#infinite uncertainty

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: To Be Human Again

Danny had not been human for a long time. His home dimension had long since fallen. He lost his friends and family to old age, watched their descendants rise and fall in the same way, and witnessed his Earth come to an end.

When the cosmos erupted and took the solar system he knew and loved, Danny was oddly at peace with the end. He was no longer a Halfa but a full Spirit of the Stars. Solar flares ran through his veins rather than blood, stardust decorated his skin in gently kissed freckles, and his eyes held the swirling clouds of the cosmos.

Danny had not become a ghost. He had transformed into an Ancient, commanding the prophecies, fates, and endless opportunities that all living beings could experience in their lifetimes.

He flouted through his domain, witnessing battles between Lords of Choas and Order. Planets gain life and break apart. Endless time stretching from the graveities he weaves to flouting stones.

As time passes, his name begins to fade into legends and myths, and even the ghosts that once battled with him forget their time together. They, too, can age at a much slower rate, but change comes for them. He is present for Box Lunch's birth, but when he leaves to create light in the darkness, he misses her growing up. When he returns, Box Lunch does not know him, trembling in place as she bows low like her parents.

He stares at her, wondering what he found wrong with her, until he realizes she is a young adult. Were it not for his once evil timeline, he wouldn't have known her child form. He had missed it.

His gaze falls onto the much older pair of ghosts who call him by his new title. Neither Box Ghost nor Lunch Lady show any signs of remembering his name. They greet him with his title, and act as if though that is his identifier.

How many eons had it been since he last heard someone call him Phantom? Or even Danny?

"Lord Star Weaver?" Box Lunch stammers when the giant being only continues to stare. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm," he considers her question, wondering if his realizations upset him. It's not that he was lonely or that he missed the sound of his name. But he has spent eons in a haze focusing on his work, and now it's almost as if he was waking from a dream.

Dreams....what did those feel like again?

"Tell me, Box Lunch, are there any portals to any living Earths?" His voice booms over the Realms, echoing as if they were a part of him. Maybe they were.

Danny had not sat on his throne since his elder sister breathed her last, but he still remembered the way the Infinite Realms changed on his whims. It's where he learned to weave stars. The young woman's ghost looked startled before she gestured vaguely to a path behind her.

"Yes, sir. I regularly use the anchored portal to visit the local Earth. It's where my father was born before his death."

Danny looks down at Box Ghost before leaning toward Box Lunch's height. She is no bigger than his pupils, and she seems frozen in terror as his eyes glow with hunger. "Show me," he says.

Her parents make strangling noises, but they wouldn't dare speak against the King and Ancient of creation. They send their daughter worried tight smiles but encourage her to lead the Star Waver to the portal.

She flights for a solid hour, his large form sending every ghost into hiding as he passes. Despite not having a living heart, he knows that it beats a mile a minute within her chest as her glow flickers in uncertainty.

They arrive at the portal, a swirling green pool resting in the open mouth of a mechanical jester. Danny thinks it looks like the building of an amusement park. He remember going to one once with Sam. This had been the Funhouse, filled to the brim with trick mirrors.

The memory causes him to smile.

Lunch Box nervously moves her hands one after another, bowing at the waist and stepping to the side so Danny can consider the portal. He is much larger than the building and doubts his foot would fit inside the portal.

He should change his form.

"Here it is, Lord Star Weaver, the portal to the human-AGHHHH!" Box Lunch's words fade into a scream as two bright rings of light form around the Ancient. Fearing she had offended the being and he was planning on retaliating, she flings herself to the ground before the portal, begging for her existence.

"I will do anything!" She cries, head pressing against the glowing green stone underneath her. "Mercy, please, Lord Star Weaver."

"Anything? Then you shall be my guide in the new Earth, " a human voice says. Shocked, she raises her head only to see that the Ancient has vanished and that a human teenager with soft fluffy hair, big baby blue eyes, and the most innocent demeanor is staring back at her.

Were it not for the soul she could feel carefully folded up inside him, she would have thought him a human who stumbled through the portal.

"My....Lord?" she dares to ask, and she's rewarded with a soft smile. Honestly, the human body the Star Weaver has chosen is an odd one. It looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"Yes. Where does this portal lead?"

"Gotham," She shutters out, "The city within the United States of Earth. This portal is in te middle of a human outlaw named Joker, but humans there aren't able to see us very well so he never bothers me."

"Gotham" Danny rolls the name on his human tongue, tasting it as the sound vibrates through his bones and his heart. It's been so long since he last felt this alive, and if that was what the name could do, who knows what the city could bring him. "What a wonderful place to get lost in, don't you agree, big sister?"

"Um...I beg your pardon?" Lunch Box blinks, but he shifts her fate with a snap of his fingers. Since she had never been alive, having been a Realms born, Danny has control of her guiding star. He moved it for one that belonged to a version of herself born in the human world.

Lunch Box's body shifts into flesh and blood. Her draw drops as she stares at her human hands. Danny grins. "I'm Danny Fenotn, moving to Gotham with my older sister. Adopted, of course. Who might you be?"

She looks at him with horror and heartbreak, but what leaves her mouth is only three words: "I'm Della Fenton."

"Della." He repeats the name, nodding his head and smiling. "It's lovely."

"It was my mother's Earth name before her death, " she says in a daze, and Danny smiles, striding into the portal without a second glance.

"Come on, Della, I want to see our new home."

He steps into the portal, while she can only look out over the Realms that no longer whisper and speak to her. How could it? She was no longer a ghost. She silently apologizes to her parents, who would likely be waiting at their haunt for her, and turns away from the only home she's ever known.

She can not afford to anger the Star Weaver. If he can breathe life into her with a mere snap of her fingers, she fears what he can do to take it away.

On the other side of the portal Della finds that her King has been caught by humans, who have tied him up to a chair and a snickering clown waved a knife in his face.

His gentle smile did not leave his face even as the Joker sliced two thin lines on his cheek.

"Della" Danny calls never taking his eyes off the clown. "Is this the outlaw you spoke of?"

Human goons swarm her. She is shocked to find that they can touch her as she is thrown on the ground, only to remember she is now human. The dull ache in her chin is her new reality.

"Yes. That's the Joker," She says after getting her wits about her. One of the goons presses the heel of his foot on top of her head, slamming her back to the ground and breaking her nose. A scatter of snickers echoes through the room as Joker loudly cackles.

"That's right, little boy. I'm the Joker, and this is my Fun House. What were you two doing sneaking about here uninvited?"

There are teeth in the Star Weaver's answer, and she shivers in place, wondering how she will survive him. "Oh, I just felt like star gazing. Say, did you know your guiding star is becoming dim?"

[yappacadaver]

god i lvoe them so much... rayumi...

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Your Specialty (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer sees his significant other comforting a child and it makes him wonder. A/N: Written for my best friend on her birthday. Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Comfort Content Warning: Minor self-deprecation, implied difficult childhood, crying Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

Spencer loves you every day. There is never a doubt or a hesitation. With each glance, he finds something new to add to the ever-growing list of reasons why he is right to love you.

But there are some moments where even he, in his seemingly infinite wisdom, is unable to put into words the way he feels when it comes to you. In those moments, all he can do is silently soak in the unknowing.

It was a quiet moment, all things considered. There was no more bad guys to be caught, no more bloodshed to be had. Still, there were tears, as there usually were when you were around.

It wasn’t your fault. You just have a way about you that makes people feel… loved. Sometimes for the first time.

Spencer peers through his open office door to find you. You are on your knees, eyes locked with the young boy standing in front of you.

His small body shakes with incoherent sobs. He is held steady only by your gentle hands cupping his face. Despite the sight, you are smiling. A calm, subtle curve that holds him up in another way.

From where he is, Spencer can’t hear your words. But he can still feel the relief. He finds himself mirroring you both, with deep inhales fighting against the knot his throat. The air comes out warm and trembling.

In that moment, as he watches you comfort something small, he is a little boy again. He is the one lifting his arms in a silent request to be loved in a simple way.

And he can feel it. He feels your arms as they wrap around the little boy and lift him gently from the ground.

The feeling is almost too much, but he doesn’t look away. He watches and waits patiently for you to let the little boy go.

He waits for you to notice, to quickly come to him before your own trembling hands are noticed by the boy being carried away to what Spencer still hopes will be a happily ever after.

Spencer watches you the entire time. His own mind races, struggling still to find words to explain the feeling in his chest.

He’d almost gotten it when you interrupt the thought with a laugh.

“What is it?” you ask.

Any eloquence vanishes and is replaced with a stammer.

“You’re uh… you’re good at that,” he says. "Comforting kids."

Somehow, it sounds better than it did in his head.

Unbeknownst to the depths of the compliment, you glance over your shoulder to see the boy still watching you.

You recognize the same expression on your lover’s face.

“Kids are easy to love,” you answer.

He accepts your humility. He meets the modesty with his own typical self-deprecation.

“You should’ve seen me as a kid.”

Beneath the words, you hear the uncertainty. That stubborn, relentless fear that there is something rotten to be found in his heart.

You narrow your eyes as you inspect him. His shoulders square under your scrutiny. You look at him, carefully reviewing each wrinkle and freckle. You tilt your head to look at him in another way.

And you find nothing at all rotten.

“I would’ve liked that,” you tell him in earnest.

Emboldened, but still afraid, Spencer dares to take another step forward.

“What do you think you would’ve said?” he says like it’s a joke.

This time, your pause is a couple beats longer.

You look at the man in front of you and try to imagine him with teeth too big for a tiny frame. You imagine unruly curls and thick, crooked glasses perched over innocent eyes.

You look at the man you love and you see it. A small boy staring up at you in his oversized suit. Always trying to be both smaller and bigger than he was meant to be.

“I’d tell him,” you say, unsure of your own words, “that he’s strong and clever, and he shouldn’t have to try so hard to prove it to everyone.”

Spencer sucks in a breath that betrays his aloof demeanor. The words hit him like a swift blow to the stomach. But even with the pain, he hopes you’re not finished.

You’re not.

“I’d tell him that I know he’s trying his hardest, and sometimes things are bigger than us and…”

You bite your tongue to stop tears from welling. You breathe in sharply, reaching up to place both palms against his reddened cheeks. You laugh as they shift towards a goofy grin despite tears.

“I’d tell him that everything’s going to be okay,” you say confidently.

“Oh,” he chuckles; a sad but necessary sound.

"Yeah."

Gentle thumbs wipe each droplet that manages to spill from big golden brown eyes. The same as you had moments before, you catch what you can of his sadness and turn it to comforting warmth across his cheek.

Spencer bites his lip, looking down at your feet before daring to look at you again. Because when he does, he loses his breath and his sense once more.

“I, uh... I think he would’ve liked that,” he confesses.

“I know,” you whisper with a genuine remorse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Spencer accepts the apology but refuses to stay in the past any longer.

“But you’re here now,” he says quickly.

“Yeah, I am,” you laugh in return. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

But letting you go is the furthest thing from his mind. In fact, he pulls you closer until there is nothing but atoms between you. Strong arms embrace you and his clever words muffle against your hair.

“I wouldn’t even dare to try.”

Together, you settle into the silence. You share your warmth without restraint. Just two bodies swaying in a simple and symbiotic embrace. You enjoy the comfort, the company, the lack of need for words to describe it all.

And once you feel he’s had his fill, you sigh against his shirt.

“You know, I’m going to get through to that little boy eventually.”

Spencer halts his step as he starts to laugh.

“Is that a threat?” he asks.

Without moving from your place against him, you smile.

“Watch out, Dr. Reid,” you hum. “I’ve been told I’m good at this.”

Spencer accepts the warning with a smile.

“Yes," he chuckles. "Yes, you are.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[itelya]

synopsis: you have insecurities and your loving boyfriend comforts you

character [separate]: Nanami Kento x reader, Gojo Satoru x reader, Suguru Geto x reader, Toji Fushiguro x reader, Sukuna Ryomen x reader, Choso Kamo x reader, Megumi Fushiguro x reader, Yuji Itadori x reader. (fem!)

warning: complex about weight, face, stretch marks, pimples, ass, boobs, nose, thighs and too much love! (rare mention of Y/N)

words: 4550.

Kento N.

You stand in front of the mirror in your and Kento’s bedroom, staring at your reflection with a disgusted look. Your eyes linger on the curves of your body, scrutinizing every detail, hoping that something can change. You run a hand over your stomach, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “If only I were thinner…” you think, a feeling of frustration rising in you, tears threatening to fall.

The bedroom door opens slowly. Kento enters, a small smile on his lips, but he stops as soon as he sees your expression. He knows you by heart, and he immediately senses that something is wrong. Slowly, he approaches you, his gaze filled with softness, as if he wants to wrap you in a cocoon of comfort.

“You know that you are beautiful, right?” he says, his voice low, full of tenderness, but also of certainty.

You turn your head slightly, surprised to see him. His eyes stare at you with such sincerity, but your heart remains heavy. “You don’t understand, Kento. I… I feel… so bad. I can’t get rid of this. I hate my body.” Your voice trembles, marked by uncertainty and sadness.

He moves closer, and without a word, he stands behind you. His hands gently rest on your stomach, and he looks at you through the mirror, his gaze filled with love and understanding. He gently caresses your skin, as if to soothe your anxieties.

“I love you just the way you are,” he whispers, his voice soft, but firm. “No matter the curves, no matter the weight. What matters is you, the soul that hides behind this body.”

The tears threatening to fall stop for a moment, your eyes filling with tears of gratitude. His words, his gestures, everything about him surrounds you with infinite tenderness. You lower your eyes, drowning in his words.

Kento turns you around and gently takes your chin to force you to look him in the eyes. His gaze is so intense, so gentle, that you feel instantly soothed. His eyes shine with love, and you could melt in his gaze like butter.

“You are perfect for me,” he says, his voice resonating in your heart. “You don’t need to look like any standard to be beautiful. Beauty lies in what you really are.”

A small shy smile appears on your lips, a slight weight leaving your heart. Even if your complexes were not going to disappear overnight, Kento gave you the strength to face them. He gave you the strength to be yourself, fully, without needing to change anything.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, your eyes shining with gratitude. “You’re right. It’s time I started accepting myself as I am.”

He smiles, a tender smile that melts your heart, and without another word, he gently embraces you. His muscular arms close around you with infinite tenderness, holding you against him, protecting you, offering you all his love. Then he kisses you, a soft kiss, full of promises and sweetness.

“And I will always be there to remind you how incredible you are,” he murmurs against your lips, before holding you even closer to him. His arms give you a feeling of absolute safety, as if nothing could ever harm you.

In his arms, you feel both strong and vulnerable, but above all, you feel loved. And with him, you know that you will eventually learn to accept yourself as you are.

Gojo S.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, arms crossed around your chest as if to hide from your own judgment. A sigh escapes your lips, heavy and laden with an old insecurity that refuses to leave you. You put on a tight black dress, bought on impulse, encouraged by your friends. But now, alone under your sad gaze, you wonder if you didn't make a mistake.

