda,” Agatha called, her tone teasing. “Aren’t you going to tell a story? Something about witches and sorcery, perhaps?”

Wanda narrowed her eyes at Agatha, but there was something playful in her gaze. “I think I can do that,” she replied, to everyone’s surprise.

Wanda crossed her legs gracefully, the firelight casting dramatic shadows on her face. Her voice was soft but carried a weight that held everyone’s attention. She gave you a long, deliberate look—somewhere between predatory and curious—before she began.

“Once upon a time… there was a sweet, lonely girl.”

The group fell silent, the sounds of the forest around them fading into the background.

“She lived in a small village, isolated from the world. She was known for her beauty and kindness—a rare combination that made everyone around her admire her. But the girl didn’t want everyone’s attention. Her heart was set on just one person: the crown prince of the kingdom.”

Wanda paused, letting the suspense linger. Her eyes met yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

"The prince was everything she dreamed of—strong, charismatic, and kind… at least in her eyes. One day, the prince hosted a grand ball, and the girl decided she would do anything to win his heart. But there was one problem."

"Let me guess," Kate interrupted. "She didn’t have a dress, and then a fairy godmother shows up?"

"That’s another story," Wanda replied with an enigmatic smile. "In this one, instead of a fairy godmother, a witch appeared."

The silence returned, even heavier this time.

"The witch saw the girl crying by a lake, her tears sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight. She approached—gentle and seductive—promising to help her. ‘I will grant you eternal beauty, irresistible charm, and the chance to win the prince’s heart,’ the witch said."

Wanda leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to an almost-whisper. "The girl, naive and desperate, accepted the pact without question. And that night, she danced with the prince at the ball. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, nor his hands. She felt she had finally achieved her dream. But there was a price."

Agatha scoffed, clearly skeptical. "There always is."

Wanda ignored the jab and continued, "The next morning, the girl woke up in a dark cabin, bound by chains of silver that shimmered like candlelight. The witch was there, smiling. ‘You wanted the prince, and I gave you one night. Now, your strength, your youth, and your beauty belong to me.’"

Rio let out a dramatic sigh. "How tragic! Poor girl."

"But that’s not the scariest part," Wanda said, her eyes locking onto yours again, as if the story were meant only for you. "The girl never stopped dreaming of the prince, even as the witch drained her life little by little. Because the witch’s true power wasn’t just stealing her beauty—it was making her long for something she could never have. And every time the girl wished, the witch grew stronger."

Your heart raced. You knew it was just a story, but the way Wanda told it—the intensity in her gaze—made it feel far too real.

"And what happened to the girl?" someone finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Wanda smiled—a cold, victorious smile directed at you. "She’s still there, in the cabin, staring into the mirror and wishing. Because some prisons don’t have walls, only unreachable desires."

The fire crackled, as if emphasizing the story’s end. Wanda leaned back in her seat, her eyes never leaving yours, while an uncomfortable silence hung over the group.

Agatha finally broke the moment. "Well, that was… absolutely depressing. Thanks for that, Wanda."

Rio tried to lighten the mood by playing a cheerful melody on her guitar, but you still felt the weight of Wanda’s gaze. She seemed to be daring you to react, to retreat, or to do something she could manipulate.

But you didn’t step back. And, for a brief moment, you were certain you saw the corner of Wanda’s mouth lift into an almost imperceptible smile.

The forest was cloaked in an almost absolute silence, broken only by the sound of your quick steps crushing dried leaves. Wanda’s story still lingered in your mind, like a persistent echo, and you felt like you needed air, space—anything to escape the weight of that intense gaze.

You walked away from the campfire, wandering aimlessly, the faint starlight barely illuminating the path between the tall trees. The air was cold and heavy with moisture, but it was better than being under Wanda’s watchful eyes.

“Hiding, darling?” Her voice came from behind you, low and almost seductive.

You spun around quickly, your heart racing. Wanda was there, just a few meters away, arms crossed, her hair gleaming under the moonlight. How she always managed to look so flawless, even in the middle of the forest, was a mystery you couldn’t comprehend.

“I… I just needed some air,” you finally replied. “And what was that story?” you asked, trying to sound firm, but the tension in your voice was obvious.

Her smile was slow, predatory. “It’s what’s going to happen to you,” she said, stepping forward, her eyes locked on yours. “Or do you think I haven’t noticed your ridiculous crush on that insignificant girl?”

Your stomach twisted, and you instinctively stepped back. “What? What are you talking about? Darcy is just my friend!”

“Oh, please.” Wanda laughed, but there was no humor in her voice. “I don’t need to read your mind to see how you look at her. That silly smile, the fleeting glances—it’s pathetic.”

You felt your face heat with embarrassment and anger. “You can’t talk to me like that! What do you even know about me?”

“More than you’d like me to,” she murmured, her eyes glowing with a faint red light.

The tension between you grew with every passing second, like a taut string about to snap. Wanda stepped closer again, and this time, you didn’t back away.

“Why do you care?” you demanded, your voice defiant. “Why are you so obsessed with who I like or don’t like?”

Wanda’s smile vanished, and something darker overtook her expression. “Because you’re mine,” she said simply, as if it were an undeniable truth.

Before you could respond, the air around Wanda began to shimmer with red energy. Her eyes turned fully scarlet, and tendrils of pure magic emerged from her back, writhing in the air like hungry serpents.

“Let’s see how far you can go.”

She rose into the sky with a swift motion, her silhouette stark against the darkness of the forest, like a vengeful goddess. There was no choice. Instinct took over, and you started running, your feet stumbling over uneven ground as branches closed in around you like living traps.

“You can run,” Wanda mocked, her voice seeming to come from every direction, “but you can’t escape.”

The magical tendrils lashed around you, toppling trees and ripping chunks from the ground. You leaped over fallen trunks and pushed through thorny bushes, your heart pounding with growing terror.

Suddenly, one of the tendrils struck beside you, tearing a chunk of earth and causing you to stumble. You fell, rolling through the dirt, and when you looked up, Wanda was there, hovering above you like a goddess of destruction, her face illuminated by a scarlet glow.

“Get up,” she ordered, her voice low and laced with authority. “Prove that you’re not as weak as you seem.”

Your body trembled, but something within you refused to give up. Slowly, you rose to your feet, your eyes locked on hers. For the first time, you realized that beneath all her fury and power, there was something else—a desperate need for control, for you.

And you decided it wouldn’t be so easy to give in.

The ground beneath your feet seemed to pulse, as if the forest were alive, reacting to Wanda’s oppressive presence. You ran, the sound of your own breathing drowned out by the eerie whispers of the trees around you. The shadows stretched, invisible hands trying to grab you as you dodged twisted branches that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Do you really think you can escape me?” Wanda’s voice echoed through the forest, almost soft but full of menace. “You belong to me. And I don’t lose what’s mine.”

You tripped over a root that seemed to move deliberately to trip you, falling to your knees. Panic rose, but so did a spark of defiance. Looking back, you saw Wanda floating above the ground, the red tendrils glowing like whips of pure energy. Her eyes were entirely scarlet, her expression a mix of rage and… something you couldn’t identify.

“Is that what you call a fight?” Wanda taunted, her voice sharp as a blade.

“That’s cheating!” you shouted, trying to buy time as you got to your feet.

Wanda laughed, a low and dangerous sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Darling, what made you think this would ever be fair?”

With a wave of her hand, the trees around you came alive. Grotesque faces appeared on the trunks, mouths open in silent screams, as branches extended like arms, trying to grab you.

You ran again, dodging a branch that almost caught your ankle. “You’re insane!” you shouted, but your voice trembled more from adrenaline than fear.

“Insane?” Wanda repeated, her voice seeming to come from everywhere. “Perhaps. But at least I’m honest about what I want. You, on the other hand, keep pretending you don’t feel anything. That you don’t feel me. That you don’t dream about this every day too.”

