#Cosmic Entity: No Request

[cosmic-entity-creation]

Tier One - Eevee Headmate

Name: Eevee, Evelyn, Ero

Age: 14-17

Species: Eevee

Pronouns: she/they/it/vee

Source: Pokémon

Roles: Little/Middle, Soother

Gender Labels: pokégender, eeveean, cutecoric

Orientation Labels: aroace, pansexual

Relationship Labels: polymonoflux

Presentation Labels: feminine

Appearance:

[Image from the Pokémon Central Wiki]

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Shadows Beneath the Light [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x Sorcerer!reader

wc: 5k

Summary: Valentina contacts you to conduct a complete team assessment regarding the mystical arts. But when Bob's turn comes, it turns out he needs more of your help.

masterlist

AN: listen, I thought about making this longer, but then I decided I'd just post it like this. If you're interested in a second part, let me know! I'd be happy to.

warnings: mentions of mental illness, Val is a bitch, mentions of suicide, complicated childhoods, canon-typical violence, and The Void

After the final battle against Thanos three years ago, you had returned to anonymity. Like many other magic users, your participation was decisive but silent, deploying containment seals, opening portals, and shielding minds during the catastrophe. You were there when Strange momentarily fell. You were the one who stabilized the field during the most critical seconds. But no one outside the inner circle remembered your name.

Or so you thought, because two months ago, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine had knocked on your door bringing something that, more than a request, was a date with a time limit.

Some of the most powerful assets on the new team she was leading—you'd heard about them on the news, a ragtag group of broken soldiers and conflicted metahumans the government didn't know where to put—had begun to show signs of magical dissonance. Fragments of darkness that shouldn't exist, symbols they didn't remember writing, dreams that weren't theirs.

One person in particular worried everyone: Bob Reynolds.

You knew him only by name. Sentry. As powerful as the sun, immense strength, mental stability… debatable. An entity of light with a counterpart of absolute darkness: The Void. You knew just enough to accept the assignment with reservations.

Your job was to assess it and determine if there was any active magical intrusion in it or if the presence of The Void was stronger than they admitted. And if so... intervene.

So there you were now. Temporarily housed in the underground facility the team had been moved to, with a list of subjects to review, and restricted—but sufficient—access to do your job. You'd already examined Walker, Yelena, and Ghost. They had some residual blockages, but nothing that couldn't be resolved. You were surprised that, given the kind of life they led, they weren't worse off.

But when you finally got access to Bob, the protocol changed.

The room he was in was protected with physical shielding and containment charms you had designed yourself, just in case. You watched him for a moment through the one-way mirror, and he seemed simply human: sitting, hunched over, his face in his hands. Nothing about him screamed “cosmic entity.” Nothing, except what couldn’t be seen.

You noticed the air trembling around him, not from heat, but from energetic density. The aura surrounding the man wasn't magical, but it permeated you as if it were. His vibe was definitely heavier than that of his previous colleagues, and you understood why the CIA director was so keen for you to do something about it.

You didn't blame her, to be honest, because the world no longer relied on a group of scientists who could handle these kinds of situations, so magic seemed like a more sensible alternative right now. Fighting fire with fire... or something like that.

As you entered the room, the metal door slammed shut behind you. Bob raised his head, his blue eyes fixed on you with a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. He looked... tired. Not physically, but emotionally drained, as if he hadn't slept properly in years. Even so, he straightened politely with a neutral expression, like someone accustomed to being watched without fully understanding why.

“Are you the one who’s going to… evaluate me?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

“I am,” you replied in the same tone, telling him your name next.

There was a table between the two of you, which made the place look like some kind of laboratory or a prelude to prison. He kept staring at you, somewhat confused.

“Are you a doctor?”

“It’s a different kind of evaluation,” you exclaimed, without offering any further explanation for the moment. He didn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just sit still, okay?”

He nodded obediently, and then you slipped your hand inside your cloak, pulling out a locket that you began to turn between your fingers. The movement activated a faint projection, almost invisible to the mundane eye: a network of golden lines unfolded around it, scanning its auric field. Your thumb brushed over a small sigil in the center of the locket, and a slight hum resonated as it detected dissonances.

You walked around him in silence. With each step, you traced runes with your fingertips, which flickered in the air before dissolving. It wasn't invasive magic, it was an ethereal diagnosis. But when you finally closed the circle behind his back, you felt it. A crack.

It wasn't an artifact, nor a curse. It was something ancient, something breathing within the folds of the soul of the man in front of you. As if something were stirring just beneath his skin, waiting to be acknowledged.

“You’re going to feel some pressure,” you warned gently, placing your fingers on his temples. He didn’t protest.

The technique was simple: channeled meditation through physical contact, an anchoring method the monks at Kamar-Taj used to detect hidden currents in the mind. But you weren't prepared for what you saw.

In a second, his consciousness opened like an abyss. You were standing in the middle of a devastated field, the sky crimson, the clouds shredded by black tongues that snaked out like rotten roots. And at the center of it all, a figure of smoke and shadow... looking back at you.

«Who are you?»

The voice was thick, raspy, and came from all sides. It was terrifying.

«What are you?»

«The Void,» he murmured simply.

«Are you a guest in this body? Do you serve some dark master or sorcerer?»

«Don't be stupid. I'm that thing everyone has inside... that thing they can't escape.»

An invisible weight pressed against your chest: it was hostile, painful. And suddenly the air froze. Not literally, but it felt like the world had stopped moving. A low, persistent buzzing settled in your ear. And then, everything was gone.

Now you were home. In the old apartment with walls cracked by moisture, where the floral wallpaper hung half-open and the light filtered in, as if the sun no longer wanted to shine.

“Mom?” you called. But it wasn’t your voice speaking, but someone younger, beside you.

The hallway smelled of stale lavender and burnt electricity. You remembered it. Every inch. Every crack in the floor. The way the air tasted was like something that didn't belong in the world.

“Mom, are you there?” you asked again. Your younger self sounded scared.

The sound of running water came from the kitchen. Your feet moved on their own. You knew what you were going to see, but you couldn't stop it. Void wouldn't let you. There she was.

She sat on the floor, eyes wide open, speaking to the griffin as if it were an ancient god. Her hands were covered in ink, or blood, or both. On the wall, clumsily scrawled, the same symbol over and over: an eye with a thousand eyelashes, weeping fire.

“I told you you weren’t real,” he whispered, not looking at you. “No one who loves me is born real.”

You froze. Your little self took a step back.

But the woman continued speaking, more quietly, like a twisted prayer:

“I dreamed of you before you existed. You were just a mistake I couldn’t erase.”

“Mommy…”

“If I close my eyes, you disappear. Do you want to see it?”

You wanted to run, stop her, hug her. But it all happened again.

The balcony door opened, with the exact creak of its rusty hinges. Then came the crushing silence. And then, the fall; the thud you never heard, but could still feel in your chest.

The Void appeared. Not in physical form. Not as a monster. Just a voice. A whisper like a blade:

«You remember everything, right? Every detail before your mommy left forever... »

You screamed. Not from pain, but from fury. From fear. From rage because he had no right to show it to you. Because you didn't know if he'd stolen it from you... or if it had always been there, waiting.

When the spell—the illusion, the psychic assault, whatever it was—ended, you returned to the living room, panting, your hands still on Bob's face. He was frowning, as if he'd felt the pull too, though he didn't fully understand it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his guilt aching in your heart. He didn’t seem to be afraid for himself. He was afraid for you.

You took a step back, trying to regulate your breathing as you processed the shock of the sight. You looked up at the mirror, which reflected your image, wondering if anyone was on the other side watching the scene.

You were pale, as if you were about to throw up, and the man looked no better than you.

“You have something… very wrong inside you.”

Your whisper made him look down, embarrassed. He thought you were there to draw blood, perform some tests, or assess his physical condition. He didn't expect you to intrude on his mind like that.

“You can… Can you control it?”

“Sometimes. But there are other times when it controls me. And then I don't remember anything, and it's so… it's all so confusing.”

Several seconds passed in silence, the buzzing of the locket still vibrating on your wrist as if it were a residue of what you'd seen. When you left the room, still shaking, you said nothing; you didn't have to. The report was complete, you'd seen enough.

Later, in one of the complex's makeshift offices, you met with Valentina. You spoke in great detail about each team member's situation, going on at length when it was Bob's turn. Of course, you omitted details related to your vision. She listened more attentively than you would have expected. When you finished, she remained silent for a few seconds, as if digesting more than just information.

“Yeah, I understand all of this and I appreciate the work you did, but I need to ask you something.”

“Yes, what's wrong?”

“In this boy's case… Robert. What you're talking about inside him, that emptiness, that jumble of trauma and darkness… can it be fixed?”

You frowned, confused.

"What do you mean?"

“That's what unbalances him. That's what makes him dangerous. Can't it be extracted, sealed, purified…? With magic, spells, or whatever you use.”

You highly doubted she understood how the mystic arts worked, but you let it go. Instead, you tried to focus on how you could explain it to her.

“The emptiness inside Bob… isn't a curse that can be broken, or a creature that can be exorcised. It's not an external demon that can be sealed away with an incantation and that's it. It's part of him. As is his strength and his light. The problem is that his darkness isn't integrated; it's fragmented. Repressed. And when something that powerful is denied or hidden for so long, it finds its own way out.”

You paused to see if she was still with you. Valentina didn't say anything, but nodded expectantly.

“The mystical arts don't work like surgery. We don't extract. We accompany. We guide. We teach how to see what others prefer to ignore. There's a principle we learn from day one at Kamar-Taj: 'What you deny, subdues you. What you accept, transforms you.' Bob needs to learn to look at his shadow without being destroyed. To live with it without being consumed by it. It's slow, arduous, and not always linear work. There will be setbacks. But it's possible.”

Valentina crossed her arms, thoughtful.

"And can you do that with him? Help him through that process?"

You leaned forward, making sure your tone was firm.

“I can teach him techniques of emotional containment, breathing, mantras, symbolic anchoring. I can guide him through deep meditations that allow him to visualize and reconfigure your relationship with The Void. But I can't do it for him; it's a process he has to start on his own.”

“Okay, then start that training or whatever, as soon as possible.”

You blinked, puzzled.

“I don’t understand. You hired me to do a team assessment. To identify potential risks.”

“And you found one,” she replied bluntly, leaning in as if about to reveal an intimate confession. “Listen, this group is an experiment. A rehearsal. And if something goes wrong, it could cost me more than I’m already risking. So yes, I hired you to do an assessment, but also because I need solutions. Not just to identify problems, but to fix them. And Bob… well, he’s got tremendous potential. But he’s also very insane, do you follow me?”

You didn't say anything, you just watched her.

“What I want is simple: for you to help me rebuild him. To mold him so he can use his power without breaking. For it to learn self-regulation. For Sentry to appear when we need him, not when he collapses. I don’t want to throw away the entire project just because he has… this small flaw in his internal programming. Do you see what I mean?”

The coldness with which she spoke made your skin crawl. You'd met many dangerous people in your life, but few with that mix of pragmatism and disdain for humanity. Valentina wasn't interested in helping Bob. She didn't want to cure him, or understand him. She just wanted to harness his power. Use him… until he was of no use.

You cleared your throat before answering:

“I could do it, yes. But I don't know how long it will take.”

“You’re the only viable option I have right now, so I’m in no position to demand miracles, honey. Just results. I want you installed at The Watchtower so you can start working with Robert.”

You narrowed your eyes, gauging his tone.

“Is this an offer or an order?”

“I’m hiring you,” she murmured, almost condescendingly. “I don’t suppose you want to go back to that horrible apartment in the Bronx, do you? Why not put your talents to work on something that will really make a difference?”

You stayed silent for a second longer than necessary. Because you knew exactly what she meant by making a difference. And it wasn't saving Bob. It was using him. Taming him. Making him obey.

And if you didn't intervene... she'd probably succeed.

You pressed your lips together for a moment. Not out of fear. Not out of submission. But because something inside you—something older than your training, deeper than your vows at Kamar -Taj—stirred at the thought of leaving Bob alone with that darkness.

“Fine,” you said at last, in a low but firm voice.

Valentina smiled, satisfied, as if she had won a chess game that only she was playing.

“I knew you’d see the value in this,” she muttered, giving you an unnecessary pat on the arm before turning to leave.

You didn't say anything else. You watched her walk away, elegant and dangerous like an expensive poison. Then you lowered your gaze and let out the breath you'd been holding throughout the exchange.

She was wrong; you hadn't agreed for any trivial reason like the one she was suggesting. You did it because there was something in Bob you recognized.

That silent struggle, that shadow that threatened to swallow him up from within, was not foreign to you. And you thought that if someone had ever stopped to teach you how to look at your darkness without fear... perhaps you, too, would have taken less time to learn to live with it.