A light knock hits the door, making you jump.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Satoru Gojo's amused voice echoes from the other side. "You left to get ready ages ago. If you wanted to make me impatient, you succeeded. I already miss you, you know."

You bite your lip. Of course, he's joking, as always. But just the idea that he could look at you and... notice, paralyzes you. “I… I’m coming, give me a second,” you answer in a shaky voice that you hoped would be firm.

A moment of silence falls before you hear the creak of the door opening slowly. “Can I come in? I promise, I’ll close my eyes,” he says, although you know full well that he hasn’t. You know him well, too well.

“No, stay outside!” you protest, but it’s too late. He’s already slipped his head into the frame, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. Normally, he would melt you but he makes you uncomfortable at this moment.

“Well, good evening, beautiful…” he says, his blue eyes shining with tenderness behind his glasses. However, his smile fades slightly when he notices your discomfort.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asks, this time without any hint of mockery. He opens the door a little wider and enters, leaning against the wall.

You look away, nervously playing with your fingers. “It’s… that dress. I shouldn’t wear it. It doesn’t fit me.”

He frowns, clearly puzzled. “Why do you say that? It fits you perfectly. You look beautiful, babe.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you whisper. “She.. she.. nothing, forget it. I’m going to change.”

He tilts his head slightly, curious. “No no no. Tell me what’s wrong. You know I don’t like it when you do.” You gesture vaguely to your chest, feeling your cheeks burn. “I.. that. They’re… too small. It looks ridiculous in a dress like that.”

A silence follows your words, but it’s not awkward. It’s more of a suspended moment, where Satoru looks at you with this disarming intensity that makes your heart beat faster. Then, he bursts out laughing.

“Are you serious? Y/N, are you telling me that you’re worried about this?” You glare at him. “Stop laughing, Satoru, I’m serious!”

He raises his hands in surrender, although an amused smile still dances on his lips. “Okay, sorry. But… you have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Gojo…”

“No, listen to me.” This time, his tone is more serious. “You know what I see when I look at you? I see a confident, funny, intelligent, and yes sexy woman. I think you’re perfect even if you have small breasts like you’re implying.”

Your cheeks heat up under the intensity of his gaze, and you lower your eyes, embarrassed. “You say that to reassure me.” He approaches slowly, placing his hands on your shoulders. “No, I say that because it’s true.”

His fingers slide up to your chin to gently lift your face. His blue eyes, as captivating as a cloudless sky, are fixed on yours. “You’re so beautiful. If anyone thinks otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me. But honestly, who would dare criticize a queen? My queen? Mine.” He smiles softly and laughs lightly.

A laugh escapes you in spite of yourself, and you shake your head. “You’re so.. I don’t know actually.”

“Are you losing your words, baby?” You roll your eyes, but a shy smile lights up your face. “Maybe yes but thank you, Gojo.”

“You’re welcome. Now, stop hiding. This dress is beautiful, and you, even more so. Come on, come on.”

He holds out his hand to you, his smile bright as always, but this time, there seems to be a silent promise in his gestures: that of seeing you as he sees you, today and always.

Geto S.

The soft light of the late afternoon sun gently seeps into your apartment, wrapping every corner in a comforting warmth. You’re sitting down, your phone in your hands. Your gaze lingers on the photos scrolling past, perfect faces, fine noses, so harmonious. With every comparison, your heart tightens a little more.

In the kitchen, Geto is cooking quietly, preparing dinner. But even as he focuses on his task, he can’t ignore your unusual silence or the subtle sadness that seems to hover around you.

He sets down the knife he’s holding and approaches you. In a few steps, he’s in front of you, crouching to catch your gaze.

“Hey, you okay, baby?” he murmurs softly.

You startle slightly, surprised, before placing your phone face down on the coffee table. “Yeah… I’m fine,” you reply, but your voice utterly lacks conviction.

He tilts his head to the side, a small smirk on his lips. “You know I’m not going to believe that, right?” You look away, a sigh escaping your lips. “It’s nothing, Geto. Just… a stupid thing.”

“Nothing that bothers you is stupid,” he replies, sitting down beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you close and smiling at you. “Come on, tell me.”

You hesitate, nervously fidgeting with a crease in your pants. Finally, you murmur, “My nose.”

He blinks, surprised. “Your nose?”

“Yes, my nose,” you repeat, your voice trembling. “It’s too big, too… weird. Sometimes I feel like it’s all people notice. I feel like it ruins my face…”

A silence settles, but it’s not heavy. Geto looks at you with infinite tenderness, his fingers slipping into your hair to comfort you.

“Do you want to know what I think when I look at your nose?” he murmurs at last. You nod slightly, unable to meet his eyes.

“I think he’s perfect. Because it’s yours.” Your eyes timidly rise to meet his, your cheeks burning under the intensity of his gaze.

“Listen to me,” he continues. “I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t feel that way, because it’s normal to have doubts. But I want you to understand something: your nose is part of what makes you unique. It gives character to your face, and it’s that face that I love, more and more every single day.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, so soft that your eyes instinctively close.

“And you know what else?” he adds with a playful smile. “This nose, I find it so adorable that I could spend my whole life kissing it.”

“Stop,” you protest with a quiet laugh, your cheeks now on fire. “No,” he retorts, placing another kiss, then another, until you burst out laughing. “I’m dead serious.”

You snuggle into him, burying your face in his neck to hide your smile. “You’re insufferable, Geto.”

“Maybe. But for you, I’ll happily stay insufferable,” he replies, gently running his fingers through your hair. “Because I love you. All of you. And your nose, my dear, is part of the package.”

A sigh escapes you, but this time it’s one of relief. His words settle in your heart, dispelling your insecurities like clouds under the sun.

“Thank you,” you murmur against his skin, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing your ear. “But remember, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

And in his arms, cradled by the golden evening light and his reassuring words, you feel your insecurity fade away. In that moment, you realize that in his eyes, you are already perfect. In your own way.

Toji F.

The morning light gently bathes the room, making the atmosphere peaceful. You stand in front of the mirror, dressed in your favorite shorts and a loose tank top. You turn slightly, pulling on the fabric to examine your reflection from different angles. But with each glance, the same thought comes back to you: “My ass is not enough.”

You lightly pinch the skin of your hips, hoping to see something change. But nothing satisfies you. For a few days, this complex has been haunting you, and today, it’s even heavier.

The door opens abruptly, revealing Toji, shirtless, in jogging pants, a lazy and amused smile hanging on his lips. He holds a cup of coffee that he places on the dresser before leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

“So, what’s this scene? Are you casting for a fashion show or something?” he jokes, his tone mocking but tender.

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Toji, not now.” Intrigued, he enters the room, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. He walks over and stands behind you, his hands naturally coming to rest on your hips.

“Come on, tell me. You have that ‘I’m worrying too much about nothing’ face.”

You hesitate, biting your lip. Finally, reluctantly, you blurt out, “I think… my ass isn’t great.”

He stays silent, as if he needs a moment to digest your words. Then, a deep, low laugh echoes through the room. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his amused smile reflected in the mirror.

“Your ass? Seriously? Is that what you’re complaining about?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, my ass. I think it’s too flat.” Not round enough, not… attractive enough.”

Toji arches an eyebrow, letting his large hands slide from your hips to your buttocks, grabbing them without any embarrassment. He pretends to think, lightly pressing the flesh with his thumbs. “Hmm… I would say that you are completely off the mark.”

You turn your head slightly to give him a skeptical look. “Toji, be serious.”

He leans forward a little, and his voice becomes softer, although a smile persists on his lips. “I am serious. Your ass is perfect. Like, really perfect. Not too much, not too little. Just the way I like it. And believe me, I know what I am talking about.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, even if you can’t help but sigh. He is unbearable, but you know that he is always honest.

He straightens up slightly, pats your behind with a familiar and slightly redneck gesture, but strangely reassuring. “Listen, you don’t need an Insta-model ass to please me. You’re you, and I’m totally fine with that.”

He spins you around so you’re facing him, his big hands still on your hips. “Seriously, if anyone tells you your ass isn’t good enough, tell me who it is. I could do the opposite to him or her.”

You burst out laughing despite yourself, shaking your head. “Toji, you’re really annoying.”

“Maybe. But I’m your annoying boyfriend, and your ass is part of the reason I’m here,” he replies with a proud smile. He places a quick kiss on your forehead before walking away to grab his coffee cup.

As he leaves the room, he calls over his shoulder, “And next time you’re in doubt, remember that this is the ass approved by Toji, your wonderful boyfriend. And that’s the best seal of quality.”

You stand there for a moment, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. Turning back to the mirror, your gaze softens. Maybe he’s right. After all, if Toji, in all his brutal honesty, thinks it’s perfect… maybe you can start to believe him.

Sukuna R.

Sitting in front of your dressing table mirror, a sigh escapes your lips. The dim light in the room seems to amplify everything you hate about your reflection. Your fingers trace a faint scar on your cheek, an indelible reminder of a moment you’d rather forget. You lower your head, biting your bottom lip to hold back the wave of sadness rising within you. The mirror, once again tonight, is your judge, and you feel condemned.

A deep, mocking voice breaks the silence: “Are you going to keep sulking, or do you want me to smash that thing for you?”

Startled, you quickly lift your head. Your eyes meet Sukuna’s piercing gaze as he leans against the doorframe. His arms are crossed, and his teasing smirk makes it clear he’s enjoying your unease.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to hide your discomfort.

“Me? I was waiting for you, but apparently, this mirror is more interesting than me,” he replies, stepping forward slowly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“It’s not that,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “I… I was just thinking.”

Sukuna stops behind you, leaning slightly to observe your reflection in the mirror. “Sure… You really think I’ll believe that? You look like you’re ready to fight yourself.”

You remain silent, your hands gripping the edge of the mirror. You know he won’t let it go. “I just feel… not good enough,” you finally admit, your voice barely audible.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his expression hovering between annoyance and curiosity. His large hands settle on your shoulders, their warmth oddly reassuring despite his firm grip.

“Not good enough for what?” he asks, his tone calm but still sharp.

“For everything,” you finally exhale, your breath trembling. “All I see are the imperfections… the scars, the flaws… and I can’t figure out what you see in me.”

A heavy but not uncomfortable silence falls. Sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, letting your words linger in the air. Then, slowly, he leans down until his face is level with yours. Your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Do you want to know what I see?” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “I see someone strong enough to catch the attention of a king like me. Someone who didn’t run away from my worst sides. Those scars you hate? They’re proof you survived. Those ‘flaws’? They make you real. Unique.”

His fingers gently brush your cheek, tracing the faint scar you were staring at just moments ago. “You think I care about a perfect face? I could have a thousand perfect faces if I wanted. But you, you’re so much more than what you see in this damn mirror.”

Your throat tightens, your eyes burning with emotion. You’re not used to this kind of honesty from him. You turn slightly to look at him, finally letting your guard down.

“You’re rarely this kind, Sukuna. I could get used to it,” you say with a small smile, your voice a little lighter.

“Enjoy it. It doesn’t happen every day,” he replies with a toothy grin, though a soft glimmer lingers in his crimson eyes. “But listen to me: I won’t let anyone, not even you, put down the woman who shares my life. If you start criticizing yourself again, I swear I’ll smash that mirror.”

A light, genuine laugh escapes you. “I believe you would.”

“Of course I would,” he says, standing up straight, his usual arrogance returning. “Now stop wasting your time here. You’re way too beautiful to be sitting in front of a mirror.”

You nod, a comforting warmth replacing the weight you carried just moments ago. Sukuna, in all his bluntness and intensity, had just given you one of the most precious moments you’d ever experienced.

You take his outstretched hand, rising to follow him. Behind you, the mirror reflects the faint smile on your face, and for the first time in a long time, you find it almost beautiful.

Choso K.

The TV is playing a movie in the background, but you’re not really following the story. Slumped on the couch, in shorts and Choso’s t-shirt, you can’t focus on anything other than your thoughts. Choso, calm and relaxed, sits next to you, his arm casually resting on the back of the couch. His presence is soothing, as always, but tonight, you feel too lost in your own thoughts.

You look down at your thighs, slightly exposed by the shorts you’re wearing. They feel wide, too wide, for your taste. A wave of dissatisfaction rises in you, and you adjust your shorts to cover your thighs a little more.

“You’ve been doing this since earlier.” Choso’s soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He has turned his head towards you, his deep eyes fixed on you with a usual tenderness.

“Do what?” you ask, even though you know very well what he’s talking about. “Pull on your shorts.” Hide your thighs.” He tilts his head slightly, as if to study you more closely. “What’s wrong?”

You look away, embarrassed. “Nothing. It’s… It’s stupid.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer to you, and places a gentle hand on your thigh, just enough for you to feel its warmth. “If it bothers you, then it’s not stupid. Tell me.”

You sigh, hesitating for a moment before blurting it out. “My thighs. I find them… too big. They make me self-conscious. I know, it’s ridiculous, but I don’t like them right now...”

Choso looks at you for a moment in silence, and you worry that he’ll find your confession absurd. But instead, he slowly slides his hand over your thigh, in a reassuring gesture, and murmurs softly, “They’re perfect.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Perfect? ​​You’re exaggerating.”

He shakes his head, a genuine smile on his lips. “I’m serious. You know, what I like about you is that everything about you seems… real. They’re not ‘too’ big. They’re exactly how they’re supposed to be.”

You blush, touched by his sincerity. “You’re just saying that to please me.”

He lifts his hand to gently brush your face, his gaze fixed on yours. “No, I say that because it’s true. Every time I see you, everything about you seems beautiful. And your thighs?” He pats one of them gently, his smile widening slightly. “They’re the most comfortable place in the world. Do you realize how many times I rest my head on them when we watch a movie?”

You burst out laughing despite yourself, unable to keep a straight face in the face of his soft but teasing tone. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

He shrugs. “If it makes you smile, then that’s fine with me.” Then he gently pulls you against him, wrapping you in a warm and secure embrace. “Stop hurting yourself with thoughts like that. You’re beautiful, always. You’re my wonderful girlfriend.”

You snuggle against him, a peaceful smile on your lips. With Choso, your complex seems less heavy, as if it fades under his sincere love. You love him so much.

Megumi F.

The morning dawned with an almost surreal softness. You stretched under the covers, then went to the bathroom to start your daily routine. But that morning, a small big detail made you jump.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and your heart grew heavy when you saw several pimples on your face. You bit your lip, annoyed, knowing full well that it would tarnish your mood during the day.

You gently rubbed the skin on your face, trying not to let frustration take over. This kind of morning, you were tired of seeing them appear without warning. With a sigh, you quickly got dressed and left the bathroom. You didn't really want to face Megumi in this state.

You entered the kitchen, where he was already making coffee, as usual. Megumi looked up at you, a calm but attentive gaze that never failed to make you feel special. But that morning, you didn’t feel like you were up to that gaze.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

Megumi said, without even needing to look at you completely, as if he knew exactly what was going on in your head. He knows you so well that it’s scary. His voice, soft but marked by a sincerity that he knew how to bring out well.

