#the eradicator

[amidstcalamity]

@transformedwithgrief

Indomitable Wrath

UNKNOWN, Mitakihara, Japan

An unknown dimension, emanating tragedy and loss. It was as if it was another world. In the white and black stairs that the Eradicator walked up towards, with weird, cartoony visuals all around him, his crimson, calamitous energy pulsed throughout the dimension.

The raven-haired young man punched downwards at the floor, annihilating all the odd-looking familiars around him, before punching through the last one in the head, dissipating it.

And eventually, he was met by an unknown, octopus-like being with wings at the end of the dimension.

A curbstomp. A one-sided fight which the being of despair has to suffer. And with his burning rage, he wouldn't relent.

Devastating punches, energy blasts of immense power, elemental strikes. He'd get hit by the witch's own attacks, but ultimately, he'd shake it off and hit back much harder. He blasted away any familiars it summoned. A flurry of punches kicked in, and then he grabbed her face, crushing it slowly, but steadily. The Eradicator's crimson, glowing eyes hard-focused onto the witch.

He wanted something from it. Its rich calamitous energy. Despite the power difference, he'd absorb the witch. He wanted to prepare for the battle against the Desolation Legend, Hisako Katsumoto.

CROSSFIRE CATACLYSM

The Eradicator finally vaporized the being of despair with two colossal blasts, one vertical and one horizontal, aimed directly at her head and body.

After it was all over, the Calamity Effect wielder absorbed its power, crimson energy trails shifting towards his body from multiple angles.

ERADICATED

"I've killed bigger and worse than you..." He spoke in a grim tone, yet as solid as steel. Because he held the energy of the witch, the dimension didn't dissipate yet.. but he sensed one more energy source nearby.

[tootsmcscoots]

Fuck you, have another Hades II character design thing I noticed and really like.

For those who know about Heracles, which is all of you lets be honest, you know he has a bit of a rage problem, Hera induced or not. I think SGG shows this off in a very fascinating way.

OK, so, Heracles' first and most well-known Labor is his slaying of the Nemean Lion after which he takes removes its impervious pelt with its own claw, taking it as a trophy and his first of many enchanted items.

Another thing I think we can all agree on about Heracles is that he's a fucking asshole, even by the standard of the Golden Age of Greek heros. This write-up will not be going into all the things he's done but just know he's not the most humane person while he was alive, and I can only imagine he only got worse after he ascended to full godhood after his death.

And I think Hades II shows that loss of what little humanity he had in a very interesting way.

It can be hard to notice when first looking at his portrait but look at his beard, how it's the same colour as the lions pelt, how they seamlessly flow into one another, making it nearly impossible to differentiate the two. And this is clearly a much much older Heracles, he died around the time as the other Golden Age heros like Jason, Theseus, and Perseus, who themselves were far before heros like Odysseus who as of Hades II has already gone through his odyssey, assuredly died of either old age or something incredibly stupid, and helped raise Melionë to adulthood, so all in all, Heracles is OLD old.

All those years have seemingly gotten to Heracles. Any drop of humanity that may have not been burned away in his pyre is, if not completely eradicated, very, very buried. He has fully become The Lion, a weapon of Olympian design, told to seek out and destroy the enemies of the Gods with no remorse. How he speaks with Mel shows this as well, how he thinks he is the only one who can stamp out the Undead inside of Ephyra, confused and annoyed in their first encounter on why she'd even bother.

It's... very hard to feel bad for Heracles. His life wasn't great to start out with, but he did many things in his adult life that were just outright cruel with no reason. But seeing him lose himself to The Lion, it does make you a bit melancholic, right? One of the most well-known figures of Greek mythology finally falling into what many of the Gods children become, a weapon.

[closetsof-backlogged-dreams]

okay so I’ve seen and loved a bunch of these posts already but everything u say is immediately correct and amazing and sending u asks is the best

opinions on why zukka works and makes sense as a ship and if you think it could work in canon (outside of fanon)?

I CANT BELIEVE YOU JUST MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE COMPLETE AND FULL BY ASKING ME THIS QUESTIONNNN (strap in folks hold on to your hats keep a good hold on your bladders bc this is 10+ years worth of BUSINESS)

Why "Zukka" works and makes sense as a ship

something i've discussed THROUGHLY with my notes app and a school slides presentation is that Zuko and Sokka are both direct parallels AND contrasts to one another, at the same time. i'll list them out here:

Their fathers' roles in their lives

Both Hakoda and Ozai were the leaders of their respective nations, with Sokka and Zuko as the heirs. Then, they both become absent in their sons' lives and leave them to fend for themselves.

This is a parallel, but this is also where they contrast. Sokka's father left to go fight in the war, a noble and honest pursuit, and left Sokka to protect his sister and the village.

Ozai, on the other hand, cast Zuko out of the nation and forced him to protect and defend himself, while effectively turning all their people and his own sister against him.

Their sisters' roles in their lives

Despite both of them being the oldest sibling and brother, they both have severe inferiority complexes due to their younger, powerful bending sisters.

With Katara, she was the only waterbender in the entire tribe, a marvel. She could learn to protect the tribe in a way that Sokka had been trying all his life, and she eventually does. Despite all this, Katara is still a grounding and valued person in his life, and he would be completely lost without her (something he openly admits to in canon!!)

With Azula, she was a prodigy firebender, while also being a special kind of keen and cunning. She was adored by their father and grandfather and Zuko could never quite measure up. Because of this, Azula is the main villain in Zuko's childhood. She does everything she can to break him down, and that continues when she returns as a character in his life in season two. All throughout the show, instead of being a source of comfort and familial love, she is his main obstacle he must overcome.

The loss of their mothers

Both Sokka and Zuko lost their mothers at very young ages to the Fire Nation, but they had vastly different impacts on their families (and further developed their sisters' roles in their lives!!)

When Sokka's mother died, she was killed by a Fire Nation general. Katara quickly took over the motherly role in his life, cementing her place as a grounding and comforting force. Her death also did not break their family. It deeply hurt all of them, but Katara, Sokka, and Hakoda still loved one another just as much as before.

When Zuko's mother died (obviously not really, but this is what he believes for many years), she was "killed" in order for his father to ascend to the throne and become Fire Lord. This left Zuko without anyone to protect him from Azula's tormenting and cemented her place as a destructive, villainous person in his life. Ursa's death also did destroy their family. Whatever way she had managed to keep them all together was eradicated, and Zuko was left with a sister and father that resented him and a sister fighting for his place in the line of succession.

Their obessesions

Both Sokka and Zuko had two bone-deep obsessions that were very defining parts of their characters in the first season, that slowly wavered and faded away as the story progressed and they developed as people. They were both given these obsessions by their fathers immediately before they became absent in their lives (whether leaving themself or sending their son away) and proceeded to dedicate their entire life to these goals in the name of honor.

With Sokka, his father asked him to protect his sister and his village. Sokka then dedicates all his time and energy to becoming a brave soldier and training the children of the village in order to protect his people. This is seen further in season one even after they leave, when he is overly protective of Katara and constantly worried for her safety (something this fandom doesn't talk about enough!!)

With Zuko, his father sent him on a wild goose-chase to find the hundred-years-lost Avatar, and when he actually does, all he can do is chase after Aang so he can go back home. As we see in season three, letting go of capturing the Avatar was essentially letting go of his former self.

Unlearning their flawed cultures (the big one!!!!)

Both of their cultures had many flaws that became ingrained in their belief systems and characters; their whole development is dedicated to unlearning these flawed teachings and reorienting their perception of the world.

It is very obvious throughout the shows that the Water Tribe had strict gender roles that were both implicitly and explicitly taught from birth. The men go off to fight in the war, the women take care of the children, Sokka has to protect his "defenseless" little sister, etc. Suki helped start him on the journey of unlearning his deeply-rooted misogyny, and by the end of the series he's really drinking the Respect Women Juice™️ (unlearning the flaws of his culture also brought him much closer to his sister and strengthened their bond and respect for one another)

The Fire Nation is a lot more complicated with a lot more cultural nuances and implicit and explicit teachings, but we'll focus on one central cultural theme: the constant prioritization of ambition over absolutely everything else, including (if not especially) love. (I actually talk about this extensively in another analysis post about Azula, if you want to check that out<3) We see Zuko battle with this teaching all throughout the series, and it is the main conflict he faces, at its heart.

We watch him commit his entire life to capturing the Avatar in season one. We watch him betray his uncle in season two. We watch him, time and time again, put his own health and safety on the line trying to capture Aang, especially in season one. Constantly, over and over again, he puts his ambition first because that was what he was taught.

And though this is a trait him and Azula share, it is also what pits them against each other. Azula's entire character is built on putting ambition first, and that leads her to chasing the throne that is Zuko's birthright. Zuko just wants to go home, but that would reestablish him as the heir to the throne. Time and time again, we watch them fight and betray each other, constantly battling for this crown for a broken nation. In the end, it is Azula's undoing, but that's another post.

All in all, unlearning the flaws of their culture is central to their development as characters and a place where they parallel... but it is also a place where they directly (and perfectly) contrast.

Despite the cruelty of the Fire Nation, they are the only military that includes women. They seem to not really struggle with the same gender roles the rest of the world does. They may be colonizers, but they're not misogynists. Zuko never looked down on his sister because she was a woman, nor did her father. It was always her propensity for cruelty that undid her. (They even send a team of highly skilled women to capture the Avatar!!)

This is a direct contrast to the teachings of the Water Tribe, which are entrenched in misogyny and gender roles. The men go off to war, the women stay behind. The men are strong, the women are weak. Can you imagine how much Zuko could have assisted Sokka in his development here? (blah blah directly paralleling Suki's role in Sokka's life blah blah blah)

In the Water Tribe, love and family comes before everything. We see that time and time again. Sokka's main priority, every time, is his sister and his tribe. They stick together. They love one another. They are united, with one person leading them as a group but not standing over them like a tyrant. "Ambition" seems like a mostly unheard of concept in their nation. The only ambition we ever really see from Sokka is when he's trying to protect his tribe (season one finale)!!

Can you imagine how much Sokka could have helped Zuko unlearn his constant prioritization of ambition?? Like, come on. All the things Zuko was left to stew with and angst over all on his own Sokka could have gently taken into his own hands and shown him the way. Like, it actually makes me go feral just thinking about it. Sokka could have helped Zuko so much!! (pushing the Ba Sing Se Zukka AU rn)

Consensus

Okay, let's recap. It looks like Zuko and Sokka are both direct parallels and contrasts, paralleling in the ways that allow them to understand each other but contrasting in the ways that help them heal one another. Like, it's actually insane. I really don't know if it was intentional or not but it's really just so perfect. They slot together perfectly as characters. I hope this all made sense😭😭

Could "Zukka" work in canon?

Now, this is tricky. Believe it or not I'm actually really glad they didn't make Zukka canon. ATLA had a huge problem with writing good romance, and in the canon we saw in the show, neither Sokka or Zuko were in a place to get together.

I've enjoyed my fair share of Zukka AUs where they get together before the end of the war, but you and I both know that would have been a hot mess. (Both of them just weren't ready, they were both in relationships, and sorry but they were kinda busy—Katara was right about the whole "there are other things to worry about.") If they were ever to get together in canon, it would have to be years after the war ended.