Her words hit you like invisible blows, each sharper than the last. Your heart raced, your lungs burned as you kept running, but those sentences echoed within you, cutting deep.

The dreams. She knew about them? About the images that haunted you—of the two of you as a family, laughing together, complete. A future you’d never dare to admit you wanted.

The confusion was overwhelming because, despite everything, there was something about Wanda that was impossible to ignore. An irresistible force pulling you in, like gravity, even as she hunted you like prey.

Your mind screamed to resist, but her magnetism was undeniable—engulfing, dangerous. And in that moment, you wondered if running was truly an option or merely a futile attempt to escape something that had always been destined to happen.

“I am not yours!” you shouted, more to yourself than to her.

“Oh, but you are,” Wanda replied, her voice now closer. “And you know it. I can feel it in the way you try to resist. It’s adorable, but futile.”

You stumbled down a slope, sliding clumsily as the uneven ground struck sparks of pain through your body with each impact. When you finally stopped at the base of a grotesque tree, its twisted branches like arms ready to grasp, you tried to stand—but it was already too late.

Wanda was there. Hovering over you like a vision of absolute power, her feet floating inches above the ground as the force of her magic made the surrounding trees shudder and groan.

“Tired already, darling?” she taunted, her voice silky yet laced with an implicit threat. Slowly, her feet touched the ground, every movement deliberate and purposeful. “I could do this all night.”

You gasped, your body trembling but refusing to yield. Your eyes met hers—burning red—and there was something defiant in your own gaze. “Why are you doing this? Why me?”

For a fleeting moment, something shifted in Wanda’s face. The dark intensity faltered, and a deeper emotion surfaced—but only for an instant. “Because you challenge me. Because you were made for me. For love… or for death.”

She raised a hand, and immediately the earth around you began to move, as if it were alive. Roots and branches emerged to bind you, wrapping around your arms and legs, pinning you down against your will.

“Now,” Wanda continued, her voice low and carrying a calm menace. “Let’s see if you can admit it before I decide what to do with you.”

The battle was no longer just physical. It was a war of wills, an unbearable tension growing with each passing second. The air around you felt electrified, pulsating as if the very environment awaited the inevitable explosion.

The branches of the grotesque tree seemed to come alive, gripping you with relentless force and lifting you off the ground. You screamed, but the struggle was futile. Like a puppet on invisible strings, you were dragged closer to Wanda, who stood still, motionless, like a statue of pure power.

She didn’t smile, but the look she fixed on you was more devastating than any expression. Her gaze scanned every detail—the scratches on your face, the thin cuts on your arms—absorbing each fragment of your vulnerability.

With deliberate gentleness, Wanda lifted you into the skies with her—only the moon and stars bore witness to the tension between you. Her presence was overwhelming, and every movement seemed charged with absolute control, like a predator savoring the imminent victory. When you finally stopped before her, there was something almost tender in her expression.

“Let me see,” she commanded, her cold fingers brushing against the bruised skin of your face.

You tried to pull away, but the pain was too real, and her touch, as possessive as it was, carried an unexpected hint of care. Before you could react, she tilted her head and pressed her lips to one of the scratches on your face. The pain disappeared instantly, replaced by a warm, inexplicable sensation.

“You—” Your voice faltered, caught between shock and something you didn’t want to name.

Without hesitation, Wanda repeated the gesture on another bruise, then another. Each kiss was a confusing mix of relief and an overwhelming pulse that made your heart race. It was as if she was imprinting something on you, an invisible yet permanent mark.

“Why are you doing this?” you managed to ask, but your voice came out as a whisper.

Wanda paused, her blazing eyes meeting yours as if she could see not just this life, but all the lives you had shared. For an instant, it seemed she was about to confess something that transcended words, something that defied the very fabric of fate. Vulnerability flickered in her features, fleeting as the reflection of a comet, before disappearing under the unyielding firmness of her expression.

“Because you are mine,” she said finally, her voice low but laden with conviction that spanned eras and realities.

As if it were the only truth she knew.

Those words weren’t just a declaration; they were a primordial truth of the universe, a force that tethered the stars to the sky and kept the delicate threads between multiverses connected.

Your mind reeled, unable to grasp the weight of her confession. The relentless chase, the raw violence, the unexpected tenderness—all pieces of a puzzle that formed something greater than any destiny. The way she looked at you, as if every part of you was a long-lost secret, spoke louder than a thousand words ever could.

It wasn’t just possession, nor obsession. It was something as eternal as time, as life, as death. And suddenly, you understood. It wasn’t Wanda who bound you; it was destiny itself.

Dr. Wanda Maximoff, brilliant and dangerous, wasn’t just a woman. She was a force larger than this world, larger than any other. In her presence, you felt a visceral truth: in some inexplicable way, you were part of her. You were her other half, a soul her magic had recognized from time immemorial, as if both of you belonged to a cycle that could never be broken.

As this truth took shape in your mind, your eyes fixed on the dark horizon of the forest, where the night seemed to breathe in unison with the two of you.

“Maybe—” your voice came out soft, hesitant, but laden with silent certainty. “Maybe what the princess wanted all along wasn’t the prince…”

You paused, the silence now filled with the sound of distant crickets and the wind dancing through the trees. But most of all, it was the glow in Wanda’s eyes that stood out—capturing the reflection of the stars and something deeper, more intimate. She didn’t look away; instead, she held your gaze, as though she was waiting—or dreading—the end of your sentence.

You turned to her, and the emotion began to swell. The knot in your throat threatened to choke the words, but you knew you had to say them. Your eyes, glistening, met hers, which shone with the intensity of someone who finally sees a secret unveiled. With an almost imperceptible smile on your lips, you finished, in a whisper that felt sacred:

“…Maybe all along.” Your voice broke, a tear trailing down the corner of your eye. “All the princess ever wanted and needed… was the witch.”

Wanda blinked rapidly, but she couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks. The strength she had held so tightly seemed to crumble, and her breath hitched at the sound of your words. The depth of the moment was overwhelming, and the smile that curved her lips was both a confession and a surrender.

Your heart raced, not out of fear, but from sheer energy. It was as if the entire multiverse had stopped to witness this moment. Compelled by a force you didn’t understand but couldn’t deny, you surged forward—your right hand tangling in Wanda’s auburn hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers, while the other found the nape of her neck, warm and pulsating with the life that seemed to radiate directly from her magic.

Your lips crashed into hers in a kiss as fierce as it was inevitable, like two primordial forces colliding at the epicenter of a storm. For a brief moment, Wanda was still, perhaps surprised by the intensity of the gesture, but that lasted only a second. Once she surrendered to the moment, she took control as though it was hers by right.

Her lips moved against yours with a blend of possessiveness and precision, as though every motion had been rehearsed through the ages. You tried to match her rhythm, but Wanda allowed no hesitation. Her hand slid up your back, dragging her fingers firmly, almost as if mapping every inch of you. The other hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, so close there was no room for air between you.

Your tongue met hers, and the shock of the contact was like an electric explosion. Wanda was not gentle but intense, like a flame burning without seeking permission. Every movement was deep, every action calculated to claim. She tasted you as if memorizing every detail, every flavor. You tried to respond with the same hunger, but she wouldn’t let you lead. She controlled the pace—sometimes slow and deliberate, sometimes voracious and relentless.

Your fingers tightened in her hair, pulling slightly, and it elicited a low sound, almost a growl, from Wanda. She pressed you even closer, your back arching into her. Her heat was nearly suffocating, the vibrant energy radiating from her body enveloping you completely, like a current pulling you into a whirlpool of pure desire.

Your mouths parted briefly, just enough to catch your breath. But before you could recover, Wanda captured your lips again, this time with even greater intensity, as if determined to etch this moment into the present and every timeline.