So, months passed. And it wasn't easy.

There were good days, when Bob could concentrate for more than an hour at a time, when his thoughts didn't fragment, when you could see him laugh—a little forced at first, more natural with time.

And there were bad days. Days when he woke up drenched in sweat, apologizing for things he couldn't remember doing. Days when The Void whispered in your dreams, looking for cracks to enter.

But despite everything, you began to find a rhythm.

At first, he didn't talk much. His words were few, but his ability to absorb knowledge was astonishingly quick. You, for your part, didn't dwell on long explanations or useless words either; you knew exactly what kind of discipline he needed to channel the chaotic energy that consumed him from within. You were neither his therapist nor his jailer, but rather that steady, silent buoy he could cling to when the internal waters threatened to drown him.

As the months passed, the closeness became inevitable. It wasn't a surprise that, amidst rigor and patience, a genuine friendship developed. You lived apart from most of the tower's tenants, and your interactions with them were sporadic and superficial. You spent most of your time studying, learning more, and finding new ways to help him find a balance that seemed elusive. Bob had become your most cherished project, that silent goal that kept you up until the wee hours, hoping he would achieve such a firm grasp that he would one day be worthy of occupying one of the sanctuaries.

That morning, the training room was empty except for the two of you. It was a routine you had established with discipline: getting up early, before dawn, to meditate and prepare your mind before leading him through his training.

“Being at peace with yourself is the key to learning,” you had once told him, with the gentleness of someone offering vital advice.

At the time, he'd found it absurd. Now, it was an essential part of his daily life.

You had carefully prepared the space: the floor covered with thin, noise-dampening mats, the walls reinforced with invisible layers of arcane protection that you had delicately and precisely inscribed yourself. In one corner, a small burner let the lingering scent of incense flow, a symbolic gesture that helped Bob achieve that meditative state, even though he swore he only liked the smell.

Bob sat in the center of the room, legs crossed, torso erect, palms open, exposed like tiny antennas capturing energy. He breathed slowly, following the rhythm you set with the soft jingle of an antique locket around your neck.

“Inhale… hold… exhale”

You sat across from him, replicating the same position. You watched him silently, noticing how that roaring mass of energy that once seemed to devour him was now contained just below the surface. Vibrant, yes. Threatening, perhaps. But controlled, enough for him to manipulate it and, above all, not let himself be consumed by it.

“Do you feel the flow?” you asked.

Bob nodded slowly with his eyes closed.

“Yes. I always… feel like he’s watching me. But now he’s not screaming anymore.”

You smiled slightly, with that mixture of relief and pride you felt when seeing his progress.

“That means he’s listening. You’re in control.”

He opened his eyes and looked at you with a mixture of doubt and hope.

“Do you think I could ever live without it? Without him.”

The question was profound, and you were slow to answer because the truth was complex. However, you chose honesty.

“I don’t think so. But you can live with it. Without fearing it, without letting it speak for you. Just like now.”

Bob looked down thoughtfully.

“It's different here than anywhere else. Here I'm calm, at peace… with you. If something bad happens, you guide me. But I don't know if I'll be able to stay that way in a critical situation or the face of a real threat.”

“That’s something you learn over time,” you assured him. “Look at yourself when we started and look at yourself now. Are you still where you are?”

He firmly denied it.

“You’ll get it. I promise.”

“How long have you been training to have the mastery you have now?”

Bob had begun digging into your private life a few weeks ago. It wasn't that you minded, but it was unexpected to have to talk about yourself with him. You were supposed to maintain the composure of a mentor, helping him reach his potential without getting emotional.

“Nine years”

His face lit up with amazement.

“It’s a long time.”

"Yes, but I'm dedicated to the mystical arts. With you, we're just seeking balance."

That seemed to comfort him a little. You could tell from the small smile he gave you.

“And you face demons and things like that? Monsters?”

“Sometimes,” you laughed, “Other times they are aliens, beings from other universes, dark wizards… it depends on the teacher who needs my help.”

“That’s so cool, ” he confessed with admiration.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, as his interest seemed almost endearing. You, too, had felt that fascination at first, but over time, you'd grown accustomed to it and were no longer surprised by it.

“Yours isn't bad either. Sentry, the being with the strength of a thousand burning suns...”

“Oh, but it’s no use if I don’t know how to control it,” he replied “It’s wasted power.”

“Where there is light, by law there must be darkness, Bob. We can't live any other way. The universe is meant to contain this duality in every particle that makes it up. You just have to know when to turn to one or the other.”

He nodded, processing your words seriously.

"How do you become so wise? Like you."

“I’m not wise, at least not in the way you think,” you said with a faint smile. “In fact, I’m extremely stupid. But that’s why I’m here. The key is to make mistakes and learn from them, to grow every day.”

“I hope my mistakes don’t cost anyone their life,” he murmured sincerely.

A heavy silence settled between you. Your mistakes had cost lives. They almost cost you yours.

“I hope so too. Otherwise, it would reflect poorly on me as a mentor.”

He didn't take it the wrong way, but instead used it as an opportunity to ease the tension with a little joke. You got up to get a Chinese teapot while he sighed, anticipating what was coming.

“Are we going to work with tea?” he asked timidly.

You nodded with a smile.

“How did you feel last time?”

“Scared and tired. My head hurt.”

“More or less than before?”

“Less. It was a little less.”

“You'll get used to it, it'll get lighter and lighter. Drink.”

The blend was a little lighter, with a deep, earthy aroma, hints of sage and star anise. Bob took the small cup you offered him and drank it in one gulp, despite the temperature.

The silence that followed was different: more attentive, denser. You had begun working with sacred infusions you learned at Kamar-Taj, prepared with ingredients that encouraged introspection. They were called "soft doors" because they didn't force violent visions or provoke chaotic hallucinations, but rather opened memories in layers, as if one were gently sliding into them.

You sat down in front of him and closed your eyes, feeling the energy of the place synchronize with his breathing.

“Don’t hold on if it gets dark,” you whispered. “Just watch. I’m here with you.”

He nodded, calmer, and closed his eyes.

The infusion began to take effect with the slowness of a tide rising without warning. Bob's shoulders relaxed, but his face became tense, as if something was tugging at him from within. His lips parted slightly.

“I’m… there again. In the white room.”

Keeping your eyes closed, palms open on your thighs, you focused on his words.

"Is it the same one as before? The one with the door without a handle?"

“Yes. But it’s ajar now… I don’t know if I want to look.”

“You don’t have to cross it. Just approach it.”

Bob nodded slightly, his breathing becoming uneven, but he didn't back down.

“There’s a shadow… its back is turned. It’s waiting for me.”

“It’s not real,” you whispered. “It’s a reflection of something that was. It can’t touch you here.”

“But it’s me.”

You had learned that most of his visions related to himself, his greatest regrets manifested in spectral form. His hands clenched on his knees, and sweat began to dampen his forehead. You didn't move, you remained stationary.

“What are you doing?”

“It's just there. But I feel like if it turns around… if I look at him… it'll all come back.”

The pressure in the air grew palpable, as if the shadow were taking control of the place. You took a deep breath and spoke to him in a low, firm voice:

“Then don’t look at him. Look around. What’s in that room besides him?”

It took Bob a few seconds to respond.

“Broken glass. It floats, as if something had exploded. But there’s no sound.”

“Can you touch them?”

He reached out a trembling hand, as if he really saw them.

“Yes. One stuck to my skin.”

“What does it show you?”

Bob shuddered, a low moan escaping his throat.

“My mother is crying in a chair. I'm hiding. She calls me… but I don't go.”

“It’s just a memory,” you said softly. “You can’t change it, but you can be present now. You’re not that child anymore.”

Bob swallowed.

“I don’t want her to cry for me again.”

“What comes next?”

The room began to oscillate as if it were liquid. Bob blinked several times, his breathing quickened, but he didn't come out of the trance.

“Can you leave the room?”

“There’s another door at the back. It’s bright, it has no shadow.”

“Do you want to go there?”

Silence. He hesitated.

“I don’t want to. Not yet.”

"Alright."

You let him breathe deeply for a while, until his chest calmed. You closed the energy circle with a subtle gesture, and his pupils stopped trembling.

“I’m back,” he said hoarsely and opened his eyes.

His fingers were damp with sweat, but he wasn't hugging his body like before. He didn't seem to be running away from himself.

"How do you feel?"

"Confused"

You watched him calmly.

“You did well, Bob. Very well.”

The silence returned, thick and heavy, perhaps reflecting on what he'd seen. Your sessions always left him mentally exhausted, but after a few hours of rest, the benefit outweighed the sacrifice.

Suddenly, he lay back on the linoleum, stretching his limbs and letting out a long, heavy sigh.

“What are you doing?” you asked, laughing.

“Come, lie down next to me.”

You hesitated for a moment, but finally settled down next to him.

“I've always liked lying on the floor since I was a kid. I did it when I needed to calm down.”

His voice was a whisper, barely a murmur.

“It’s hard growing up in a home that never feels like one, isn’t it?”

Bob nodded silently and then turned slightly to look at you.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hummed an affirmative response.

“It’s about the vision you had the first time we met, remember? Is it real?”

“Do you want to know if it happened?”

He nodded.

“Yes, it happened.”

You didn't want to elaborate, and he didn't press the issue. You suddenly felt exposed. Witnessing your mother's suicide wasn't a story you were keen to tell. But with Bob, the line between teacher and student blurred more than either of you wanted to admit.

You stared at the ceiling, wishing the silence would envelop them calmly.

Thus, in that cold room, where magic and pain converged, a bond began to form that would be much stronger than any shadow.

A few minutes passed without either of them saying a word, just the subtle sound of the wind blowing through the cracks in the window. The morning light filtered through in faint beams, creating irregular patches on the floor where they both lay.

“Sometimes,” you began quietly, as if sharing a secret, “I think our wounds are the source of our strength. Not because we desire them, but because they force us to find ourselves.”

Bob turned his head to look at you, and although his eyes still reflected the internal battle he was waging, there was a new spark in them: a flame that withstood the storm.

“It’s not always easy to see the light during chaos,” he replied, almost in a whisper. “But with you… I feel like I can try.”

You felt touched by his confession, by the vulnerability he displayed without fear.

Silence fell again, but this time it was a silence filled with meaning, as if it were the invisible bridge connecting you. You stood up slowly, helping him do the same. The years of training and suffering Bob had endured hadn't broken him; on the contrary, they seemed to mold him into something greater.

“Let’s get ready for today’s session,” you said, letting the warmth fall into your voice.

You began to prepare the place, calmly, being observed by him at all times.

“Do you think I can ever not be afraid?”

“Fear never goes away. You'll learn to live with it, to recognize it, and not let it paralyze you. And then you'll find your balance.”

“And when I can find that balance, if I ever do…” he began, his voice low, “Will I never see you again?”

You stopped to observe him.

“That's up to you. Spiritually, you won't need me. If it's about hanging out with a friend, then I'm always available.”

The word friend felt sweet on your lips. Bob was more pleased than he would have liked to hear your response.

“I like the sound of that.”

A faint glimmer of confidence lit his face. That moment felt like a small victory in the long battle you had both shared.

For a moment, everything seemed to stand still: the air, time, the invisible wounds that marked you. In that shared silence, you knew that, no matter what the future held, you had something unbreakable—a deep connection, a refuge amidst the chaos.

As you sat up, a slight change in the air caught your attention. A barely perceptible murmur, like a distant sigh or the rustle of a page turning, filled the room. It was a faint, almost imperceptible signal that made your senses tense slightly.

It wasn't time yet, but you knew it would soon arrive: a call you couldn't ignore, a shadow on the horizon... a door you'd soon have to open.

For now, the present was sufficient. Bob was here, with you, and that was enough.

tag list (thanks, pretty!): @littlemsbumblebee

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙑𝙤𝙞𝙙

Author Note: Hey... How yall doing? (anxious sweating). Okay, I know I have been pretty much absent for the past year or so, but I literally lost the ability and want to write so, I was just silently liking and reblogging a bunch fanfics, playing my silly video games and struggling with college here and there... Then, my Marvel fangirl era came back with the movie "Thunderbolts" and here I am.... With 8060 words for the FIRST chapter of a series... If anyone read my Moon Knight fic, it will be kind of similar to it but also not, with me adding a new perspective to the Void. I am assuming this to be not too long of a serie (if I keep the 8K word band going) but we will see! Hopefully, you guys will like it and my take on the cutie Bob!

Oh and... THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Warnings for the series: Self-deprecating thoughts, struggles (mental and physical), Entity dramas, trauma, death, a little bit of humor, free-therapy, childhood trauma, domestic abuse, torture, blood, gore, the Void and the Sentry (I think they are enough of a warning by alone)...