Let's address a few things that needed to happen before they could ever have gotten together:

Finally admitting that Maiko was just an extreme example of comphet

Zuko did not give a single shit about that girl. Like. He didn't even personally go get her out of prison WHEN SHE WAS LITERALLY ARRESTED FOR PROTECTING HIM😭😭 And then they try to play off their story as some big epic romance?? uhhhh no

(really, Mai was in long-time unrequited love with Ty Lee that was finally requited after Boiling Rock but idk if society is ready for that yet)

Not to mention, Azula literally forced both of them into that relationship, but if I get started with that I'll never stop so. Moving on.

Figuring out Sokka and Suki

Okay, so while there is a good chance that Sokka and Suki could have made it work in canon, there is also a good chance they would have broken up. They both had very different priorities: while they both did care about overall world peace, it was obvious from Suki's first introduction that her Kyoshi Warriors were her top priority every time, and Sokka's was his tribe, his found family (Aang, Katara, Toph, Zuko, yk yk), and world peace at large. You're telling me those don't conflict? Especially because they really seem like a Piper/Jason situation, where they found comfort and love in each other during wartime but wouldn't have known how to keep up the relationship without the constant threat of death.

Overall, in order for Zukka to work, Sokka and Suki would have had to break up, which would not have been difficult to arrange.

Sokka needed to go home and begin rebuilding the Water Tribe

No matter how much I adore fics where Sokka stays behind in the Fire Nation and helps Zuko rebuild, it just wouldn't work. Sokka's obvious priority had always been his tribe. The second the war was over (ignoring the comics bc that's a can of complicated worms i don't want to get into), he would've gone back with Katara to work on rebuilding their destroyed tribe. Only once the Southern Tribe could stand steadily on its own two legs could he have even considered leaving.

Anyways, that's really it. In order for Zukka to work, three plot points would have to be resolved: Maiko, Sukka, and the reparation of the Southern Water Tribe. Extremely doable, imo.

Personality-wise and just as characters, would it have worked?

I really think it would have! Like I said before, Sokka and Zuko are two characters that perfectly parallel and contrast at all the exactly right points to make them slot together flawlessly as a pair. (Whether that's romantic or not—doesn't matter.) Really, I genuinely think they are a real missed opportunity. I have genuinely never seen two characters that seem so different that actually work that well together, or even just characters that work that well together at all.

Like, I really mean it, they are perfect matches. It's genuinely scary. Like it or not, no one will ever be able to replicate the perfection of what Zukka could have been.

Anyone that says that it's "random" or "doesn't work" obviously hasn't been watching the same show or simply just hasn't been paying attention. People might ship it just because it's opposites attract or red and blue or even just the most accessible MLM ship in the fandom, but they really are perfect for each other.

alright, I think that's it! sorry for this monster of a post😭😭 genuinely did NOT expect that to happen. PLS SEND ME ANY ASKS YOU CAN THINK OF ABOUT THESE TWO!! i have spent a concerning amount of time thinking about them and these show has analysis potential for days, so. (and who knows, maybe i'll finally post the like three unfinished fics i have for them💀💀 god knows i should)

thanks for the ask, and have a great day <3

[easy-there-leftovers]

Hiii can I just say I’m OBSESSED with ISY,D!! Amazing work truly the best ❤️

I saw asks are open so I thought I’d slip in a little prompt 👀

Astarion and Tav have a bit of a spat at camp. Tav is trying to convince Astarion that ascending would make him just as bad as Cazador, but Astarion craves the power and the freedom. Tav, upset and frustrated, ends up leaving for a walk through the late night streets of the gate to clear their head. One of the vampire spawn out looking for their next prey find Tav, recognizing them immediately as Astarion’s love (and one true weakness) and kidnaps them to bring to Cazador. Cazador, being the sick fuck he is, locks Tav away and sends a note to Astarion that he finds the next morning, saying that he had Tav and that if Astarion wants them back he has to surrender to Cazador and go through with the ceremony. Astarion loses his mind and races to the castle with the gang in tow, praying that Tav is unharmed. Will he be there just in time to save Tav? Or will he be too late, will Cazador have already turned them by the time he gets there?

Sorry for the paragraph but this has been in my mind for DAYS and I would cry if you could make this story come to fruition ❤️

-🌸

Hello 🌸anon!! Thank you so much for liking the series, I'm glad that it's something that you enjoy reading! Also, I've decided to include @simp-4-astarion's request as they were rather similar in nature!! Thank you so much for liking my work :,DDD

In addition!! Just a heads up for people who'd like to request or send an idea in, I don't just write for Astarion! Feel free to include your favorite romanceable pcs (and non romanceable npcs lol) into the mix!!

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

That night at camp had been fraught with tension, like a fraying rope ready to snap. The campfire crackled, the tongues of the flame dancing and flickering about, mirroring the storm within the heated pair.

Your voice, something that he's come to find solace in as of late, quivered with frustration unlike any he's heard directed at him before as you tried to reason with him.

"I don't relish it. but my," He pauses, wondering what he should call them. "--Siblings lured thousands of people to their death over the years. I doubt Baldur's Gate would miss any of them." He seems rather taken with the idea, and you worry about what this could mean for him.

"But we don't even know if it's possible, Astarion. You're hypothesizing that you become the Vampire Ascendant at the expense of eradicating the other spawn." Whether or not they had done things as horrendous as your,-- gods you don't even know what you are,-- as the ex-magistrate, they did not deserve to be subjected to such a ritual.

He paces around you, ascertaining your reactions, and making quick work to think about how he could convince you

"And so what? I've obviously thought about it. If I completed the ritual, this evocation, I'd have insurmountable power. And--" He nears himself to you, practically whispering the following words into the skin of you neck. As if anything he said would etch its way into your skin and carve you anew.

"I could walk in the sun without fear of becoming a mindflayer. Don't you want that for me, darling? For us?" The question instills an indescribable fear in you. Not the same fear that's been riddling you as you wonder if you'd perish in one of your many battles, oh no, it was the fear you'd bear witness to when you lost something dear to you.

It's as if he's giving you an out.

Agree with him, and you seal his fate as the Vampire Ascendant with a sure place at his side.

Or disagree, allowing all those spawn the same chance he had been given all those tendays ago, and snuff out whatever growing relationship you had between you.

He senses your uncertainty.

And he feels lost.

He figured that you would be so sure to keep him at your side. Doing anything it takes to make sure it stays that way, but now you're getting cold feet with his blatant proposal of companionship because of what?

These monsters he's hunted with?

These damned spawn that represent everything you've seeked to correct about the world?

"Astarion, please, give them a chance. They were just like you once, give them that much."

At any other time, he would've admired your efforts to help them. But in this moment, he thinks you a fool who could never truly understand what it means to be a slave.

To want for power.

"You did not know them. And you do not know me as well as you may think, my dear, if you think they deserve a chance more than I do."

He doesn't know why it all happened the way it did. The way that his thoughts came tumbling out of his mouth and only allowing the worst of things to escape him.

All he knows was that it had surely hurt you and that he doesn't think he's ever seen your retreating form look as small as it did as you walked towards somewhere in the city.

And that he wished he had remembered where they were. So near to where his consanguines and he used to hunt.

So when he and the others are greeted with a letter smelling of undeath, telling them that they had their precious leader imprisoned in Cazadaor's manor, he knows not to tell them about the little argument you two had.

Knows not to tell them anything to dampen their mood as they search for you.

Knows not to tell them that the likelihood He kept you alive was slim to none, now that he has Astarion's attention.

Once they had been alerted of your whereabouts, a clear ploy to lure him back to his master, there would be no use for you anymore. They don't know Cazador like he did, and he was sure that by the time they reached their destination, you would be no more.

Stil, he's willing to take any chance he can get to get you back. No use in proclaiming you dead if he hasn't seen you, and he'd be damned if he let Cazador take any more from him.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

[pupmkincake2000]

So, I played Baldur's Gate 3 four times (as Gale rpmancing Astarion, as Astarion romancing Gale, as Durge romancing Halsin, as Durge romancing Gale) and here are the conclusions I came to:

Gale is soooo main character/leader coded. I enjoyed playing as Durge, but playing as Gale and watching him through all 4 playthroughs I realized he is better for this role than anyone else. He's smart, intelligent, kind, he has seen some shit in his life, and won't die on the first day after the nautiloid's crash. Yes, physically he may be weaker than many other characters, but with the amount of knowledge and magic power he is capable of a lot things, and he is also sweet and helps those in need (I consider canon the route when the hero does a lot of good things, including saving the Grove, saving prisoners in Moonrise Towers, etc. ) and is ready to give up god powers for the one he loves. He would be a great leader. You may disagree, but I think hes perfect as a main character.

Despite my dislike of Astarion as a character (and my sudden love for Durge x Gale ship), I think Gale's romance with him is the best and most... uncliched? And I just love it so much! It is precisely because they are two halves of the same coin, they have a lot in common and are able to make each other better. Considering that Astarion's best ending is the one in which he, remaining a vampire spawn, becomes either a traveler or happily married to Gale. Just imagine: Astarion will finally have a loving family, a home, a loving husband (and I’m not even surprised that Gale is the only one who proposes marriage to his lover), he will have a happy, well-fed life, he can choose a profession he enjoys or he can travel with Gale when Gale, as a professor, gets his vacation. After all, every Academy has summer holidays, and Gale himself says that sometimes he misses adventure. And I wouldn't mind reading a story about them travelling the world together again.

Ascended Astarion is the worst version of Astarion, no matter what anyone says (I decided to ascend him in my last playthough and oh gods he's so disgusting!). He doesn't love his consort, I will never believe he does, not to mention his consort is nothing but a pet to him. He is also even more narcissistic and manipulative and is just another Cazador, just a bit worse. This is exactly the impression I got. Plus, he is an evil that needs to be eradicated.

I really enjoyed playing as Durge. Moreover, I really like his redemption. This is that very case when redemption actually works and the character can actually start their life anew. But to be honest, I missed Gale's reaction to Durge's revival after Bhaal drained him of all his blood and after Jergal brought him back to life. But probably any romantic character has no reaction to this.

Wild Magic. The best magic ever.

Karlach and Wyll are made for each other. In my first two playthroughs, Karlach either died or became an illithid, but then I managed to send her with Wyll to Averno. The way he asks her to go with him so that she won’t be lonely, the way he later talks at a party about their joint adventures, the way Karlach says that if it weren’t for Wyll, she would never have returned there... all these moments are the best. It's even more than enemies to lovers, it's a full-fledged healthy relationship built on friendship, trust, support… it's amazing. Just think about it: Wyll did this for her sake, he literally agreed to go with her to hell, where the conditions of survival for a human being are very difficult, just so that she would not be lonely and so that she would not die. I want to believe that they will still be able to repair Karlach’s heart and return to Faerun together.

[storiesoflilies]

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairing - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - General descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: Aaaaand here we go!! I’m posting this earlier than I was supposed to in honor of Toji’s birthday. Fun fact - Toji and I share the same birthday :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — Chapter 2

-•-

Chapter 1

The sky was falling ever so softly.

She’d spent so long staring upwards at it, utterly astounded, because it never occurred that way when she imagined it in her head. There was supposed to be an all-consuming deafening rumbling, chunks of blue tumbling down from above, and fiery meteors the size of moons hurling themselves into the chaos of a dying Earth.