The magic surrounding her reacted to the kiss as if it had a will of its own. The air vibrated, the trees pulsed, and the sky above Westview lit up with a scarlet glow. It was as if the universe itself reflected the power of what was happening between you—a collision of souls that transcended barriers and realities.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your faces so close your foreheads touched. Wanda's eyes glowed intensely, red as embers, and your own eyes mirrored something between awe and desire.

“God—” Wanda whispered, her voice rough and laden with something indefinable. Her hands still held you firmly, as if afraid you might vanish. “Tell me you feel it too.”

You could only nod, speechless, because all that remained was the certainty that this kiss had changed everything. It wasn’t just a physical act; it was a fusion of two existences destined to collide—a moment where chaos and order became one pulsating entity. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you could never escape her—and, secretly, you never wanted to.

You opened your eyes just in time to see the universe react. It was as if every dimension felt the echo of that moment—a wave of pure magic and emotion spreading, connecting lives and stories in a single brilliant point.

Wanda, now with a smile that blended triumph with something dangerously close to tenderness, cupped your face with both hands. Her eyes still burned with chaos magic, but there was something human there too—a soft glow, a trace of vulnerability. “Now,” she whispered, as if speaking to herself. “Now I’m complete. Thanks to you, my soulmate.”

The weight of her words echoed within you like an ancient melody, a song you had always known by heart, even without ever hearing it. And as the multiverse seemed to bow in reverence to this moment, you realized that no matter how confused you were, there was no denying it. You weren’t just two souls. You were a constant, a truth that transcended lives and destinies.

The walk back to the camp was wrapped in a heavy, almost suffocating silence. You trailed a few steps behind Wanda, still feeling the ghostly sensation of the branches that had held you and her touch, which burned more than it healed.

Wanda walked with her head high, but her clenched jaw and tight fists betrayed something beneath her controlled exterior. The silence wasn’t just hers; you didn’t know what to say either. Every possible word felt inadequate in the wake of what had just happened.

When the lights of the camp finally appeared through the trees, it was a bitter relief. The distant sound of other students’ voices and the warm glow of campfires provided a stark contrast to the weight of the walk.

As you both emerged from the last line of trees and approached the center of the camp, one of the students ran toward you, his eyes wide and his face lit with almost childlike excitement.

“Come quick!” he exclaimed, pointing toward the sky. “There’s a meteor shower—red meteors!”

You glanced at Wanda, who froze immediately. She lifted her eyes to the sky, her lips pressed into a thin line. Something in her expression—a mix of worry and something almost… amused—made your stomach churn.

Raising your eyes to the sky, you saw what the student was describing. Bright red streaks crossed the night, like shooting stars, but different. More intense, more alive. There was something supernatural about their beauty, something that didn’t feel like it belonged to the natural world.

“These… aren’t meteors, are they?” you asked in a low tone, meant only for Wanda.

She didn't reply immediately, keeping her gaze fixed on the sky, but the tension in her shoulders was hard to miss. Finally, she tilted her head slightly toward you, her voice a low murmur: "No. They're... remnants. Fragments of my power."

Her answer hit you like a punch. It was obvious, really, but hearing it out loud made it feel far more real. Those streaks in the sky, so beautiful and surreal, were the echoes of something infinitely more dangerous.

“They won’t get hurt, will they?” you asked, the concern slipping out involuntarily.

Wanda finally tore her gaze from the sky to meet yours. There was something almost proud in her eyes, as if she appreciated the question. But her response was firm. “No. It’s only a reflection. They’ll feel nothing but awe.”

The student ran back to the group, shouting excitedly for more people to look at the sky. Animated conversations and laughter began to fill the camp as everyone marveled at the supposed "meteor shower."

You stayed by Wanda’s side, feeling the weight of the secret you now shared. Every red streak in the sky was a reminder of who she was—and what she was capable of.

Finally, Wanda broke the silence between you. “It’s curious,” she said softly, her eyes still on the sky. “They look at this as something magical, enchanting. They have no idea it’s something so... ordinary to me.”

“Ordinary?” you repeated, incredulous. You could hardly believe what you were hearing. It wasn’t just the tone in Wanda’s voice but what it implied—her apparent indifference to the power she wielded like a second skin, something you could only imagine and, even then, fear.

She could have killed you. As if you were nothing. A mere flick of her hand would have been enough to reduce you to eternal silence, to oblivion. But that wasn’t what she did. No, instead, she chose something infinitely more complex. More confusing. More cruel and tender all at once.

She kissed your wounds, not with pity but with reverence. Every scratch on your skin was treated as something worthy of care, something deserving of attention. Where the heat of her power could have left ashes, Wanda chose to leave solace.

You wondered why she did it. Why someone so powerful—so capable of destruction, so distant in her essence—would choose to bow to tenderness for someone so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. You were no weapon, no threat, and certainly no equal to her.

Wanda gave a slight smile—almost sad, but with a hint of arrogance. “Yes. Power is... just that. A tool. Beautiful, maybe, but dangerous. Like fire.”

You stared at her for a long moment, trying to grasp the complexity hidden behind those words. But before you could respond, Wanda took a step forward, heading toward the circle of students gathered to admire the sky.

She was an imposing figure but strangely human under that light. For a moment, you wondered how the others saw her. As someone brilliant, respectable... but never as the Wanda you had met in that forest.

As she walked away, you found yourself frozen, unable to decide whether to follow her or keep some distance. Because, somehow, you knew: that night had changed everything.

The night finally quieted after curfew. The lively chatter of the students gave way to the subtle sound of wind rustling through the trees and the occasional crack of branches. You were in your tent, lying down, but sleep didn’t come easily. Your mind was still processing the walk, the hunt, the "meteors."

Eventually, exhaustion won, and sleep came without warning. And with it, once again, the dream.

You were in a vast field bathed in a soft golden light, and a little girl ran ahead of you. Her steps were as light as a deer’s, her melodious laughter filling the space. You tried to catch up, calling out, but your voice seemed muffled, unable to bridge the distance between you.

The girl suddenly stopped, spinning around to face you. Her hair shone in the sunlight, and the face that had been a blurry smudge was now clear. But it was her eyes that froze you in place. A deep, vibrant green, full of life and mystery. The same eyes you had stared into before.

“Do you know who I am?” the girl asked, her tone sweet but laden with something older, wiser.

Before you could answer, the field began to collapse around you, as if the world were dissolving into a vortex of red light and darkness. You tried to scream but woke with a start, your heart pounding wildly, your chest heaving.

The dream left you shaken but resolute. There was no more room for doubt or waiting. You needed to confront Wanda. You needed to understand what was happening.

Moving quickly and still disoriented, you got up and left the tent, your bare feet sinking into the cold earth. But before you could take another step, something caught your attention.

A light.

Red and pulsing, like a beating heart. It hovered in the air not far away, glowing with a supernatural brilliance. It was impossible to tell where it came from, but there was something about it that held you captive, made it impossible to ignore.

You took a hesitant step toward the light, and it pulsed again, as if calling to you. Your chest tightened, but even so, you continued. It was as if an invisible force was pulling you, something stronger than logic or fear.

“Wanda?” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted an answer.

The light didn’t respond but began to move, slowly, as if guiding you.

The camp around you seemed deserted, the tents motionless under the pale moonlight. With each step, the red light drew you deeper into the forest, and though there was something terrifying about the path, there was also a strange familiarity.

You felt compelled to follow. Somehow, you knew this was tied to the girl in the dream. To the green eyes. To Wanda.

And then, the light stopped.

It hovered between two ancient, gnarled trees, like guardians of a portal. Its glow intensified, and you noticed that, beyond the red, there was now a golden hue surrounding it, like an aura.

You hesitated, your heart pounding against your ribs. Every instinct in your body screamed that stepping through that invisible portal would change everything.

But before you could decide, a soft yet unmistakably firm voice echoed around you.

“You really are brave, aren’t you?”

You turned quickly, and there she was. Wanda, emerging from the shadows as if she had been there all along. The look in her eyes was intense, almost disarming.