Tagging: @magikdarkholme

“Did you just say we need to go to... where?”

Bucky was sure his new teammates were either stupid or feigning stupidity.

Between Ghost’s erratic phasing fits, U.S. Agent’s unwavering faith in fists over brains, and whatever the hell Red Guardian called a plan to deal with the many problems the newly formed “New Avengers” had, Bucky had seen enough chaos. The Void wasn’t just another mission—this was Bob Reynolds. This was a walking time bomb with the potential to turn the world inside out if Sentry lost control again, as he called it.

As if he didn’t care about the man’s well-being and understood his pain of  identity crisis, as if Bob wasn’t the new adopted member of their highly nonfunctional friend group that soon turned into a chaotic family.

And now, with the Thunderbolts half-functioning and Val refusing to listen, Bucky knew he needed real help. Not reckless, government-backed muscle. And absolutely no self-interested Val.

He needed her.

So, against every protocol and behind Valentina’s back, he found himself silently looking at the device you had generously given him before departing from the Earth. A golden globe with ancient runes of your people carved into it, small wings sprouting from the top of it as he found himself smiling after such a long time.

You truly were the Life itself, warming him up even if you weren’t there.

Asgard was different now, at least he believed it was—more grounded, more accessible although you kind of sticked to the traditional ways of your people—but still carried the strange, quiet hum of power underneath its cobblestone streets and tavern-laced ports. Their Queen was even stranger—regal and radiant, but unshakably human. She laughed like a thunderclap, she was messy and somehow addicted to any kind of junk food she could get her hands to and held herself like she bore galaxies in her chest.

Because she did.

She was Life itself, cloaked in mortal form, the entity who shook the entire universe and bared a trial you refused to tell to anyone so that you could revive your people and home back to life, eventually becoming the new Protector and Ruler of the Nine Realms.

And you also happened to be Bucky’s best friend. Odd pairing, sure. The former Winter Soldier and a literal cosmic embodiment. But your friendship had been forged in the strangest of fires—mutual survival, long silences, and shared understanding of what it meant to be the weapon someone else or thin had forged.

And his stupid yet naive childhood merged with your “teenage-hood”. As much as it was considered that when you didn’t get old, instead changed your form.

Everyone else saying something, as usual. Bucky hadn’t even finished explaining his plan before the room exploded into chaos.

Alexei and Ava was loudly berating each other “affectionately, Yelena was just humming to his plan with a dagger in her hand since she already knew you (despite the fact that she tried to kill you for what happened to Natasha, deeming you the guilty one, but eventually learning the truth). She hadn’t said a word to him directly since Bucky brought up going to New Asgard.

Not that he blamed her.

And then there was Walker. U.S. Agent had that expression again—like he was one word away from taking it personally as he sat on the couch widely, with an expression on the border of frustration, as if he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that there were Gods and Goddesses in real life. “So, let me get this straight. You want us to stand down while you go cozy up to some interstellar goddess?”

“She’s not some goddess,” Bucky bit out harshly, blue eyes as cold as steel as he stared at the blonde. “She’s the only one who can keep Bob from tearing himself or another city in half.”

“You sure she’s on our side?” Alexei asked gruffly as he chewed on yet another bar, one that was your favourite Bucky noticed. He didn’t blame the older Russian for his hesitance, after all, he and Yelena were the only ones who never your nature and how to talk to you (It wasn’t that hard or complicated, despite you being a cosmic entity. All you needed to easily cave in were some chocolate, some shiny jewelry and a good Cappuccino). But of course, they didn’t know that, and they didn’t encounter a Goddess or, well, the literal personification of Life, but hey, it didn’t seem like he was completely against the idea of going to you.

The same couldn’t be said for Ava and John, with the later one being more... aggressive at the prospect of such thing.

“She’s on my side,” Bucky said, sharp and final. He leant back on the couch with a silent groan, muscles screaming for one very hot bath. Maybe he could have one of those hot springs you had in Asgard. “And that’s enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t exactly agreement, but it wasn’t outright rebellion either.

In Thunderbolts terms, that was practically a standing ovation.

“I repeat again: I said we need to go to the Asgard and seek help from the Queen if we want to help Bob. She is the only one who might know the Void.”

Walker scoffed from the corner, arms crossed. “Great. So the plan is we go knock on the front door of literal gods and ask for mental health advice? Sounds foolproof.”

Yelena popped a piece of gum into her mouth, lounging across the couch with her boots on the table. “I mean, better than your last plan of dealing with mental problems. What was it again? Run straight into a wall of bullets and hope for the adrenalin to do the work?”

Walker rolled his eyes. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“No,” Ghost said flatly, phasing halfway through the wall like she wanted to escape the conversation. “You were in the med bay for three days.”

Red Guardian grunted, tightening his gloves. “Bah! I like this plan. Finally, some honor! Gods, glory—maybe I get to fight a thunder beast! Reminds me of my prime!”

“You haven’t had a prime since the '80s,” Yelena said dryly without looking up, arms folded as she leaned against the fluffy couch.

“Yeah, well, I want to make the part with ‘might know’ highlighted! I ain’t going there!” Walker exclaimed once again on his seat, slamming a fist on the table like it would make his argument more valid. Both Ava and Yelena roller their eyes and even Alpine just stood there and hissed lowly and Bucky could swear she too rolled her eyes.

Bucky didn’t even look up, already fed up with all the loudness, as he got up for the kitchen and get a glass of water. “Why? Because she beat your ass up easily without moving an inch back in your jackass days?”

Yelena snorted. Ava straight-up wheezed.

Walker turned a shade of red that didn’t look healthy. “That was a long time ago. I was off my game.”

“Sure, man,” Yelena said with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. “She was literally braiding her hair while you were trying to throw a shield at her. I think she yawned.”

“Besides...” Bucky cut in before Walker and Yelena could start another verbal brawl that could escalate into a real one. “I already talked to her about it. Like a week ago.”

That made the room fall into a momentary silence.

Yelena’s brow lifted, the dagger stilling in her hand. “Wait. You already told her?” “Yeah.”

Alexei blinked from his spot next to the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, intrigued by such... silence from a Goddess that could wipe out the entire universe if she pleased. “Then what is she waiting for?”

“For Bob to be ready.”

No one answered immediately.

Even Walker stopped posturing.

Because that meant the Queen—Life, the one force that could oppose the Void without unraveling reality—wasn't going to interfere until Bob Reynolds, the man at the center of it all, was willing to face what was inside him.

“She said,” Bucky continued, voice clipped with a hint of guilt, “that she doesn’t overwrite people and their fates. She meets them. Even the broken ones. Especially the broken ones... That the Void isn’t just something you fight,” Bucky replied, his voice low. “It’s something Bob has to face���willingly. Or it’ll tear through him and everyone around him trying to claw its way out.”

Ghost reappeared halfway through the floor with a frown. “And we’re just supposed to sit on our hands while he falls apart?”

“No,” Bucky said, meeting her eyes. “We get him there. She’ll help. But only when he accepts it. For now, we keep him grounded. Keep him human.”

Alexei scratched at his beard. “So this is… therapy quest? With Norse gods?”

Yelena gave him a blank stare. “Everything’s a therapy quest with this team. None of us actually has great pasts anyways.”

Walker threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous. We’re not babysitters—we’re soldiers.”

“You’re right,” Bucky snapped, sharper than before as he sharply set the glass down. So hard that everyone was kind of curious how it didn’t break. “We are soldiers. So act like it. We don’t leave anyone behind, remember? Or does that only apply when it’s convenient for you?”

That shut Walker up, at least for the moment.

Ghost looked away. Yelena stopped humming.

Seemingly, everyone was retreated back to their minds to think about their next course of action or make sense of what Bucky meant by “She is on my side.”. How could a literal goddess be on the side of one mortal man? Well, not exactly mortal but still human... Aren’t the Goddesses and Gods supposed to be neutral?

Well, in most cases yes. But in Bucky’s case, he was aware that she made some exceptions for him even though she shouldn’t, and she never talked about the troubles she would get into because of that (others Gods were not happy you cared for humanity that much).

You never said much about the consequences, only wore that same quiet smile whenever Bucky questioned you. A smile that hid wars fought in secret skies, negotiations whispered behind divine veils, and sacrifices no mortal—or even semi-mortal—would ever be allowed to understand. But he saw the strain sometimes. In your eyes. In the way you would allow yourself to touch his face like he was both precious and fleeting and hug him.

As if you were desperate, craving that kind of connection

“She shouldn’t choose a side,” Steve would often say, especially after learning who you were and what you were capable of doing when he got out of the ice and it was your face he saw first. His voice would often turn somber, quiet, but firm whenever you and how much you sacrificed were mentioned. You didn’t see it that way, more like “taking care of two more little brothers who were unaware to the ways of world.

“That’s not how this works.”

He remembered the last time he saw you—really saw you, not in passing glimpses, not in dreams or between the flashes of battle from his time as the Winter Soldier. The stars had bent toward you like flowers to the sun, and your voice had been threaded with something desperate whenever he would remember your words in a hazy daze of the memory erasing HYDRA did to him. You told him to stay alive. Not to win. Not to save the world. Just—stay alive. As if that alone would be enough.

He had been through so much and as much as he can remember, and as far as others told him, you were mostly there. Even when he was in ice, even when he went berserk as the Soldier, you waited... Like you said many times, you didn’t intervene, you couldn’t for reasons you didn’t explain except “I did once... and It costed me a great price.”...

As a result, he never understood how people did not see the same kind and caring woman... But he also understood their look on you because once, after he got away from HYDRA, he was like them too. Though you didn’t care, that you abandoned him, that you took satisfaction at watching him struggle... Without knowing you were also dealing with your own struggles and... voids.

Bucky’s mind went back to the conversation you two had a week ago, inside his room, as he watched the team trying to decide on what to do with the new common room’s decoration. Although some people might have thought it to be a casual phone call, or him actually visiting Asgard physically... They forget the fact that you were a transcendent being who wasn’t bound to only one physical plane of existence. Someone who could easily get into the minds of people without them ever noticing, seeing the deepest secrets they hid away in their consciousness.

“James,” you said warmly, stepping down from the dais. After everything, it was nice seeing your best friend although he looked frazzled at being in your palace. He... didn’t remember visiting you. “I knew we both got old but you look far worse than I expected. Something is troubling you.” He turned. You weren’t dressed in royal robes today—just a long, dark tunic and loose braids, light dancing at her fingertips like fireflies. She always glowed subtly. Not from ego. From existence. And by some weird instinct as he looked into your expectant eyes, he understood you used your magic on him to seep into his mind. “I hate how you became more mysterious and unexpected after becoming the Ruler of Nine Realms, with your magical hands and all.” he chuckled under his breath as you slowly moved towards him, turning your body around so that instead of looking out the waterfalls you so adored of your homeland, you looked straight at him. A warm smile, and a loud laugh filled up his mind as he felt his tenseness and stress over the few months after the New York accident.

“I do not have magic only on my hands, friend. I am the magic... Besides, my mom was raised by witches and I was raised by her. What did you expect?” You let out a soft giggle that made him let out a relaxed sigh and take a step towards you. Your eyes shifted towards a more “I missed you” look as you took a good look at your best friend. His figure is broad, but not as imposing as it once was. His black tactical coat hangs heavy off his frame like armor worn too long. His vibranium arm glints faintly, muted under dreamlight, chipped in places where the plating has seen too many fights. His flesh arm—scarred and tense—hangs by his side, fingers twitching as if clenching onto ghosts he never quite managed to bury. His face tells the rest of the story. Unshaven. Tired. The lines around his mouth are deeper, not just from age, but from guilt that settled into his bones and made a home there. His hair, longer now, curls behind his ears in a disheveled way, like he stopped caring about appearances once the missions stopped being about redemption and started being about survival.

And his eyes—blue, once sharp with mischief—are dulled with exhaustion. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from sleepless nights, but from existing too long under the weight of things he was never meant to carry. He looks like a man always halfway between moving forward and waiting for the next blow. “ However, that magic cannot help you if you don’t stop brooding and explain your troubles. Like the good old days.” “Thanks. Got a Void problem. Figured Life might know what to do.” he shrugged his shoulders, accepting the drink you offered. That got your attention. “You’re talking about Bob Reynolds.” you hummed quietly. “Yeah. Sentry’s fraying again. The Thunderbolts think they can contain it. They can’t. I’ve seen what happens when he breaks.”