But no, it was more like a hundred million and one glowing embers fluttering down like beautiful dying butterflies.

Is this what it’s like when Angels fall?

Y/N thought it was a more peaceful way to go; instead of a violent plummet into the dirt to trade their lives for another one as a Curse. It was a nice thought, naive even, because seraphim were not kind nor merciful to those who they deemed had turned against them. Stupid, wishful thinking, a selfish desire for the world to be anything but exactly what it is; sin was as inevitable as the sun, rising and falling with time in a terrible terrible cycle. She’d seen the streets run crimson like glimmering rubies as Angel’s wings were torn from their bones and flesh, heard their screams from afar as they begged and pleaded not to be cast out. It was always the same; Heaven is, and always would remain, divinely perfect, and it would forever be ruthless in its pursuit of maintaining it. Free will is a beautiful thing, certainly, so long as one made only the right choices.

She shook her head, cool ash flaking off her hair, and picked up her katana from where it lay beside a Curse’s corpse. Satoru Gojo had trusted her with hunting down this particularly erratic Second Layer Curse that had been capturing and torturing wounded Angels. Indeed, she could see the remnants of its latest mangled victim underneath its grotesque blubbery body; a once living soul now just an unrecognizable face beaten into a bloody feathery mess. Maybe they had once sinned, perhaps not, but what did it matter? They were just another tally to be scratched on a plaque, a life reduced to a single scratch on a stone already marred by millions of markings.

Y/N briefly considered attempting to retrieve the body for a proper burial, but it was already far too late in the day. The last rays of the sun threw a brilliant shade of red across the sky, a low hum of anticipation in the air that whispered of all the fury and violence of thunder and lightening; night would soon fall to unleash the lethal Curses that dwelled in the deepest layers of Hell. If she didn’t hurry and ascend to Heaven, then she would bear witness to the unholiest of rituals, as the Earth would crack open beneath her and the molten fire of Sukuna’s wrath would burst forth and consume her body and soul.

She kneeled in front of the Curse; its forked tongue rolling out of a toothless mouth, lidless eyes tipped backwards into its head, and blackened blood dripping from the fatal wound right through its brain. Y/N’s thumb squelched uncomfortably as she pressed it firmly into the rubbery skin of its forehead, and murmured a quick prayer for the deceased seraph, and a blaze of golden light engulfed both corpses. Gojo had taught her how to use her divine energy to smite dead Curses, just to make sure they won’t try again in his own words, and this power could also be extended to cremate their own.

The ground groaned and rumbled, as if protesting against its part to play in the cycle of violence, serving as a sinister warning for her to hurry. A wave of panic washed over her, and Y/N closed her eyes; grasping to control her lackluster wisps of divine energy, and cried out into the seemingly empty plane of the Unlimited Void.

But empty it was not, for Satoru Gojo sees and hears all within his domain.

Within an instant, she felt herself floating into and across the Void as Gojo’s essence consumed and caressed her soul; still as exhilarating and frightening as the first time she had tepidly stepped through this plane of existence. And Y/N could feel all of him, but could do nothing but helplessly travel through the cosmos of his own making. Gojo was like a turbulent ocean, ever-changing and impatient, but perplexingly beautiful; a ticking clock waiting to chime a tune of misery to signal his arrival against his enemies. Not many Angels were privy to ascending into Heaven this way, because Gojo simply didn’t want to do it for just anybody. He was like a fussy child picking only the best things to play with; his trust the ultimate game to win, and many had tried. Y/N didn’t think it was so complex, because she understood fear in a way Gojo could never, and ordinary Angels couldn’t face the fact that their souls would be bared so openly and judged by the Six Eyes himself.

Y/N blinked, and found herself in front of him.

“Cutting it a little close, eh?”

Satoru Gojo stood with his corded forearms crossed over each other, tall and broad form leaning back against an iridescent golden pole of the Gates of Heaven; a marble statue carved directly from God’s hands that demanded complete attention, a perfect vision of beauty that Y/N could never tire of looking at it. He wore a bemused smirk on his face, clearly relishing in her reliance of his power to save her from certain doom, but Y/N liked to think he didn’t completely look down on her. Perhaps she could give him the benefit of the doubt; he had been waiting for her outside the city, and maybe expected her to ascend to Heaven normally, which required an Angel to fly upwards from the Earth and pass through each of the seven layers of Heaven. Each of these layers were well defended by legions of seraphim ready to lay their lives against imminent attacks, bolstered by colossal golden gates similar to the one guarding the main city.

“But you’ve done it, right?” He continued, his eyes completely focused on her as she approached.

Gojo often asked questions he already knew the answers to, something he did with her and his other favorites; a way of settling nerves and putting them at ease around him, as if he hadn’t rooted through every crack and crevice of their minds, pretending he didn’t know them more intimately than they probably did themselves.

“It’s done.”

He hummed appreciatively, the hundreds of eyes decorating his wings blinking intermittently to give an illusion of twinkling cerulean lights, and extended his hand for her to take. Y/N accepted, refusal simply not an option, her fingers intertwining with his as he dropped the infinite barrier coating his body, and let him lead her through the Golden Gates and into the city; their kingdom far above the Earth – where no Curse had ever managed to breach. 

Heaven was a seemingly never-ending city; a labyrinth of buildings and twisting pathways built from white marble, with pearlescent towers of varying heights dotted throughout. – a perfect pristine canvas of glittering white diamonds. Many Angels would live together in each of these towers, forming extended families to be born and raised together for generations. Cool air washed through every twist and turn of the city, flowing between trees with silver leaves bearing the sweetest figs; which grew intermittently between any sliver of space between the rock, and some were even as tall as the towers themselves.

“Gojo, couldn’t you see the sky below?”

“Hmm?”

“The sky was burning before I left, it was falling.”

“Ah yes, well… that’s no surprise. Geto has become a Curse, and he is past my sight now. It makes sense the first thing he did was kill the Sky Sentries, so I suppose it’s a good thing you called for me through the Void.”

She froze, and he stopped with her.

Geto is, was, Gojo’s second in command; his most trusted confidant and closest ally. If he had fallen, then there would be many other Angels who would have willingly fallen with him. The Sky Sentries guarded the sky of the Earth, the first layer of Heaven; they stood at the frontline of the war, warriors that couldn’t afford to rest, for come nightfall it was a bloodbath of Curses attempting to breach the first barrier.

So many of us are dead. More lines on the wall.

“Gojo, I-,” Y/N paused, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

At this, he released her hand and turned to face her. “Why? He made his choice.”

Gojo turned away again, staring down at the ground beneath his feet like he was seeing right through it to the Earth and scorched skies, and scoffed loudly. It was a seething sound of a betrayal that had cut him deeply, and it was a promise of violence and vengeance. Nobody escaped punishment, especially not from the Six Eyes, and Geto was certainly not above consequences.

“You know, we were all given free will. It shouldn’t surprise you, when an Angel - any Angel - falls into darkness and becomes a Curse,” he stated with finality, a sharp edge of a steel knife in his voice.

“But, Geto was our family,” Y/N breathed out shakily, her sadness starting to bubble out uncontrollably. “I didn’t know he was changing, I never noticed anything was wrong.”

“Neither did I,” Gojo whispered defeatedly, a complete change in his tone, letting slip just a sliver of his hurt for someone else to see.

Geto and Gojo were born three centuries before Y/N, and became nigh inseparable; a perfect example of how strong the bond of comradery should be between Angels. She had first met Geto when he had started training her to fight, he’d still hadn’t risen to power back then, and they quickly became close. Of course, naturally Gojo took an interest in her as Geto’s pupil, and over the next two hundred years, Y/N had witnessed them rise through the ranks of the Angels; until they reached the pinnacle of power, their combined strength looming over them all like the omnipresent presence of God in Heaven – and yet, they still kept her within their circle. But Geto was different to Gojo, because he understood that strength wasn’t a gift distributed to everyone, and Y/N had seen him fight a fraction harder just to stand on par beside Gojo on the podium of divinity. He had become her brother; a pillar of strength in her life in a way that the Six Eyes could never be, someone who she could truly say would fight to the death for her if he thought her time had come too early.

Gojo was silent for a moment before continuing, “But the sky will heal, Shoku and her followers can do it. There’s always more of us ready to take each other’s place, you don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

He tenderly stroked her cheek smeared with dried Curse blood, watching as a stray tear escaped and ran down her face like a petulant child, and let out a great sigh as if it was the greatest inconvenience for him to witness her sadness. Y/N felt sheepish; how could she be so upset over a betrayer, a snake that had bitten the hand of someone who had thought it graceful and beautiful. Gojo’s great wings unfurled around them, his feathers tickling her exposed neck softly like a lover would, and his arms pulled her into an embrace.

“Im alright Satoru,” she sniffled after some time. “I just need to be alone, to clean myself and pray for him.”

“His soul is gone, you know that Y/N,” Gojo said softly, like she was a precious crystal he held in his palms, threatening to shatter at any moment.

“I don’t care, I need to put him to rest in some way, for my own peace.”

“Let me come with you then, when I return in the morning. You’re too exhausted to go and pray now.”

“Gojo, please. I need this.”

At this he let her go, his wings snapping back in place like they had been stung, and placed his hand on her head in a blessing. A soothing cool sensation spread all the way down from his palms, healing her weary bones and muscles; bathing her in the rarely tranquil ocean of his divine power, and she shuddered in both fear and relief. Some of his followers had gathered around them, eagerly awaiting their commander to follow into the ensuing battle at the First Gate; curiously glancing at the sight of the two of them, like they were forbidden art that nobody could look at for too long. She knew that he had to go; Gojo always went to battle when the last light left the Earth, even if he had already been fighting during the day. But such was the duty of the Six Eyes — always in the heat of battle, never tiring and never resting.

“Go and sleep,” he said, an order; daring her to refuse again. “I’ll see you in the morning. We can pray together then.”

“Be safe,” she whispered.

He nodded, and then vanished instantaneously, leaving Y/N alone surrounded by the watchful eyes of the other seraphim.

-•-

From light we are born, and to ashes we return. 

The beginning of a prayer uttered for those who had passed.

Who once was mighty and now fallen.

Y/N had recited these words many times over, but never once had she done so for a Curse.

Heavenly Father, may you guide our souls to peace in Paradise. 

She bathed in starlight and galaxies, and sank backwards into the bathing pool; sending her further into space, to a time and place where her brother hadn’t left her. Caked Curse blood swirled away in the holy water as she sank deeper, her eyes never closing as she stared up at the stars in the night sky.

Where we may all meet again. 

Y/N whimpered pitifully as she thought again of Geto in the depths of Hell, wondering if he was suffering as his once holy power was warped into something wicked and corrupt. Would he even look the same, would she recognize him if he materialized in front of her at this very moment; a snarling animalistic Curse like the one she had killed today. Or would he remain as he was like a blip in time, a frozen facade of happiness, but with only malice and sin left underneath it all?

To remain in your eternal light forever.

She emerged, water running down her face as her heart constricted painfully, and clasped her hands together and whispered, “Forgive him, oh please forgive him.”