“Did you come here to understand,” she asked, her arms crossed, her tone devoid of mockery. “Or to run again?”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "I want to know the truth. About you. About me. About… all of this."

Wanda tilted her head slightly, the corner of her lips curving into a smile that seemed more melancholic than satisfied. "Then come," she said, gesturing to the red glow pulsing between the trees. "I'll show you what you want to know."

The walk to the cabin was silent. Wanda led, and the red light that had guided you before now seemed absorbed into her figure, pulsing from her fingers, as a natural extension of her presence. The forest grew denser, but you hardly noticed the trees or the uneven ground.

Your thoughts were consumed by what she would say, by what you were about to discover.

Finally, you arrived.

The cabin was small, with old wooden walls and a chimney that looked long since extinguished. It was nothing like the teachers' cabins at the camp, which were practical and modern. This one seemed pulled from a dark fairy tale, a relic from another time. There was something comforting yet unsettling about the place.

Wanda opened the door with a flick of her hand, and you stepped inside, hesitating. The interior was simple but cozy. A fireplace occupied the main wall, with some worn armchairs scattered around.

Bookshelves filled the walls, and a small table was covered with candles, crystals, and notebooks.

She closed the door behind you and sighed deeply before turning to face you.

"You deserve answers," Wanda said, her voice low but firm. She gestured to one of the armchairs, indicating that you sit.

You obeyed, trying to appear calmer than you truly felt. Wanda remained standing, pacing the room as if organizing her thoughts.

"My full name is Wanda Maximoff," she began, her eyes fixed on the fireplace as if speaking was easier without facing you. "I am… or was… an Avenger. One of a group of heroes who tried to save the world countless times. Some would call it heroism, but for me, it was always more complicated."

She turned to you, her eyes burning with something between pain and determination.

"Inside me, there is something I can't always control. The Scarlet Witch. An ancient and immense power, linked to chaos magic. It’s not just a power; it’s almost… an entity. She is part of me, but also something beyond. Something dangerous."

You swallowed hard but remained silent, absorbing every word.

"I've lost so much because of this power," Wanda continued. "My brother, Pietro. He died fighting for something greater than the both of us. Then came Vision…" Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath before continuing.

"Vision was… is… someone I loved deeply. He was a synthezoid, a creation, but had more humanity in him than many of us. He was destroyed, and I… I created a reality to try and bring him back. But it was a mistake. A mistake that hurt people."

She stepped closer, her eyes locked on yours now.

"The boys… Billy and Tommy. My sons." Her voice trembled with emotion. "They were real to me, even though they came from an illusion I created. I loved every moment of that, and losing them… it was like losing a part of myself."

Wanda sat down in the chair opposite yours, her posture tired.

"After that, I went in search of answers. I explored the multiverses. I created different worlds, different versions of myself and everyone I knew. Some were beautiful, others… terrifying. But in all of them, there was one constant: the chaos inside me."

She paused, and you noticed she was studying you.

"And then, there is you," she said, her tone shifting, softening. "You're not like anyone I've ever met. There's something in you that… challenges me, calls to me. As if it was inevitable that our lives would cross."

Your heart sped up, but Wanda continued before you could respond.

"And Seline," she said, the name echoing in the air like something sacred. "The little girl from your dreams. She is real, in a sense that transcends what you know as reality. She is a possibility, a piece of something greater. A connection between us, between what I was, what I am, and what we can be."

You felt your throat dry, but managed to ask, your voice weak: "We… who? Are you saying that…?"

Wanda smiled, but it was a smile full of mystery. "The two of us are connected. I don't know exactly how or why. But I know that Seline is proof that we've lived this many times."

The silence that followed was heavy, yet full of possibilities. You knew there was much more to understand, but you also knew that somehow, you were no longer alone on this journey. Wanda was there, with all her strength, pain, and intensity, and strangely, that gave you courage.

"Now," Wanda said, leaning forward, her eyes glowing intensely. "If you're ready to accept this, we can make it all happen. Together." Her eyes glowed red.

You felt like you didn't know how to breathe. "But… Vision, the boys. You already have a life here. How could I fit in? You're Professor Wanda Maximoff in this universe, married with children." Tears shimmered in your eyes.

Wanda remained silent for a moment, watching the tears glisten in your eyes. She seemed to be battling something, as if every word she was about to say required more than she had to offer.

"Do you think it's easy for me, too?" she finally said, her voice low but filled with an emotion that felt almost overwhelming. "Do you think I don't feel the same? That I don't wonder where you fit, or how I could give up the life I've already built for something I can't even explain yet?"

You tried to hold her gaze, but the intensity in her red eyes was almost unbearable. "Then why insist? Why continue with this if everything is so complicated?"

"Because you're here!" Wanda almost shouted, her control faltering for a moment. The scarlet glow around her pulsed, and the furniture in the cabin shook lightly. "Because even with all of this, even with Vision, with the boys, with the responsibilities, you're here. And every part of me tells me that you've always been."

The silence that followed was filled only with the rapid beat of your heart. You didn't know what to say. You didn't know how to respond to her intensity, but you also couldn't ignore the way her words seemed to awaken something deep within you.

"You speak of Seline as if she's an answer," you said finally, your voice stronger now. "But what about us? And everything this means?"

Wanda took a step closer, the red energy around her softening but still present. "We are the starting point. We always were. Seline is just the reflection of that, the proof that there’s something greater than these lives we’ve lived apart. Something that transcends time, universes."

"But Vision…" you began, but Wanda raised her hand, gently interrupting you.

"Vision knows what I am," she said, and there was an unmistakable sadness in her voice. "He always knew. I created him, but he’s not my destiny. He is kindness, stability. But you… you are chaos, like me. And maybe that’s the right thing."

You took a deep breath, trying to process it all. "So… what do we do now?"

Wanda smiled, but this time it was a softer smile, almost melancholic. "Now, we figure out how to make this work. But I can't promise it will be easy, and I can't promise we’ll come out of this without scars."

You didn’t say anything, just looked out the window—finally sighing as you saw the sun rising horizontally among the trees.

The dawn arrived like a whispered promise, the first touch of light painting the sky in golden and crimson hues. You and Wanda stood side by side, at the threshold of the cabin, watching the silent spectacle. The world seemed to breathe again, and even with the weight of the unknown hanging over you, there was something reassuring in the way the sun broke the darkness, persistent and unwavering.

The cool breeze touched your face, but Wanda's presence at your side was even more tangible. Her fingers brushed yours, a hesitant touch, as if testing the strength of this bond that now seemed impossible to ignore. Wanda turned her face to you, her eyes still carrying the echoes of the vibrant red that always seemed to dance in the depths of her soul.

"This is what we are," she said softly, her voice blending with the gentle sound of the leaves dancing in the wind. "Like the sun and the night. Always in a cycle, always chasing each other. But when we find balance, for a brief moment, we create something beautiful."

You looked at her, the first rays of sunlight illuminating the contours of her face, softening the intensity that so often defined her. "And when there’s no balance? When everything is just chaos?"

Wanda smiled, a small smile, filled with painful wisdom. "Chaos is also a way to create. It destroys, but it also makes room for something new to be born."

Her words weighed on you, as if they carried more than just a simple meaning. Maybe she was talking about the two of you, or perhaps she was referring to something much larger, something you still couldn’t fully comprehend.

The sun was now fully visible, spreading its light across the world like an artist on their canvas. And as you watched that spectacle, you realized that despite all the darkness, there was beauty in the dawn.

Just as there was beauty in standing beside Wanda, even when everything seemed so terribly complicated.

"Do you think we can make it?" you asked, your voice low, but filled with a vulnerability you didn’t try to hide.

"I think we already are," Wanda answered, her gaze firm and filled with a certainty you didn’t know whether to comfort her or yourself.

And so, at the threshold between night and day, between hope and fear, you and Wanda found something that seemed undeniably real. Perhaps it was just a moment, perhaps the beginning of something much larger. But for now, that was enough.