“He’s not fully gone yet. He’s still… trying. But it’s getting louder in him. And I don’t trust the team they put together to handle this. Hell, I don’t even trust me.” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t react. You just looked at him with a tilted head and a hard stare.  “And you want me to intervene, think I can stop him?” The Queen's gaze turned hard, divine power flickering just beneath her skin. Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t look at her. Not fully. His gaze stayed just off her shoulder, like meeting her eyes might burn him. Or worse—like he didn’t think he deserved to. “I think you’re the only one who can match him. Light to his darkness. You’re not just a queen—you’re the counterweight. He’s the Void. You’re the Life. If we don’t end it now, there won’t be a later.” You looked up at him with a softness no one else ever received. Having lived with humans for many years throughout different times, you always though you understood their understanding and reasoning. But each and every time, much like now, proved you otherwise with their first instinct at the face of crisis was to...get rid of it. They called it “solving the problem from its root” but... was that really necessary? Huh, maybe you were turning out to be more human than you let on. “James. I don’t end people.” “You did once,” he reminded, voice low. “ With Thanos-”

“That was a mercy.” Your voice turned cold, glare harder than ever as the sun of Asgard dimmed fast for a second, only to reappear once more. But it didn’t change the suddenly cold and heavy atmosphere in the throne room as he took a slow breath. As if he was being drowned slowly... He knew how the name tasted bitter and your usually soft and understanding heart that would light up the way of the lost ones, much like him, would immediately grow cold and sharp. He cannot blame you for all the things you had to do because of that “eggplant” as you called him. “That thing didn’t want to exist anymore.” He swallowed hard. “What if Bob doesn’t either?” The silence stretched, not empty, but thrumming with power and grief. The silence was not the absence of sound as Bucky could still hear the people chattering outside, the waterfalls and birds, the ships cruising on the air and the water, but the presence of everything unsaid was thick like the air before a storm. It pressed into the skin, settled heavy in the chest, made every breath feel like inhaling from deep underwater. It hummed with power restrained, until you finally spoke. “That’s not your decision to make. Nor mine.”

“But if he asks, if he begs—” Bucky stepped forward, desperation flickering across his face, his metal hand curling tightly at his side. “You’ve seen what the Void does to him, then. He tears himself apart just trying to breathe, to control himself so that he doesn’t hurt others. Hell, he doesn’t even care about what would happen to him!” You walked past him, having circled around him as he explained his situation, eyes on the horizon, far beyond the gilded windows of the throne room and perhaps even beyond the world itself. Your figure, wrapped in flowing robes of deep indigo and gold-threaded silver, seemed carved from moonlight and silence, too regal to be disturbed by mere pleading. The air shifted in your wake, perfumed with soft notes of sandalwood and snow bloom. Each step you took down the polished obsidian stairs echoed like a pronouncement. “The Void feeds on despair, fear, erasure. It doesn’t kill you. It unravels you, rewrites you, until there’s nothing left to remember. That’s what he’s afraid of—not dying, but becoming nothing. Again.” you spoke out without looking at him, or else he would notice the shake of your hands... at the mention of a being that is not so different than you. You continued without a look at him.

“I have seen it,” you whispered. “And I’ve felt it. The way the Void slithers through his soul like ice, like teeth, like silence too loud to bear. I know.”

You came to a slow stop, robes pooling around your feet like rippling shadows. Only then did you glance back over your shoulder. Your gaze was level, piercing—not cruel, but ancient. Tired. Tired not in body, but in soul. The kind of fatigue that comes from watching too many people run headlong into the same fire, convinced their determination would keep them from burning. James’ breath caught as your gaze bored into his—fierce, mournful, determined. “But Bob Reynolds is still there. And until that fragment of him says he’s ready to go, I will not be the blade that ends him. I will not be the Queen who grants death when it is healing that is needed.” He blinked, as if trying to process your words through a fog. “But what if there’s no healing left for him?” he weakly says because he saw everything, every cry and scream after a particular nightmare. He’d seen the man curled in a corner of the darkened chambers, trembling with hands that could tear planets apart but now only clutched his own skull as if trying to hold himself together. Heard the hoarse cries, the guttural sobs that cracked like glass underfoot. The way he’d begged—not for salvation, but for silence. For stillness. For an end. Bucky had sat beside him once, blood on Bob’s fingertips—not from battle, but from scratching at the skin of his own arms, as though he could dig the Void out with his nails. And he had said nothing. Because what could he say to a broken man who feared the thing living inside him? Something that was him but also not? He understood that feeling, when he was too scared of the “Winter Soldier” appearing again and hurting random people... But in his despair, you and Wakanda had supported him through everything and he... he survived. When he thought he wouldn’t, that he would have to live with this time-bomb in him, you and Wakanda had healed him. So now, as he stood before you—his Queen, his best friend, mentor and savior, the only one he trusted to make the call—he wasn’t questioning your strength. He was afraid Bob Reynolds had none left to borrow. “Are you waiting for him to fall apart?” “No,” you said, turning back to him, heart softening as you took his hand between yours and squeezed... Before you hit the back of his head harshly.. “I’m waiting for him to face it. I won’t force that. Life doesn't conquer the Void, James. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.” He stared with a pained look on his face, hand idly rubbing his head because it hurted. He forgot how heavy your hand was, both naturally and because of fighting for such a long time with many weapons that he could name it...but it would take days to finish the list. “That might not be enough.” You sighed tiredly, quietly descending the final step, and now your voice took on the texture of velvet lined with iron . Oh, how you forgot James was a stubborn asshole.

“How are you so sure,” you began, voice edged with something sharper now, something tired and sharp as a blade honed too often, “that he would go berserk?” you approached the topic in a different way, hoping to make him see your reasoning. “Excuse me?”he replied, confusion and caution winding tightly in his voice. “You talk like he’s already gone. Like he’s a loaded gun just waiting to fire. But you never say why.” You stepped closer, the air around you suddenly colder, heavier—not with menace, but with the truth you were about to lay bare. “Why are you truly scared, James? And don’t give me the crap of being a hero thing, I am not buying it.” “So tell me, James. Is it because he’s dangerous? Or is it because you saw something in him… something you saw in yourself?” His lips parted slightly, but the words caught in his throat, as if the very truth he’d been dodging was suddenly too close to confront. He clenched his fists, the metal hand faintly shimmering in the dim light of the throne room. You studied him—his every muscle tensed, his gaze downcast, his entire being caught in the web of past battles and old scars. “You think you had a choice in the matter? That you chose to be turned into that weapon?” His jaw tightened, and he turned his head slightly, as if unwilling to meet your gaze. But the quiet challenge in your question lingered, pushing against the walls of his heart. “You were broken, James. Just like Bob.” Your words were soft but carried the weight of the years you had seen the agony of humans. “You were the monster once. But you didn’t give up. You didn’t let the darkness take you. Why are you so ready to assume that Bob’s beyond saving?” The silence that followed was thick, suffocating in its complexity. He could feel it—the raw truth in your words, pulling him into a realization he wasn’t ready to face. He wasn’t ready to see how closely he and Bob were bound by their pain, by the choices they never got to make, and the things they thought could never be fixed. And how it all changed with the subtle help of a certain Goddess he knew. “He deserves that chance, even if the world has long since given up on him. Even if he wants to-” “You think I don’t know that? I know. I just… I’m scared. I’m scared that if we let him keep going, he’ll turn into the thing he hates most. And if the Void—” “I have faced the Void,” your voice cut him in the middle as he widened his eyes, knitting his brows in confusion at the sudden noncholant look on your face, serene yet amused at the same time. Then, slowly, deliberately, you stepped closer. The ambient light flickered across your features, illuminating the regal fire behind your gaze. “You forget what I was before this throne, before the crown and the titles that make the universe and every inhabitant bow. I have held back stars from collapse, James. I’ve screamed into the abyss until it screamed back.” Asilent beat... Bucky held his breath with anxiety until... “ Less loudly, of course.” You giggled and soon his on-guard behavior evaporated, just like that. You were back to the friend he knew, all smiley, soft and understanding. He surely knew how worthy you were of your other title now that he witnessed your anger. “I will not let Bob Reynolds be swallowed without a fight. Not by the Void, and not by himself... But for that, I also need his help.” James looked down, pain etched across his features, guilt sharpening every line. “I just don’t want to lose anyone else,” he muttered. “Not to war, not to darkness… not to mercy.” Your hand cupped his cheek—warm, gentle again, your thumb brushed the faint stubble there, grounding him in the now. . “Then help me save him.” He leaned into your touch slightly. “Even if he doesn’t believe he’s worth saving?” You gave a bittersweet smile. “ When did humans ever believe in themselves?” You muttered to yourself amused as you gave a determined nod. “Believe for him… until he can.”

..

The door hissed open before him with a polite chime, one that somehow made the silence on the other side feel even heavier. Bob stepped into the Watchtower’s living room—barefoot, book still in hand, thumb tucked between worn pages like he’d meant to come back to it. The title was some obscure thing from the archives, philosophy soaked in poetry, too heavy for what little sleep he’d had. His shirt clung to him from where he’d curled into the armchair earlier, sweat-damp from another dream that didn’t belong to him.

His footsteps were soft against the polished composite flooring—quiet enough that neither of them noticed at first.

The room was dimly lit, walls aglow with that sterile white-blue of orbital tech, like a hospital made of stars. The glass panels looked out over Earth: whole, spinning, oblivious. For a second, he pretended he was too.

Bob hadn’t meant to listen. Not really. But they weren’t exactly subtle. And no one ever noticed when he was still on the doorway, after cleaning around the kitchen and drying the dishes, retreating back to his room with blinding light and a huge bookcase enough to cover the whole room.

Not even Bucky, who was observational most of the times.

So he stood quietly in the corner, slouched over himself anxiously as he played with the deep blue sweater he wore, a comfort item from that time, watching them argue for his sake like he wasn’t the reason half the room had stopped sleeping with both eyes closed. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, sleeves frayed from being twisted in his nervous grip. He looked like a man trying to vanish.

But inside?

Inside, he was screaming.

She’s waiting for Bob to be ready.

The words kept ringing in his head like a church bell cracked in half.

Ready?

He didn’t even know what that meant anymore. Was it being ready to fight? Ready to die? Or worse—ready to live again, knowing what he was?

Bob Reynolds hated himself.

Not in the way people say when they mess up or fall short—not in frustration. No. Bob’s hatred was quiet. Constant. Structural. Like his very existence was a mistake that kept happening. Every breath he took felt like a borrowed one. Every kind word someone gave him felt like it was meant for someone else entirely.

Because he knew what he was.

He was the guy who destroyed entire cities when he thought he was saving them. The one who couldn't remember if he killed people, only that he probably did. The man with god-tier power and the emotional stability of a wet paper bag.

And the worst part?

There was no evil mastermind to blame. No alien parasite. No secret chip in his neck. It was just... him.

The power. The sickness. The Void. It was all tangled together so tightly that he didn’t know where Bob ended and the monster began.

“You’re not a monster,” Bucky had told him once, eyes heavy with meaning, as they sat together in the common room after yet another nightmare Bob had. And for a split second, Bob believed it.

Until he blinked and saw a flash of black tendrils at the edge of his vision, heard that voice whispering in the back of his head again—

“₮ⱧɆɎ ĐØ₦’₮ ₥Ɇ₳₦ ł₮. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₣Ɇ₳Ɽ ɎØɄ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ.”

Bob flinched even when no one else heard it. That’s how deep it ran.

There were days Bob looked in the mirror and couldn’t tell who was blinking back—himself, or the Void. There were seconds he lost, hours he couldn’t remember, and when he tried to look at them, they laughed—he laughed—because the darkness didn’t just come from him. It was him. A tidal wave he had to pretend he could hold back with duct tape and breathing exercises.

And now she knew. Life herself.

She knew what he was.

And she still hadn’t come.

A part of him wanted to scream at her. What are you waiting for? Kill me, stop me—do something! He wanted her to end it already, erase the Void even if it may cost him his life, before he made another mistake, another killing spree.

But deeper—quieter—something else ached.

She wasn’t coming... But it wasn’t a fixed decision either. Not until he looked the Void in the eye and told it: You don’t own me.

He didn’t know if he could do that. He barely knew who he was when he wasn’t being erased from the inside out by the Void. Because Bob’s insecurity wasn’t about strength. He knew he could move a mountain or end a war. But could he sit in a room and just exist without fearing that someone would die because he lost control? Could he ever believe someone wasn’t flinching inside when they looked at him?

He didn't believe he deserved kindness. Didn’t believe he could be fixed. He was scared to be saved—because what if they saved him, and he broke again? He wanted to be angry. Embarrassed, at least. But instead, all he felt was—

Small.

He doesn’t know who this Queen, you, is. He doesn’t know if he should be afraid or not, or if you were an arrogant asshole but... But it seemed like you didn’t speak of him like a god or a weapon or a mistake...