What was else she supposed to do? Oh how she wished she could go back; maybe then she might have noticed if his eyes had tears of darkness in them, if he had laid there alone as the night full of terrors ushered and coaxed his soul to their side. Then she could have told herself what she was meant to do, instead of grieving for Geto like he was already dead like a ghost she would forever clutch on to; stuck reliving a trail of memories she once thought she knew most of, and now none at all. But if she looked into Gojo’s blue eyes, would she find a glimpse of the brother who lifted her on to his shoulders and raised her with dignity and kindness?

Enough, enough . 

Y/N climbed up the steps of the pool as droplets of stars cascaded down her hair, down between her thighs, and down to her feet. She wondered what sort of horrors were unfolding hundreds of thousands of leagues beneath her; if Gojo was striking down Curses with all the fury and might of a scorned lightning storm. She murmured silent prayers for the creatures who stood in his way, and for the seraphim whose lives would be lost as a consequence of Geto’s betrayal. Her feet tapped against the cool marble pathway leading from the pool to the back entrance of Gojo’s tower, and Y/N shook her wings free of any remaining water droplets that flung to her feathers. Her body was bare for all to see as she passed through the empty hallways, but she wasn’t concerned; all those who followed the Six Eyes had followed him into the night, into war. Gojo hadn’t deemed Y/N strong enough to fight during the night, and he never would; for his own selfish reasons, he was keeping her safe.

Her thoughts strayed to when he had openly embraced her in public, and knew that it would have added some truth to the rumor that they were more than just comrades. It was common for Angels that hadn’t found their soulmates to marry each other, as it unfortunately wasn’t always a guaranteed event during one’s lifetime; and of course new seraphim must be born to fight in the war. Since neither of them had found theirs as of yet, so many believed that they would eventually marry. Gojo had made numerous advances to court her over the past few decades, namely allowing her to stay within his tower, as well as hints during various conversations that he expected her to marry him when he finally did ask. Y/N knew that he was aware of her hope for her own soulmate, and that was the only reason he had graced her with his patience, but hope was dangerous in war – it was only a matter of time before he saved her from her own misery.

It would be the most practical thing to do, and Y/N truly did care for him, but was that really enough?

Satoru Gojo was an enigma. On the one hand, he was adored for his effortless displays of power as he could single-handedly decimate armies. On the other, what made him loved was also what made him feared; all he had to do was drag a seraph charged of sin into his Unlimited Void, and they would be helpless as he brutally tore through their minds in search of the truth. If found guilty, he would rip their wings from their backs himself, and then hurtle them towards Hell. Satoru Gojo was as revered as he was terrifying; like he had attained a status close to godliness. Why he had chosen her to be his, Y/N would never know; she could only accept him when he finally came calling for her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts from her head, and slipped into her bed as her wet hair soaked through the pillow.

What if Geto shows himself tonight?

Perhaps she was right to mourn him, Gojo would strike him down for what he had done. Would Geto give reasons as to why he had sinned if he could speak properly? Y/N hoped so; whatever his answer, it could steel her resolve for the hard fight ahead. But for now, she attempted to empty her head of dark thoughts in an effort to sleep. She would have to be well rested to deal with the fallout of Geto’s betrayal; many new Curses would have been born from all the anguish he had caused.

Can I really hunt those who were my allies just this morning? 

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, hands clamped over her ears, and prayed the negativity and heartache away from her dreams.

-•-

A purple aura permeated Y/N’s room when she awakened, spilling in feverishly from outside the window, and an eerie silence from the previous night lingered and settled like dust. The battle for the sky must still be ongoing if no one was home yet, which meant it was as brutal as she dreaded it to be; for Gojo must have used his Hollow Purple for forcing the sky to change color. She felt fresh fear being thrown over her like a bucket of ice, as the possibility of more of her family dying hit her instantaneously. Y/N quickly donned a fresh set of armor; it was morning now, Gojo couldnt forbid her from descending to Earth since the moon and stars had vanished from sight – she was permitted to go and fight.

Wait.

Y/N froze.

It was Gojo’s voice in her head, his authority reverberating within her mind like a great ringing bell. A strange feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach; he never communicated telepathically with her. Was he trying to keep her from harm? Why wasn’t he allowing her to descend?

I’m coming to you.

Butterflies furiously erupted in her chest, and Y/N hurried outside the tower; the purple glow of the sky growing stronger the closer she got to the entrance of the tower, like a warning nobody could possibly ignore.

The streets outside were in chaos.

Wounded seraphim were being carried by other Angels from a large swirling blue portal at the farthest end of the street from her, and were immediately being tended to by Shoko’s followers. There was an acrid smell in the air; of anguish and death, the scent of suffering from Hell itself. Y/N spied Nanami Kento holding his blunted sword close to his chest, eyes closed as if he was deep in pain but keeping it hidden, as Shoko wrapped his bloodied arms with fresh bandages.

Before Y/N could push her way towards them, the crowd imploded with feverish excitement and shouting as the portal zapped shut, and she jumped back in fright. An unmistakable white head of hair was moving through the crowd, and the seraphim were singing with glee as they parted for their champion; a god splitting the sea, and holding back the oncoming tsunami of adoration. And then, Gojo finally came into view from where she stood, an indecipherable look upon his face as his eyes roamed over every seraphim in the crowd. His gaze inevitably locked onto her, and Y/N noted a crazed spark in his eyes that made her feel uneasy. But she was frozen in place, like prey helplessly watching a predator rushing towards it, as Gojo strode towards her; broad build dripping with Curse blood as he climbed the stairs, stopping just a step below her.

And then he kneeled in front of her, and the universe went quiet.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “Gojo, what are-”

He reached behind his back, procuring two katanas in his palms to her like they were an offering, but she knew exactly where they had come from. The blades were made of pure holy silver, diamonds and pearls encrusted on the hilt — unmistakably Geto’s weapons.

“Geto lost the right to these holy weapons when he betrayed us,” Gojo said as he turned the blades over in his hands, examining them with that same indecipherable look.

“He’s dead then?” Y/N breathed out shakily.

Gojo shook his head, “No, he escaped, but all his followers have been punished.”

She sucked in a breath.

So many more dead.

“These are yours now,” he continued. “If you’ll have them.”

The Six Eyes had never once kneeled for anyone. Y/N knew what was coming, what he was about to ask of her; but how and why had he decided so suddenly that now was the time? He stared up at her with those all knowing eyes, like he was privy to her thoughts whirling in her head, and maybe he was.

Let him go.

How could she? Her heart ached for a part of her soul she had never even met — and might never. Even if she did meet her soulmate, marrying Gojo would forever bind her to him, lest she would be cast out of Heaven for the sin of forsaking her marriage vows. Would he ever be able to make her move on and forget? Did he really know just how much he was asking her for? Her heart hammered in her chest; she wasn’t ready for this, not now, and maybe not ever.

He is Satoru Gojo. If he isn’t enough for you, then who else is?

“I promise to protect you from anything that would hurt you,” Gojo vowed, his voice low for words only meant for her. “I will uphold your virtue and strength, and I promise to stand by your side no matter what happens. I promise to end the Curse of Sukuna, and create a paradise for us and our children, even if it kills me.”

Never once had Satoru Gojo ever mentioned the possibility of his death; it was unnerving, unspeakable, unnatural. His usual saccharine tone was nowhere to be found, and it was deathly quiet all around them – every soul hanging on every word they spoke with bated breath.

“I promise to love you, but please… all I ask is for you to love me and accept me for all that I am, for who I’m going to become,” Gojo whispered, and for the first time in their centuries of friendship, Y/N could see desperation deep within his irises.

She breathed out, steeling herself from the heartache and loss settling deep inside her; her defeat was imminent, but she would rise again to take her seat on the throne beside him as his equal. The world jittered in anticipation as Y/N took both of Geto’s katanas in each of her hands, her knuckles turning white as she gripped their hilts. Gojo stared at her, pupils blown wide; from adoration for her or the heat of battle, she didn’t know.

“I accept you, Satoru Gojo.”

Nothing would ever be the same again.

-•-

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊

AKA: this one quote from Book!Frollo made my mind go crazy. 

Yes, I was listening to “It's A Dangerous Game” from the Jekyll and Hyde Original Concept Recording

(also, please forgive my Latin, I used google translate)

Reader/Yuu is female and has hair (which is implied to be long)

Masterlist

It was mesmerising, how perfectly your bodies melded and moved together, how easily and harmoniously you were brought to a hitherto unknown rapture. To be caught up in such a state, where you were free of the chains that bound you to the horrors of purgatory and had ascended you to heights you had never felt before, to feel him guiding you to a place where you had never even begun to dream about.

Minutes had passed since the twelfth ring of the Bell of Solace yet the two of you stayed in your tower, pressed against a shadowed alcove, away from everyone and everything, your hands wandering and blood singing as the rest of the city drifted off into their fanciful visions of the dusk.

With the Witching Hour descending upon you, veiling you in the covers of the night, you only had the stars and the spirits above as witnesses to this tryst, your secrets laid bare for their silent judgement.

But their judgement didn’t matter, nor did your schoolmates’, if the silent covenant between you and him were to be obeyed, if the unvoiced sermon in blue flickers that glowed against the scorching green of his eyes that seared into you as he took a lock of your hair and pressed it against his lips were to be acknowledged.

His cold touch, like fire, burning your figure as it trailed across your face, your neck, your shoulder before settling on your waist, pulling you closer - long, chilling fingers burned along your skin, setting ablaze every thought, every word, every semblance of rationality. 

“Pulchra,” you could feel his voice against your mouth, wafting and caressing like tendrils of smoke, sonorous to your ears, “puella pulchra, so pure, so perfect. Like a goddess in mortal form.”

You could do nothing but listen, to submit to the dark velvet of his dulcet tones, to close your eyes and let this fiery passion incinerate and eradicate the demons that plagued you. Ordinarily, you’d be against this, to let your shackled hands hand the reins of your petering control to another, but his providence proved otherwise. With your destiny enshrouded in so much unknown, the danger of staying and the risk of fleeing your perennial torment in the clutches of your captors yet with Rollo before you, you felt at peace. 

Fate, free-will, nothing mattered in this sanctuary he created.

His conviction begets your reprieve, his resolution ameliorates your soul from the horrors that had stained it with their inky fingerprints. The singing brushes of his fingertips cleansed you, and like a blazing phoenix, you emerged anew. 

With both great reluctance and great desperation his lips left yours and made their home at the apse of your neck, whispers of orisons against your skin, your name an endless epiclesis. 

Even with your sight inhibited, you could see the worship in his gaze, through the reverence in his touch, the cardinal way he regarded you in every action. His hands gentle yet formidable as they kept you against him, the golden shank of his ruby ring digging into you with the pads of his fingers.

“I wanted to see you again,” his deep timbre, dark, soft and smoky against your ears, “touch you, know who you were, see if I would find you identical with the ideal image of you which had remained with me and perhaps shatter my dream with the aid of reality.”

“And?” you hear yourself say, too lost in the fiery haze, too blinded by the flaming reds and golden ambers that danced under your eyes.

“At all events, I hoped that a new impression would efface the first, for the first had become intolerable to me. I sought you, Prefect, again to behold you. When I had seen you twice, I wished to see you a thousand more times, to always have you in my sight. You claim to be magicless, Angelum Meum, yet you have completely bewitched me. With you, I’m no longer my own master. You’ve become my salvation from perdition, shown me the true meaning of righteous. Please, I say in obsecration, grant me the blessing of speaking your benediction, of proving how far my devotion runs. Let me be your acolyte, your protector against the tainted crowd.”