~*~

Wanted: powerful goddess witch to throw me against the wall and impegnate me.

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse

[gingerteawrites]

Beyond the limelight - Gojo Satoru

A/N: Wow thank you all so much for enjoying Limelight. As promised, here is a short epilogue to conclude the story. If you haven't already, read the main story here.

I will write more actor!Gojo x reader headcannons if requested, so do let me know!

Content: actor!Gojo x female reader, fluff.

Divider by @v6que

Glamor and glitz were the words of the night. Cameras flashing with blinding lights, and the carpet bearing witness to opulence that tethered the line of gaudiness.

Here it was, the culmintation of years of hard work. Of taking on seemingly insignificant roles and incessant practice. Years and years until Gojo finally made it into brightest spot of the limelight. The summum of any actor’s career. The academy awards.

After a rather exciting time on the red carpet, the ‘Romeo and Juliet’ cast and crew members took their place at their assigned table in the decorated theater. Distinct emotions tinged their light chatter; excitement, hope, and palpable nerves. The movie had done phenomenally in theatres, breaking box office records and earning nominations in multiple categories.

And with that came the hope of recognition. Awards were not everything, but they certainly were not nothing. You held the same hope in your heart, nestled between the cushions of your green couch and pillows, eyes fixed on the broadcast.

A series of fanciful montages and an eternity of product placements later, the hosts of the night finally climb the stage to announce the winner of the “best actor” category.

“And finally, the award for best actor goes to…” the lady’s voice draws out the suspense, directing an enigmatic smile at the camera. Your heart was thrumming in your chest, Gojo could hear his heartbeat vibrating in his ears.

A second passed, and you waited with bated breath. Separated by physical distance, but united in sentiments.

“Gojo Satoru! As Romeo,” the host all but shouted into the microphone, and the entire audience erupted in cheers.

You screamed in joy behind your TV, and being nudged out of a daze by the director, Gojo makes his way to the stage on unsteady feet. His hands are still trembling slightly when he is handed the award, but finally standing in front of the microphone, he steadies himself.

“Wow, is this what it feels like to be speechless?” The audience laughs faintly while he takes another moment to gather his thoughts. He breathes out, and leans in closer to the mic.

“I want to thank all of the production team for their efforts in this, everyone worked so, so hard,” he grinned towards his table, “thank you to all my fans who always support my projects, it really means the world,” a dazzling smile is directed into the camera.

He then looks down, his smile morphing into a more subdued one, a more earnest one. “But above all, thank you, my one and only love, watching at home,” he looks into the camera, and even though you are miles apart, you feel his gaze on you. Tears pool in your eyes. “For being my anchor when I felt like I was drifting away. For allowing me the room to grow and flourish. For letting me talk your ears off. I love you forever.”

And with that he stepped off the stage, waving at the assembly that presented a standing ovation.

It is needless to say that social media went into absolute madness after that speech. That bold declaration of love.

[OMG so he’s not dating Yuki?]

[It has to be a non-celeb then]

[So lucky bro]

[This was one hell of a hard launch]

Though you remained anonymous, Gojo honoring his commitment to you, he had still declared his love for you. Even in the brightest spot of the limelight, he belonged with you. And though you stood out of its blinding intensity, you too, belonged with him.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

[Hi love, just a heads up. I won’t be home when you get there, got that one work presentation I told you about] you typed quickly, phone in one hand and sandwich in another. After this lunch break, you were scheduled to present data on a project you were recently put in charge of, and your nerves were running high.

You knew a promotion hung on the line, a long anticipated one.

But Satoru had been there to encourage you all the way, listening to your rants about uncooperative co-workers and offering to help you practice. A smile graced your lips at the thought.

He was as busy as ever, now sought out by most of the major production companies. Gojo Satoru was beyond popular. He was a household name. But beyond the exhausting days and filled out schedules, time made for each other was all the more intentional. Honest conversations and comforting touches. You grew and you loved.

[Gotcha! And remember what I said, don’t stress bby. I know you’re going to kick it out of the park (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧] The reply elicited a chuckle from you.

[I’ll remember that. I love you]

[love you too bebe]

You cleaned your hands and returned to your desk, grabbed all the needed documents. You took in a deep breath and relaxed your shoulders. You got this.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

Click clack

You took your keys out of the hole and stepped in, door closing quietly behind you.

Your nose immediately caught whiff of the pleasant aroma that permeated your living room. You heard Satoru’s voice, belting along with Rihanna to umbrella, causing you to smile.

He pauses as soon as he catches a glimpse of you. ”Hey sweetheart!” He beams at you, turning the volume down.

“Hi Satoru,” you’re hanging your jacket, “What are you making?”

“Well, your favorite, of course!” He comes into full view, and you laugh at the sight of his flower-embroidered apron. “Now, cut the suspense. How did the meeting go?”

You look to the ground, sighing dejectedly as you finally manage to slip out of your shoes. Immediately the mood shifts, and Gojo steps closer, arms open.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” he is right about to engulf you in the most comforting hug ever when you look up with a bright smile.

“Sorry for what? I got the promotion!” You jump with joy, and he picks you up, twirling you around the small living room. Gleeful laughs fill the space as you secure your arms around his neck.

He finally sets you down, but still holds your waist, pulling you close for a kiss. Then another. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’ve worked so hard for this,” The earnest words make a pout appear on your lips and tears threaten to fall from your eyes. He promptly kisses them away, dragging you into the kitchen. “And now time for the celebratory meal!”

You’re helping set the table when you notice something.

“Satoru why are there 2 cakes?” he dashes over to you as you open the box with a cake that reads ‘they suck anyway’

“Wrong one,” he swiftly pulls that one away, and opens the one that said ‘I always knew you could do it!’

You burst into laughter, taking in the view of your lover. You fight for each other in big and small ways. The man with whom you grow and learn. Your heart feels more full than your stomach after that dinner. Laid down on your couch, in each others’ embrace.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated(❁´◡`❁)

[covehearted]

I'm not sure if you've already done anything like this, and if you're not comfortable at all with the subject please ignore this request!! 😭

A loved one of mine passed away over the holidays and I was wondering if you had any headcannons for Cove abt helping mc with greif?

Ofc please don't feel pressure or force yourself!! :((

Your writing is always a pleasure to read. I wish you the best!!🫶

≻ — Cove helping you cope with grief

Tags: Discussion of loss, hurt/comfort

A/N: I'm sorry for your loss, anon. I hope I was able to write something that helped.

Cove Holden

There's nothing in the world that hurts Cove more than knowing you're in pain. He doesn't know how to handle the way your hurting makes him feel and he wishes he knew the exact right thing to say to make it all go away. But he doesn't.

When he sees you, curled up in your room with your body shaking, a breath away from falling apart – he freezes.

Loss isn’t something Cove is all too familiar with. Yes, his parents divorced and his family was separated but that was a different kind of loss entirely from the loss of a life, of a loved one. He hasn’t lost a relative like this. His maternal grandparents were still alive. He didn’t know anyone from his father’s side of the family.

He didn’t know how you felt and that tore him up inside. He wants to help so badly.

But when you look up at him, tired and teary, his own heart breaks. He doesn’t know the right thing to say because no magic words can undo your pain. But he can be there for you. And maybe that’s enough.

He opens his arms wide, a silent offer for comfort if you want physical contact. When you nod, a little sob finally breaking free from your chest he doesn’t hesitate to cross the room and into your space. He wraps himself around you, pulling you against his when he sits on your bed.

You’re safe like this. You can cling to his arm and cry as hard as you need to, if you want to scream then scream. Your emotions aren’t going to frighten him. You aren’t wrong for feeling and he’ll be with you through it, without judgment.

If you can’t express your feelings, if you’re so shocked you feel numb, that’s fine too. There’s no right way to grieve. There’s no right way to feel your emotions. He’ll hold you all the same, resting his cheek on the crown of your head and letting you know that no matter what, he’s there.