You spoke like someone who still saw a man.

His fingers tightened around the book. The pages crinkled slightly beneath his palm. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not her conviction. Not Bucky’s loyalty. Certainly not the faith they so freely gave him, again and again, like he hadn’t ripped half the sky open just last month trying to keep himself together.

The silence in the room returned, and still, they hadn’t noticed him.

Part of him wanted to step forward. To say something. To apologize.

Another part wanted to disappear. Back into the dark, into solitude, where no one would see the trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with guilt.

People needed him, but no one wanted to know or help him. Not really.

Except maybe Bucky... And the team. After what they had willingly gone through to pull him away from the clutches of the Void... And now, her—the Queen. Life incarnate. The one who should be most afraid of what he carried inside for the potential of destruction he carried towards all the things she created, she cared about.

But she wasn’t.

She waited.

And that terrified him even more.

Because if she still believed in him…

Then maybe he didn’t have the excuse to give up anymore.

And that was almost worse than the Void.

He squeezed his hands tighter, knuckles bone-white. The noise of the Thunderbolts’ arguing faded into the background static of his mind. He couldn’t help but wince, holding onto his head a bit to silence the hateful words the Void still whispered.

₮ⱧɆɎ’ⱠⱠ ₮ɄⱤ₦ Ø₦ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ’ⱤɆ ₦Ø₮ ₩ØⱤ₮Ⱨ ₮ⱧɆ ฿ⱤɆ₳₮Ⱨ ł₮ ₮₳₭Ɇ₴ ₮Ø ₱ł₮Ɏ ɎØɄ. ⱠɆ₮ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₮₳Ⱡ₭. ⱠɆ₮ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₴₵Ɽ₳₥฿ⱠɆ ₮Ø ₴₳VɆ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ ₭₦Ø₩ ⱧØ₩ ₮Ⱨł₴ Ɇ₦Đ₴. ɎØɄ ₳Ⱡ₩₳Ɏ₴ Ⱨ₳VɆ-

“You are not a mistake.”

The voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a command or a demand. It was warm. Steady. Somehow familiar.

Her.

Not here physically, but it echoed through him all the same—like a thread of sunlight winding through a storm cloud. And suddenly, he could breathe. Just barely. Bob exhaled, trembling. His fists loosened. The vice around his chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Lightened, like the weight was now being shared. All he could hear was his heartbeat and her voice, from days ago, echoing through him like a prayer he didn’t deserve:

Life doesn’t conquer the Void. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.

And he wanted—god, he wanted—to reach back.

But what if his hand wasn’t his anymore?

He winced, flinching as if struck. One hand reached up to grip his temple, fingertips pressing hard into his skin. A sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes—not from the voice, but from his own resistance to it. The Void didn’t scream anymore. It didn’t need to.

Now, it cooed. It whispered in familiar tones, seductive and patient. It came wearing his own voice, softened with mock pity, with poisoned comfort.

₳ⱧⱧ… Ⱡł₣Ɇ, ₴₮łⱠⱠ ₳ ₱Ɇ₴₭Ɏ ₩Ø₥₳₦, ₮Ⱨł₦₭ł₦₲ ₴ⱧɆ ₵₳₦ ₱ⱤØ₮Ɇ₵₮ ɎØɄ ₣ⱤØ₥ ₥Ɇ. ₳ĐØⱤ₳฿ⱠɆ…

Bob shut his eyes, swaying slightly in place. The pressure in his skull thrummed like an earthquake waiting to breach surface. He was so tired of this. Of holding back. Of pretending his breathing didn’t feel like trying to hold the tides with trembling hands.

His heart pounded against his ribs like it wanted to be out.

The whispers didn’t vanish. The Void never did. But for once, he didn’t want to listen to it.

He didn’t want to believe in what it whispered, how it corrupted him from the inside... He only wanted to listen to You.

Your words cut deeper than any blade. Not because they hurt—but because he wanted so desperately to believe them. To deserve them. Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the marrow of him now, threaded through the cracks, gentle as a lullaby and stubborn as a vow.

You... Not here in the room. Not yet. But present in a way the Void could never understand. You lingered in him like warmth in winter, refusing to be extinguished, no matter how cold the world got. Maybe that was what you stood for, what your existence meant for the universe.

Life doesn’t conquer the Void. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.

He remembered the way she’d said it. Not as a plea. Not as some dramatic declaration. But like a truth older than the stars. One you’d lived.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bob wasn’t alone inside his own mind.

He blinked. Slowly sat upright from the crouching position he found himself just before reaching the door to the living room. His eyes—sunken, tired—lifted toward the team, still arguing, still fighting over what to do with him.

And for a heartbeat, he let himself wonder: What if I tried to believe her? Anyone?... Myself? Just once?

“…I—um…” It slipped out. Barely louder than the hum of the ceiling vent. Not a declaration. Not even a statement. More like a sound that escaped before he could smother it.

Silence fell like a guillotine. The arguing stopped.

Ava froze mid-gesture. Yelena, leaning back in her chair, tilted her head slightly, eyes worried at the obvious wincing expression of his face was still apparent. Even Bucky stilled, his expression sharpening—not with judgment, but attention.

Bob shrank in on himself slightly, shoulders tensing as if expecting a blow. He didn’t look at anyone. Just stared down at the floor, fingers twitching around the hem of his sleeve.

“…I heard what she said,” he murmured, almost to himself. “About… being ready.”

Silence stretched. It made the air feel thick. “I don’t know what that means. Not really,” he went on, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I don’t feel ready. I don’t even feel real half the time. Like I’m just… holding space until the bad part wakes up again.”

His chest hitched with the start of a breath he didn’t want to finish. He dug his nails into his palms. No one moved. The air was heavy, like the room itself was holding its breath.

“I’m scared of what’s in me. Scared of me.” His voice shook now, just a little, like it was something fragile being held too tightly. He couldn’t help but shake a bit, or maybe it was the tower itself, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was overwhelmed and that there was a small quake on where he stood

“Bob, you don’t have to-” Bucky started, feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t first explain it to him when they were alone. He knew how the team could be so reckless and loud when it came to secrets or a secret plan. Hell, even Val might have heard at this point and he wouldn’t know. However, considering the head space Bob was in most of the days, he cared about his...friend, as reluctant as he was to call him, and his well-being, more than a bitch who uses anything and anyone for her benefit.

“N-No... I need to let it out, I need to speak.” It was a plea, it almost sounded like a plea by how breathless and pained it left Bob. So much so that even John had lowered his guards and listened to him with a complex look on his face. Understanding. Apprehension. Confusion. Care.

After Bucky’s nod of approval, Bob took a deep breath, put his book down on the table awkwardly and looked at his friends, the friends he was going to explain the dark side of him for the first time.

“Every time I think maybe I can try again, I hear it. Him. The Void. It tells me all the ways I’ll fail. All the ways I’ll hurt people again. And part of me… starts to believe it.”

His hands dropped from his sleeves and curled into fists on his knees. White-knuckled.

“But I heard her. Just now. In my head. And it felt… lighter. Not fixed. Just… not so loud.” he gave a small smile to himself, lips curling lopsidedly as he lifted his head and gave a determined no to his friends who were listening to him.

“She said I wasn’t a mistake. And for a second—just a second—it felt like I could breathe.”

His voice faltered for a moment, but he didn’t stop this time. He took a step forward the team, his team, his friends... The ones who willingly went into the Void despite knowing they would see their darkest fears, just to save him.

He owed this much to them.

“I didn’t even know I wanted to breathe,” he chuckled humorlessly, eyes still downcast, lashes heavy with something unspoken as he threw his arms carelessly, as if what he is saying didn’t matter too much. “I’ve been holding everything in for so long—like if I let even a little of it out, it’d swallow me. Swallow all of you.”

Ironıc, isn’t it? For a being who could show the biggest fears a person might have to that same person, he was afraid to reveal his own, to the only people that mattered to him know. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen weak, or bother them when they all had their troubles to deal with, besides the fact that he might have traumatized them quite badly. His breath hitched, and he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye—not crying, not really, but too close for comfort.  He laughed, but it was broken, breathless. More of a release than a sound of humor. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. One sentence from a goddess and suddenly I think maybe I’m not cursed? Or maybe it wasn’t even her, maybe my fucked up m-mind is making u-up things...” he waved his hand dismissively as if he was speaking nonsense but still risked a glance up. Not at all of them. Just Bucky. The one who had gone to her. The one who hadn’t given up.

Bucky smiled at him brotherly, nodding at him. “It’s not stupid... She does that sometimes.”

“I think…” He faltered again after a smile, swallowing hard. “I think I want to try. If… if someone shows me how.”

He looked up again. Not just at Bucky this time. At all of them.

The room didn’t erupt. No one clapped or consoled him. But no one looked away, either. Ava, whose guarded stance had softened into something like protective stillness.Yelena, who now leaned forward, fingers laced together, eyes watching him like he wasn’t a threat, but a person. Even John—arms slack, frown etched deeper—not cold or dismissive, but present. Listening.

“I’m not asking for you to fix me. I don’t think anyone can.” Bob’s voice dropped lower. “But I think… if I have to carry this… I don’t want to do it alone anymore.”

His shoulders trembled, and his small, self-effacing smile flickered back. The kind someone makes when they’re afraid of what comes next.

“I think that’s what she meant. When she said I had to be ready.”

Then, softer, almost like he was testing the words in his mouth for the first time in years-

“I think I am.”

And for once, Bob didn’t feel like a monster being studied... as his friends smiled at him, all of them carrying their own way of genuine care for him as he found himself doing the same, releasing the breath he was holding. That was their way of silently encouraging him, a silent gesture of  “You are not alone.”...

He felt like a man, asking for help... That was when he heard it.

Beep.

Soft. Sharp. Out of place.

Bucky’s brow furrowed.

Beep-beep.

The sound was coming from his pocket. Mechanical, almost crystalline. Faintly melodic. Everyone turned toward him as he reached in, fingers closing around the cool, unfamiliar weight of the device—the one the Queen had given him when they last spoke. The one she said to use only when the time was right.

When he was ready.

He drew it out slowly.

A small disc, no larger than his palm, etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly beneath the surface. It had been inert for days—dull, cold, unresponsive. But now it pulsed with light, soft and golden, like the first break of dawn and the little wings sprouting from it now fluttering, creating a glowing halo. Her insignia—a sigil shaped like a blooming star cradled by twin arcs—glowed at its center.

It was responding.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat. The glowing light from the device reflected off the metal around the room, casting soft golden halos that danced across his face and the floor—but his eyes stayed locked on it. Unblinking. Disbelieving. Like it wasn’t real.

“It’s her,” Bucky said, his voice quiet with awe, laced with certainty. “She knows.”

The glow intensified for a moment, then dimmed to a steady rhythm—heartbeat-like. Not urgent. Not demanding.

Just… ready.

The device warmed in Bucky’s hand, and a voice—not a full message, but a feeling—brushed against his thoughts. Gentle. Reassuring. Her voice, even if it didn’t speak words, rang inside his mind.

He is ready. And I am waiting.

The rest of the Thunderbolts didn’t speak, but the shift in the room was palpable. Yelena crossed her arms with a soft exhale—half scoff, half smile. It was the kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—a guarded, skeptical expression she wore whenever things felt too strange for her liking.

“Of course she’s watching. Creepy glowing Queen of the cosmos…” But the words were hollow, and Yelena could feel it. She didn’t want to admit it, but there was something undeniably… comforting about the idea of the Queen watching and the device starting to activate when Bob finally explained his thoughts to them. Something that made her feel less alone in this chaos, even if she couldn’t bring herself to fully accept it...because of the past.

The past of her, Natasha...and the so-called Life that didn’t do anything to save her sister, despite being close friends.

Ava stepped back slightly, eyes narrowing at the device like it might explode. “Are we seriously going to Asgard right now?”

John just rubbed a hand across his jaw, glancing from Bucky to Bob, then back to the still-glowing disc. “Guess the gods are calling.”

“Well,” she said with a small shrug, trying to reclaim some of her usual nonchalance, as he glanced at Bob. “if she’s waiting for you, then I guess it’s your call. But don’t expect me to be all warm and fuzzy about it.” She shot a wry smile at him, as if to soften the edges of her words. “I’m not exactly a fan of gods popping in to solve my problems.”

Bob continued to stare at it, wide-eyed. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Bucky stood and turned toward him, still holding the device as it pulsed between his fingers like a living thing.

“You said you wanted someone to show you how,” he said gently. “She’s the only one who can. And I think she’s been waiting for this moment longer than either of us knew.”

The device glowed once more—brighter now. Not as a warning.

As a doorway.