You looked down, embarrassed. “But look… at my pimples. They’re everywhere. It’s really ugly, don’t you think?”

Megumi looked at you and approached you. His hands, large but infinitely soft, delicately lifted your chin to force you to look at him. His face remained implacable, but his eyes were full of kindness.

“Do you really think it bothers me?” he asked, his voice cold but looking genuinely interested. “Imperfections are human. What matters is how you feel about yourself.”

You shrugged, your gaze avoiding Megumi’s. You couldn’t understand why these little imperfections made you feel so vulnerable. “I know,” you murmured, “but sometimes, I can’t accept it. And you deserve better than a girlfriend with pimples on her face.”

Megumi stared at you for a long time, then he gave a small smile, softer than anything you had ever seen from him. He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“I’m with you for you, Y/N. Not for your perfect face, but for your heart and soul. And you know that very well. So, don’t worry about it. These little pimples don’t change anything for me.”

You felt a soft warmth spread through you, and a huge weight lift from your shoulders. Megumi, even with his cold nature, always knew exactly how to comfort you.

“Thank you, Megumi,” you said, a shy smile playing on your lips. He gently pulled you towards him, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Always. I’ll remind you every morning, I’ll make it part of my routine.” You chuckled and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, realizing that no matter the imperfections, you had found someone who accepted you as you were, without judgment. You felt completely at peace with yourself.

“Come on. Let’s have breakfast.”

Megumi said, his voice still soft but firm, and he guided you to the table, ready to share a simple breakfast. And this morning, the pimples were nothing more than an insignificant detail compared to the love you had for each other.

Yuji I.

You take one last look in the mirror before leaving the bathroom, your gaze lost on the small stretch marks that mark your skin. For some time, they have been bothering you, but today, it is as if they are more visible than usual. You hate them, these marks. They remind you of times when you felt less beautiful, less up to par.

Suddenly, you hear a noise behind you. Yuji, in an awkward but kind gesture, enters the room, not really realizing your concentration on your reflection. He approaches, his arms wide open, ready to give you a hug.

“Hey babe, why don’t you come give me a hug instead of staring at this mirror?” he says, his voice warm and playful.

You hesitate for a moment, shame pricking you a little. You turn your body slightly, trying to hide your belly.

Yuji, always so attentive when it comes to you, notices your gesture. He approaches slowly, and with his bright smile, he places his hands on your hips.

“You know that you are perfect as you are, right?” He looks at you tenderly. “You are beautiful, you amaze me every moment. And these stretch marks, they represent you. They make you even more you. You are even more magnificent with them so don’t doubt yourself anymore. Okay?”

He pauses then smiles widely, adds: “Besides, I am convinced that if you leave them, they will end up becoming works of art. A bit like me with my scars after all these battles.”

You can’t help but smile when you hear his contagious laughter. Yuji has this talent of transforming awkward moments into bursts of laughter and sincere affection. He hugs you, and you feel the warmth of his support, this security that he offers you without even thinking.

“I love you as you are, with or without stretch marks. They don’t change the beauty I see in you.”

You let yourself go in his arms, your heart soothed, and for once, you no longer worry about your stretch marks. He has this power to make your doubts disappear and make everything so simple.

any opinion is appreciated! thanks for reading till the end 💗

pls note and reblog!

masterlist

requests: OPEN.

© 2025 itelya. All work belongs to @itelya. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[musings-n-museums]

i don't know which one feels more like home. (the uncertainty or the chaos)

fireworks by jaedha godwin, pinterest // split by niki // post by @haykhighland (infinite thanks for letting me use your post // special by sza // images from pinterest // post-glacial by tori mccandless // "saga (i won't forget you when i'm gone)", andrei voznesensk - translated by @metamorphesque // split by niki // image from pinterest

[edettethegreat]

see there's one specific reading of hamlet that I need and adore, and am always looking for in any production

when hamlet's calling the ghost. by the line "I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane" (usually the "royal dane" part is cut from productions)-- I need each title to be said with increasing uncertainty and desparation

"I'll call thee Hamlet!"

"King!"

"...father?"

and when 'father' is said with infinite softness.

and 'father' is said with yearning and longing and grieving.

and hamlet is reaching out to his father, who is standing right in front of him and won't respond.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (18/20)

So.... Are you guys ready for it??? Haha 😆

Remember that nothing is black and white! Feelings are complexes and and they don't always need a justification to be felt. okay?

And yes... our series is ending, so please, enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: magic torture, attempt energy drain, fighting and angst. Proceed with caution.

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After finding Wanda's whereabouts, the women fight and Lady Death decides to appear.

Love

The room seemed smaller each day. The walls, once familiar, were now invisible bars keeping you there, isolated, lost in endless, spiraling thoughts.

On the first day, your mind was restless. Wanda’s words hammered in your head, an infinite cycle of uncertainty and confusion. What was true? What was a lie?

You felt anger.

Not just toward them, but toward yourself for not being able to understand, for not knowing what to believe.

The echo of Wanda’s voice still vibrated in your mind. Every word she spoke was an open wound, bleeding doubt into you.

"They made you their little whore."

No, that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. You knew them. You knew their touch, their heated gazes, the way they said your name.

It couldn’t be false.

But… what if it was?

You got up from the bed, pacing around the room like a caged animal. The cold floor beneath your bare feet was the only point of reality you had in that moment. You tried the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Your heart pounded with a mix of desperation and irritation.

You knocked on the door, called for Wanda, demanded answers. But your voice echoed emptily in the room, unanswered.

The silence was the worst part.

Over time, your anger began to dissolve into something more dangerous. Something sticky, dense—madness turning into a poison that seeped through your mind.

"What if it’s true?"

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to hate Wanda. For planting those thoughts in your head. Believing that your mommies were the villains of this story was painful, but it seemed… obvious.

And yet, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Agatha adjusting the collar of your blouse, Rio patting your bottom to lull you to sleep.

If it was a lie, it was the best lie you’d ever lived.

Night came, and the room was dark, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You curled up in bed, hugging your knees, feeling the cold creep into your skin.

You missed them.

And that hurt more than any doubt.

On the second day, anger turned into doubt.

"What if they’re doing all this to protect me?"

The question repeated itself, over and over, an insistent echo inside your chest. You tried to push it away, to throw it aside, but it always came back, crawling through the corners of your mind, taking up space among your already chaotic thoughts.

You wanted to hate them. Wanted to feel only betrayal. Wanted to cling to the simplest version of the story—the one where none of this happened. Where you were still in their mansion in Pacific Palisades, in their garden, in their kitchen, in their bed.

Disappointment dragged you down into the mattress, your stomach twisting with nervous nausea. You just wanted to forget. Forget them. But you couldn’t. Because even in disappointment, you still thought of them.

Still missed them.

The emptiness was a constant reminder. It was in your empty hands, once always intertwined with theirs. In your lips, which no longer knew who to call for. In your chest, which felt too small to contain the longing.

You forced yourself to eat some of the food Wanda had left in the room, but everything tasted bland. The food sat heavy in your stomach, as if your body rejected it. As if their absence had drained not only your will but even your most basic needs.

So, you tried to distract yourself.

Wandering the room, you touched objects, searching for something—anything—that could bring comfort. Your high school photos were still there.

And you smiled, remembering how horrible it was to wear braces, how weird you looked. Your trophies and first-place certificates from competitions and tournaments.

But none of it was enough. No happy memory could replace their warmth.

It wasn’t until nightfall, when the room was once again swallowed by darkness, that you realized what was really happening.

You weren’t just confused.

You were lost without them.

On the third day, you could no longer think.

Your body ached as if something was breaking inside you. Your breathing was weak, your lips chapped, and your skin, both hot and cold, burned like embers.

Something inside you was shattering.

It wasn’t just longing.

It was a deep desperation, an expanding void sucking everything around it. You trembled, an unbearable cold consuming you as your mind fixated on a single thought, a single obsession.

Them.

Their scent, the sound of their voices, the warmth of their touch.

Them.

You no longer knew where you ended and they began. No longer knew who you were without them. And deep down, you started to wonder if you even wanted to know.

Your cracked lips parted weakly, your voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Mommies..."

The plea escaped before you could stop it, almost unconscious. A hopeless call, floating in the empty air.

Then, the door opened.

Wanda rushed in, her gaze scanning the room urgently, her expression carrying the weight of someone who had anticipated trouble. But she wasn’t prepared for what she found.

The tray of food she had left untouched. The scent of sweat and fever in the air.

And you.

Curled up in bed, your eyes open yet unfocused, your breath shallow. Your body looked fragile, thinner, exhausted. You trembled, even beneath the covers. Wanda quickly approached, sitting beside you, her brows furrowed.

"You need to eat," she said, trying to keep patience in her voice.

But as she leaned in closer, as she really looked at you…

Her heart stopped.

She touched your forehead and felt the burning heat of fever. Your pupils were dilated, your lips trembled, and even in your delirium, your mouth kept moving, murmuring something faintly.

Wanda leaned in, trying to understand.

"Mama... mommy..."

That was all you could say.

A shiver ran down Wanda’s spine.

"Hey, look at me," she tried, pressing your cheek between her fingers, but you didn’t even react to her touch.

Your gaze wandered, lost, as if you were somewhere else.

"Wanda..." your voice came out weak, barely a breath. "Will they come back for me?"

The question hit her like a punch.

Wanda clenched her jaw.

"They’re not good for you," she said firmly, almost irritated.

Your eyes welled up, your chest tightening as if those words had truly hurt you. You curled up deeper into the sheets, your fingers clenching into trembling fists.

"But… I don’t know how to exist without them. I can’t—" The confession was a pained whisper.

Wanda remained silent.

She shut her eyes, analyzing you.

Something in the air, something in the very structure of your existence felt off to her.

She pressed two fingers against your wrist. Your pulse was erratic, weak, as if the very thread of your life was unraveling.

Panic began to creep in.

"It’s not possible…" she murmured to herself, her eyes widening in realization.

Her fingers trailed to your chest, where your heart beat faintly, shakily.

Bound.

They had bound your heart.

This wasn’t just any spell.

It was the Erebus Bond.

Wanda held her breath.

An ancient, forbidden spell. An unbreakable tie that intertwined someone’s essence with another’s.

And then, she saw it.

You, pale, fragile, calling for them.

Like before.

Panic flared inside Wanda.

They had done the impossible.

And now… you were paying the price.

[...]

The night in WestView was cold and silent—the kind of silence that precedes a storm.

And the storm came.

The front door exploded inward with a deafening crash, shards of wood flying through the air. Rio entered first, her presence radiating pure violence, her eyes burning with a predatory glow. Her hand still carried the trail of destructive magic she had used to clear the way.

Behind her, Agatha walked in with eerie calm, her heels striking the floor in a rhythmic cadence over the wreckage.

The house smelled of beer, sweat, and the past. A place that was never a home.

Never for you.

A scream echoed from the kitchen. Rushed footsteps. A figure emerged in the hallway.

Your father.

The years had given him wrinkles, but they had not erased the brutality in his eyes. The same brutality you knew. The same that shaped you.

"Who the hell are you?!" he growled, moving toward the dresser near the TV.

Rio tilted her head, a twisted smile on her lips.

"Oh. He grabbed a gun," she murmured to Agatha, almost amused.

The click of the shotgun echoed through the room, his hands steady on the grip, the barrel aimed directly at the two women.

"I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get off my property before I—"

Before he could finish, Rio snapped her fingers.

The gun was ripped from his hands by an invisible force and crushed mid-air as if it were made of paper.

Your father barely had time to react before Rio flung him backward with a single gesture. He flew across the room like a ragdoll, colliding against the wall, knocking down frames and shelves as he crashed to the floor.

One of your brothers appeared at the top of the stairs, alarmed by the noise.

"What the fuck is—?!"

Agatha lazily raised a hand, and he was silenced in an instant. His feet lifted off the ground, his body arching into an impossible position, as if invisible hands were twisting him from the inside out.

"Where is she?" Agatha asked, her voice low, almost a whisper. But laced with steel.

Your father coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he tried to crawl away.

Rio kicked him hard in the chest, pinning him to the floor.

He gasped, spitting more blood. "I... I don’t know what—"

Rio crouched, her fingers dripping with green energy as they grazed his skin.

He screamed.

"Lying," she murmured, tilting her head like a predator analyzing its prey.

Another brother appeared at the doorway, wielding a knife. But before he could take a single step, Agatha closed her hand in the air.

He fell to his knees, eyes wide, his skin beginning to darken.

"Let’s try again," Agatha said, crouching beside your father, her eyes glowing with something cold and cruel. "Where is she?"

Your father coughed again, trying to laugh. "I don’t know who you’re talking about. But she sure as hell isn’t here…"

Agatha sighed, standing up slowly.

She looked at Rio.

"What a shame for you."

Rio smiled.

The house was still trembling with the remnants of magic when Rio finally released your father, letting him collapse onto the floor like a broken doll. He was still breathing—barely.

The green witch snapped her fingers, then your father and brothers were send to another place—to hell, maybe, to pay for everything they did to you.

Agatha took a few steps back, her eyes scanning the room, her brow furrowing in confusion. Something was wrong. Something didn’t fit.

"She was supposed to be here," she murmured.

Rio wiped her hands on her coat, still riding the adrenaline of violence, but Agatha’s tone made her pause.

"What is it?"

"I felt it. You did too. She was here. I could hear…" The witch bit her lip, her eyes closing for a moment. "Her heart… was here."

Rio frowned. Now that Agatha mentioned it…

She had felt it too.

A call, an echo of pain and despair. As if your presence was imprinted on the walls, in the shadows, in the heavy air of the house.

"But that makes no sense," Rio growled. "If she’s not here, how can we feel her so strongly?"

And then the answer came.

Sudden.

Cold.

Agatha gasped, her eyes widening as the truth revealed itself.

Wanda.

Wanda was manipulating their emotions.

Creating a false bond.

"That bitch…" Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with hatred. She looked at Rio, and for the first time that night, there was something in her eyes beyond cruelty.

Panic.

They were wasting time.

Your body was falling apart without them.

"We have to go. Now," Rio declared, already spinning on her heels, fists clenched.

The two exchanged a look.

There was no time to lose.

If they took any longer, you wouldn’t be alive for them to find you.

The streets were swallowed in an unsettling silence. The moon cast distorted shadows through the alleys, and every step Agatha and Rio took echoed through the empty city.

They were desperate, frustrated, and every second lost was a knife plunged deeper into their chests.

Then, Agatha saw you.

The world around her stopped.

You walked down the sidewalk with a woman at your side. The same shape of the eyes, the same curve of the smile.

Your mother.

Your eyes shone as you looked at her, and a soft smile adorned your lips. A smile Agatha knew well. A smile that belonged to her.

You looked… complete.

Her blood boiled.

She didn’t think. She didn’t rationalize. She just acted.