How you process your feelings isn’t anyone else’s business and Cove will gladly say that to anyone’s face if they have a problem. There isn’t a set timeline for recovery, you just need to take it day by day, moment by moment.

His arms squeeze tighter around you, wanting the warmth of his skin to ground you and remind you that you’re here, he’s here, and you’re so loved.

Someday the pain will settle. The loss you feel and the ache in your chest will be washed over, taken in, and reincorporated into your “normal” like footprints getting washed away by the tide.

It was alright that you weren't okay today. He would stay beside you until you were and every day after that.

[avengersome]

I'd like no. 20 for acgas :)

Prompt - “Please stop.”

(Setting - sometime in the new year, after the s5 CS)

The ride back from York, where she had been visiting her injured son at the military hospital, had felt interminable. At one end of the journey, her son, the most important man in her life. At the other end, the other most important man in her life, Siegfried Farnon.

Edward had asked her about what had happened before Christmas, and in explaining what had gone on she had realised something. She owed Siegfried an apology. She had screamed and shouted at him about the fox, and he had just stood there and taken it. More than that he had then saved the fox, watched over her as she slept, and listened to her without any judgment. She owed him an apology and also great thanks. Everybody had been supportive, but he had been the crutch that had kept her going.

“Ah, Mrs H, how did it go? How is the boy?”

“He’s doing alright,” she answered, smiling at the handsome vet as he walked to greet her from his study. “Mr Farnon… I wanted to say something, if I may.”

“Of course,” he replied with a slightly disconcerted expression. “You can say anything.”

“When I were worried about my Edward… I were very rude to you. I was very disrespectful. Terrible behaviour on my part.”

“Mrs Hall…”

“No, I was. You’re me employer and I behaved terribly, and you never pulled me up on it. You took care of me, you listened to me, you saved that fox, and I didn’t deserve any of it. I don’t deserve you at all, in fact. You’ve always been so kind and I…”

“Please stop,” Siegfried said gently, walking close and taking her hands in his. “I can only assume that during the course of your bus ride you have blown a tiny comment or thought entirely out of proportion, but if I may be allowed to respond?”

“Alright,” Audrey nodded sadly.

“I would do absolutely anything for you,” he told her, his voice soft and tender. “You were going through Hell, and I was happy to be there in whatever capacity you needed. I always am. And let’s be honest, I’m no longer your employer in anything other than the wages I pay you. You are my friend, and the woman I care about most in this world. So you don’t have to apologise to me for anything. What I did, I would do again in a heartbeat. For you.”

Tears rolled over her cheeks as she listened to him and watched the sincerity in his face. And then, for the first time in ten years of residing in the same house, she leant into his arms and allowed him to hold her gently.

“Do you mind?” she whispered as he rubbed her back in circles.

“Not in the slightest,” Siegfried chuckled, leaning his head lightly on hers as her arms wrapped around his waist. “Contrary to my earlier instruction, in this case please do not stop.”

[soobnotfound]

Thinkin bout you chapter [01. well...hello there my skibidi queen]

When  Zaidaan Amin lead guitarist of popular band Burnouts posts a not so tasteful comment about his labelmate katseyes logo their PR teams force the two groups to merge and befriend each other.What happens when shy Yn Vaughn, the lead singer of burnouts catches the eye of socially awkward dancer Megan Skiendiel?

The strong scent of coffee wafted around the  café as the low sound of discussion flowed through the building. Priya and Yn sat next to each other, Yn on the edge of the seat because yn had already formed the 'perfect' escape plan if anything went wrong. Priya played with a small rubix cube that her brother gave her (although it was missing a square). Meanwhile Flynn was reprimanding Zaidaan and telling him how to react when katseye got there. The group was so absorbed in their own world that when Sophia greeted them the first two times they hadn't realised at all.

"Yo. We're here garage band" Daniela said irritatedly which gauged the attention of the band

"We don't use fucking garage band" Zaidaan had mumbled to himself equally as irritated as Daniela due to the comment.

The members of katseye sat opposite the members of burnout a thick awkward tension lingering in the air that desperately needed to be broken, so taking it upon himself Zaidaan spoke first.

"It's so crazy that we're all here together two groups under HYBE x geffens getting along, ten crazy ki—"

YNS pov 

   "Our logo isn't stupid." The blonde one spoke interrupting Zaidaan (thank god).  

Zaidaan unfortunately being the argumentative and impulsive person that he is felt the need to respond to her "well it kind of is...I mean what is even going on with it? What's it mean, ya know I'd expect a cat to be on there or some—" 

I really tried to care about whatever the hell those two were talking about but I found it really hard, especially when the ginger one was looking at me. Like...full on staring me down, it was quite scary actually she kind of looked like she wanted to pounce and me and kill me. 

I sunk into my seat uncomfortably and attempted to avoid eye contact completely. 

"Girl she's totally checking you out" Priya mumbled poking my shoulder with the biggest grin known to mankind on her face.  

"No I think she just has a staring problem" I Whispered back to her trying to be as discreet as possible so the ginger girl didn't notice we were talking about her. 

I felt I needed to get out of this situation as soon as physically possible because the more the girl looked at me the more terrified I was, so I excused myself to the bathroom and immediately found refuge there.

3rd person Pov

Megan watched as yn left her seat which prompted Lara to play wingwoman for her hopeless friend 

"pretty sure you scared her off with your insistent staring, it was like you were trying to melt her with heat vision"

"I- no? She was just uh...okay you know what Lara, I don't appreciate your judgement." Megan attempted to switch her focus to her friend. 

"Right but you need it because this is hopeless...you should go talk to her alone and apologise for freaking her the fuck out" Lara squeezed Megan's shoulders whilst simultaneously pushing her to stand up.

"In the bathroom? Lara this is actually wild-" 

Lara cut her off "Bye bye now" waving her hands shooing Megan off to the bathroom.

“Uh hello? You in here, Miss band lady?” 

Yn held her breath hearing Megan's voice "what the fuck" she mumbled under her breath bracing herself and pushing open the door

"OH MY GOD GET BACK!" Yn shouted using a bidet to protect herself which proved to be both pathetic and ineffective only resulting in both yn and Megan soaked in water.

"WHAT THE FUCK CHILL!" Megan screamed as she pulled the bidet from yns hands and  turned it towards yn further drenching the poor girl

"Dude what the hell!!?" Yn grabbed the bidet and threw it to the ground.

...

The two girls stood in silence for a moment, their bodies entirely drenched in water, hair sopping and clothes dripping.

Yn looked up at Megan and a small grin appeared on her face. 

Megan looked up at Yn and began to laugh, the two girls both began to burst into a fit of giggles.

Yn smiled and extended her hand to Megan.

"I'm Yn Vaughn."

"Megan Skiendiel"

[happylittleshrub]

Continued Rambling about Game Rocket: Part 2

Rambling commences beneath the cut!

Not Rocket related but I need to give a shout out to the pac-man birthday cake Mrs. Quill made, it looked fantastic! And Quill didn’t even eat a single slice I can’t believe this. I am appalled. Mrs. Quill apparently also got trick candles because after Quill blew them out the flames just kept blinking. Such a prankster, that Mrs. Quill. 

Anyways back to our regularly scheduled Rocket. 

I thought it was so funny how he rode on top of the cage while Quill pulled it 🤣Like Cinderella riding her carriage to the ball lol ✨ I took a picture but the screenshot didn’t save for some reason >:( 

Rocket’s face when Groot was taken away was so sad :( He looked so heartbroken my poor bby (Also I sided with his plan after Quill stopped flashbacking. Of course I trust Gamora and she probably had a good idea but if something involves Groot’s wellbeing and a prison break how could I not go with Rocket?) 