[alive-gh0st]

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

FULL MASTERLIST + PLAYLIST

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❤︎ summary: cupids never miss. you never have. until now. exiled from the threads-of-fate realm for getting too involved in a love you weren’t meant to touch—you end up stranded on a version of earth you don’t belong to—and in the care of someone who doesn’t believe in fate. this universe’s mark grayson has zero patience for cosmic nonsense, but when he finds you bloodied, wing-clipped, and somehow still too bubbly for someone with abandonment issues… he brings you home anyway. he tells himself it’s temporary. he tells himself he doesn’t care. he’s very, very wrong. especially when you accidentally shoot yourself in the chest with one of your own arrows mid-battle—and fall devastatingly in love with him. now he has a problem. because maybe… the arrow hit him too.

❤︎ contains: nsfw (18+). slow burn. yearning. banished divine being with a red string complex. mythology reimagined. omni!mark. omni!invincible. cupid!reader. emotional repression. forbidden love. heavy topics. enemies-to-reluctant-roommates-to-oh-no. accidental domesticity. self-shot with a love arrow. sudden clinginess. lots of touching. mutual pining (like, soul-aching). plot. steamy tension. eventual smut. softness earned in blood.

❤︎ warnings: emotional repression. abandonment themes. divine exile. unrequited love (at first). injury/battle scenes. mentions of blood (light). intense pining. identity crisis. self-worth themes. vulnerability handled with tenderness. cosmic displacement. one self-inflicted love arrow situation. and a very grumpy demi-god trying very hard not to fall in love with the stray romantic chaos entity nesting on his couch.

‪❤︎ wc: TBD (multi-part).ᐟ.ᐟ

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly (thank you for your patience, angel—turns out crafting a wingless cupid with a bruised heart takes more than a few missed shots. but your request never left my string. hope it hits you right in the feels (in the best way). thanks for letting me aim this story your way!)

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a/n: listen. i didn’t mean to fall this hard for cupid!reader. but she shot me too, okay?? also yes. there will be flirting. there will be emotionally repressed omni!mark being very bad at not falling in love with stray cosmic girls who talk too much. it’s fine. i’m fine.

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

ʚ💘ɞ

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prologue 𓊆ྀིread here𓊇ྀི

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 1 𓊆ྀིread here𓊇ྀི

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 2 𓊆ྀིread here𓊇ྀི

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 3 𓊆ྀིread here𓊇ྀི

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 4 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 5 ✍︎

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chapter 6 ✍︎

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chapter 7 ✍︎

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chapter 8 ✍︎

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chapter 9 ✍︎

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chapter 10 ✍︎

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chapter ???

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

🎧ྀི prologue song ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

જ⁀➴ 𓊆ྀི”A New Kind Of Love - Demo” —Frou Frou𓊇ྀི

🎧ྀི chapter 1 song ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

જ⁀➴ 𓊆ྀི”The Thrill Of Loneliness” —Honey Stretton𓊇ྀི

🎧ྀི chapter 2 song ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

જ⁀➴ 𓊆ྀི”F Song” —Strawberry Guy𓊇ྀི

🎧ྀི chapter 3 song ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

જ⁀➴ 𓊆ྀི”Letting Go” —Rehash𓊇ྀི

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taglist sign up: 𓊆ྀིhere𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[thevoidscreams]

Hi, I really like your work and I would like to request one W40k work😚

You are a cosmic entity who loves to travel and at some point you met big E in his younger days. You two had a beautiful friendship (this was before big E became Emperor so I think he would be more innocent and fun,... and knows how to love someone) and you two vowed to see each other again in the near future, but what smol E didn't know was that time meant nothing to you, After a short nap 30 thousand years have passed, you meet big E again but now he has become someone you don't recognize anymore, someone taller, colder and more possessive. One more thing you don't know is that this time he has no intention of letting you go.

This gives me yandere vibes. Of a sort.

Day 22 Year 2:

Warnings: Abduction, used for breeding, Warp sex, dub/non con, being forced to have a body

You get to be the progenitor of the primarchs in this one!

Word count:1574

You gave a big stretch, dreams flittering away as she awoke. It was a good nap. Memories came back in dreamy colored fragments. A friend closer than any others drifted through your thoughts. You should go visit him. Slipping through the tides of the warp things looked different, the power of the four had grown since you were last awake. Hopefully that wouldn't bode too terribly for the little humans you'd grown so fond of. You picked out the singular star of light in the distance. You'd recognize him anywhere, his soul was so bright. Wondering what stories he'd have for you over your time away, surely your best friend would be just as delighted to see you as you would be him.

The trip took days in real world time, but it would be worth it. As soon as you reached the edge of the system where his planet was located, something very odd happened.

Golden threads lashed out from the ball of shining aura. Thrashing did no good, even in your ethereal form you only became more entangled by the threads of power, dragged closer like a fish in the tentacles of a man o'war jelly.

It didn't feel like the friend you had met so long ago, but it was him, his aura was stronger, more powerful in ways never expected.

"It is you. After all this time." His voice rang in your ethereal body as his own presence rose to meet you in the warp. "It has not been that long my old friend." "Thirty thousand years is more time than most can even fathom. Yet you have returned to me now, of all times." "I came to see you, I have been asleep for some time and wished to reconnect with you old friend."

The grip tightened pulling your body of light closer to his. "It has been many millennia since I last heard your voice, my light. I have much to do, that must be done, and now that you have returned, my plans can come to fruition." You looked into the eye's of the perpetual being who had caught you. He was not warm the way he was before. His form had hardened with the time he'd spent learning to control it, and in all the horrors he had committed. "I do not understand." "You will. But I require your aid." His energy reached out to stroke you, caressing your own formless body, pressing it into shapes that were orderly in their structure. It mirrored his own in a way, the form he had in the physical plane.

"Why this form?" Your vast, ancient collection of knowledge did not prepare you for what he had in store. "It will make it easier to conceptualize what is to occur." The fine yet terribly powerful threads pulled tighter, keeping the form as he wished it to be. "It is for the good of my kind that I do this. You must understand." You tried, you wished to help your oldest friend. He held you as he drew you back to the place he had come from. His energy surged around you, then, into you. Your body convulsed against the intrusion. His power co-mingled with yours. Something was happening that you had not ever experienced. There was no pain, yet it was a terribly odd sensation, to have his power and form press into places that you had not known before. It went off for a time, this strange dance as you might have described it. He seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, imparting you with a fragment of his power. When he left the fragment stayed behind. The fine net remained. Holding you as the fragment grew into something more. From your place, anchored in the immaterium you could glimpse into the mortal's world, their place of rigid structure. They were busy making some things, many things. His hands returned once more, days later he plucked the grown fragment of your combined essences. You felt emptier without it. But then he came back, and you did that strange dance again, this time it felt better, as if your understanding of what he expected had shaped the activity to some degree. He left you with another fragment. "What are these? The things that grow in me?" His hands held you, and you felt the brush of his energy against the place that looked like his mouth. "They are sons. Our sons." He breathed and left you again, with the small fragment and more questions. This cycle continued for many of the Terran months. Until he had plucked twenty of the fragments. "That is all I will need now." "Will you send me away then?" You asked, a sense of melancholy about you. You could not understand why, but your body, ethereal and eternal felt.. used. For the first time in so many millions of years you had experienced a new sensation, but you wished you had not.

"No, I lost you once, I will not do so again." He held you close in the golden cage he'd woven around you. Then there was a terrible sensation, a wrenching tearing feeling. Yet no matter how you cried and thrashed, your efforts were for nothing. He dragged you from the warp, and your world went cold and dark.

Everything was wrong, you shifted, trying to feel the energies around you but there were none. "She is waking." A new voice rasped, it was wrong, why did it sound so set in space? "She is." She? What did they mean, she? Wasn't that a human word to describe some humans but not others? You were not human.

Finally your form seemed to understand what it was that it needed to do to see again. The world was solid, rigid and unmoving. "What have you done?" The words came from a mouth, from chords in the throat, it was all wrong. You were all wrong. "I have brought you home to me. This is where you will reside now." Your eyes saw him, saw him for what he wished to be. Not for what he truly was. "What have you done to me?" You croaked, this body felt new.

"You will be what I need of. I am sorry for the pain this will cause." He touched you, and you felt his hand, his flesh on your own. You shot away, not out of pain, but discomfort at the localized sensation. "No, I am not human! I am not human! I am not human!"

This body burned in the eyes, there was a pulsing in the chest, blood flowed through restricted pathways. You needed to get out, to escape. Your hands tore at themselves, at flesh and meat, you needed to destroy the cage.

Hands stopped you, holding you with impossible strength. "Be still now and hear me." His voice filled you. "You are what you are now, as I have decided it to be so. This is the form I require you to be." Firm hands grasped your hands. "Come, you will learn to live in this form."

"Please, I do not want to." The burning turned to cool streaks down the face of the body. Wetness fell from your eyes and down to the cold solid floor. He shushed you. "You will learn to accept it."

For over a month you were kept on watch, the emperor, as he was known in this age, had his giant golden guardians see to you. See to it that you were not harming yourself. When he would come and see you it was to gauge how the body was adjusting and how you were adjusting. "This body is a prison." You had wept. Learning the word for emotions and actions.

"Give it time." He ordered, leaving you alone again. Feeling dead yet alive.

A month after that, and of frequent visits he came to your chambers one night, sending away the guards. "I have need of you once more." "What is it you require? More fragments?" "No. Just you."

His body draped over yours, it was like the strange dance he'd done with you before, you thought. But it was not the same for flesh as it was spirit.

He pressed into you and there was horrible pain, such that you cried out. "Hush now, it will pass." When it did, you were relieved. Then he moved again and it was like the pain, but more intense and you did not want it to stop. He rolled into you over and over, lips pressed to lips, body to body until it felt as if your whole world imploded. You screamed but it was not out of pain. His lips caressed your skin, he had left something inside you again, but it was not energy. It was physical matter, human matter.

He took you to the place he had called the baths and washed you. You wondered if this would be your whole existence now. You turned to him, wanting to call him by his name, but you could not, not without censure. "When may I return to my true self?" You asked him as he laid you down on the bed once more, washed and clothed. "This is your form now." He insisted, body curling around yours. "Why?" Tears slid forth again. "Because I lost you once, and I will not ever again."

[wandaslittlelove]

The Witch, The Bunny, The Cosmic Entity

Pairing: Agathario x Reader Warnings: Each with have their own but main ones are, Age Regression, Mentions of death and murder Summary: The tales of Agatha Harkness, her familiar and little, and Lady Death. This is a Series. Feel free to request specific things you would want to see within their lives!

A Little Birdie

Seedling

Torn Bunny

Fixed Bunny

The Finding

The Explanation

Shorts:

Easter Day

[time-woods]

Doodle request: I found a hc that Scarab had wings that were removed for fucking up his job somehow and that's part of why he's Like That. What's your take on this hc?

i like to think that he got into a scuffle with some other cosmic entity in the past and in the fight his wing got torn, but cause of that he started wearing the suit exoskeleton thing he does now to prevent it from happening again

in my head hes got 2 exoskeletons- the suit is a false one thats tougher than his true one underneath

i feel like prior to that happening he used to wear more actual clothes but alas being an immortal creature doesnt mean you cant still get hurt

[bubblegumrabbitwriting]

Can we get a snippet of Cy and MC in the facility pretty please?

Of course, the below is a first draft of something that might make it into the game, but we haven't decided yet.

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

You lie on your tiny cot, curled up in a way that only punctuates the new bruises, and you think least one broken bone that permeates your body.

The drip that has been growing in size in the corner of your room creates a steady rhythm in the corner of the room that matches the beats of your heart. You were all but thrown in here after your sparring session, much to the dismay of your sparring partner, who requested you be taken for a check-up, but the guards were all the more happy to dump you back in your cell, going on about how your body will have healed itself by the morning.

You force your eye's closed trying to claw atleast one fleeting moment of sleep but it fails as it so often does.

Everything around you too loud, the dripping of the leak, the whinning of the fan built into the wall, the inregular humming that the building constantly produces.

It's enough to make you want to scream, to try and blot out the constant noise with noise of your own making, but you know all it will grant you is another lock-in confinement.

So what else can you do than throw your scratchy makeshift blanket over you and hope the fine barrier of canvas is enough to block out the sound?

You lie covered for what could be hours, wishing for just a second of silence and sleep, but it never comes; you just grow more tired and more irritated.

But all of that vanishes as you hear footsteps coming towards your room; your heartbeat increases, but you don't move, just hoping they pass and continue down the hall.

Luck has never been on your side. You could blame it on fate, but you're not sure if that just makes it sadder that some cosmic entity hates you enough to have the footsteps stop right outside your door.