"You bitch!" Her voice cut through the night like a blade, filled with fury and something even more dangerous—jealousy.

The hatred was immediate, intense. A feeling that burned through every inch of her skin. Her heart roared in her chest, her steps turned rapid, wild, as she charged toward the woman at your side.

The same woman who abandoned you and forgot you, while all she did was love you.

How dare you?

How dare she be there, at your side, smiling, when you should be begging for her?

Agatha raised her hand, her magic seething at her fingertips, ready to tear that woman apart until nothing remained—

But a strong arm held her back.

"Agatha, stop!" Rio shouted firmly, using all her strength to keep her in place.

Agatha turned her face in fury, but then she realized.

Something was wrong.

The woman’s gaze.

Empty.

Yours too.

The smile on your lips… wasn’t yours.

Wasn’t real.

A shiver ran down Rio’s spine. Her eyes scanned the street, her heart pounding.

And then she saw it.

Other versions of you.

With your mother.

Walking. Smiling.

Spreading through WestView like a damn plague. Repeating like a damn loop.

Rio felt rage boil inside her. Her fists clenched, and she wanted to kill. She wanted to destroy.

"Wanda…" Agatha spat the name like poison.

It was a game.

An illusion.

A cruel provocation.

"That bitch is toying with us," Rio hissed, spitting on the ground, her eyes burning with fury.

Wanda wanted them like this.

Lost.

Consumed by anger.

But what Wanda didn’t know was that there was no emotion Agatha and Rio didn’t know how to use to their advantage.

"So she thinks she can toy with us? With what’s mine?"

Agatha took a deep breath, her eyes blazing violet, her hands warming with the power gathering there.

The woman was ready.

[...]

Your room was shrouded in crimson shadows. The energy pulsed around you, pressing against your body, invading your mind like sharp claws trying to tear something away—something that couldn't be taken.

You screamed.

It felt like your skin was unraveling in invisible flames. Every nerve burned, every thought was crushed beneath a brutal force.

But even as the torment spread like an overwhelming wave, something inside you remained untouched.

Your heart.

Bound to them.

Wanda’s energy intensified, her eyes glowing with desperation and frustration. She stepped closer, teeth clenched, hands hovering over you, trying to find the exact thread to pull—

But there was no thread.

The bond wasn't something that could be undone. It wasn’t a common curse, a crude tether that could be severed with brute force.

It was something deeper.

Older.

Stronger.

And it didn’t belong to her.

Your body arched as a new wave of pain tore through you, your nails digging into the sheets, your vision blurring, your mind fracturing.

You could feel Wanda inside you, searching, trying to rip out any trace of them. But every attempt only made the bond tighten, made your chest ache harder, made your soul rebel against the intrusion.

“Why?” Wanda murmured, her voice trembling. “Why did they do this?”

You couldn’t answer. You could barely breathe.

“Why can’t I?”

The question echoed through the room, laced with something Wanda would never admit—jealousy.

She, the Scarlet Witch, the most powerful sorceress to ever exist, couldn’t touch what Agatha and Rio had done.

And it consumed her.

Her hands trembled as she pulled back her magic, looking at you with something that teetered on the edge of despair.

You were wrecked. Almost lifeless.

But still, you didn’t belong to her.

And Wanda hated that.

She sat on the antique-textured sofa, the spellbook in her lap as she searched desperately for something—anything—that could break the bond between you.

The room was an exact replica of the house you grew up in, but the air inside was thick, charged with magic.

When Agatha and Rio stepped through the door, their instincts were already on high alert, ready to tear apart anything standing between them and you.

Until they saw their younger sister, her eyes red—not just from the glow of her magic, but from something deeper. Something more human.

Pain.

Rio unsheathed a deadly dagger, moving like a predator about to slit its prey’s throat. But before she could strike, Wanda’s voice cut through the air—raw, devastated:

“Why can’t I touch her?”

The words were spoken with anger, yes. But also with desperation. With a sorrow that made Agatha hesitate for just a fraction of a second.

Wanda stood slowly, her breathing unsteady, her eyes locked onto the two women.

“Why can’t I use her?” Her voice cracked, and then, as if her soul was unraveling, tears fell. “Why?”

Rio gripped the dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Because she’s ours, not yours.” The growl left her lips, thick with fury.

Wanda shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her, her eyes glistening with tears.

“This is all so ridiculous.” She swallowed hard, struggling to keep herself composed. “You cast a spell that even I can’t break. You tied her soul to you. Her heart.”

“You don’t understand.” Agatha folded her arms, her voice cold as steel. “You never could.”

“Then make me understand!” Wanda exploded, stepping forward. Her magic crackled, red and alive, as if every cell in her body was on the verge of implosion. “Tell me, Agatha, Rio. What is this?”

Agatha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her disheveled hair, while Rio still trembled beside her. Whatever was boiling inside her was about to spill over.

“This is belonging,” Agatha said, her voice low, firm, cutting.

For a moment, Rio said nothing. Her fingers loosened around the dagger, her breathing turning uneven. Then, as if every wall inside her collapsed at once, her voice came out in a raw, trembling whisper:

“This is love.”

The confession hung in the air like an irreversible spell.

Rio’s green magic dissipated around her, yielding to the weight of the truth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes shining with something Wanda had never seen in her before—vulnerability.

Wanda laughed again, but it was a broken sound. She ran a hand over her face, as if trying to peel this reality off her skin.

“Love? You think this is love?” Her tone was a mix of disbelief and agony.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, cold as ice.

“You’ll never understand because you’ve never loved anyone but yourself.” The words struck like a dagger—precise and cruel.

Wanda’s face twisted as if she’d been punched. The air seemed to leave her lungs. Her own name, her own history, weighed on her like invisible chains.

She closed her eyes, her voice coming out in a shattered whisper:

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“My family,” Wanda murmured, and the pain bled through her voice like an open wound.

Agatha took a deep breath, closing her eyes. And she saw her—

That young redheaded girl, green eyes trembling with tears and fear. That little child who was too young to understand what she was and how to deal with it.

Agatha had always been there. Helping Wanda tame her demons.

Perhaps she could even risk saying she knew Wanda better than anyone.

“This twisted shit isn’t love, Wanda!”

The silence stretched across the room like a thread about to snap.

Wanda stared at the two women in front of her, her breathing unsteady, tears streaming down her face.

And then, something inside her seemed to crack.

“Oh. And do you know what that is? Binding a poor girl’s heart? Keeping her for yourselves. Shutting me out.”

The word lingered in the air like an unspoken curse.

Rio scoffed, but the sound was tense, filled with something even she didn’t want to name.

“Grow up, Wanda! You’re not a fucking child!”

The Scarlet Witch trembled, her power flickering around her. She felt the weight of those words, felt the weight of the truth she refused to accept.

Because deep down, she knew.

She had always been alone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Wanda trembled, her eyes red and swollen, her power still crackling in the air but aimless. She didn’t know what to do anymore.

“You talk as if you know what loneliness is. But you have each other. You always have. And now, you have her.” Her voice broke when she mentioned you. “And me? What do I have?”

Rio clenched her teeth, feeling her head throb with what she considered nothing more than Wanda’s tantrum.

“Fuck you. This isn’t about you.”

But Wanda stepped forward, her anger flaring once more.

“Isn’t it? Then why do I feel like this? Why does it hurt? I did everything right! I did everything I was supposed to! And yet… I’m still alone!”

Agatha rolled her eyes, crossing her arms impatiently.

“She isn’t a prize to be won, Wanda.”

"No?" The redhead laughed, bitter. "But she can be an object? A toy, ready to be controlled by you, right?"

The words fell between them like a sharp knife. The air in the room grew heavier, as if the world had held its breath.

Agatha remained still, her eyes widening for a brief moment before turning as cold as ice.

Rio, on the other hand, reacted instantly.

"Shut. Up."

But Wanda didn’t stop.

She never did.

She had always had strong opinions, ready to be spoken no matter who they hurt.

"What’s wrong? Don’t want to debate how cruel I am now? Don’t want to talk about how I’m evil, controlling, when that’s all you ever do?!"

Rio stepped forward, grabbing Wanda’s pale throat, fury seeping through her amber eyes.

"You know what? I’m done playing the big sister. Now. You’re going to pay."

Wanda, her eyes glowing scarlet, remained rigid, fists clenched at her sides. On the other side, Agatha and Rio stared her down like predators guarding what was theirs.

"Do you really want to do this?" Wanda broke the silence, her voice laden with exhaustion and something deeper. Something wounded.

Agatha tilted her head, blue eyes glinting with an icy shine.

"Honey… this was never a choice."

A crackle in the air.

Wanda didn’t have time to react before a purple blast struck her chest, hurling her backward. Her body crashed into the wall, cracking the plaster around her.

She groaned but had no time to catch her breath before strands of green energy coiled around her wrists and ankles.

Rio.

The artist—or the green witch—walked toward her, eyes burning like blazing amber stones. Her hands were raised, wrists rotating in elegant circles as the magic tightened around Wanda’s body, pulling her to the floor.

"You never knew what it was like not to be in the spotlight, did you?" Rio whispered, her voice heavy with old resentment. "You always had to be the favorite, the special one, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff. And now... now you finally know what it’s like to be cast aside."

Wanda gritted her teeth, her eyes burning crimson.

With a scream of fury, a surge of energy shattered the green bindings, dissipating Rio’s spell.

Wanda lunged forward, her scarlet aura pulsing like a furious heart. With a flick of her hand, Agatha’s purple magic began to unravel, sucked into the crimson sphere vibrating between the Scarlet Witch’s fingers.

Agatha felt the drain, her bones growing heavy as if her very essence was being torn away. She gritted her teeth, raising her hands to weave ancient symbols in the air, trying to seal the energy Wanda was pulling—but it was like trying to contain an ocean with her hands.

Rio didn’t hesitate. Moving in a blur of green, she wove ethereal chains around the redhead, attempting to trap her inside a circle of runes—a spell designed to contain cosmic forces.

But Wanda already knew this trick.

With a mere blink, she shattered the magical prison in a wave of pure chaos, the symbols dissolving like broken glass.

The force sent the brunette witch crashing into the wall, the concrete cracking from the impact.

Agatha seized the distraction to strike.

Her fingers moved swiftly, shaping violet formulas in the air. A blast of energy shot toward Wanda, but the redhead dodged at the last second, throwing herself to the side and launching a sphere of chaos at her mentor.

Purple and red clashed, creating an unstable dimensional vortex. The air crackled, the ground trembled, as if the very universe hesitated before such a battle of primordial forces.

But Wanda didn’t stop. She was hungry. She was absorbing Agatha, consuming her magic, growing stronger with each passing second.

Rio, still recovering, watched it all with weary eyes. Wanda was stronger. There was no denying it. If things continued like this, Agatha would fall.

She couldn’t lose her.

And they couldn’t lose you.

Closing her eyes, Rio abandoned resistance.

She let the shadow in.

Her body went rigid. An inhuman heat coursed through her veins.

And then, green gave way to absolute black.

The room seemed to darken. The atmosphere grew heavy, suffocating, as if space itself was folding around Rio.

Her eyes opened—but they were no longer hers.

They were endless abysses, black voids that devoured any trace of humanity. Her jaw had turned entirely to bone. Small horns sprouted from the top of her head.

The laughter came low, almost tender. A funeral melody, sharp and cruel.

Wanda hesitated. Something inside her screamed to stop.

"Wanda Maximoff," the voice of death was calm and serene. "We met so soon, didn’t we?"

Terror crawled up Wanda’s spine, something primal inside her screaming to run.

She had faced cosmic entities, manipulated the laws of reality…

But this?

This was different.

The figure before her was not just Rio. Not just a witch.

It was something older, hungrier, more inevitable.

Lady Death raised a hand, and the snap of her fingers echoed like the last breath escaping condemned lips.

"You had so much left to live for… What a pity."

It was a whisper drenched in delight, as if death savored every moment of her dance with the living.

The world around Wanda shrank. The red wavered.

For the first time in a long time, her own power felt small.

She tried to fight back. Scarlet flames flared in her hands, but Lady Death’s darkness coiled around them like venom, draining their heat, their chaos, her very existence.

The pain was cold as a blade.

Wanda gasped, staggering back.

She felt like she was dissolving. Like she was being erased from reality itself.

The air felt nonexistent. She struggled to breathe. To fight for her life.

Agatha, who had been watching with fascination and a latent care, felt her stomach turn.

She knew this version of Rio.

In the past, the woman had wiped out an entire village just because Agatha had discovered her true essence.

Lady Death feared Agatha would abandon her. But how could she? If the woman in front of her was the most beautifully dark.

Agatha knew.

Lady Death didn’t negotiate.

Had no mercy.

Obeyed no one.

She was sovereign over being and non-being.

And now, her gaze was fixed on Wanda.

"Darling," Lady Death murmured, raising a hand in an almost affectionate gesture. "You can’t cheat death."

The smile that followed was a hollow promise of compassion.

"Shh, just let go."

Wanda gasped, her body already beginning to dematerialize.

But then—

A spell cut through the air.

Ancient runes glowed gold, spreading like chains around Lady Death.

Lilia’s presence filled the room.

"Stop."

Lady Death’s eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and amusement. She turned slowly, as if assessing the intruder.

"How dare you?"

Her voice was pure condemnation—the fury of something that should never be defied.

But Lilia didn’t back down.

She simply took a deep breath and pointed directly at Agatha, as if to say, "handle this."

And Agatha, with a sudden tightness in her chest, knew it was now or never.

Dealing with her wife in this form was like walking on eggshells—as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Lady Death remained motionless, darkness pulsating around her—a ravenous vortex ready to consume Wanda whole.

But Agatha ignored it all.

She ignored Lilia, ignored Wanda gasping for air, ignored even the crushing weight of death that enveloped the room.

All she saw was Rio.

The woman who had bewitched her long before any magic.

The woman with whom she shared eternity.

The woman who needed her now more than ever.

With delicate care, Agatha stepped forward. Her movements were slow, measured. She could feel the tension thrumming through the entity before her, feel the raw power that made Lady Death something beyond mortal comprehension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because beneath that mask of bone, beneath those abyssal eyes and that suffocating presence—she was still Rio.

Her Rio.

The witch lifted her hands, unhesitant, and touched that inhuman face with a reverence that ached.

Her fingers brushed against the chill of death.

And she did not recoil.

“You need to come back to me, my love.”

Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk, a whisper slipping through the veil between realities.

She felt it when Lady Death tensed, sensed the exact moment the sovereign creature hesitated.

But she did not stop.

Agatha’s fingers glided tenderly over ossified skin, her gaze locked onto the bottomless voids that sought to devour everything around them.

The woman who terrified and fascinated her all at once.

“For me...” she repeated, her voice turning into a hoarse murmur.

And then, the final blow:

“For our little girl.”

The darkness wavered.

The hollow eyes flickered, as if something within them trembled between the present and a distant time.

The chaos around them shuddered.

Death hesitated.