When the Guardians are supposed to be sneaking around but they keep whispering to each other the entire time like the dorks they are XD 

I liked when Rocket complained about how terrible the wiring in Lady Hellbender’s throne room was and how he wanted to leave a note saying it needed to be fixed lol I love Tech Nerd Rocket so, so much 

Also this:

Drax: What’s it like in there?

Rocket: Smells like wet fur.

Drax: That’s probably because-

Rocket: I KNOW IT’S ME!

When we free ‘Groot’ and Rocket immediately runs and hugs him? 🥺🥰 Oh my heart! And then when ‘Groot’ isn’t responding and Rocket is so concerned about him?? Their friendship in this game is so stinkin’ precious I love it!!! This is another difference I noted between Game Rocket and MCU Rocket is that Game Rocket seems more willing to be outwardly affectionate (Well, at the very most towards Groot anyways 😅)

Also Groot tattled on us 😞 Oh poor Groot you’re too pure for this world

When we’re back on the ship and get this exchange: 

Drax: Money is all you think about.

Rocket: Also bombs.

Gamora: And booze. 

Rocket: [gasp] BOMBS MADE OUT OF BOOZE!

I can’t with him ✋🤣 He’s so goofy

The shriek he lets out when he finds that the llama chewed the ship’s wires!!! I actually thought it was the llama making a noise till I glanced down and read the subtitles: Rocket: [screams]

It was shrill. And to think he made fun of Quill earlier in the game for shrieking. Rocket, you have no room to talk lol. 

Oh and while I was idling around on the ship the greatest thing happened: ROCKET STARTED HUMMING!!!!! Oh my gosh it was so cute it made me so happy 😄 I wish I had recorded it 😢

Also I heard a door opening and closing over and over again so I went to check it out and found Rocket running back and forth like a madman fixing the array. Look at ‘im go.

[w0menaresuperi0r]

Unbroken Chains

Fred Weasley x reader

1.5K words

This is an angst, Fred survived the war because my baby boy didn’t deserve that fate. Reader gets kidnapped and tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange and is kinda very traumatized. But enjoy this one y’all, love you all munchkin’s!

When he came to, the faces of his family hovered above him, tears of relief staining their cheeks. He could still feel the tight embrace of his mother, the crushing grip of George’s arms around him. The Weasleys had already lost so much—Fred’s survival felt like a small piece of light in the darkness. But amidst their relief, one thought consumed Fred entirely: you.

You hadn’t been seen since the chaos erupted. The last time Fred had glimpsed you was during the final clash in the Great Hall, your wand flashing as you dueled a masked Death Eater. When Voldemort fell, Fred searched desperately through the castle, screaming your name until his throat burned. But you were nowhere to be found.

He didn’t allow himself to think the worst. You were resourceful, clever, brave—qualities he loved about you. Surely, you had escaped. Surely, you were safe. But as the hours passed without word, the knot of fear in his chest tightened into a crushing weight.

The sun had barely set when an ominous crack of Apparition echoed through the Burrow’s garden. Fred was at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, when the sound jolted him to his feet. His wand was in his hand in an instant, his heart pounding as he and the rest of his family rushed to the door.

What they found outside made Fred’s blood run cold.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood like a dark specter, her wild hair framing her pale, angular face. Her lips twisted into a cruel grin as she dragged your battered, broken body forward by the collar of your tattered shirt. You were barely conscious, your head lolling against her arm. Blood streaked your face, and your clothes were torn and soaked with crimson.

“Evening, Weasleys,” Bellatrix drawled, her voice sharp and mocking. “I thought I’d deliver a little gift. She was quite... stubborn.” She shoved you forward, only to yank you back when you stumbled. You cried out weakly, a sound that ripped through Fred’s heart like a knife.

“Come and get her,” Bellatrix taunted, her wand pressed against your throat. “Such a defiant little thing. She refused to talk, you know. Quite admirable—if utterly stupid. You’d think she’d want to save herself some pain.”

Fred didn’t think. Rage surged through him like wildfire, and before he knew it, he was raising his wand, a stream of spells shooting toward the witch who had hurt you. But Bellatrix was ready. With a laugh like shattering glass, she Disapparated, leaving only the faint smell of smoke in her wake.

What remained was your crumpled form lying in the dirt like a discarded doll.

Fred was the first to reach you, falling to his knees beside your bleeding body. His hands hovered over you, trembling as he struggled to find a place to touch without causing more harm. Your skin was pale, your lips cracked and dry, and your arms were littered with jagged cuts.

“Love,” Fred choked, his voice thick with panic. “Hey, it’s me. I’ve got you now. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Your eyes fluttered open, but they didn’t focus on him. Your lips moved, a faint, broken sound escaping them. Fred felt helpless as he lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest like you were the most fragile thing in the world. You weighed almost nothing, your body slack and lifeless as he carried you into the house.

“Mum!” Fred shouted, his voice breaking. “Help! She needs help!”

Molly was already rushing forward, her wand in hand as she began muttering healing spells. “Lay her down,” she ordered, her voice steady despite the worry etched into her face. “Fred, go—”

“I’m not leaving her,” Fred said fiercely, his grip tightening on your hand. His mother didn’t argue.

As Molly worked to stop the bleeding and mend your wounds, Fred stayed by your side. His fingers brushed the hair from your face, trembling as he whispered reassurances you couldn’t hear. George stood nearby, his hand on Fred’s shoulder, his own face pale with worry.

“She’s going to be okay,” George said quietly, though his voice wavered.

“She has to be,” Fred replied, his voice hoarse. “I can’t—I can’t lose her.”

Hours passed before you stirred. When you did, it was with a blood-curdling scream that startled everyone in the room. Your body jerked violently, your eyes wide and unseeing as you scrambled to sit up. The walls of the Burrow faded, replaced by the cold, damp stone of Bellatrix’s dungeon.

“She’s back,” you sobbed, curling into yourself. “She’s here. Don’t let her hurt me again. Please—please—”

Fred was at your side in an instant, his arms wrapping around you. “Love, it’s me,” he said desperately, his voice trembling. “It’s Fred. You’re safe. She’s gone. I promise she’s gone.”

But his touch only made you flinch harder. In your mind, it wasn’t Fred’s arms around you—it was Bellatrix’s hands, her cruel laughter echoing in your ears. You pushed him away, crawling toward the door on trembling limbs.

“Stop! Don’t touch me!” you cried, your voice raw and broken. “I have to get out—I have to—”

Fred caught you before you could go far, pulling you against his chest as you thrashed and screamed. He sank to the floor with you, holding you tightly despite your protests. His heart shattered with every sob that wracked your body, but he refused to let go.

“You’re not there anymore,” he whispered into your hair, his voice steady despite the tears streaming down his face. “You’re not in that dungeon. You’re here, in the Burrow, with me. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

But the words didn’t reach you. The horrors of Bellatrix’s torture consumed your mind, replaying over and over again. Her knife carving into your skin, her voice dripping with malice as she demanded answers you refused to give. The pain, the fear—it was all too real.

Fred tilted your face toward his, his hands firm but gentle as he forced you to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he said, his voice more commanding now. “Look at me, love. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me. I’ve got you.”

Your wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto his, the desperation in his voice cutting through the fog of your fear. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, grounding you as he spoke.

“She’s gone,” Fred said, his voice softening. “She’ll never hurt you again. I won’t let her. Do you hear me? You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, the walls of Bellatrix’s dungeon faded, replaced by the familiar warmth of the Burrow. But the fear didn’t leave you. It clung to you like a second skin, a constant reminder of the horrors you had endured.

In the weeks that followed, Fred never left your side. He became your rock, your anchor, his love and patience pulling you through the darkness. And though the road to recovery was slow, you knew you weren’t walking it alone.

[eternaltempest]

Lol oops I didn't really elaborate did I?