You wait for the shouted command to go to the corner while they enter. You're not sure how successful you will be on your next mission, as beaten and bruised as you are, but that has never been your choice to make.

But it never comes; you hear the slide of the door, the footfalls against concrete, and that's it.

It doesn't soothe you however, you still stay in place, muscles tensing but it all disappears at the sound of a voice.

"I heard you took a pretty bad beating today." You don't answer, some sort of misplaced pride in yourself not allowing it. But you know it's not meant to be taunting; it's a fact after all.

You hear Cy's steps coming closer to your cot before they stop; you can see their outline backlight through the fabric. "Are you really going to make me talk to a bundle of cloth?"

You don't answer; you just curl in closer to yourself. "Fine..." You hear Cy sit on the floor next to you, back leaning against the side of your cot. "You know those 'training sessions' are all unfair, right?" You don't need to see them to know the air quotes that accompanied training sessions. "I mean, they expect us to fight against people twice our age."

Your silence doesn't seem to bother Cy as they continue. "But that also means that the results don't matter; you're not weak, MC – don't ever think that you are. Half of the guards out there couldn't last anywhere near as long as we have in here." If you weren't so weak, you wouldn't be the one on the verge of breaking from lying down.

"Also, I got you something." You see a foil-wrapped treat slowly appear under your blanket. "Just don't ask how I got it and don't let the guards."

"...thank you." You whisper as your fingers wrap around the chocolate bar.

"So you can still talk; next, you just need to show me your face so I can see if you really need any medical attention." You can hear the joking tone in Cy's voice, but it's tempered with honest worry.

Against your better judgement, you pull the blanket down, turning to face Cy. "See no more uglier than normal." They say with a grin that washes away any anger.

"And your still a jackass." You pout.

Cy's hands come up to gently take your face as they inspect the bruises marring it. "It should heal up fairly soon." All the previous joking had left their tone.

They let out a sigh. "You don't deserve this..." They speak the words with a hesitance that you don't think they mean just the beating you took.

"Neither of us do." You reply with a smile, trying to break the tension that has coiled in their features.

"Exactly." They wear a smile not so easily donned as before.

"Stay here for a while?" You ask; you were already failing at falling asleep you might as well have an excuse not to.

The smile on their face grows more earnest as they nod. You spend the next hours talking about anything, any topic to rip away an ounce of normalcy, and it works as you yawn and eventually fall into the hands of Mother Sleep, knowing Cy will always be there for you.

[reveryfics]

hi hi !!!

not a scott lang request, moreso a thor one !!

wow, so different, i know / j

god reader? he's an anchor being (unknown "center of the universe"). he was hiding out in earth in a human form, (like thor, just... his god form is an eldritch horror). endgame timeline. fury says they need more firepower, and thor suggests asking reader for help.

reader has no obligation to, because if he's such a powerful being, thanos has no real threat to him / and or his realm. (his army?)

just, thor practically swooning over readers god form. any scenario, but what i stated (last paragraph) is basically some world building. reader towers over everything, "i eat planets whole" size, with the entire... other worldly, extravagant personality.

imagine the figure that Gorr saw before asking Thor to protect his daughter. (the big, crossed-legged entity of the universe itself).

🪲 anon

Eater Of Worlds

Thor Odinson x Male Reader

Summary: The Avengers need more help against Thanos, and Thor has just the God in mind.

A/N: Currently have a lot of smut requests in my drafts, those will be spaced out as I've done a lot of Smut lately however non-smut requests are still open. I'm not a big fan of how this turned out, so I apologize.

TW: Fluff

The threat of Thanos hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of dread. Everyone present understood the brutal calculus of their situation. They knew the risks intimately, the chilling probability that no matter how meticulously they planned, how fiercely they fought, many wouldn't emerge from the inevitable confrontation alive. The sheer power Thanos wielded was a tangible force, a looming shadow that dwarfed their collective might. They clung to the belief that they were facing a singular, insurmountable obstacle, their options dwindling with each passing hour.

Then, a flicker of improbable hope ignited in the hushed room. Thor, his voice low and tinged with a long-forgotten reverence, murmured about an old tale, a legend whispered by his mother, Frigga. It spoke of a god, a being of immense and terrifying power, one who dwarfed even Thanos in the annals of Asgardian lore. This god, according to the ancient stories, had vanished, choosing to walk among mortals, his true nature masked by a human guise. But the echoes of his past deeds still resonated, tales of devastation and awe that had once sent shivers down even Asgardian spines. This being had once roamed the cosmos in a form that defied comprehension, a wolf so colossal its head pierced the clouds, each earth-shattering step a testament to its raw, untamed power.

Thor recounted these stories, Frigga's voice seemingly echoing in the room, her descriptions so vivid it felt as though she herself had witnessed these incredible events. Yet, even he, a god accustomed to the extraordinary, had never truly believed he would lay eyes on this legendary figure. But here you were, standing amongst them, indistinguishable from any other human, a stark contrast to the monstrous deity of myth. The only hint of your true nature was the casual arrogance in your laughter as Thanos's threat was mentioned, a dismissive scoff that bordered on insulting.

Your amusement abruptly ceased as you registered the gravity etched onto the faces of Thor and Loki. Two Asgardian gods, beings who had faced down cosmic horrors, were visibly concerned. A flicker of something akin to curiosity, perhaps even a grudging respect, crossed your features. If they were taking this seriously, then perhaps, just perhaps, it was worth a moment of your attention.

"Our mother spoke highly of you," Thor ventured, his voice respectful, almost pleading. "You must understand what is at stake here. This… this Thanos… he could even pose a threat to you."

You sighed, a drawn-out exhale of weariness that seemed to carry the weight of ages. "Then you are aware that not even this Thanos can touch me, dear boy," you whispered, your voice a low rumble that resonated in the silence. "It simply isn't my fight."

Tony Stark, who had been observing the exchange with growing impatience, finally interjected, his voice sharp and laced with his usual pragmatism. "Look, with all due respect to the Norse mythology hour, this is getting us nowhere. We're facing a universe-ending threat, and you're talking about some bedtime story. This 'god,' if he even exists, clearly isn't interested in helping. We need a plan, not fairy tales."

Thor ignored Tony, his gaze fixed intently on you. "But you have helped before," he insisted, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "My mother told us stories, Loki and I. Tales of how you single-handedly turned back armies to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. How you devoured entire worlds that posed a danger to others. You possess a power that could tip the scales."

You remained impassive, your eyes flicking briefly towards Tony, a silent acknowledgment of his assessment. "He's right," you stated flatly, your voice devoid of emotion. "Whatever you are attempting will be futile."

Thor refused to be deterred. He pressed on, his voice laced with desperation. Loki, standing beside him, shot Thor a sharp, knowing look, a subtle warning that seemed to suggest Thor was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction.

A low growl rumbled in your chest, a sound that vibrated through the floor. You grunted, the human facade beginning to crack under the weight of Thor's relentless appeals. "Enough!" you roared, your voice booming with an unnatural resonance, silencing Thor mid-sentence. "Stop your mewling, godling! You sound like a child begging for scraps."

Thor, stung by the rebuke, his own patience fraying, retorted, "Perhaps my mother was wrong. Perhaps you are nothing more than a cowardly god, content to hide while others suffer."

The air crackled with a sudden, palpable energy. The sound of bones audibly shifting and cracking filled the room, followed by a guttural growl that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the earth. Your human form began to contort, stretching and shifting in ways that defied natural law. In a matter of seconds, the mortal man was gone, replaced by a wolf of unimaginable size. Its fur was the color of midnight, its muscles rippling beneath its hide like shifting mountains. Its head breached the ceiling, its massive jaws capable of swallowing a planet whole. You bent down, your enormous head looming over the stunned Avengers, a low snarl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes, once human, now glowed with an intense, ember-like light, burning with ancient power.

"Pathetic," you rumbled, your voice a deep, resonant growl that shook the very foundations of the building. "You dare disturb my solitude with such trivial affairs? Matters that have nothing to do with me?"

Thor, however, seemed to have tuned out your words, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He interrupted you, a strange smile spreading across his face. "The stories," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, "they never truly captured it. How… breathtaking your godly form is." He stepped closer, oblivious to the danger, his gaze sweeping over your massive form. "The sheer power, the majesty… it's… magnificent. I must say, I am rather enjoying this particular form of yours."

You recoiled slightly, taking a massive step back, your paws causing the ground to tremble beneath their weight. You stared at Thor in utter disbelief, your massive head tilting slightly as if trying to comprehend his bizarre reaction. Your colossal form began to shrink, the impossible transformation reversing, albeit not entirely. You settled into the form of a wolf still immense, easily towering over Thor and the other Avengers, but no longer scraping the clouds.

Uncertainty flickered in your glowing eyes. You glanced between the bewildered faces of the Avengers and Thor, who was still gazing at you with an unnerving mixture of fascination and admiration. "I… I am still not obligated to assist you," you finally managed, your voice now a deep, rumbling growl, less earth-shattering than before, but still undeniably powerful. "However… perhaps… if the situation becomes truly dire, if there is absolutely no other recourse… then I might consider lending my aid."

Thor's face lit up, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his features. "Thank you," he exclaimed, his voice filled with relief. "Thank you for reconsidering."

You simply huffed in response, a puff of air that rustled the nearby debris. You turned to leave, your massive form moving with surprising agility. Just as you reached the doorway, you paused, glancing back at Thor, a flicker of something unreadable in your glowing eyes. "And for the record, thunder god," you rumbled, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice. "If that was your attempt at flirting… it worked."

[jjwolves]

Hey!!!

Just wanted to request something and say that I really like your writing and your sona! Really silly

Anyway, if you can, may I have some general ‘x reader’ headcanons for Bellham/Suspicious Man from DBBQ?? I don’t see a lot of content of him on tumblr or anything else, and its a shame, I REALLY LIKE HIM!!!!

Thanks you!!!

SAMADHI ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

What: 5 Headcanons for Suspicious Man X Reader

Who: Suspicious Man from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~900 Words, ~4 mins

Warnings: Stalking (?)

Suspicious Man is confusing, and it’s not remedied by the fact that he rarely elaborates on anything he says unless prompted, and even then, you need to ask the right questions. It follows, then, that you hadn’t even realized that you two were dating until you were halfway through an admittedly romantic glowing bonsai tree-lit dinner and he said, “I’ve been waiting. To find someone like you. For. A while.” Taking a break from eating a gourmet Medicine Branch, you asked what he meant. “Well. I am glad. That our paths. Crossed. Crossed? Intertwined.” Deciding to get bold, you elected to ask if he loved you, because you were pretty sure you loved him. He was such a unique guy; you doubt he’d make fun of you or be rude about it. His ominous smile grew a little wider, two sets of hands interlocking conspiratorially. Was he feeling amused or bashful? Hard to say. “Yes! I thought that I. Was being obvious.” He was not.

Suspicious Man is a creature of hedonism and scholarship. When he’s not experiencing the highest cosmic highs of senses, he’s busying himself with extensive study of anything he feels would be worth learning. He’s extremely knowledgeable, and as such, he seems to know a lot of things about you that you don’t recall ever telling him. “It is habit. For us. To go. Where I want to go. So. We must go. Where you. Want to go. Which is presumably. Presumably? The Blooming Heaven Well.” Well, you did want to go there—it’d been one of your favorite places in all of your travels. But how did he know that? “I study. Things that. I like. That fascinate me. Hehehe!” You should recoil, but you like him too much, so you squeeze one of his hands instead. It’s only for a moment, but his mouth drops the shady smile and adopts a surprised ‘o’. “You know. Feeling this is. Different. Than reading about it.”

It’s not long before he introduces you to his favorite place, a dark winding place of bookshelves and pipes and dust which floats off of the floor and forms little shapes for you. And deep, ominous bells playing far away, yet echoing all around you. It’s creepy and macabre, but knowing Suspicious Man gives you the sense that he’s showing you something personal and close to his heart, so it takes on a warm, intimate atmosphere. One of his favorite things to do here is feast on strange but delicious food with you. Flesh branches dipped in candle sauce. A cornucopia of colored triangles. Gray biscuits with ghostly faces on them lathered in some sort of psychedelic glaze. It is completely epicurean. It’s absolutely an endless chasing of the senses. But being together for a meal gives it a sense of wholeness, like there’s meat beneath the spice that is pleasure. Like there’s substance to this time spent. Suspicious Man thinks that he might have found a new favorite activity. “I think. We’ve found our own. Form of. Enlightenment?”