Because there, at the heart of eternal night, on the threshold between destruction and return, there was something stronger than any power Lady Death could wield.

There was love.

There was the memory of sleepless nights whispering magical rites at the bedside.

There was the touch of tiny hands clutching their fingers—trusting, demanding.

There was the sound of her laughter, echoing like music in the depths of Rio’s mind.

And Lady Death, so absolute, so unyielding, faltered before it.

The bony jaw quivered.

The sharp fingers, which held Wanda’s fate in their grasp, trembled.

The shadow of a name formed at the edge of her consciousness.

Your name.

And then, like the tide retreating, the pitch-black abyss began to unravel.

First, the shadows around them.

Then, the eyes.

Brown.

Rio’s deep chocolate eyes shimmered back to life beneath the darkness, like a reborn constellation.

Her body swayed, magic dissipating in silent spirals.

And then, with a trembling gasp, Rio collapsed into Agatha’s arms.

Agatha held her close, heart pounding, her forehead pressed against Rio’s, as if anchoring her there. As if ensuring she would never lose Rio to herself again.

Behind them, Wanda panted, her lungs ablaze as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes still glowed scarlet, but the spark of her usual confidence dimmed with every passing second.

Her hands trembled as they instinctively went to her neck, massaging the skin as if she could erase the sensation of Rio’s fingers—or rather, Lady Death’s—squeezing, crushing, consuming.

She swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood.

Then, a voice shattered the moment.

“Argh. For God’s sake. Go get the girl already.”

Lilia.

Her lazy drawl cut through the air like a whip crack.

Agatha blinked, the abrupt return to reality fogging her thoughts for a moment. She still held Rio against her chest, feeling her breath—warm and shaky—against her collarbone.

The familiar scent of her skin was still there, hidden beneath the aura of death. The weight of her body was still real, still human.

The world settled back into focus.

And there was Lilia, watching it all with a bored expression before rolling her eyes and throwing herself onto the couch with irritating elegance.

“And what are you doing here?” Agatha finally managed to ask, her voice still raspy from the energy drain Wanda had inflicted on her.

“Helping, obviously,” Lilia retorted with a smirk.

“You could’ve arrived a little earlier, don’t you think?” Harkness shot her a cynical smile.

Lilia shrugged, irreverence dripping from every movement. “I like to make an entrance.”

Agatha huffed, too exhausted to argue, but before she could respond, a movement caught her attention.

Wanda, still wrestling with her wounded pride, forced herself to stand. Her body protested the effort, her muscles screaming as if each fiber were being torn from the inside out.

But nothing hurt more than the humiliation.

They had won.

They had shattered her illusion.

The redhead clenched her fists, grasping at the remnants of her conviction.

“You can’t!” she burst out, frustration and desperation lacing her voice. “She must be used as a sacrifice!”

The word hung bitter in the air.

Sacrifice.

As if it were simple. As if it were inevitable.

Rio, still trying to reorient herself after being consumed by Lady Death, lifted her gaze to the youngest.

What she saw made her falter.

Wanda didn’t look like a vengeful goddess, nor even a formidable enemy.

She looked like...

A child.

A lost child, desperate to cling to something that made her feel less alone.

A shadow of a tear shimmered in her green eyes. Wanda shook her head, fiercely, denying it even to herself.

“We’re supposed to stay together. No one can come between us. We are family,” she insisted, but her voice wavered on the last word.

She tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes.

Lilia exhaled slowly, as if trying to dispel the weight of something that had long since settled in her chest. Her eyes—normally filled with irony and indifferent charm—were dull, tired.

“Wanda.” Her voice was firm but not cruel. “You need to understand that we are different people, okay? We disagree with you. We can all be happy, the four of us, and still have separate lives. And you should be happy about that.”

Wanda blinked, as if struggling to process the words. Her gaze darted between them, searching for something—anything—to prove that it wasn’t true.

“But I am!” she cried, urgency spilling from her voice. “I swear! I would never truly hurt any of you. You know that, don’t you?”

There was something painful about the way she sought their validation.

Her face was paler than usual, her green eyes wide, her breathing shallow.

She looked desperate.

Afraid.

Like a little girl who, after letting go of her mother’s hand in a crowd, suddenly realized she might never find her again.

Lilia bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze flickering away for a moment.

She looked thoughtful.

The silence between them grew heavy, thick. The air felt warmer, suffocating, as if something unseen were pressing against their lungs.

Then, at last, Agatha broke the silence.

“Sometimes, you hurt us... indirectly.”

The older witch didn’t raise her voice, but each syllable cut Wanda like a blade.

Wanda blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Agatha hesitated for a brief moment. Her gaze softened, but there was an underlying firmness in her posture.

“Wanda... What you did to Améli��”

“Agatha, don’t you dare!”

Lilia interrupted abruptly, her voice laced with something she rarely let slip: vulnerability.

Agatha looked at her, her own expression weighed down by an old ache.

But Wanda didn’t want silence.

She wanted answers.

Her eyes burned with fury, and a surge of scarlet energy crackled around her fingers.

"No. Speak! Tell me!" Her voice trembled. "I want to know why you think I’m a monster who hurts you when all I’ve done is protect us!"

Silence.

Then, Lilia murmured.

"Amélie."

The name was spoken with a weight that Wanda didn’t immediately understand.

But Lilia did.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if the name itself were a physical blow.

"She was mine," Lilia continued, her voice thick with longing and pain. "And you took her from me."

Wanda’s stomach twisted.

Her heart, which had been pounding until then, gave a strange thud inside her chest.

Suddenly, breathing seemed difficult.

Wanda looked up at the ceiling, trying to connect the name to a person.

Oh.

"The nun?" she asked, a mixture of disgust and confusion in her voice.

She remembered the girl and her robes. She remembered how devoted she was to the place that stood against everything they were. So when she saw Lilia interested, she thought it was for something greater.

For a bigger plan.

But no.

Lilia loved her.

A nun.

A love forbidden in infinite ways.

Lilia blinked slowly, her eyes shining with something Wanda didn’t immediately recognize.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fury.

It was pain.

Raw, throbbing, suffocating pain.

The silence that followed was worse than any outburst of screams.

Then, Lilia laughed.

Not a laugh of mockery, nor one of irritation.

It was the sound of something breaking.

Of a heart that had been shattered so many times it no longer knew how to stay whole.

She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

"Is that how you saw her?" Lilia continued, her breath becoming uneven. "As a symbol of something you despised? As an enemy that needed to be eradicated?"

She took a step forward, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Because to me, Wanda," her voice cracked, but Lilia didn’t stop. "To me, she was everything."

Wanda blinked, feeling something bitter rise in her throat.

She wanted to respond.

Wanted to defend herself.

But she couldn’t.

Because, for the first time, she really looked at Lilia.

At the way her body trembled, at the way her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back something on the verge of spilling over.

And then, as if she couldn’t hold it back any longer, Lilia broke down.

Thick tears streamed down her face, and she ignored them completely.

"You killed her," Lilia whispered, her voice heavy with the weight of resentment. "You took her from me without hesitation. Without even wondering what she meant to me."

The air in the room grew dense, oppressive.

Lilia took a deep breath, her trembling fingers running through her graying hair. The tears escaped without permission, hot and thick, tracing a salty path down her skin.

Wanda couldn’t look directly at her.

"I… I didn’t know, Lilia. I—" Her voice faltered, eyes burning. "God. I would never hurt anyone—" She wiped her face with the backs of her hands, desperate, as if she could erase what she had done.

But the truth was, she had hurt.

So deeply.

For a girl.

For a girl who had meant nothing to her.

Wanda didn’t understand.

"Then what was it?" Lilia asked, her voice choked with nearly unbearable pain. She struck her own chest hard, as if trying to tear away the emptiness Amélie had left behind. "Why does it hurt so much?"

Her eyes met Wanda’s, but there was no love in them anymore. Only a chasm of grief and disappointment.

"She was my happiness, Wanda."

Wanda felt her chest tighten, her lungs failing.

"And you ripped her away from me."

The silence that followed was mourning in itself.

She ran her hands through her red hair, trembling. Despair crawled inside her, draining any remnants of control.

"Alright. I can fix this." Her voice sounded rushed, almost childlike. "I can fix this. Tell me anything, Lilia. I’ll do it. Let me make it right."

Lilia laughed.

Low, bitter.

"Make it right?" Her voice rose into a scream that made Wanda flinch. "Do you really think you can make it right, Wanda?"

Wanda faltered, her heart begging for a way out.

"Please, Lilia…"

But Lilia no longer heard pleas.

She exhaled deeply, wiping away the last of her tears with her fingertips. There was an eerie calm now, something resolved, definitive.

"We should stay away from each other for a while." Her voice was firm but not cruel. "I am so angry at you right now… Fuck. Like I’ve never felt before."

Wanda held her breath.

Lilia had loved her.

And precisely because of that, the pain was so overwhelming.

She didn’t know if she would ever be forgiven.

And that was the sentence that broke Wanda.

Panic flooded her red, swollen eyes.

"Please, Lilia." Her voice trembled, thick with despair. "Hurt me. Curse me. Hate me. Give me any punishment you want."

Her shoulders shook.

"But don’t leave me."

It was the end of the world for Wanda.

She had tried to avoid this fate at all costs. Had done everything, everything, to prevent being abandoned.

But in the end, all of her choices had led her to the same place.

Lilia looked at her for a long time.

A time that felt like an eternity. In a hoarse, exhausted voice, she replied:

"I don’t need to punish you, Wanda."

Lilia took a small step back, her gaze soft but unwavering.

"You know, leaving is also a way of loving. You helped me learn that."

She took a deep breath.

"Today, it’s my turn."

And without another word, Lilia turned and walked out the door.

The silence left behind was deafening.

[...]

In the next room, your trembling, almost lifeless body gasped for air, and your eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking against the soft light bathing the space.

Alive.

You were alive.

…or just dreaming?

Your breathing came in small tremors, your body heavy, weak, but your senses picked up something your mind had yet to fully grasp.

The warmth of hands caressing your skin, a gentle, reverent touch, as if afraid you might dissolve between their fingers.

Soft whispers, tender, words barely reaching the world but wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket.

"Finally, my little girl."

The sound of the voice was melodic, filled with a love that made your chest tighten.

Your trembling body finally began to relax under those touches. You blinked slowly, your vision still blurry, and saw their silhouettes. Their forms right there, so close, so real…

You tried to murmur something, but your lips felt too heavy, and all you managed was a shaky sigh.

It didn’t matter. You didn’t need to say anything.

Warm arms wrapped around you, both fierce and tender at the same time, holding you as if trying to protect you from the world itself.

And maybe from themselves.

"Mommies are here now, sweetheart."

The sound of those words made something inside you release.

Everything would be okay.

The answers could wait. The questions didn’t matter anymore at that moment.

Now, you just wanted to enjoy this.

So you melted into their embrace, sinking into this warm feeling.

So… so warm.

It felt like you were delirious — and maybe you were, given your current condition.

But something deep in your mind guessed this is exactly how a person feels when they are loved.

~*~

Ufff, it seems we have a family case over there, huh... (call Cristina Rocha, pls)

Btw, this chapter is the need to you know that you will have a spin-off of Wanda Maximoff in Woven Fates :)

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[meadowfics]

in safe hands

adoptivefather!namgyu x adoptive!mother!reader

your daughter hiding underneath the table reminds namgyu of 'lights out' back in the games.

warnings: mentions of death. adoption aka 'mi' is not biologically yours or namgyu's.

based off of this request here

namgyu slammed the door a little harder than he meant to. frustration buzzed under his skin like a swarm of hornets. the guy had pissed him off, some asshole who thought he could run his mouth without consequence.

he could still hear the condescending tone, the sneer.

namgyu dropped his keys onto the counter, exhaling through his nose. the apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of a children's show playing from the television.

you stood by the sink, finishing washing dishes, but nam-gyu barely looked at her before rubbing a hand down his face.

“fucking guy,” he muttered under his breath, not even realizing his voice was sharper than usual.

"can't believe i wasted my goddamn time talking to him."

the man's tone, his volume...he didn't think anything of it at first. he was irritated, sure, but it wasn't like he was yelling.

yet, in the silence that followed, something felt off. it was you who noticed first.

"nam-gyu," you said, softly, carefully.

he turned, brow furrowed, and then he saw it. the tiny figure crouched under the dining table, knees hugged tightly to her chest, small hands gripping the fabric of her dress. mi.

namgyu's breath caught.

she was shaking. her dark eyes, wide and wary, peeked out from the shadows beneath the table. the girl's tiny fingers clung to her sleeves, the way a child might cling to something familiar, something safe.

however, she wasn’t feeling safe right now.

nam-gyu felt his chest tighten.

"shit," he whispered.

mi barely made a sound. she just sat there, frozen, looking at him like he was someone to be afraid of, like he was the kind of man who had hurt her before.

he never hurt her before, and never will.

right now namgyu had no one to blame but himself.

the club promoter's stomach twisted, his hands flexing at his sides before he carefully, so carefully, lowered himself onto the floor, his movements slow and deliberate.

he didn’t speak. he knew words wouldn’t do much, not right now. instead, he reached a hand forward, palm up, and placed it on the floor in front of him.

not too close. not too far.

just enough to let her know he wasn’t angry at her.

mi didn’t move right away. she sniffled, her lip wobbling, but she didn’t look away from him. the little girl's small chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and it hit him like a punch... how familiar this was.

he remembers.

he remembers the cold, damp floors of the dorm. the feeling of curling into himself, heart hammering in his ribs. lights out meant uncertainty. darkness wasn’t the real fear—it was what came after.

yes, namgyu started the chaos during lights out one night. semi being his victim in the process. however, he couldn't grieve thano’s death properly then.

the next nights, when he ran out of those pills that he got from thanos.. namgyu was scared shitless.

hiding under the beds during lights out was the feeling of being small and being powerless.

the little toddler's position under the table reminded him of the way that people used to hide during lights out, even himself.

mi didn’t need words right now.

she needed something solid. something safe.

nam-gyu shifted just a little closer.

the man's fingers twitched, itching to reach for her, but he let her decide. he will let her move first.

after what felt like forever, mi’s tiny hand uncurled from her pajama pants. she hesitated, just for a second, before reaching out, pressing her small palm against his much larger one. the girl's fingers barely wrapped around two of her father's fingers.

that was all it took.

slowly, with infinite care, nam-gyu pulled her toward him. she didn’t resist. she crawled out from under the table, sniffling, her cheeks damp with unshed tears.

she just wanted her father.

namgyu gathered her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly, and cradled her against his chest.

he didn’t say anything.

instead, he let his actions speak for him.

namgyu's hand rubbed soft circles against her back. the grip was firm but gentle, holding her close, securing her against him as if to silently say, i've got you. i'm here.

mi's tiny hands curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as she buried her face against him. mi's small body was still trembling, but little by little, the tension eased. mi's breaths, though shaky, started to slow.

namgyu rested his chin lightly atop her head, closing his eyes for a moment.

he never wanted her to feel like that.

never.

namgyu's thumb brushed against her back, soothing, steady. mi didn't say a word, but she didn't need to. the hold on him said everything.

nam-gyu held her tighter.

he wasn’t a perfect man. he wasn’t soft, wasn’t always good with words, and most of the time, he didn’t care much for other people’s feelings.

mi... she was different.

she was his daughter and he would never, ever be someone she needed to hide from like those people hid from others back during those games.

masterlist

[eamour]

about negative thoughts.

