#ogalactus

Billy felt small standing in Galactus’ presence. Not just physically, but from the sheer amount of energy resonating from them. He could feel it in his bones, deep and thrumming, but it was unlike the feeling he had around magic. As the cosmic being regarded him, he knew for certain that the words they spoke were true. 

“I made a mistake. I was selfish and offended the Demiurge. I just have to hope and do what I can to prove to them that they made the right choice in letting me host it. But you know that, of course.” Billy admitted, “How do you manage the responsibility? It feels so all-consuming to me.”

❛ i'd stay here if i could. ❜ in the vastness of space ... a living star should not have needed to breathe, and yet she sighed nevertheless where she is mostly light and lingering flesh that refused to let go still, floating atop the palm of the cosmic being who called her their herald. earth was galaxies away, and yet she herself showed no eagerness to return. ❛ would you have me, if i did? i'm not that bad for company. ❜

"hail unto thee, mighty galactus, thou who art the pendulum of necessity, whose everlong yearning serves the cosmos in both its wrath and its mercy."

loki's imitation of her own oracular possession is impressive, but any who have heard it before would know it for a falsehood—the hollow melody and the undercurrent of other voices is lacking, and besides, there's an all-too-aware impishness on her face.

the little goddess has no right to be aboard the devourer's vessel, nor indeed any reason other than impulse or perhaps instinct. she has manifested herself from its shadows like nightshade blooming, falling in step with him a few feet behind. a respectful distance which must be respectful because her appearance here is not.

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He walks upon the stars themselves, he who had once held them in his hand. A humbler traveler, compared to the man he was now, though as to how much was left to the judgment of others. A sentiment shared by the other, he thinks, he knows.

Much had transpired between them, in those olden years. Was there any anger? Any lingering resentment? Of course not, for one could not hold a grudge with a mountain.

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what gal holds is not a body at first, but a black void cradled carefully between massive palms. it churns and coils in on itself, dense with lifetimes stacked atop lifetimes, memories grinding together until they blur into rage, fury, fear, and a hollow sense of abandonment. it is a living absence, a gravity well of thought and feeling, threatening to tear at the edges of reality if it is allowed to fully unfurl. space bends subtly around it, light stretching thin, time stuttering as though unsure how to pass.

his hands remain steady anyway, protective rather than restraining, carrying the void through the quiet expanse toward the ship. the hull looms ahead, radiant and impossibly calm in contrast to what he holds, a sanctuary of creation brushing up against something that has seen too much of the end.

slowly, the void responds. the violent churn eases, its edges softening as if remembering a different shape. claws retract, lengthening and smoothing until they become fingers. the black limbs that once spiraled from her back unravel and spill downward, thinning into the dark fall of hair. the distortion fades, space snapping gently back into place as the weight of infinity condenses into something smaller, something fragile.

ahmya settles into herself again. human once more, breath shallow but real, exhaustion pulling heavy through every limb. the fury quiets, the fear dulls, leaving only bone-deep fatigue and the relief of no longer holding the universe at bay.