It might not come as much of a surprise to anybody, but Suspicious Man might be a little… evil. He enjoys putting hexes on entities who annoy him. He likes vexing and mocking his bell servants. At the very least, his evil tendencies are directional—he’d never do anything to hurt you or even inconvenience you. He does like to test you, though—see if you’d like to have a taste of the dark side. Not necessarily because he dislikes your goodness. In fact, he enjoys it. He simply likes to offer you the experience, like offering someone a glass of wine after you’ve already poured yourself some. Once, after you had been rudely denied passage by a doorkeeper entity, you found them tied up and squirming around in red string, suspended above the ground of Suspicious Man’s realm. Suspicious Man handed you a cursed talisman and playfully wiggled your arms around. “What. Ever. Will you do?” You were pissed at the entity, sure, but it wasn’t worth cursing them and turning them into a mango or whatever this talisman did. You elected to set the doorkeeper free. “Sad choice! But fair choice. Either way. I like your choices.” Sometimes his minions seem a bit relieved when you're around; it's like he kicks them around a little less whenever you're watching. Whether he's doing this to see if you'll say something or because he cares what you think, you'll never know.

Your incredibly sinister boyfriend has a funny habit of tying the red strings on his fingers into different shapes when he’s talking. You want to see the limits of his special ability. He gives an amused sigh. “Okay then. Let us. See.” You want him to do… a bunny! He fiddles around for a few moments before forming a rabbit’s face. “What an. Interesting creature. You’ve chosen.” OK, now do a spider. The result is a bit wonky but it definitely looks the part. “I am. Quite fond. Of this one.” Hmm… Now he should do an ENA. He creates a very simple outline of an ENA’s face. “I have. Studied them. Them? Extensively. A face is. Easy. Easy? Enough.” OK. You tell him that, since he’s done so well with the other ones, he should come up with one that he wants to do, and you’ll guess what it is. He takes a few moments to pull the strings in different directions, thoughtful. When he’s done, it’s a cartoony rendition of your face. His other hands pull the strings into hearts. You blush. “I think. This one is quite. Enchanting. If I do say so, myself.”

A/N: I kind of headcanon him as someone who is, like, the opposite of a Buddhist. Like he understands the entrapments of the physical world and of desire but willingly flies headfirst into it because that is how he chooses to exist. A very intentional self-destruction (or perverse kind of self-fulfillment).

[kooltoppinclub]

Okay, may I make a wild request and ask you if you could draw my constellations from my cosmic AU and the toppings from your AU ?

Please 🥺 ?

I'm sure it's safe for kids to play with cosmic entities. :•)

[squad-724]

MAMMA MIA (but not exactly) STAR WARS PREQUELS

Brought to you by me, @viennainbloom @ofteasandherbs @arctech-fox and @stormyblue90

It all starts with Anakin’s second wedding

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Second wedding??

And you might think, Koshmareq you idiot, Anakin would never divorce or remarry after Padme. And you would be right. But it’s still wedding with Padme, just this time he’s having a party for his whole family, and they’re adding Rex to the relationship. Rexanidala if you will.

And here begins the issue; who is supposed to walk Anakin down the isle? The answers might be obvious, Obi-wan, but that’s where it starts getting complicated.

Because his boyfriend Alpha 17 says that Skywalker is his kid too. And Obi-wan said in the past that he sees Anakin more like a little brother. He put him in a headlock and sparred with him when the jedi’ika was frustrated; for clones it’s more than enough to earn the title of a buir.

At the time Anakin is unavailable to join the discussion, picking his own very pretty wedding dress with Ahsoka and Shmi (she’s alive and well thank you), so the male parental figures are discussing it between themselves.

And then Cliegg Lars comes back from a walk and says that in the eyes of law he is Anakin’s father by the fact that he married his mum.

Unfortunately only a few sentences in and a draw in arm wrestling later Qui Gon pops up from beyond the grave and argues that he was supposed to be Anakin’s master and he has the right to the title too in some capacity.

The Mamma Mia is not who’s the father, but who’s the most deserving the title of dad to walk Anakin down the isle.

Now this argument debate starts picking up everywhere, among the Jedi, clones, Skywalkers and anyone involved in this whole mess.

No one knows who suggest conga line, but everyone suspects Yoda.

A big thing turn happens when Alpha 17 drops the request; Rex asked him for the honor of being his father figure during the ceremony and the big bad Alpha did not cry, don’t listen to Fordo guys.

The only quick consensus was achieved when a letter addressed from Palpatine arrived from jail. He asked, as Anakin’s mentor for years, to be allowed to walk him down to the altar. The paper has been burned very quickly.

The grooms and bride are out picking their outfits (Cody agreed to help Rex get a beskar armor), while Padme is trying on the suit.

At some point someone suggests that the Force might want to „give away” their son, but every Jedi present gets a massive migraine that feels like motherly scolding and no one argues what the cosmic entity sees themselves as in Anakin’s life.

The day of the rexanidala wedding arrives and no one has decided on who walks Anakin down the aisle.

Tbh he doesn’t even know about that tradition and is planning to do it himself while Omega and Boba (flower girls) help him with his veil.

There is a fight about to break out, weapon or two raised, knives held and lightsabers clenched, before Shmi shuts everyone up and says she will do it. Absolutely no one argues further and all the other parental figures leave to sit and watch the wedding from them front seats.

The ceremony is about to start but the officiant is missing. Rex starts to panic a bit, and Obi-wan asks if anyone of the invited guests can officiate the ceremony.

A tall, white haired figure wearing expensive clothes stands up in one of the back rows. Count Dooku, allowed to leave his house arrest for his great grandpadawan’s wedding, as a leader of his planet has the power to do it.

Even with the GPS ankle monitor he looks distinguished while he perfectly recites the words of the ceremony, even his cold eyes warming up a little as he watches Anakin join his partners at the altar.

Padme has Sabé, Riyo and Mon as her bridesmaids, Anakin picked Kitster, Owen and Ahsoka (he beat Rex in rock paper scissors for her) and Rex got Cody and Domino Twins (Fives is unhappy he didn’t get to be the flower girl).

Many tears are shed, and laughs given as the three of them tie their souls forever.

Of course R2 is the ring bearer, rolling up to the altar, taser ready when the words ”speak now or forever hold your peace” are said. Rush Clovis has been stunned hours before the wedding.

The party goes without bigger problems if you don’t count the one assassin.

He’s quickly dealt with as Anakin chases him with lit on lightsaber screaming bloody murder for daring to mess up his special day. Ahsoka enthusiastically joins, happy that she has an excuse to ”loose” her shoes.

Jango is there too, his Saturdays scheduled for the next 10-15 years because of his fucking kids clones. But he still has holopicks of Boba as the flowergirl saved. His ankle monitor looks much less distinguished than Dooku’s.

Flower bouquet toss is done, and Fox catches it with his face. Every time he demands a retoss, but after fourth time he has to finally accept it.

No one knows how Ventress got invited (Ahsoka is the biggest suspects) but she only has a few drinks, fistfights Wolfee and in the end reconciles with him and apologizes for the eye.

”Mr Skywalker why are there multiple war criminals at your wedding” ’’Mind your business”

Just as the wedding is about to end, everyone exhausted, a little drunk and ready to give the last toast to the thruple, they have the last announcement to make

Padme is pregnant with twins

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Thank you all very much for reading this crazy thing we came up with on the @astral-veil ’s discord server, feel welcome to add your thought and ideas to this insanity

[thedamnedlamb]

A Lamb that does genuinely care for their Narinder, but during their fight with each other, the fight gets so heated and the adrenaline so high they end up choosing murder instead of Spare. Oops

A Lamb that’ll do anything to bring their Narinder back. Even if that means making deals with this otherworldly cosmic entity that enjoys tormenting them. Even if it means possibly stealing their Narinder from a different realities version of themselves, where things didn’t end like they did on that fateful day. An alternate reality where they had the wherewithal to spare their Narinder. That version of themselves can live without their Narinder for a while right?

Two Lambs pulling a Narinder back and forth like two kids fighting over a teddy bear. The Mystic seller just obliging in their requests, happily taking god tears and enjoying the show. Narinder not knowing what the fuck is going on anymore.

[husbands-mogai]

‎‎‧₊˚✧[cosmichorrorgender]✧˚₊‧

Cosmichorrorgender - a gender related to or feels like cosmic horror and incomprehensible entities. This gender can feel incomprehensible, ancient, massive and Lovecraftian but doesn't have to.

- Anyone can use

I strongly believe xenogenders are for everyone even a cishet neurotypical white man with a white picket fence and three kids

~ requested by no one

[thissitehasnofknnamesleft]

Ok everyone here’s my current tmagp theory:

FR3-D1 is the TMA eye. They take on Martin/Jon’s voices bc that is what the eye used to transmit itself across realities in Mag200. So the eye can very easily feed on the OIAR cases by just living in the computer. Maybe all the other TMA entities are with it in the computer. I’m undecided.

I’m still very much of the opinion the TMA/TMagP universe entities are different. I previously thought we might end up w/ a cosmic horror battle between the two, but I don’t think so anymore. So, the TMA entities are currently living in a TMagP computer subsisting off of the TMagP entities’ scraps.

I feel my idea is supported by today’s episode, where FR3-D1 basically requests more Bonzo cases, which reminded me of how some statements were more or less ‘filling’ for Jon. The computer wants the tastiest cases. Perhaps that W score thing stands for Wdelicious.

Anyway, I love reading everyone’s crazy red string conspiracies ab tmagp, so I’m contributing my own.

May your Bonzo be on his way (he wants to stay he wants to play) and your computers be man-eating. Good night everyone.

[alittlesongbirdchirps]

MY WORLD AU

Bruce Wayne isn't human he never was.

His body was a false form created to do his task, his mission, to gather information on Earth.

And that information would help his kind decide whether or not to destroy the entire planet and everything on it.

And his kind one of them could do it with a mere hand completely crush it in their grasp.

But no they won't judge based on an outside point of view.

So that's why Bruce is sent there, given a human form, he's not allowed to do anything unless it is human-like not even allowed to use his powers, not allowed to kill any humans.

Because It will muddy the water, and mess up the result.

Only after he's done observing, gathering all the data possible for judgment may he return to his true form.

His body's parents, no the character he plays to observe, Bruce Wayne's parents are murdered.

He uses all the information he gathered so far in his short time on earth from the television show he witnessed and vows vengeance on all criminals.

He begins to think maybe that's not a normal human reaction, that's until he takes in Dick.

Not out of care but out of the fact, that this is an actual human that also witnessed his parents die, so it's more out of the purpose he wants to see if he performed his so-called grief correctly, and humanely.

And apparently, he did since Dick acted similar to how he did all those years ago.

But when Jason came into his life it was the same at that start only taking him in to gather more information in particular he wanted to see if he could change human behavior if he took him in.

So he gave him more attention than he ever did Dick but at some point with Jason, or maybe it was even with Dick but he began to care though he wouldn't admit it not until Jason died.

Rage, an emotion he never felt before, and true grief, he was gonna kill the Joker fuck this stupid study.

And he will do it while in this human form, so it's slow and painful but Superman stops him, Bruce nearly swings at him but manages to stop himself managing to get his bearing back and now it was solely about this mission again.

No longer holding back against criminals anymore, he won't kill them but if they died from the injuries it wasn't his fault it was theirs.

Eventually, Tim Drake comes into his life almost like a whirlwind, demanding to be robin he refuses mainly because he doesn't need any more data on human younglings, but Tim threatens to compromise his mission as Batman, he doesn't know what Bruce truly is not yet.

Tim figures something out at some point, that Bruce isn't human it wasn't like Bruce was trying to hide it anymore.

Tim begins to ask him many questions with the underlying unspoken words, I know you're not human but I won't bring it up.

Oddly Bruce finds himself intrigued by this human this youngling is smart, especially by human standards, and he begins to study him he's different than the others, smarter, similar to the whole Bruce character He temporarily is until he finishes his mission.

Much later on;

When Bruce is 'killed.' by Darkside, he's simply beamed back to relay his data, and he lies he knows what his kind will do, destroy his earth, it is his earth, destroy his family that he built.

His kind doesn't lie, it's beneath them, so they believe him, for now, he makes a few requests for extra measures, like getting the earth to be put in his true name before returning.

Of course, Tim believed he was alive he was the only one who truly knew Bruce wasn't human but he didn't know what.

But something happens whether the Joker again or an invasion because his kind realizes his bitch ass lied.

So he protects them, he protects his earth, his true form his true size briefly leaking out, and he easily defeats them.

The league of course asks him what happened and what was that, and he simply lies that he was briefly possessed by some cosmic entity. Obviously, the bats call bullshit but don't call him out until they return to the cave demanding answers. LOL

(Little drabble idea.)

NOT EDITED LATE NIGHT, CONSIDERED THIS TIRED BULLSHIT SCRIBBLES OF WRITING.