"it is so hard to remain in my desired state and feel convinced… i keep having negative thoughts that pop out of the blue and just completely throw me off. i feel irritated, confused and i wonder if i'm truly living in the end. what do i do? how do i flip every thought? am even i doing this right?"

let’s talk about it!

thoughts and states.

in my latest post "dominant thoughts and dwelling states" or my "states" post, i have already talked about what states and thoughts are, how they "function" and what the difference between the two is. here is a short summary:

thoughts come from your state.

your dominant thoughts give insight to your state.

your dominant thoughts equal your dwelling state.

intrusive thoughts, as long as not identified with, don’t manifest.

your state manifests, not your single thoughts.

you are not your state, you are your "i am".

there is an infinite number of states.

you enter and exit states all day long.

now, you know that thoughts can only manifest if you assume them to be true, making them your dwelling state. but even if you know all of this, it still may not stop you from having undesirable thoughts here and there. so, how do we deal with them?

about all thoughts.

now, let's take a look at the characteristics of thoughts.

all thoughts are neutral. negative thoughts, just like positive ones, don’t have any meaning pre-assigned to them. they are all neutral until you categorise them to positive or negative. meaning, they are the exact same.

… therefore, thoughts don’t hold any power. thoughts don’t have any truth attached to them. no state has. because you are not your state. you are your i am. you decide what’s truthful to you or not, which state you want to occupy and which thoughts you want to have. your thoughts look at YOU for validation.

all thoughts are equal. because of that, negative thoughts aren’t easier to manifest than positive ones. all thoughts hold the same "value" or no value at all. they are all equally easy to manifest.

all thoughts are temporary. and thus, all states are as well. especially intrusive thought’s come from a place of fear, uncertainty and insecurity. who is feeling all those? who is controlling all those? YOU. you are not as out of control as you may think. just like you can alter a thought, you can alter the very origin of it — your state. you dictate your state and your thoughts.

all thoughts are yours. imagination creates reality, meaning creation comes from you. all thoughts and furthermore all states stem from your own awareness. there is no need to feel intimidated by them!

step by step resolution.

1 · emotion · this is the first thing we will do whenever we have a very mean thought — so mean, it makes it hard for you to change it on the spot or ignore it: we let ourselves feel the way that thought makes us feel. some thoughts, you can choose not to absorb but rather observe. however, if you do absorb them (which can definitely happen), make sure to embrace them. let out all the emotions they make you feel. express them. talk to a friend, scream into the void, bawl out your eyes… whatever helps your nervous system to relieve and regulate. you are not meant to internalise all that negativity.

2 · reflection · reflect on your unfavourable thoughts. ask yourself "is this thought helping me? do i want to continue thinking this? does this do me any good?". if yes, keep thinking it. if not, stop thinking it, forget it and correct it.

⋮ 2 · attention · some thoughts don’t need to be corrected for them to not affect you negatively. some of them can be entirely ignored and disregarded. not every little thought needs to be investigated. you don’t need to monitor every thought of yours. let them pass you by. don’t assign any meaning to them. renounce them. learn to be indifferent to certain thoughts. take your attention away from them. sometimes, that's enough. because some thoughts need to be dealt with a certain level of neglect. otherwise you will only drive yourself insane. ⋮

3 · identification · realise where the thought is coming from. most likely, it’s coming from your limited human self. but you are your unbounded god self. return to it! you have what you want and you are who you want to be. stop contemplating on your unwanted circumstances and focus on your end. continue to live from there. don’t just think of it, embody it. fully claim it. it’s your end. your reality. change the direction of your thoughts and remind yourself of your actual identity — GOD.

in short, feel your emotions, reflect on your thoughts, abandon negative thoughts, declare them as wrong and replace them with positive ones, remember your desired version of self, embody it and persist.

important.

before you go, there is one last thing i want to touch on. changing your thoughts, distancing yourself from unfavourable situations and trying to persist while feeling triggered by something external… can be very challenging. what i mean is, it takes determination, dedication and discipline. you need to be courageous and eager enough to make tough decisions, to choose your ending of the story and side with YOURself, even when you actually want to. but it’s possible. it’s attainable. it’s doable. you know what you want and you are going to continue to live your truth, with conviction and commitment!

you will do it. and you will succeed.

with love, ella.

[talonabraxas]

"When you become comfortable with uncertainty, infinite possibilities open up in your life." --Eckhart Tolle

hope you're still there Blank Embrace @BlankEmbrace

[itsreallynotriri]

I ADORE your potter-black family posts. Could you please write something about reader finding out she’s pregnant OR like reader and regulus talking about having another kid and they’re worried about how harry will feel cuz they don’t want him to feel replaced? ILY MUAH

Harry meets Danny

Harry meets his little sister Danny.

[Regulus Black x fem Potter! reader]

word count: 899 words

warnings: fluff, mentions of pregnancy, harry being a cutie patootie

note: I love this prompt so much.

-

The soft glow of candlelight filled the cozy Black-Potter living room, casting flickering shadows along the walls. Outside, snowflakes drifted down like bits of silver confetti, frosting the windows in delicate lace patterns. Y/N sat curled up on the couch, one hand resting on the small but unmistakable curve of her stomach. Across from her, Regulus paced with the anxiety of a man who once battled dark forces but now faced something infinitely more daunting: telling Harry he was going to have a sibling.

"You're going to wear a hole in the rug," Y/N murmured, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm trying to figure out the right words," Regulus said, stopping mid-stride. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. "How do you tell a six-year-old that everything is about to change?"

Y/N patted the cushion beside her. "We tell him with love. And honesty." She tilted her head toward the staircase. "He's probably still awake, you know."

Regulus sighed, resigned, and climbed the stairs. Moments later, he returned, Harry perched sleepily on his hip. The boy's messy black hair stuck out at odd angles, his green eyes blinking in the dim light.

"Mama? Baba?" Harry rubbed his eyes. "Why am I awake?"

Regulus settled Harry between them on the couch. Y/N shifted to face him fully, brushing his hair back fondly.

"We have something important to tell you," she began.

Harry's eyes widened. "Is it bad?"

"No, sweetheart," Y/N said softly. "It's something wonderful." She exchanged a glance with Regulus before taking a breath. "You're going to be a big brother."

Harry froze. He looked from Y/N's belly to Regulus, and then back again. "A brother?"

"Or a sister," Regulus said. "We don't know yet."

Harry's mouth formed a small "o." Silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.

"Are you excited?" Y/N asked, her voice gentle.

Harry's legs swung against the couch. "I dunno. Will you still have time for me?"

Y/N's heart cracked at the uncertainty in his voice. She pulled him into her arms, cradling him tightly. "Oh, my love. There is nothing and no one that could ever replace you. You made us parents. And we will always have time for you. Always."

Harry sniffled into her shoulder. "Promise?"

"I swear it," Y/N said.

Regulus leaned in and kissed the crown of Harry's head. "You'll never be alone, Harry. You'll have us. And you'll have a little brother or sister to protect, to teach...maybe even to prank if you inherit any of your Uncle Sirius's tendencies."

That earned a watery giggle. Harry looked up. "I get to teach them stuff?"

"Absolutely," Y/N said with a smile. "Like how to fly a broom and sneak extra biscuits from the kitchen when Baba isn't looking."

"Oi!" Regulus shot her a look of mock disapproval, but his eyes were warm.

Harry's grin grew. "Okay," he whispered. "I think being a big brother sounds kinda cool."

Y/N pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're going to be the best big brother ever, sweetheart."

That night, after Harry had fallen asleep between them, one hand resting protectively on Y/N's belly, Regulus whispered into the darkness, "He's going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

Y/N laced her fingers with his. "We already are."

-

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when six-year-old Harry Potter-Black was woken up by the sound of soft footsteps. His wild hair stuck up in every direction as he rubbed his eyes and squinted at the doorway of his bedroom.

His Baba stood there, hair disheveled, an uncharacteristically wide grin on his usually serious face.

"Harry," Regulus whispered, voice thick with emotion. "She's here. Your sister's here."

Harry didn't need any more convincing. He scrambled out of bed, heart racing with excitement. "She's really here?" he asked breathlessly.

Regulus held out his hand, and Harry grabbed it tightly as they padded down the hall toward the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and Harry peeked in.

His Mama was propped up against pillows, hair damp and face glowing with a tired but radiant smile. In her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft, moon-patterned blanket.

"Hi, sweetheart," Y/N whispered as Harry hesitated in the doorway. "Come meet your sister."

Harry crept forward, eyes wide. "She's so small," he breathed, standing on his tiptoes to see better.

"Would you like to hold her?" Y/N asked softly.

Harry's green eyes shot up to hers. "Can I?"

Y/N nodded, shifting slightly as Regulus moved to sit beside her, guiding Harry into the safe space between them. With infinite care, they helped him cradle the tiny baby.

"This is Danica," Y/N said, brushing a gentle finger along the baby's soft cheek. "Danica Potter-Black."

"Danny," Harry whispered, staring at the delicate face. "Hi, Danny. I'm your big brother. I'm gonna take care of you forever."

Danica gave a tiny sigh, her tiny fingers curling into a fist. Harry's heart melted.

"She's like a morning star," he whispered.

Regulus wrapped an arm around his son. "That's exactly what her name means, Harry. Morning star."

Harry beamed. "I love her already."

Y/N felt her heart squeeze with happiness as she met Regulus's gaze over their children's heads. At that moment, their little family felt complete.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

[honeymilktea-444]

🕊️ What affirmations does your spirit need to hear right now? 🕊️

Hi my babies! Take a deep breath in and out and choose whatever pile/number/picture you’re drawn to. Take what resonates and leave the rest. Enjoy! 🌸💖🫶🏾🧸🧚🏾‍♀️🪽🌸

🕊️ Pile 1 🕊️

• strength •

Hi pile 1 babies, the affirmations below are what your soul/spirit needs to hear at this time. Repeat them daily when you wake up to start your day, before you go to bed and throughout the day whenever you may need it. 🤎

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

♡ I am resilient, and my inner strength empowers me to face any challenge with grace.

♡ I trust in my ability to navigate adversity with compassion and wisdom.

♡ I embrace my vulnerabilities, knowing they are part of my power.

♡ I am calm and centered, handling each moment with patience and understanding.

♡ I am capable of overcoming obstacles, and each experience strengthens me.

♡ My courage grows as I honor my emotions and respond with kindness to myself.

♡ I trust my intuition and allow my inner power to guide me through uncertainty.

♡ I am connected to my inner lion, fearless, yet gentle in my approach to life.

♡ Each breath I take fills me with the strength to move forward with grace and peace.

♡ I am capable of transforming fear into wisdom and using it to grow stronger.

♡ I honor my journey and trust that every challenge strengthens my spirit.

♡ I have the courage to remain calm in the face of adversity, knowing peace resides within me.

♡ I am the master of my emotions, guiding them with compassion and wisdom.

♡ I trust that my inner strength is enough to guide me through any storm.

♡ I am patient with myself, knowing that true strength comes from within and unfolds in its own time.

♡ I embrace my power with humility, using it to nurture and protect myself and others.

♡ I release fear and trust in the infinite strength that flows within me.

♡ I am fearless in the face of challenges, knowing I am capable of overcoming anything.

♡ My heart is strong, and I trust it to guide me with love and wisdom.

♡ I am at peace with my strength, using it not to dominate, but to heal and uplift.

🕊️ Pile 2 🕊️

• the sun •

Hi pile 2 babies, the affirmations below are what your soul/spirit needs to hear at this time. Repeat them daily when you wake up to start your day, before you go to bed and throughout the day whenever you may need it. 🤎

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

♡ I deserve happiness and to be happy. I am doing nothing wrong by being happy, and choosing my happiness over everything.

♡ I radiate positivity and joy, embracing the light within me.

♡ I am connected to the warmth and vitality of the sun, which fills me with energy and hope.

♡ Each day is a new opportunity for growth, healing, and happiness.

♡ I trust in the clarity of the path ahead, knowing that I am guided by the light of truth.

♡ I embrace the fullness of life with open arms, knowing that all is unfolding for my highest good.

♡ I am worthy of love, abundance, and all the blessings that the universe offers me.

♡ My heart is full of light and love, and I share it freely with the world.

♡ I am grounded in the present moment, basking in the warmth of my own joy.

♡ I release any negativity and invite pure, radiant energy into my life.

♡ My inner light shines brightly, illuminating my path and those of others around me.

♡ I am grateful for the clarity that surrounds me and the peace it brings to my soul.

♡ I embrace all of my achievements, knowing that I deserve every success and blessing.

♡ I welcome new beginnings with confidence, knowing that I am supported by the sun’s energy.

♡ I am open to receiving all the love, joy, and abundance that the universe has to offer.

♡ I trust in the divine timing of my life, knowing everything is unfolding as it should.

♡ I celebrate my uniqueness and the light I bring into the world.

♡ I find healing in the presence of sunlight, allowing it to recharge and renew my spirit.

♡ I honor my journey and the progress I’ve made, knowing I am always moving toward greater happiness.

♡ I trust that everything I need to thrive is already within me, illuminated by the light of the sun.

🕊️Pile 3 🕊️

• the emperor •

Hi pile 3 babies, the affirmations below are what your soul/spirit needs to hear at this time. Repeat them daily when you wake up to start your day, before you go to bed and throughout the day whenever you may need it. 🤎

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

♡ I am a powerful force of stability and order in my life.

♡ I embrace my role as a wise and compassionate leader.

♡ I trust in my decisions and the path I am creating.

♡ I am grounded, rooted in purpose, and centered in my truth.

♡ I have the strength and discipline to overcome any challenge.

♡ I am confident in my ability to manifest my goals and dreams.

♡ My authority comes from love, clarity, and wisdom.

♡ I honor my boundaries and create healthy structures in my life.

♡ I lead with integrity and empower others through my actions.

♡ I am the architect of my future, and I build it with intention.

♡ I trust that the foundation I lay today will support me for years to come.

♡ I am a pillar of strength and support for those I care about.

♡ I confidently navigate my responsibilities with focus and discipline.

♡ I am aligned with my higher purpose and make decisions with confidence.

♡ I nurture my inner wisdom and trust my intuitive guidance.

♡ I stand tall in my authority, knowing I am capable of achieving anything.

♡ I release all fear of failure, knowing my strength comes from my resilience.

♡ I am at peace with my power, using it to create balance and harmony.

♡ I embrace my leadership role, trusting in my ability to guide others.