His lips pressed against the apples of your cheeks, his hands on your waist, the fury of the flames within you.

It’s dangerous. But this fire won’t char you, won’t scar you, won’t leave you tearstained and broken.

It emboldens you, ignites the snuffed out hearth within you.

You nod once, a small jut of your chin through the keening of your throat and you slowly feel the ribbon of your nightdress tugged loose before it falls and pools at the ground at your feet.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Dare to Hope, Dare to Dream (Part 1/?)

Synopsys: For three years now, Astarion and his love have been relegated to living in the shadows as he lost his ability to walk in the sun. But one day hope is reignited, and the vampire can't help but reminisce how he got where he is now.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: violence, abuse, talks of SA (if there is anything else that should be tagged, please do let me know)

Word count: 3240

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

There had been a time in Astarion’s life when all he knew was pain. Physical. Emotional. Mental. Pain.

Two hundred years could be simply wrapped up with one word – abuse. What he wanted didn’t matter, what he thought meant nothing, all Astarion was reduced to was a piece of meat to lure victims for his master.

He was flayed for the most minor things, starved and entombed; he had his skin carved apart and then told to lay on his ruined back just to appease the vile tastes of the vampire he was sired to.

But now… now Astarion knew nothing but peace.

In a house which had been rebuilt from top to bottom, walls coloured cream and accented with gold to bring in as much light as he could, he got to live out his life in complete and utter bliss. He never expected to create a home for himself, never expected to live long enough to know what peace meant. Every second of his life had been shrouded by Cazador and his looming presence, like a dark cloud over the summer sky, but the vampire was long gone. Astarion no longer had to watch over his back whether a snap of a twig would be a boar or his old master.

Now the snaps of twigs meant a warm fire being lit in the hearth, a soft body curling against his as they enjoyed their time together.

That was another thing he never thought of having – someone who cared for him. Astarion was aware that years ago, there had been two loving elves, who’d cherished him, loved and worried for him. They called him Astarion for he was their “little star”. From time to time, he did wonder whatever happened to his parents, but then he thought of who he was now, what he was, and pushed those wandering thoughts away. Maybe one day he’d be strong enough to seek them out, but for now, he would enjoy the start of his new life with his love. His fearless leader. His Y/N.

As she lay against his chest, her back to him, he couldn’t help but be grateful for this crazy human to have entered his life. It was that damned tadpole that’d started to push the domino tower over, but it had been her that toppled the pieces that still threatened to stay standing. And despite all the horrors they’d had to go through, he would willingly put himself in the line of fire if it meant finding her once more.

Though as much peace as he had, not all of it was perfect to Astarion’s chagrin. He’d killed Cazador, slain him with his own hands, yes, but as Y/N had begged him to not ascend, pulling him away from the dark urge, the tadpole had been the only thing keeping him walking in the soon. And soon enough, it had to be eradicated as well, unless he wanted to turn into a mind flayer.

It hurt, that realisation as when he stood at the port and felt the sun kiss his skin, but where he’d come to relish in the warm feeling, it was now poison, turning him to ash, making him resign to live his life in the shadows of the night once more.

For two hundred years he’d been deprived of day, and the pain of losing that was even worse than the pain of the sun blistering his body. Tears had sprung out of their own volition and he dashed to hide, raising his cloak and trying to keep any of the rays at bay. As he ran for cover, quick steps followed behind, and when he curled in a ball behind some crates, body rocking back and forth, gentle arms had wrapped around him, a dark cloak pulled over their heads.

Astarion had already accepted to have to spend his life alone, he’d never make Y/N go with him to live like a spawn, but he wasn’t alone. Sure, they had created a bond he had hoped would last well after their adventures, but with the issue of walking in the sun back on the table, he knew it was too large of an ask. To give up one's life in the sun and forever live in greys and blacks – Astarion would never request Y/N such a thing.

Even as she adjusted the material over their heads, he stared up at her, trying to memorise each and every feature for the last time. He was prepared for the heartbreak. As painful as it would be to go on alone, the thought of Y/N happy and thriving would be enough to staunch his bleeding undead heart.

And yet, when he tried to say goodbye, tried to ask for one last kiss, she knocked him on the back of the head before pulling him in a bone-crushing hug.

“You stupid vampire,” Y/N muttered against the skin of his neck. “Where you go, I go. The sun doesn’t matter.”

Astarion wanted to argue, to tell her he didn’t deserve her giving up her life for him, but she silenced him with a gentle press of her lips.

“You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” came his sure reply, tears still rolling down his cheeks, and his hands clutching at her waist.

“Then please believe it when I say I love you. I want to spend my life, however long it may be with no one but you. Where doesn’t matter, as long as we are together.”

Once again, Astarion was ready to argue, but with a single shake of her head, Y/N silenced him. “You told me I cannot make decisions for you. But you can’t make decisions for me either. I want this.” She cupped his face between her loving palms. “I. Want. You.”

And that sort of settled the argument. The guilt still gnawed at Astarion from the inside out whenever he saw how tired Y/N got as she had to adjust to a new sleeping schedule, the couple of months while moving from a life of day to a life of night made his heart ache in sorrow. And the moments when he caught a glimpse of her on their balcony, the last rays of the day beaming down onto her body, making her glow like a deity seemed like a cruel reminder of what Astarion had conscripted Y/N to.

But she never complained. She never even mentioned how much she must miss the world when it wasn’t bathed in shadows. Instead, Y/N always turned to him with the brightest of smiles, one that could rival the burning star in the sky itself, and it made all his doubts vanish to some secluded corner of his mind.

At that moment though, Astarion rearranged himself in the settee, a large book in his hand as he studied embroidery patterns while Y/N ventured off only whoknowswhere.

It had been her idea he should look into tailoring not only as a pastime activity but as a profession. His eye for detail and fashion was unmistakable, and well, it gave him something to do, something to occupy his mind, and, potentially, once he gave into Y/N’s pestering, he could be persuaded into opening up a full-blown business. But for now, Astarion simply entertained the idea and turned to studying new patterns and fabrics.

For the better part of an hour, his darling had lounged with him, discussing what threads would suit best with what colours before disappearing between the rows of the library.

When the larger renovation of the house had been completed, and they at least had a bedroom and a bathroom, the two had taken on a project to present to the other. Astarion had taken it upon himself to convert the rooftop into a beautiful garden with blossoms that would bloom under the moonlight, having scoured the markets and paid ridiculous amounts of money for the bioluminescent flowers, while Y/N had decided to forego having a ballroom and turned it into a library for Astarion.

It’d been a gift unlike any other, and he’d cried the day she finally pushed open the large oak doors to reveal shelf after shelf, row after row of books. She knew how much he loved them, and how, especially now that he’d been robbed of experiencing the world to its fullest, books would take him on adventures across the universe, he couldn’t do so himself.

But what had brought him down on his knees was a large painting placed right above the entrance, and in the commission were the two of them, grinning at one another, Astarion’s lips pulled up in the widest smile, his vampire fangs on full display while Y/N had her arm wrapped around his waist, beautiful smile lines adorning her eyes and mouth.

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion had been able to see himself, and to have been depicted with such love and happiness gleaming on his face as he gazed at his lover was the only way he wished to be remembered in life as well.

With their painted twins watching over the little sanctuary, Astarion flipped a page, his scarlet eyes looking at the golden painting of the flowery embroidery pattern on a long white dress, and his chest constricted. It was something he so desperately wanted to see Y/N in one day if only he could step over his fears and propose when his sensitive ears picked up the sounds of creaking wood, small grunts and huffs, and then a loud thump from somewhere deep in the library.

“I’m okay!” Y/N’s voice echoed through the room, and Astarion sighed, closing the book.

“My darling, I would like for our lives together to be as long as possible.” He ventured deeper between the rows of shelves, finally coming up on Y/N who was scrambling from the floor. “But you and your incessant need to maim yourself seems to be quite the hindrance to my plans.”

How his clumsy human had been the one to become the leader of their rag-tag group while searching for a way to rid themselves of the mind-flayer tadpoles, was beyond Astarion, seeing as Y/N tripped and fell over every single pebble in her way. Even on thin air sometimes.

He extended a pale palm, and she took it with a soft smile. Just as she was ready to let it go and dust herself off, Astarion pulled her into his chest, pressing a gentle, but passion-filled kiss to her lips. “Please do refrain from doing things that might end up with you getting hurt. I rather like having you around.”

Y/N rolled her Y/E/C eyes at his dramatics, but nevertheless gave him a sweet peck. “I didn’t maim myself, I just took a little tumble.”

Instantly worry and guilt roiled through his stomach, no doubt showing on his face by the looks of her softening gaze. “Did I drink too much from you this morning?”

“No.” She cupped his cheeks, brushing a thumb over some unruly hairs of his brow. “My Star, you know you could never hurt me. You took what you needed, and you know I’d stop you if I felt it was too much.”

“I just…” he sighed, eyes cast to the ground.

“Star,” Y/N whispered, taking his chin between her fingers, and making him glance up at her. “I fell because my foot slipped. Not because I fell unwell after you fed from me. I am truly alright.”

Astarion took in a deep breath, eyes trailing along her neck where he could still see the faint marks of his fangs. Nothing like the brutal marks on his own left by Cazador who just wanted to inflict as much damage, to mark him as his spawn, but gentle pinpricks, not even her skin was raised.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I trust you.” And he sealed the promise with a kiss, Y/N humming in content against his cold lips. “But do tell me, what was so important you had to crawl all the way up there?” He surveyed the large bookshelf where on the very top row, he could see an empty spot.

“This.” Y/N untangled herself from Astarion’s hold, leaning down to pick up the book she’d fallen to the ground with, dusting off the cover with her hand. “I was looking for this one romance novel I remember getting ages ago, but when I was passing by these shelves, it almost seemed to be… I dunno… calling out? Whispering to me? There was this pull, and I just had to get it?”

Astarion sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Have we learned nothing about strange things calling our names and not responding?”

“It’s why I have you.” Y/N’s smile was saccharine, eyes full of mischief. “You’re my impulse control.”

“Well, clearly I’m doing a shitty job of that.”

“Oh relax,” she waved him off. “What’s the worst a magical book could do?”

“Famous last words,” Astarion muttered under his breath, but clearly there wasn’t anything he could do to dissuade Y/N from seeing whatever it was through. “You could have at least asked for help, you know. You remind me of it all the time.”

She gave him the most ferocious glare she could muster, scowling over her shoulder and Astarion had to suppress a laugh behind tightly pinched lips. “Just because I am shorter than you, does not mean I am incapable of getting one damned book.”

“I never said you couldn’t. Just that you might be… vertically challenged… with some balance issues.”

Y/N pointedly ignored the comment and opened the book.

Astarion poked her cheek with his nose, but she didn’t budge, eyes spitefully trained on the pages she was flipping through. “A silence treatment, really, my dear?”

She just tilted her head and hummed.

“Fine,” the vampire condeced. “If that is how you wish to play this, I have no qualms about getting down and dirty.” And his fingers were instantly pressing against Y/N’s ribs.

A sharp intake of breath invaded his ears before she began twisting and turning away from him, uncontained laughter ripping through the silence of the house.

“Alright, alright, I give,” Y/N managed to get out through a fit of laughter. “You win!”