I'll start with Ferrus here but go in regular order from there 😆

Ferrus : I felt bad about the circumstances of his death and he's also kind of vanilla so he gets the crying heart of wasted potential and untimely demise 😭😭😭

The Emperor : Ok so like he's pretty hot, but omfg is he literally the most idiotic, stereotypical man in all of history. Might as well be the God Emperor of stupid ass decisions, it's so rage inducing I want to choke him

Lionel : he's pretty too, and I love me a bearded man 😏 but he's a little too quiet to be husband material imo

Fulgrim : same as Lionel but opposite. Would fuck just once ✨ for the experience ✨ but seems too freaky to be a husband. More for y'all Fulgrim stans, getcho freaky on!

Peter Turbo Perturabo : ngl he's a psycho and kinda a dick. Thank you, next.

Jaghatai : He's also pretty hot, I like his bone structure and his hair so I'd bone, but also seems the type to go Tokyo Drifting with his homies and tbh I don't like car guys. No hate tho, mad respect for the need for speed. As Sonic says; gotta go fast 🏎️

Leman Russ : all I gotta say is no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponent al, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a cerberus, on a flagship, IN A LEMAN RUSS, on a jet bike, the bed of a baneblade, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most vile, sloppy, atrocious, gushy, creamy, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, bark worthy, cant walk, beastly, toe curling, bACK ARCHING, LEG SHAKING, DICK THROBBING, FIST CLENCHING, EAR RINGING, MOUTH WATERING, ASS CLENCHING, SNOT DRIPPING, EYE WATERING, EYE ROLLING, HIP THRUSTING, EARTH SHAKING, SHEET GRIPPING, KUNCKLE WHITENING, JAW CLENCHING, HAIR PULLING, TEETH CHATTERING, MIND BOGGLING, SOUL SNATCHING, OVERSTIMULATING, OVUM STIMULATING, MOAN INDUCING, HEART WRENCHING, SPINE TINGLING, BACK BREAKING, LIP BITTING, BODY NUMBING, GRAVITY DEFYING, NAIL BITING, SWEATY, FEET KICKING, MIND BLOWING, BODY SHIVERING, ORGASMIC, BONE BREAKING, WORLD ENDING, BLACK HOLE CREATING, UNIVERSE DESTROYING, HEAD NODDING, SOUL EVAPORATING, VOLCANO ERUPTING, SWEAT ROLLING, VOICE CRACKING, TREMBLING, SHEETS SOAKED, HAIR DRENCHED, FLABBERGASTING, LIP LOCKING, SKIN PEELING, EYELASH REMOVING, EYE WIDENING, PUSSY POPPING, NAIL STRACTCHING, BRAIN CELL DESOLVING, HAIR RIPPING, SHOW STOPPING, MOUTH FOAMING, BRO HE COULD PUT A NUCLEAR BOMB INSIDE ME AND I'D STILL RIDE. HE'S NOT GONA BE ABLE TO WALK THE ENTIRE WEEK HE'S GONA BE SO HOARSE HE WONT EVEN BE ABLE TO HOWL OR SCREAM HE'LL NEVER ESCAPE MY GRASP

Dorn : iunno

Curze : I wouldn't touch that baby eating, greasy ass having MF with a 39 and a half foot pole except maybe to cut him down. Creep.

Sanguinius : He's so pretty I want to cry 😭 probably likes to bake and take bubble baths together. I'm not usually into fluff as much but if it's with him I'm willing to do so until we die of old age 🥹

Angron: LET MY BOY GO HE'S INNOCENT HE'S JUST A BABY HE DID NOTHING WRONG HE'S A VICTIM THEY KILLED HIS DOG RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM THOSE MONSTERS THEY'RE PUTTING SMOKE in the form of nails INTO HIS HEAD HE JUST WANTS TO BE LOVED HE JUST NEEDS KISSES LET ME KISS HIM PLE- 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Guilliman : He would be a great husband I am pegging him and bearing his children. I will not elaborate

Mortarion : Ew

Magnus : *Insert 'he did nothing, wrong' joke here* he's pretty and istg they gave him the biggest arms in existence and god DAMN. But god damnit Magnus, you had one un-fuck-up-able job!

And also

Horace : he's got a kissable face but he's bald... And stupid just like his father

Lorgar : His only redeeming feature is his last name. Have y'all ever seen Forged in Fire, when the guy says "Will it keal?" And proceeds to stab a gelatinous dummy mannequin? Lorgar is the gelatinous dummy mannequin. Stupid just like his father x2

Vulkan : THE BEST husband, warmest cuddles, sweetest kisses. He potect, but also atack type shit. But he's a little too big iykwim

Corvus : love me a little Edgar Allan Hoe definitely fucking him into submission but I also Wana pamper him and kiss him and take him shopping to Hot Topic so he can get all his sad emo boi fashion even though he can probably kill me in broad daylight and go undiscovered 🖤

Alpharius/Omegon : Sorry I'm not into mass orgies

...This took me way too long to type

Let's play FMK the Primarchs!!!

Did a fmk w/ all the boys 💖 I'll include a clean copy below in case anyone else wants to add theirs 😁

Also guest appearance by Big E himself He gives me stress ulcers

OG art is from this reddit thread

💋 - fuck

💍 - marry

💀 - kill

The 🤷‍♀️ are because I don't know enough about said primarchs (and ibr I don't wana fmk Shining Twins McGee over there. And Dorn is... Dorn)

{Leman Russ is not escaping my grasp}

[lotus-pear]

i love you royal trio (minus akechi)

[notbecauseofvictories]

I think a lot these days about how much bigger the U.S. is than Europe. I mean, part of this is just working for a European company---I talk to our legal counsel based in Paris, and they forget that California (about 75% the size of all of France) has a new law we have to care about, because---well, that's just a state! who cares about a state! My colleagues regularly refuse to travel to a country that's essentially 3 hours of train travel away, because that's so far! ignoring the fact that I have traveled 4 hours to our sister company within the U.S. and regularly drive 1+ hours to the office. (While that's annoying and I don't advocate for it, it's not necessarily unthinkable, that's my point.)

On my way home, I was listening to an NPR story about the Portugal model of drug diversion. It was a great story, thoughtfully reported and contextualized in the recent backlash against decriminalization in the U.S.---but their point of comparison with Portugal was New Jersey. Because they're about the same size, the Republic of Portugal and one of the smallest states in my nation. I just think that when we ask ourselves why things work differently in different countries, "literally, physically different" should occasionally feature in the conversation.

[ritz-writes]

im acutally going crazy over any time crowely's voice goes soft. specifically the "it burned down... remember?"

he doesnt want to say it again. not only because of the shiny new trauma he has with the memory, but because he doesnt want to remind aziraphale that its gone. he doesnt want to watch aziraphale's face to fall as he remembers the bookshop—his shop, his home for over two centuries—is gone. its burned down; the building, his chairs, his books, his memories, all of it.

but he has to. so he says it gently. it cant take away the pain, but he can lessen the blow, if a fractional amount at least. he reminds him softly, but doesnt give aziraphale time to spiral.

"you can stay at my place? if you like?"

he says it just as gently, just as soft. its an offer he's never given, a line theyd never crossed before. its new and its scary, but hey, it was almost the end of the world and they might die tomororw. what did they have to lose?

so he offers with a kindness to his tone only ever reserved for aziraphale alone, and even then only shown on rare occurrences. only when he knows the angel is close to breaking. he reminds aziraphale whats been lost, but also reminds him that hes not alone. he still has crowley.

[vynnyal]

Actually you know what, I'm gonna post this. Check it out, I'm fiddling with this PMV. Spoils the whole game ofc. And the name of the song is pure imagination by Fiona Apple!

Also I'm apparently a big fan of drawing moon laying down 😂 total count including scrapped drawings is 5 (technically 6)

[adainesfroggieboggy]

in my “my dreams are real and tangible. i can make them realer.” era. working hard because i want to, working towards a goal i can see and feel and hold in my hands. all my stumbles and all my setbacks? roadblocks. i can find another route. i can get there. i will be ok.