♡ I walk forward with unwavering confidence, creating stability in all areas of my life.

🕊️ Pile 4 🕊️

• the empress •

Hi pile 4 babies, the affirmations below are what your soul/spirit needs to hear at this time. Repeat them daily when you wake up to start your day, before you go to bed and throughout the day whenever you may need it. 🤎

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

♡ I am a radiant source of love, abundance, and creativity.

♡ I honor and nourish my body, mind, and spirit with care and compassion.

♡ I trust in the natural flow of life and allow myself to receive all that I deserve.

♡ My creativity flows effortlessly, bringing forth beauty and inspiration.

♡ I embrace the fertile energy within me, ready to manifest my desires.

♡ I am a nurturing presence, fostering growth and healing in myself and others.

♡ I trust in the wisdom of my intuition, which guides me to abundance.

♡ I am deserving of all the blessings life has to offer, and I welcome them with open arms.

♡ I create a loving and supportive environment for myself and those I care about.

♡ I honor my emotions and allow myself to feel and express freely.

♡ My life is a reflection of the love, abundance, and beauty I cultivate within.

♡ I radiate peace, love, and harmony in all my relationships.

♡ I nurture my dreams and give them the care they need to flourish.

♡ I trust in the process of growth and change, knowing I am always evolving.

♡ I am deeply connected to the earth and its abundant energy.

♡ I honor my feminine energy, celebrating both my softness and strength.

♡ I am at peace with the cycles of life, trusting that each phase brings its own gifts.

♡ I release all self-doubt and embrace the limitless potential within me.

♡ I am a channel for abundance, allowing prosperity to flow freely into my life.

♡ I am deeply grateful for the beauty and richness that surrounds me every day.

• do not copy and paste, to post as your own. thank you so much for supporting my blog, remember to always be kind. sending love 2 you! •

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day seventeen: Darling being sacrificed to Deity!Chrollo

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: Only thing I have to say is 🥺💕💕💕, I love him

The air was thick with incense and the soft murmurs of the cultists, their chants rising and falling like a tide all around you. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the chamber walls, and despite the warmth of the room, a chill settled deep into your bones.

You were bound to an altar of cold stone, unable to move, fear coursing through your veins. They had called it a “gift,” this sacrifice they were making, but all you felt was the dread creeping up your spine.

“Great Chrollo,” One of them intoned louder this time, bowing so low that her forehead brushed the ground. “We offer this sacrifice in exchange for your infinite wisdom. Please, hear our plea, benevolent God and if were worthy, grace us with your presence.”

You wanted to scream at them, to swear at their existence but they put a gag over your lips so you couldn't interrumpt their prayers and summoning.

If you died, you wanted to return as a ghost, the most violent one, just so you could haunt them to the point that not even their god could help them.

There was a moment of stillness, and then, the very air seemed to bend, a presence sliding into existence as if it had always been there. Chrollo emerged from the darkness, his form solidifying from the shadows, and you felt a shiver run through you at the sight of him. He was unnaturally beautiful, a figure that radiated both menace and an inexplicable calm. The cultists remained praying and thanking him.

His eyes, dark as ink, met yours as soon as he appeared, and there was something ancient within them, something that spoke of endless years spent peering into the abyss.

“You summon me, as you always do,” Chrollo said, his voice soft, almost contemplative, its tone and syllables made you stop trembling as an unexplainable calm washed over you. “And as always, you ask for answers.”

He took a step forward, gaze drifting over you with a detached curiosity, as if studying a painting in a gallery. “You desire knowledge, yet you fear the cost. Isn’t that the paradox of humanity?”

One of the cultists dared to speak, voice trembling with reverence. “We understand the price, Great Chrollo. For each answer, a life must be given.”

Chrollo chuckled, a sound that was more thoughtful than amused. “Ah, but do you truly understand?” He turned his back on them, walking around you, his steps slow and deliberate. “Knowledge is a burden, not a gift. Every answer begets more questions, and every revelation strips away the comfort of ignorance. You offer a life for what? A fleeting moment of clarity in an endless sea of uncertainty?”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, and you flinched, the touch cold as ice. He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly and then he smiled, but it was a distant, melancholic thing, as if he were reminiscing about something long lost.

“And yet,” Chrollo murmured, “here you are, placed on this altar, offered up as if you were nothing more than a token in a game they scarcely understand. How do you feel?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to find your voice as he took out the gag from your lips. “I didn’t… I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “I don’t want to die.”

Chrollo’s eyes softened and for a moment, there was something almost kind in his expression. “Few do,” He replied, “but that’s the nature of sacrifice, isn’t it? It’s rarely a choice. It’s something taken, something demanded, without regard for the will of the one who must pay the price.”

He tilted his head, considering you as if you were a riddle he was trying to solve. “Tell me, do you believe in fate? In the idea that some are destined to be pawns, while others move the pieces?”

You stared at him, struggling to understand his words. “I… I don’t know.”

“An honest answer,” Chrollo mused, a faint smile touching his lips. “How rare. Most people spend their lives pretending they have all the answers when, in truth, they’re adrift, terrified of the great unknown.” He looked back at the cultists, who were still kneeling, waiting for their moment of enlightenment.

“You seek knowledge,” He said to them, his tone gentle but laced with an unspoken warning. “But knowledge is not a gift freely given. It is something that devours, something that demands its pound of flesh.”

“Please, Great Chrollo,” one of them pleaded, “grant us the wisdom we seek!”

He sighed, almost as if he were disappointed, and then, with a wave of his hand, the room erupted into darkness. When the shadows receded, the cultists were gone, their bodies erased from existence, leaving only you and Chrollo standing in the silence.

You stared at him, heart pounding in your chest. “What… what did you do?”

“I gave them their answer,” He replied simply, turning his gaze back to you. “And in doing so, I took what was owed. That is the way of all things — equilibrium. For every truth, there must be a consequence.”

“Then… why am I still here?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper. "Wasn’t I your sacrifice?"

Chrollo’s smile returned, softer this time, tinged with an unspoken sadness. “Because you,” He said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, “are a question I have yet to answer. You are an enigma, a puzzle placed before me and I am nothing if not curious, as you're so alike my past lover.”

"Whatever do you mean by that?" You asked, your eyes searching for something inside of his. But you were answered only with a simple smile of his, for a god of knowledge, Chrollo was fond of not giving any answer at all.

Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin and you could feel the weight of his presence enveloping you like a mantle. “It means what it means, dear Y/n. Until my curiosity is satisfied, you will remain mine.”

He pulled back, his expression thoughtful, almost serene as he worked to free your limbs from the ropes and caressed your skin softly.

“You see,” Chrollo continued, as if explaining something to his favorite student. Even if you were nothing but uncomfortable with the whole situation, it didn'tmatter in his opinion. “there’s a beauty in the unknown, in the spaces between questions and answers. That’s where the most profound truths lie. And you, in your fear and defiance… you are the embodiment of that mystery.”

You trembled under his gaze and Chrollo chuckled softly, an echo of amusement rippling through the still air as he pulled you closer. “Don’t worry,” He murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I have no intention to hurt you but I also can't let you go, you're rightfully mine, my sweet sacrifice.”

And as the darkness crept closer, swallowing the light, you realized that you had become another question in Chrollo’s infinite search for knowledge — a mystery bound to him, and him alone, until the day he decided that your answer was worth the price.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER NINETEEN: INTERTWINED, SEWN TOGETHER

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ And the universe said, "I love you." You stare at them. "Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities." pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none wc: 4.6k

It’s nighttime in Gotham, a city of shadows and contrasts that you've come to know well. The skyline is a jagged silhouette against the dark canvas of the night sky, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of lights from skyscrapers and streetlamps below.

You swing gracefully through the city, the rhythm of your movements second nature after months of navigating these streets. The cool breeze brushes against you, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and distant echoes of Gotham's perpetual hustle.

Arriving at a familiar rooftop, you land softly and take a moment to survey your surroundings. Oftentimes this is where, Damian and Jon often met you, a secluded spot where you can discuss plans, share moments of quiet, or simply enjoy each other's company away from the chaos of your nightly duties.

Tonight, however, the rooftop is empty when you arrive. The absence of their familiar presence gives you a moment to reflect on everything that has brought you to this point—the life you’ve led, the friendships you cherish, and the burgeoning feelings that have taken root in your heart.

You find yourself replaying conversations and moments in your mind, Jon's warmth and Damian's complexities intertwined with your own thoughts and uncertainties. The city seems to hold its breath around you, as if waiting for your next move.

You don’t get to, because you feel a sudden and violent gust of wind, and then there’s someone right behind you.

“[Name],” Jon breathes, pajamas and all. You turn around slowly, senses buzzing at his presence.

He takes two half-hearted steps towards you, before using his speed to get right in front of you in the split of a second. He reaches out a hand, almost instinctively, as if to steady you or perhaps himself. His gaze searches yours, his expression a mix of relief and something more complicated, something you can't quite decipher in the dim rooftop light.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” he says, reverently. His eyes trace your face, taking in every feature. “There’s no one else with that heartbeat.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t just completely do you over.

He places his hands on your arms tightly, pulling you to him. As if you’ll disappear if he isn’t holding onto you. “What happened? Where were you?”

You try to speak, but no words come out. “You were just gone. I couldn’t hear you at all,” he whispers. He spots the Web-Watch. “What is this? Did whoever took you put it on you? Is it hurting you?”

His hand wanders over to it, and you suddenly remember how you first got stuck here in the first place. You snatch your wrist out of his range, because his strength is no joke. He looks at you confused. “It’s mine,” you choke out.

Jon's eyes narrow slightly, searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery that surrounds you. He grabs your hands in his, gently bringing them up his face. “[Name], [Name][Name][Name],” he mutters. His lips move against your fingers, breath warm. “We’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

He closes his eyes tight and shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” Jon's grip on you loosens slightly, his eyes flickering with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. "We missed you," he admits quietly. "Damian's been impossible, you know. He wouldn't rest until..."

You sigh deeply. “I honestly… didn’t think you’d care all that much,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the city's distant sounds.

“Why wouldn’t we care?” he near growls, looking at you fiercely. “With how we feel–” he cuts himself, breathing deeply. Jon's expression softens, his gaze holding yours with a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet rooftop air. His hands remain on yours, a gentle warmth that anchors you in the moment. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks, hands moving to run down your sides. It feels nice.

“No.” Your hands lay gently on his, not moving them. “I need to tell you something. You and Damian.”

Jon's hands pause their gentle exploration, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that reflects both concern and a hint of apprehension. The rooftop seems to hold its breath around you, the city's distant sounds providing a muted backdrop to this moment of intimacy and vulnerability.

“Can you take us to the Den? To talk?”

"The Den," he repeats softly, as if testing the idea. "Yeah, we can go there. Whatever you need." His voice carries a reassurance, tinged with an unspoken question. "Are you sure you're okay to talk about this now?" Oh, Jon. Ever the sweetheart.

You nod, taking a moment to steady yourself. "You deserve to know.”

He scoops you up in his arms tentatively. His eyes linger on your form wrapped in his arms, almost longingly. He sighs when he feels your arms wrapped around his neck. He flies you across the city, urgent but at the same time leisurely. Trying to savor whatever time with you.

As you arrive, Jon gently sets you down, his concern apparent and his touch gentle. The Den's interior is familiar and comforting, the place a testament to your resilience. It looks just like you left it, like it was frozen in time. The sight of it makes your heart squeeze.

His hands gently cup your face, turning you to him. “I’m gonna go get Dami,” he says, not making any move to let you go.

Your gaze is filled with infinite amounts of fondness for the boy. “I’ll be here,” you promise. You bring your hands to his face and angle him so you lay a sweet and cherished kiss on his cheek. “I promise.”

His eyes fall to your lips for a few aching seconds before he nods.  Jon lingers for a moment longer, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek before he reluctantly pulls away.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance as he turns to leave the Den.

You watch Jon go, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness settle in your chest. Alone in the quiet of the Den, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. . The soft light from the fairy lights cast gentle shadows around you, creating a cocoon of solitude.

Minutes stretch into a timeless space, each second filled with the weight of anticipation. You find yourself replaying moments with Jon—his earnest concern, the warmth in his touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to hover between you both. Damian's complex presence also flickers through your thoughts, his sharp wit and guarded vulnerability leave an undeniable mark on your heart.

Finally, the soft sound of footsteps heralds Jon's return. He enters with Damian in tow, the atmosphere shifting subtly with their presence. Damian's expression is a mix of relief and something harder to define—perhaps a blend of concern and guarded hope. He approaches with a measured stride, his posture betraying a readiness to hear whatever you have to say.

Jon moves to stand beside you, a reassuring presence at your side. His hand finds yours, offering silent support and encouragement. Damian's gaze flickers between you and Jon, his demeanor a mix of curiosity and a hint of apprehension. 

"Where have you been?" Damian demands, his voice edged with a mixture of relief and frustration.

Jon looks at him sternly, and, surprisingly (is it really, though?), Damian’s demeanor stutters. The silent signal calms his initial intensity. His gaze softens fractionally as he looks back at you. Damian contemplates for a moment, before sighing and approaching you. He takes you in with a mix of guarded concern and curiosity, his usual stoic demeanor softened slightly by the relief of seeing you safe. 

“Beloved,” he mutters without constraint. His use of the endearment catches you off guard, a rare display of vulnerability from someone so often guarded. It almost makes you want to cry. He takes your face in his hands, the same way Jon did.

You feel his fingers trace your lips, a gesture that speaks volumes in its tenderness. Damian's gaze searches yours, his usually sharp eyes softened by an emotion you rarely see openly displayed. "Where have you been?"

"I thought... we thought..." he continues, voice faltering for a moment, as if grappling with the weight of his own emotions. "Are you hurt?" he asks quietly, his concern palpable in every word.

You shake your head slowly, overcome by the intensity of the moment and the flood of emotions that threaten to spill over. "I'm okay," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the Den.

Damian exhales sharply, a mixture of relief and lingering tension leaving his frame. He pulls you into a tight embrace, surprising you with the strength and earnestness of his hold. His arms wrap around you protectively, as if to shield you from any harm that might dare to approach.

"I wasn't sure if you would return," Damian admits quietly, his tone tinged with a mix of vulnerability and something deeper, something you're beginning to recognize as a bond that goes beyond mere partnership or friendship.

Jon's presence beside you feels like a grounding force, and as Damian's arms wrap around you, you realize just how much you missed this—missed them. You close your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of their concern and the strength of their embrace. It's a moment that transcends words, a silent affirmation of the bond you share with them.

When Damian finally releases you, his gaze still holds that unspoken question, the need to understand where you've been and why you were gone. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart.

Silence stretches between you, filled with words not said and emotions too raw to name. Finally, Damian breaks the silence, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet plea. "Don't disappear again."

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent promise passing between you. "I won't," you assure him, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart. Jon and Damian's eyes remain locked on you, their concern and anticipation on display in the quiet of the Den.