A self-satisfied smile bloomed on Astarion’s face as he twisted her to face him. “And what exactly is my prize?”

“No vinegar added to your wine.” She lightly jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

“You wound me, my darling,” Astarion put a hand against his chest, before resuming the position he was in before, pulling Y/N’s back to him in a tight embrace.

She just hummed, reopening the book he’d taken her attention away from. “That’s what you get for doling out backhanded insults.”

“My darling, I would never dare insult the love of my life, let alone backhandedly. If anything, I do it face to –,”

Y/N��s gasp of wonder interrupted Astarion mid-sentence. “Where did you get this?”

His white brows furrowed, as he glanced over her shoulder at the large tome in her hands where the picture she was gazing at seemed to be glowing. “I didn’t get this.”

“Oh, come on.” He could practically feel the eye roll. “You don’t have to lie to me. You and I both know our house has been paid. And not by our own money.”

“My darling, I would never deceive you about my looting ways.” Astarion chuckled. “Believe me, you would be the first person to know of my new… gains, but this – this isn’t something I found. And I do think I would remember if I did.”

The library might have been a gift from Y/N, but Astarion knew of every single book in it, he knew the row and the place where to find it. Not once in the three years since they had lived at their home, had he seen such a tome.

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she inspected it, on instinct, Astarion from where he’d perched his chin on her shoulder, pressed a gentle thumb between the worry lines, trying to smooth them out. He didn’t like it when she worried. She was supposed to be happy, content, smiling and laughing like in the painting of the two, though as inferior as it was in showcasing her true beauty. The time for worries was over.

“Maybe we should contact Gale?” Y/N mussed, closing the book and glancing over the cover before flipping it open again. “He could probably figure out what this is. If you didn’t put this here, and I for one, most definitely didn’t, it might be up his alley.”

Astarion groaned at the mention of the wizard. “My darling, you know better than anyone magical items and Gale,” he gagged on the name, “do not mix. He’d probably eat it before telling us anything useful about what’s in it or where it’s come from.”

“Get over it, will you?” She slapped his arm lightly, soft laughter escaping her lips. “It’s been years by now, and I’ve gotten you so many other pairs of boots.”

“The boots are the smallest of slights, darling.” Astarion pressed a kiss to the top of Y/N’s head and hid his nose in her hair. “I still remember how he tried to romance you, so I will be petty for as long as I wish to about anything I want to when it comes to that git. He tried to make you his.” His words were almost a whine of a petulant child. “When your heart was already mine. And I don’t share.

“Yes, my Star, I am very well aware of that.” Y/N chuckled, as he slowly swayed them to a song only he could hear, but both of them stopped as if frozen by a spell when her fingers turned the page.

There on the left side of the opening, a gorgeous image covered the paper by a peculiar image. On the top half of it was depicted the night sky, stars twinkling all around while the sun, not the moon, had been painted in gold so bright it almost seemed to glow and just underneath the sun a flower bloomed in full. On the bottom half was a flipped mirror image of the scene – the same flower only closed while the sky above it was that of a bright blue day and where the sun should have been, glowed a pale moon.

As his eyes scanned the drawings, they flitted to the right page as well. It wasn’t intricate, there weren’t any weaving designs around the edges, completely nothing else apart from twelve lines split apart in fours, written in a language Astarion couldn’t read, but there was something about the picture that made his chest squeeze and mind reel.

Hope. That was the feeling tightening around his heart. Hope of what the picture could mean – a flower of darkness blooming in the day and resting at night. A creature of night like him living a life in the sun.

“You know, you are always right, my love,” he mumbled as Y/N dragged a careful almost reverent finger along the paper, no doubt her mind coming to the same conclusion. “Maybe we should contact the wizard.”

When she turned around to face Astarion, his breath caught in his throat for such undeniable hope glimmered in her eyes. “I’ll write to him right now.”

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

A/N: So Tumblr is imposing text lenght now.... wtf... or is that just me? I was going to put this in a one-shot, but now I have to split it apart, so this is Part 1 or who knows. This man made of pixels on a screen is ruining my life. I want him now ! (with his consent, of course)

[unhelpfulfemme]

I feel like the Grysk work way better than the Yuuzhan Vong as the "nebulous threat" that Thrawn is fighting against because they are clearly tailor made to highlight how wrong Thrawn can be due to his own personal weaknesses.

The entire plot of the Ascendancy trilogy is the Grysk gaining footing through 100% political means - they use espionage to discover the internal divisions and weak points of a country's political system and then attack that, an issue that is probably better addressed through collaboration and the strengthening of the country's political culture and institutions (the Chiss are so quick to abandon their national interests in the face of internal divisions). Thrawn wins every single battle in that trilogy and yet everyone, including himself, is way worse off than where they started and at great risk from the Grysks simply because the Chiss political system is so unstable and because their culture sees collaboration with other races as fundamentally undesirable.

And what Thrawn, who is also either incapable of or completely uninterested in thinking about politics, concludes from all this is, "Ah, yes, this is a problem that can only be solved by throwing more military power at it. Preferably military power run by an authoritarian state that tries to eradicate any trace of political pluralism, because that will make them less vulnerable to the exploitation of the political actors' rivalries and personal interests."

And then he spends, what, fifteen years working with people like Tarkin and Krennic, while having to constantly extinguish rebellions that are popping up everywhere due to the Empire's oppressive policies, and still somehow thinks that the Grysks wouldn't be able to deal with the Empire easily. The Empire that didn't even need them to topple itself through internal conflict in less than a generation - if the Grysks wanted to conquer it, all they'd have to do is wait.

And after reading Lesser Evil I really think that at least part of it is due to some personal drives/needs he's not self-aware enough to address: he says it point-blank that he never believed the Ascendancy would give him an admiralship, and you see hints of his constant frustration at people not understanding him and him having to teach them (sometimes from a position of less power than they have, sometimes when they really don't care to be taught) both through Thrass's POV and through his very slight (but noticeable by his standards) emotional unraveling by the end of the book (e.s. the scene with Unghali where he gets all angry and scary).

Because he has never naturally arrived at the limit of his own competence but was always hamstrung by others, he has no means of differentiating between when he's theoretically right but the politics are obstructing him and when he's actually wrong and the solution is outside of his sphere of competence.

So of course that a political system where being a flag officer means that he gets to do whatever the fuck he wants as long as he convinces one guy of it, where he gets to teach people how to think better and pick only them for positions of power, in a country with no pesky norms about preemptive strikes that he constantly needs to rule lawyer around, sounds appealing.

It's not just about the Ascendancy now, it's also about showing what he can do when not too obstructed, and it's also the first time he has enough free reign to slam headfirst into the big wall of his own lack of capacity or desire to understand politics. But hey, at least he's free to fuck around and find out, not feeling constantly frustrated and overly controlled!

Truly the most character of all time, I love it. People complain about how Zahn babygirlified him in the new canon books just because they're from his POV when switching out the Vong for the Grysk makes him more unambiguously wrong than he was in Legends (where you got other people like Jacen Solo following the same rationale).

[myunconquerablesoul]

CAN I GET A KNIGHT SUKUNA WITH WITCH READER??? A DRABBLE OR. A FIC. AS U WISH.

Until the end.

r.sukuna x fem!reader

Warnings: witch and knight au (or at least I tried.) mentions of a wound and healing, mentions of supernatruals; I think that's it.

Authors note: Thank you for requesting my love. Your wish is my command. Also, this is my first request, and I hope it meets your expectations. Please let me know if you like it. Or even feedback on what I could have done better. Love you all! Enjoy

Wordcount: 1.387

Being a witch is a constant balancing act between good and evil, light and chaos.

If you play your cards right, you can become respected in the six kingdoms, interfering and managing political affairs and playing a central role in military operations against supernatural beasts and fallen ones.

If you miss your chance and let chaos take over your mind, you will forever be nothing more than a marionette to it. Once you've crossed the line, there's no turning back…

With the plague 60 years ago came desperation, and more and more witches and witchers alike turned to chaos, which resulted in many humans serving as experimental objects to spells and potions of forbidden magic and even more villages slaughtered by the results. Humans mutated into supernatural monsters, and some witches and witchers have assimilated with them ever since they were known as fallen ones.

After years of darkness, a powerful witcher finally found the solution to the plague; the only horror left were the children of chaos.

All six kingdoms have made it their mission to eliminate these supernatural beings. Sometimes, they fought as a unit and sometimes alone in their territories. Despite their best efforts and even after working with witches and witches hand in hand, years later, the shadow beings still existed.

The kingdoms consist of Aikailon, Kerean, Khuigon, Nuniel, Zuisha, and Terosa.

Aikalion, Kerean, and Khuigon are the three most powerful and have been forming a coalition for several years. All started under the reign of King Ahap of Aikalion.

Until a few years ago, the Coalition could even eradicate more than half of the monsters, but it also ended abruptly.

Somehow, the supernatural beings were able to take over Terosa and almost completely exterminate the troops of the Coalition through an ambush.

King Ahap survived the battle but never recovered. He became a shell of himself, and the high council decided that his eldest son, Sukuna, should take over. But he never cared about the throne, always felt better as a knight, and ensured that his younger brother Yuji, who had always had a knack for politics, would become king.

Yuji ascended the throne when he was just 18 years old. And his brother, who was three years older, became commander of the army simultaneously.

You became an advisor to Yuji's request. For over 40 years, witches and witchers have been the king's consultants. They support in politics as well as on the battlefield.

After five years, you became familiar with both brothers and somewhat friends.

Sukuna led the Aikalion army to victory in each fight and soon became known as the king of battle and blood. Many feared him and even more respected him. 

Within these years, he managed to get past the borders of Terosa. The land was practically a giant forest.  

You were ordered to participate in this fight alongside Sukuna because of your magical skills. 

As an elemental witch, you could fight in forests the best. Your magic connected to nature allowed the troupe a tactical advantage.

After a month of constant fighting, you found yourself in the commander's tent one night. 

You stood before him between his legs, keeping a steady hand on his shoulder as he sat on the bed.

A gentle glow emits from your palms, a warmth that spreads from your hands and directly onto Sukuna's shoulder.

He has seen the capability of healing a Witch can do.

The glow was bright enough to illuminate the tent, but it was gentle, as soft as the golden rays of a sunset. Sukuna would never tire of seeing you use your magic. 

You could feel his eyes watching you with awe, which made your stomach twist into knots. 

You always look so eternally beautiful to him.

You guided your hand along the wound on his chest, trying to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake.

You barely noticed as he crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his palm against your hands. 

"Thank you," he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the only light was the burn of the candle at his desk and the reflection of the moon peeking through the tent's opening. 

"Khuigon's army should arrive in a few days," you say absentmindedly. "Hopefully, they bring enough catering with them."

Sukuna hums in agreement as he carefully places his hands on your waist.

In this past month, the tension between you two seemed to grow with every passing moment. He didn't want to let you go, just jet. He wanted to savor the moment a little longer.

It's rare for him to get wounded during a battle, but if it means having you so close to him, then he might even consider getting a little clumsier out there.

His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly, but it was enough. Your heart skipped. 

You honestly just wanted to run away. "Next time, I'm putting a protection spell over you." Sukuna just chuckled at that. "Don't laugh. That was irresponsible of you. I had it under control."