"Where do I even start?" you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me, things I’ve kept hidden because…well, because I thought it was for the best." Jon's hand tightens around yours in silent support, while Damian's expression remains intense and focused, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m not from here,” you state, hesitant be damned. You’ve spent far too long hesitating. “I’m from Earth-143258 in an alternate universe.”

Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions shifting from confusion to curiosity. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, while Damian's intense focus on you doesn't waver.

“A universe where you, where the Justice League and Gotham and Metropolis don’t exist…” you look at them, “...outside of a series of comics.”

Damian's brow furrows, and Jon's eyes widen with a mix of intrigue and concern. The weight of your revelation hangs heavy in the air, the enormity of it settling in their minds.

"A different universe," Damian echoes, his voice filled with a blend of skepticism and curiosity. "And in this universe, we're...fictional?"

You nod, feeling the intensity of their gazes. "Yes. In my world, you’re all characters in comic books, movies, TV shows... You’re heroes in stories, legends. But here, you're real."

“A man named Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man of Earth-928, made an autonomous multiverse jump using a device like this.” You lift up your wrist to show them the Web-Watch. “Using it, he amassed an elite force of others like him from different universes. Including me.”

“Karen, would you mind?” you ask. Suddenly, a hologram forms, showing the intricate base of operations that is the Spider-HQ. “Our purpose is to protect the multiverse from anomalies and threats that could destroy entire realities. Sometimes people end up in the wrong universe, and we send them back to their home universe as well.” The hologram casts a gentle glow on their faces. “We call it the Spider-Society.”

The hologram shifts, changing into a bright tree. An intricate veil of webs expands around you, filling the space. “This is all of us. All of our lives woven together in a web.” You take a moment to admire the image. “The web of the multiverse.”

Jon and Damian stare at the hologram, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. The tree of webs illuminates the Den, casting intricate shadows that seem to weave the narrative you’re sharing. Jon's grip on your hand remains firm, a silent anchor as you delve deeper into your explanation.

“All of our stories are pretty much the same. We get bit by a radioactive spider that gives us powers, and we use those powers to help people.”

Damian listens intently, his usual skepticism softened by the gravity of your words. He glances at Jon, silently exchanging a look that conveys both their shared disbelief and the realization that your story, no matter how fantastical, is being delivered with sincerity.

“Was there an… anomaly in our universe then?” ask Damian, looking at you.

“No,” you sigh. “I was never supposed to be here.”

Your legs carry you closer to the hologram, Jon following in an effort to not lose his grip on you. “I found a particle accelerator. Most of the time that means nothing good. Turns out, an alternate version of me,” you emphasize, “[Name] [L.Name], had gotten stuck in my universe and was just trying to get home. But seeing me,” you pause, taking a breath.

“All they saw was someone trying to get in their way. They activated the particle accelerator and threw me in it.” You turn to look at them. “That’s how I ended up here.”

Damian and Jon exchange a glance, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and determination.

“So, you’ve been… lost all this time?” Jon asks softly, his voice carrying the weight of the revelation.

“The whole reason I wanted to create the badassium was so I could use it to power another watch,” you say, looking down at it. “Since other me destroyed it.”

“A while ago, they visited me. In this universe.” You look at Jon. “On New Years.” You watch as recognition flickers in his eyes. “You can imagine how well I reacted.”

“That’s why you were crying,” he says softly in realization. “Suddenly seeing the reason you were… stuck.”

“I told them to find Miguel O’hara. And he did, a week ago.”

Jon's hand brushes your cheek gently, his touch a comforting presence amidst the weight of your words. Damian stands nearby, his expression unreadable as he processes the implications of your story.

“So, this entire time,” he begins, voice hinting with disbelief, “while we have been over ourselves with worry that you were somewhere hurt–”

“Damian,” cuts in Jon sternly.

Damian ignores him. “You were enjoying yourself, finally home and away from this cursed place you got stuck in? Somewhere we couldn’t even begin to look for you? Is that it?”

Your heart sinks at Damian's words, his anger and frustration cutting deeply. You can see the mix of emotions in his eyes—relief, betrayal, confusion—all battling for dominance.

“No,” you whisper desperately. “No, it wasn’t like that. In fact, the whole time I was home I couldn’t focus on being happy because I was focused on you,” you state. “On how I left things and how I wished I could explain everything to you but who could I when there’s such a disconnect between us–” you choke, cutting yourself off.

“Didn’t you think we cared? That we deserved to know?”

You flinch at his words, the truth of them hitting harder than you expected. “I… I didn’t know what to think,” you admit quietly, meeting Damian’s gaze with a mix of regret and vulnerability. “In my world, you’re… different. Fictional. I never expected…” Your voice trails off, unable to find the right words to express the complexity of your emotions.

“I would’ve never even considered the possibility of your existence before now,” you whisper. “I really should’ve known better.”

You stare at them. “Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” Damian asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you were finally home, why come back?”

You take a deep breath, the weight of Damian's question hanging in the air. Your gaze shifts between Jon and Damian, their eyes reflecting the depth of their concern and the complexity of their feelings.

“How could I?” you ask them. “After everything, how could you expect me not to feel the way I feel?”

"When I first got here," you continue, "I felt lost, out of place. But then I met you both, and everything changed. You became my friends, my partners, my family. The thought of leaving you behind... pretending everything that happened never happened. It was unbearable."

“You're real,” you say softly. “Everything about you, and everything I feel about you is real.”

Silence descends upon the Den, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Damian's gaze remains fixed on you, his usual guarded demeanor momentarily faltering under the weight of your sincerity. You feel Jon’s grip on you tighten, a constant presence of support and understanding at your side.

You breathe in. “I’m telling you this now, because you deserve to know. And if you’ll have me..”

Looking at them now is like looking at destiny. “I’d like to stay in your lives.”

Damian's expression softens imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of contemplation and something deeper that you can't quite decipher. Jon squeezes your hand gently, a silent reassurance that speaks volumes amidst the unspoken tension in the room. They look at each other for a heart stopping moment.

"Beloved," Damian murmurs softly, his voice holding a rare vulnerability. "You've been missed."

Jon nods in agreement, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that mirrors your own. "We want you here," he says quietly, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty.

You nod, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you step closer to them. Jon's arms wrap around you first, pulling you into a warm embrace that feels like coming home. Damian joins, his embrace steady and reassuring, his presence a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of their embrace resonate deep within you. "Thank you," you say, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for choosing me.”

Jon presses a gentle kiss to your temple, and Damian's hand finds yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "We always will," Jon vows, his voice steady.

“Well,” starts Jon, grabbing your shoulder to turn you to face him. “If it’s no trouble, I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Your chuckle breaks the tension, and you nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. Jon's eyes light up with a mix of relief and affection as he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

It’s different from Damian’s kiss. His lips move in tandem against yours, intertwined, sewn together. His hands rest on your waist, squeezing lightly.

Jon's kiss is a symphony of warmth and tenderness, a stark contrast to the urgency and passion that often defines Damian's touch. You can feel the depth of his emotions in every gentle movement of his lips, the way he holds you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. The kiss is a promise, a reassurance, and a declaration all at once.

Damian watches the exchange with a soft, almost imperceptible smile. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin, tilting your face towards him. "Beloved," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "My turn."

His kiss is different from Jon's—more intense, a reflection of his complex emotions and the guarded vulnerability he's allowed himself to show. It's a kiss that speaks of his longing, his relief.  When he finally pulls back, his eyes search yours, seeking reassurance.

Later that night, you sit between Jon and Damian, cuddled up on a worn-out couch in the Den, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm light around the room. Small talk fills the space.

“Wait, so, Wonder Woman doesn’t exist, but Thor, God of thunder, does?” asks Jon. You’re not paying all that much attention to him since the feeling of his fingers caressing your side is quite distracting.

“I guess the universe picked and chose,” you hum.

“So there’s no Justice League?”

“There's the Avengers,” you say. “Just as cool as the Justice League. And they’re my friends,” you grin triumphantly.

Damian listens quietly, eyes lidded and content. “Were you a fan of these comics you mentions earlier?”

Your grin turns a little shy. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Jon's fingers trace idle patterns on your arm, a comforting gesture that grounds you in the present moment. "Does that mean you know all our secrets?" he teases lightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “I don’t need pre-knowledge to figure out all I need to know about you.” Your hand flattens against his chest, rubbing along it.

Jon sighs at your touch, eyes fluttering. “Smooth,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, the warmth of Jon’s lips against yours sending a shiver down your spine. His hand moves to cup your cheek tenderly, his touch gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that speaks of promises and shared moments.

Across from you, Damian watches with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his gaze lingering on the intimacy between you and Jon. He clears his throat, drawing your attention. “As much as I appreciate witnessing this... display of affection,” he says, voice tinged with a hint of dry humor, “perhaps now is not the time.”

Jon presses a few more kisses to your lips before breaking away. “You’re just jealous,” Jon teases, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin.

Damian rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward in a rare display of amusement. “Hardly. You two are insatiable.”

“Insatiable is right,” you mutter, staring at Damian’s lips.

Damian raises an eyebrow at your comment, a hint of amusement coloring his expression. "I beg your pardon?"

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I mean, you're not exactly innocent in all of this," you tease, leaning closer to him. "The way you kissed me back then..."

You turn back to look at Jon. “Did you know he picked me up and pinned me against the wall?”

Jon’s eyes widen in mock surprise, his playful demeanor matching yours. “Did he now?” he asks, leaning closer with exaggerated curiosity. “You have to tell me all about it.”

Damian's cheeks color slightly, but he meets your teasing with a smirk. "I don't recall you complaining," he retorts, his voice laced with amusement.

You move, placing yourself on Damian’s lap, and wrapping your arms around his neck. Damian's hands settle comfortably around your waist as you settle on his lap, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of amusement and something deeper, a warmth that lingers beneath his usual stoic demeanor. Jon watches the exchange with a playful grin, leaning back against the couch as he enjoys your dynamic.

Damian’s expression softens slightly, his sharp features betraying a hint of the turmoil beneath. “I… I apologize for my earlier insensitivity,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a rare humility. “It’s… difficult to process.”

You lean forward, your hands playing with Damian's hair as you look into his eyes. "Don’t apologize," you say softly. "I get it."

Damian's gaze softens as he meets your eyes, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a vulnerability that speaks volumes. "Thank you," he murmurs quietly, his voice holding a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon watches the exchange with a soft smile, his hand finding yours once more as he leans in closer. "We're here for you," he says gently, his voice a steady reassurance amidst the lingering tension.

You smile warmly, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian's forehead. "We're in this together," you assure him, your voice filled with sincerity. Jon leans in from his spot beside you, pressing a kiss to Damian's cheek with a fond grin.

Oh, you remember something. “You know what I found out?” A small grin spreads across your face. “I went to have a talk with alternate me.” Your finger gently traces patterns on Damian’s chest. “Found out something really interesting.”

“And what would that be?” Damian mutters, subdued by your touch. Jon’s hand comes up to rest on your back.

“Most of us Spider’s usually have the same people in our lives,” you begin, voice dropping. “A Gwen Stacy, an MJ, maybe a Felicia Hardy,” you lift your head to look at Damian. “AKA, the Spider’s very own cat burglar, Black Cat.” Damian raises a brow at that.

“However, they didn’t have any of those people. You know what they did have, though?” you ask, pausing for dramatic effect.

“They had you two,” you say softly, gaze shifting between them. “Damian Wayne and Jon Kent. Not Superboy or Robin, just completely normal people.” Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions reflecting a mix of surprise and contemplation.

“I love you,” you say, smiling softly. “I love you in every universe.”

Jon stares at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and affection. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a silent affirmation of his feelings.  Damian looks up at you like you're a thing to be worshiped, face one of awe. “We love you too,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon sighs contentedly, leaning back into the couch with a smile. "I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that," he admits, his voice smitten.

You laugh softly, the warmth of their affection enveloping you in a cocoon of happiness. "Get used to it," you tease gently, resting your head against Damian's shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Damian's hand finds yours, his touch grounding and reassuring. "We wouldn't want you to," he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper that echoes through the room.

Jon nods in agreement, his gaze never leaving yours. "You're stuck with us," he says with a playful grin, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

The three of you settle into a comfortable silence, the Den filled with the quiet intimacy of shared moments and spoken promises. As the night stretches on, you find yourself surrounded by the warmth of their presence, knowing that in this moment, and in the countless moments to come, you've found who you truly belong with.

Wrapped in their embrace, you let all your worries wash away, the echoes of their voices and the steady rhythm of their hearts lulling you into a state of peace. In the quiet darkness of the Den, amidst the city's distant hum, you find solace in the knowledge that you are home—at last, and always—with Jon and Damian by your side.

notes: see you guys sunday for the epilogue :)

[transrevolutions]

Les Amis as French verb tenses:

Enjolras: futur antérieur. Used to denote future actions that will specifically happen before other actions or time frames. Example: Nous aurons renversé le gouvernement avant le fin du siècle (We will have overthrown the government before the end of the century.)

Combeferre: futur simple. Used to generally denote future actions, albeit sometimes with less connotation of immediacy. Example: Je lirai un nouveau livre (I will read a new book.)

Courfeyrac: présent. The standard present tense, used to express what is currently happening. Example: Il est heureux (He is happy.)

Jehan: passé simple. A form of the past tense seen most often in literature rather than in modern spoken French. Used for narrating actions with a definite beginning and end. Example: Vous écrivîtes ce poème (You wrote this poem.)

Feuilly: futur proche. Used to denote actions definitely happening in the near future, similar to futur antérieur but without the expectation of specifically occurring before anything. Formed by conjugating the verb aller (to go) with the infinitive of the main verb. Example: Le monde va être égal (The world is going to be equal.)

Bahorel: imparfait. A past tense that denotes previous states of being or actions without a defined start or end. Example: L'émeute était puissante (The riot was powerful.)

Joly: conditionnel. A tense in which the action described is contingent upon another factor. Also used for polite requests. Example: Je voudrais une baguette, s'il vous plaît (I would like a baguette, please.)

Bossuet: infinitif. The unconjugated form of a verb, which encompasses the action or state of being in its essence, with no modifiers. Examples: être (to be), parler (to speak), choisir (to choose), etc.

Grantaire: subjonctif. A tense with no strict English equivalent, generally used to express doubt, negation, uncertainty, fear, desire, superlativity, and (perhaps surprisingly) necessity, among other things. It's often considered a difficult tense to master, particularly when one's first language doesn't have an equivalent, due to many irregularities and exceptions in its formation. Example: Je ne crois pas que tu comprennes (I don't believe that you understand.)

[theeminentlyimpractical]

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something.

If we remember those times and places–and there are so many–where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.” - Howard Zinn, The Optimism of Uncertainty, Sept 2004

this is what I will remember of today: a man at my polling place happily announcing that it was his first time voting since becoming a citizen.

I will remember this: when he cast his ballot, the applause and cheers of all the poll workers and his fellow citizens.