He got wounded because he was trying to protect you. A shadow beast had it out for you; somehow, that monster wasn't as mindless as the rest you've encountered. This could only mean that you were almost at the source of the dark magic.

"I know you did. Never once doubted your abilities. I know firsthand what you are capable of." He was nothing but honest with you. He meant every word. but seeing that thing getting so close to you- he would do it a thousand times more.

You didn't say anything further. You wondered if Sukuna could hear how fast your heart was racing because you were sure it would beat straight out of your chest.

He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. 

You both stayed like this for a few moments.

This moment might be the last peaceful moment you two will have for a while.

Both of you know that the next battle will bring a lot of death and blood.

Sukuna wishes nothing more than to keep you away from all of this, but this is the life you two have. 

"You know I love you, right?"

It was sudden and unexpected, but it didn't surprise you. What scarred you was the meaning behind these words.

I never wanted to say it like this, but in case we will not survive this- Just that you know. So I can leave this world without any regret.

"Sukuna-"

"You know, right?" Of course, you did. Hell, everyone did. He never failed to show that you were off-limits. His.

And you know that he knows you feel the same.

"I do." your voice was small, but he heard you just fine. It was enough for him. He would never expect you to say-

"You know I love you too, right?" 

As a witch, telling someone that they loved them was like giving them your heart, body, and soul.

They only loved once.

It's something sacred to them.

And yet here you stand before him and let him hear what he desires most. 

He couldn't wait anymore.

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach, and clamoring in your heart.

You could feel his smile spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. 

He presses his lips against your jawline and smiles against the crook of your neck as you let out a breathy sigh, relishing in the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin.

He pulls away and brings a hand under your chin, eyes gazing into your own before he crashes his lips against yours again.

Your hands splay against his back as he fervently kisses you, his hands pulling you as close as he can.

He groans as he leans in, trying to take in more of you. 

It didn't lead to more that night, other than sharing your feelings for one and another, but you were sure whatever was to come, if it was light or chaos, who'd win the final battle, you would overcome this.

Together.

Until the end.

[venussaidso]

Rahu Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 1 of) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟕

warning ⚠️: movie spoilers

Lord Rudra is an angry manifestation of Shiva who is the god that destroys the universe in order to re-create it. Rudra is the version which emphasizes the destruction of illusions, imperfections, diseases etc. before change can take place. Rudra means "one who eradicates problems from their roots", which rules Ardra, where we see the shadow planet Rahu being at it's potent height. Rahu is always dissatisfied and filled with illusions. With Rudra here, we see the strong conviction to break all things illusory, that are a stain or disease. Ardra, being Gemini and Rahu together, chooses to face the cold, harsh truth by deconstructing it (Mercury). There comes an intense anger and urge to destroy the root of all problems.

The best piece of media by far to embody the potency of Ardra, especially Rudra, is MR. ROBOT.

Ardra is quite contradictory, as it aims to expose truth by ruthlessly shining light on it ("control is an illusion") and therefore breaking the illusion, despite literally being ruled by the most illusory planet, Rahu. Rami Malek is an Ardra Ascendent and in the series Mr. Robot, he plays a cybersecurity engineer who uses his rare intelligence (Gemini/Mercury) to take down an evil conglomerate that controls the world & gets away with terrible world crimes that are swept under the rug. The Ardra character is already established as not a truth seeker, but someone who is already aware of everything and has been long disillusioned. The other important main characters also seem to be played by Rudra influenced actors which I found so incredible. These key characters show different dysfunctional aspects of society, almost critiquing them. Though Rudra is more potent through Ardra, Rudra has incarnated in different forms. Aja Ekapanda, Ahir Bhudhanya - Purva Bhadrapada, Uttara Bhadrapada. And Goddess Kali has associations with Rudra, and it rules the nakshatra Mula - which forms the axis with Ardra (being Sagittarius-Gemini). All the Rudra nakshatras are scattered across the main cast of Mr. Robot.

Another similar piece of media that is linked with Ardra and anarchist/political themes that expose heavy truths of society and elite powers of the world is the film V FOR VENDETTA, which leans more into anti-fascism. Starring an Ardra native.

Ardra faces the reality of things that is usually harsh and too overwhelming for others to bare, the kind of truth that is often not thought of. The series The Boys shows what would realistically happen if superheroes were a thing — none of that Marvel sugarcoating shit. Just like Rami Malek's character in Mr. Robot, the character Billy Butcher played by Karl Urban is already established as one who knows the harsh reality of superheroes (being monsters and corporate puppets) and is portrayed as an angry, disgruntled, dissatisfied person. And of course there is Rahu/Ardra influence.

Ardra is not always about dethroning corrupt powers. It can simply manifest into meaningless chaos, purposeless anarchy as seen in Heath Ledger's Joker who only makes chaos to prove the hypocrisy in people and society. This critical nature is always within Ardra, no matter how chaotic and senseless it manifests.

Yes he's an Ardra Moon.

It's always interesting how nakshatras with the same planetary rulership can share the same themes, despite the differences in their ruling deities. The film, Joker (2019), criticizes how society treats its ostracized members. And the character Arthur Fleck, being played by Swati Sun Joaquin Phoenix, unintentionally (and unknowingly) drives pure anarchy in the streets. Becoming the face of a movement spawned around him, called 'Jokerism'. And these masks, just like in MR. ROBOT (fsociety), V For VENDETTA, make the symbol of the movement.

I also find it interesting that Zoro is a masked vigilante who fights against the injustice and victimization of the lower class and indigenous people. Shatabhisha can act as a saviour in this case, more than what is seen from Ardra and Swati.

The character Hobie Brown being voiced by Shatabhisha Sun Daniel Kaluuya in the new Spiderverse film. Interesting enough, Shatabhisha being Aquarius can also have chaotic, rebellious and even anarchist tendencies. Aquarius emphasizes individualism, roots for the underdog and can absolutely despise authority – especially the corrupt kind (but mostly it's fuck all authority).

The nakshatra also being co-ruled by Rahu, they can see through illusions and have a simple yet realistic approach to things (Saturn). There is defiance there in Shatabhisha, but rarely ever as erratic or angry as Ardra. In fact, Shatabhisha is more on what's morally right and wrong compared to Ardra where a dualistic nature is conveyed. Shatabhisha has a tougher framework, can be very virtuous.

Shatabhisha is ruled by the deity Lord Varuna who is the personification of divine authority and moral law. The theme of authority can manifest in several ways for Shatabhisha. Rebellion against authority can go to the extreme ends of violence and unlawfulness. Or it can go into activism. Critiquing the many issues in the world that are glaringly wrong and unfair (what the modern internet now calls 'wokeism'). Themes of rebellion or exposure in a political and societal context can be linked with Swati. This can somewhat be seen in the following medias:

𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗣𝗔𝗥���� 𝗧𝗪𝗢:

[amidstcalamity]

"Hey you remind me of the big bad from the Terraria Calamity mod!" Don't mind Ruby's rather casual approach to Eradicator. "In-fact, you do look pretty funny in that armor. You one of those bad guys?"

"Big bad? Don't get me started. You'd be talking about Ctelozapth."

It was fairly easy for one to see him as a bad guy. Inflicting destruction upon the world through his ravaging against the Desolation, mercilessly slaughtering every last Desolation member. He was no hero.

"I kill bad guys, with my bare hands. Whenever I get the chance, I feed them to the dogs." His tone sounded immensely more grim.

[lexsssu]

Divine (Arjuna Alter | Berserker)

TAGS: Arjuna Alter/Dragoness!reader, pining, heats/ruts, pheromones, knotting, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

From the moment he is summoned in Chaldea to assist humanity’s last master, Arjuna ( Alter ), the culmination of the Indian pantheon and former opponent of said master knew what his purpose was.

He is a weapon against evil, nothing more and nothing less.

But…

“I know it’s not the same as back in your country, but I like to think my Japanese-style curry tastes pretty good. I made sure to make it extra spicy for you too!”

The god blinked at the tall pile of steaming curry rice placed in front of him, smelling the various aromatic spices and feeling the heat it gave off thanks to sheer amount of spice. Though he had no need to eat thanks to his divinity and also because he was a servant, the tantalizing aroma of the meal didn’t fail to tease his senses especially as you gazed up at him expectantly with those molten gold orbs of yours that shone and glittered like the finest of jewels. It also didn’t help that you unknowingly bat your lashes up at him as you pleaded with him through your gaze alone, the dark lush crescents emphasizing how even just a pair of eyes could hold unimaginable beauty.

You are breathtaking.

And that honestly scared him.

He, who had shed his mortal shell to embody almost every god in his respective pantheon, who had dedicated his existence to purging the world of evil, and now who’d found himself a servant to a master much more powerful than he or any servant was.

Though servants being attracted to their masters and relationships before formed between the two wasn’t anything new, Arjuna ( Alter ) of all servants felt that he himself would never be so imbecilic as to fall for his master…

And yet here he is.

Leaning forward as you’d taken it upon yourself to scoop up a spoonful of curry rice and feed it to him since he’d frozen up like a deer in headlights the moment you’d placed the treat in front of him.

“So...how does it taste? Is it spicy enough for you? Or maybe it needs more flavor? Or…?”

Normally you always wore a look of complete serenity, as if everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen was simply all part of your grand plan that no one is privy to aside from yourself...At least that’s how it looked to Arjuna and everyone else within Chaldea considering the inconceivable feats you so easily make into reality.

But now you’re gazing up at him, seemingly as harmless as a little lamb despite your ability to destroy entire worlds according to one of the other servants, Tathamet, who’d apparently been a blessed witness to all your feats before arriving in Chaldea. The primordial revered you as much as he feared you despite apparently being ‘ The Prime Evil, ’ further proof of your power.   

Despite his understanding of mortal behavior having been eradicated when he decided to ascend, there is no denying the heat that seems to engulf his whole body as you sit so close to him, serving him as if he weren’t the servant within this relationship.

“...Good. It’s...perfect…” Though an invisible lump seems to have formed in his throat, the former Lost-Belt King manages to utter the words you’ve been waiting for so patiently.

He swallows when his eyes take notice of how visibly you perk up, the ear to ear grin and the slight wagging of the glittering silver tail behind you making his own deep blue tail move ever so slowly in response to your reactions.

“Great! I was afraid that you wouldn’t like it since it’s not really the same as what you’re used to but I tried my best…” 

The bashful grin you grace him with only worsens the Berserker’s condition, his dark chocolate complexion seemingly gaining a reddish hue as he did his best to understand these confusing feelings you elicited from him.

Was this another facet of your limitless power? Or perhaps...was his body simply too weak to handle your sheer might even by just being in close proximity to you?

With the both of you off in your own world, most of the servants seem to have their gazes glued to the pair you made. Not that it was surprising, considering you were their venerated master and pretty much every servant and everyone else within Chaldea was sure you were some sort of eldritch being that came into existence and power long before any of the known gods and primordial entities did.

At this moment however, Arjuna’s thoughts have moved on from your undeniable strength and towards uncharted territory.

Namely...the reactions his physical body seems to be making in response to you.

Perhaps he should consult with someone more...adept with human emotions? Maybe it was about time he paid a visit to his brother, Karna...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! ”

 This...was the last scenario he’d expected after consulting with Karna about the emotions you made him feel.

“ PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! ” 

He simply knocked at your door some days later after he’d digested his brother’s words, understanding for himself what his feelings meant before he made a move. So caught up in his own affairs, he didn’t notice how your natural scent seemed to become...spicier and almost cloyingly sweet until he’d fully entered your room only to be hit with your raw pheromones.

It all becomes a blur at that point, because the next thing Arjuna knows is that he’s pinning you down upon your bed in a full mating press, the entire length of his cock forcing your lower lips open as he sought to pour every drop of his potent seed into your fertile womb.

Though in human form, you were both very much in tune with your baser instincts and like any animal, there were certain times where your bodies went against your minds. 

The combined scent of your sweat and other bodily fluids made the former god purr from his chest, especially as your body secreted pheromones that told him how happy you were for him to be the one mating you. How you looked forward to the brood you’ll bear for him once his seed takes root within your belly.

“Good mate…” He rasps, ragged breaths hitting the shell of your ear when he shoved every last inch of his cock inside, the heavy knot at the base slipping easily inside your velvety depths as he began painting your hungry cunt with rivulets of white.

[murder-cookie-dust393]

Imagine if the yandere cursed infected the dragon cookies

Shit would literally become an actual hellfire-

Tw: religious themes, deception, MC gets called a degrading role, implied genocide

(Because I use genderneutral pronouns for MC, I'm going to highlight the dragons to indicate who the subject is)

While diseased, the dragons' thoughts of MC change drastically, scarily so.

Pitaya thinks in reverse of their usual thoughts- feeling the need to protect MC instead of fighting them.

Ananas wants to be MC's only thought in their mind. They want to be worshiped by them, and be the only one they adore.

Lotus grants MC their wish, and instead of stealing their life force, they alter the wish/dream. They make themselves apart of their dream.

Lychee wants to control MC, and steal all their love. They want to make MC their obedient pet.

Longan...Longan wants to eradicate the world of cookies, and force MC into ascending to dragon hood. That way, they can keep them all to themselves in their dream paradise.

(I would say my favourite dragon is Pitaya or Ananas)

- Celina

[pursuitseternal]

“Something:” an update to “Our Blood is Thicker,” 🐦‍⬛💞🦇a little something for the Anniversary of BG3

Ascended Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | T | 1.6K

Summary: One year since she found her betrothed in her path, Cordehlia reminisces with heartache and happiness in equal measure.

CW: mentions of their past griefs and traumas, nostalgia

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

One year… a full year since that nautilus crashed, a year since she found her once betrothed elven lordling in her path. Had it been only a year since her heart rent itself apart at finding him again and let their love stitch it back together?

It had also been a year, then, since her life hung precariously in the balance, a life and a love deemed worthy of seven-thousand and seven souls to be his eternal bride. The passage of time had taken their hopeful, youthful Star Elf selves and broken them, refined them, and made them into the adamantine weapons of power they now were—The Ascendant and his Consort. It was days like this, when the summer heat was unbearable along the Sword Coast that she longed most for the emerald foliage and canopies of the Yuirwood.

She longed for the carefree playing in streams and knolls, in mud and sunshine. She missed his violet eyes and her star-kissed silver ones, those long nights of pleasure on the mossy banks of the forest, the feeling of their warm bodies moving more fluidly than the streams just beside them.

She missed their parents, the wizened, knowing smiles her father would give, even the subtle looks of approval his mother, the High Lady, would sneak her way when they were alone.

In all her decades of darkness, pursuing countless foes and splashing herself in their blood, she never once felt homesick. Love sick, yes. Grief stricken, yes. But it wasn’t until his love for her thawed the chill of her hatred and pain that she remembered home.

And now, she lived in a luxury not of her own heritage. Her skin was cold and her teeth were sharp. Her heart no longer raced with the pleasure he coaxed from her still, and it didn’t rap against her ribs in battle or flutter nervously when Astarion smirked at her. It was probably for the best that their past was nearly as eradicated as their own hopes for a life among their people.

She knew their village had left, that everyone journeyed to other reaches of Faerûn or other realms after the death of their High Lord and Lady… their murder in the City and the ultimate decimation of their line had been exacted.

They had been robbed of their rulers, their line… and their prince. Astarion.

It was all pain that should have been so easy to forget in their palace gardens. Leaning against the great oak tree at its heart, she sat with her skirts fanned, a book on her lap. This late summer sun warmed her too much; even back home, she preferred the cool caress of shade.

Not like him, her love, her lord. He stood near her, gazing down into the pond that collected the bubbling streams of water from the fountain of pure gold. Opulently, impeccably dressed, his silk jacket and pants caught the breeze making that cream, pearlescent material shimmer in the sun. But the gold and silk, the water or the sun itself, none of it was as radiant as him. His fearsome, handsome reflection no doubt shined up at him at his feet, that rakish tilt of his brows, those full, smirking lips rippling and paling in comparison to their original.

He was magnificent, glorious…. Ruthless to his enemies and adoring to his Bride.

The Vampire Ascendant.

It was a far more intimidating title than a mere elven High Lord. Astarion traded in being a prince for the mantle of a Vampire Lord, his ancestral manor now overshadowed by the walls of the Crimson Palace. His wealth was uncountable and ever-growing, untold powers at his command, gifts from the hells and magic beyond what any of the undead should wield.

It was what he deserved after centuries of suffering. But…

What she wouldn’t give for a blanket spread on their mossy bank in the forest, a single bottle of Ithbank to pass between them, the filtered sun above the foliage kissing their naked skin. She closed her eyes, letting the bark of the oak score into her skin through her waif-like dress. The scents of the forest, of nature, came back with instant recall, that soft gurgle of the fountain barely different in pitch from the stream in the glade where Astarion had taken her—

“Cordehlia,” he breathed her name, lips brushing her right ear. A warm hand on her cheek turned her face into his as her crimson eyes fluttered open once more. “My love,” he purred so tenderly, the warm pad of his thumb caressing the gentle arch of her cheek.”Tell me, what do you desire?” his voice was low, a gentle rumble in his chest as he poured all his love down their bond. “What can I do for my dearest?”

“It is nothing,” Cordehlia smiled softly; pulling him to sit beside her, so close their bodies flowed nearly seamlessly from one to the other. “Just thoughts of…”

“Home,” he interrupted. A subtle smirk tweaked his mouth just enough to show a fang. “It’s been a year, you know, since we defeated the Brain…”

His lips whispered against hers. And she whispered back. “A year since I found you on the beach and nearly trussed you up to gut you, you mean…”

“Oh,” he laughed with a husky giggle, “feel free to truss me up any time just to relive it, my love.”

Cordehlia sank her fangs in his bottom lip, making him laugh properly. “Be thankful I let you live long enough to fall back in love with me.”

Astarion broke from their kiss. Where she expected to see that impish glint, that rakish smirk, Cordehlia only saw purity, sincerity. Love. “I am thankful. Everyday,” his words so quiet, even her keen hearing struggled. “Come,” he stood swiftly, pulling her gracefully to her feet. “There’s… something I’d like to show you…”

Making their way inside, they hurried down corridor after cooridor. That nostalgia only deepened. Memories flashed of how these halls festered in darkness and rotted with wickedness under Cazador. She could still smell the dank of the dungeon, still recall the pain of that bastard’s bite as he tried to kill her…

A year ago. A year that passed faster than a blink of an eye. If time was nothing to her existence as an elf, it was less than nothing now that she was undead.

Now that she wandered the bright scarlet and golden halls of their palace. Now that she held the hand of her Sire, their hearts beating as one as his Bride.

She smiled at the word. Bride.

Feeling her thoughts, Astarion paused at the threshold to their rooms. “Oh yes, my Bride, don’t think I didn’t get you a little something to commemorate our union.”

“Always one to spoil me,” she shook her head, leaning in to taste his kiss once more. A sly smile twisted his lips as they pressed together.

The door creaked on its hinges, opening to reveal their bedroom, bathed in blue green light from their windows. Their sanctuary.

Her gaze instantly settled on the box on their bed, a small wooden chest. A nod of his head, a sparkle of childish delight in his crimson eyes, Astarion pulled her closer to it.

Eager fingers lifted the lid, and Cordehlia’s undead heart burst as if it had stopped beating altogether.

A shining silver war helmet, plates once cracked were soldered back together. Intricate designs of feathers spanned the sides, and a great eagle’s head rested on the crown of the helm. She would recognize it anywhere. She had polished it countless times as an elfling, wearing it in their home to pretend to play soldiers and war… a merry laugh coming from the chair by the fire as he watched on…

“Father,” she choked, her musical voice cracking with grief. “Oh, Father,” she breathed again, reverently stroking the eagle feathers and face that was their namesake, Aquillae. Eagle. That same name shined, etched into the back of the armor: Cassius Aquillae, The Great Eagle. Her eyes leaked the tears she could no longer keep at bay, and two warm arms embraced her from behind.

“Halsin found it,” he explained. “With the Shadowcurse lifted, all manner of relics were found. But he searched with great care for anything of your father’s.” A small laugh sounded in her ear. “My idea, of course. Don’t give the Druid any more affection or credit than he deserves, my love.”

A wet laugh was his reward for his possessive, bratty humor. As always. Astarion reached for the helmet, lifting it out to reveal two more pieces that instantly struck her in the gut.

Sharp pains of grief again. A bright silver locket, inlaid with golden leaves, and a small teal ring, that crest of its signet shining brighter than the gold it was made of. She didn’t need to look closer to know it was a heart and two daggers slicing cross-crossed through it, a pattern of little stars speckling its background.

The Ancunín crest.

His voice was heavy, his own throat bobbing against the back of her head as he reached around to caress the pieces. “Mother’s locket and Father’s ring… I found these in one of… his… vaults in the Counting House. The trophies claimed from Mother and Father’s murder.” Tenderly, he set the helmet back in the box, closing the lid silently. Then, he pulled her stiff, suffering body into his warm embrace. “Those aren’t my gift, don’t you fret.”

“I should hope not,” she forced a aggrieved laugh. “Still it is… good to have pieces of them, their bodies never put to rest,” she whispered into the cream silk of his jacket.

“We are about to correct that,” he smiled into the top of her head, breathing in her scent, wildflowers and moss. “We are going home.”

[suiana]

❝THE EMPEROR FILES❞

― my backstory? what is it you wish to know?

✎ little xue was a talented and bright child. excelling at every thing he did, he was an absolute joy and was the only hope to the royal family of the falling kingdom.

✎ having been born to the previous emperor and empress, he was guaranteed the position as the next emperor no matter what. though, no one expected him to ascend the throne as the empire of xue was in ruins. not to mention, the empire was at war with a neighbouring empire which was militarily superior.

✎ at the ripe age of 15, he led a small group consisting of the best officers to attack and reclaim the land they had previously lost. unsurprisingly, they won for our dearest emperor was just too talented with that red blade of his. tides had turned and they eventually won the war in two years.

✎ upon returning from successfully eradicating the opposing empire, he was immediately crowned emperor as his father had unfortunately passed on due to an illness. though devastated, he knew the show must go on and put on a brave front for the empire.

✎ he brought the kingdom to glory and has helped it prosper with his knowledge and intellect that rivals the top of scholars. now at 22, he is looking for a partner to help him with his loneliness. while yes, he may have tons of suitors, none of them appealed to him! though... you just might be a little different.