#the eternal throne

[anthros-vanitas-archive]

Find the Word Tag game (chest, book, glass and window)

Greatings everyone, well I have been tag by the always lovely @axl-ul (I apologize for the wait) to find the words chest, book, glass, interest and window in my WIP: The Eternal Throne. Make sure to check out his post right here.

Hope you enjoy!

As always a gentle reminder, these are rough translations from The Eternal Throne.

Chest from Chapter 5: The Smuggler.

One of them, the one directly behind <Samuel>, tried to make a vertical slice with his sword. Before he could even swoop his sword downwards. <Samuel> giving him a quick glance reacted with an even quicker move, turned himself towards his aggressor and putting both hands as support in the bar, delivered a kick with both legs right in his chest; with his guard open the soldier just received the hit, losing balance and falling on his back.

Book from Chapter 2: The Farmer.

<Bren> without much thought, lean over, dropping the staff beside him, taking the book with both hands already open on the floor.

His eyes quickly went through every page trying to decipher its secret, but, his glance only found those walls in ivory. One after the other those blank pages went through and, at that moment, filling the lad with doubts, after all maybe he was mistaken, but his conviction led him to the next page.

Glass from Chapter 10: The Maid.

—Doing what exactly? Searching for myths? Explore ruins of a glory long gone? There's nothing out there worth anything in that cruel world.— Her eyes went glassy and in the starlight they shined as two golden plates —Why do you want to inflict you more pain?

Interest from Chapter 3: The Ranger

—I came here because I heard you had an elusive prey giving you trouble, and now that I’m here I can see that not only it's an elusive one,— she explained while looking at the wall of flames that now was slowly vanishing —but an interesting one as well.

Window from Chapter 1: The Healer.

While exploring the second floor, he found that a main hallway connected with some doors and at the end was a wooden shut window in which dim light passed through. His search continued there, the magus carefully opened each door until behind one of them the detection spell, as expected, finally had a reaction.

Well that's it for me, hope you enjoyed! Now time to tag: @goblin-writer, @asablehart, @maddstermind, @the-down-upside-finch, @lexiklecksi @betweenthetimeandsound @inkhelm and @charlies-storybook Your words to find are: Word, Seek, Find and Surprise. Have fun!

[chippedcupwrites]

Sansa Stark │Character Creation (in/sp)

HERE are screenshots of the whole set, if you wish to read the little details.

[pastelpaperplanes]

KOBD for the soul

[ariavar]

Jon Snow's Perpetual Princehood

Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. 

"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons."

"The Night's Watch will make for Hardhome. I ride to Winterfell alone, unless…" Jon paused. "… is there any man here who will come stand with me?" The roar was all he could have hoped for, the tumult so loud that the two old shields tumbled from the walls. 

[epiclad]

At the precipice... 

[kitappreciationsociety]

Kit at the Fendi show, Milan Fashion Week Jan 24

[haztory]

sorry for being absent literally always, but i had to get this out of my drafts.

goddess!reader x mortal!bakugou; warnings: blood, mentions of sex, murder, unhappy relationships, unhinged reader and bakugou (tiny bit), not beta’d

(w.c. 2.1k)

Rapacious, your father would call you were he to see you now. Salacious, acting in behavior once thought deterred; The kind that he meant to have stamped out of you in an effort to cultivate you into the pious cog in of his senseless grandeur. His promise of destiny. 

Your father’s lips would be turned in that virtuous frown, eyes narrowed as he sat from his throne in the great pantheon of Gods. Validated by their fealty. The model figure that is woefully negligent as he speaks of the sanctity of commandments that have seen his betrayal one too many times before. Sanctimonious in his rectitude, righteous in his hypocrisy, your father is.

He meant to cage you, raging at your freedom and its significance—angry that you were wild, changing the tides of human wars with the gentlest of smiles and lulling whispers; Rampaging that fellow Gods, his own brothers, were victim to the whims of your games with the mortals; Furious that the power you wielded began to rival that of his own; Murderous that you were too much like him: untamed, greedy, victorious and still, adored. 

You have never known his anger to be long-lasting, especially not in a manner of great meaning when you could falsely promise your way out of it. Batting eyelashes in truce—but, this is beyond punishment for the defiance of a rule. He means to break you. 

A husband. 

One bound to you without your consultation, much less knowledge. Promised in hand and divinity to be half of a whole to this pitiful excuse of God. 

There was hardly an expectation of satisfaction within the marriage on a good day, much less pleasure in the ways that physically mattered; Could such a thing ever truly be expected from a man who only knew how to hammer metal? Up, down, up, down until the glowing steel was forged.

Your husband is a man of great fortitude, who knows and will only know that of the fire he works with. The flames reflected in the dullness of his irises being the only exciting thing about him. He is monotonous within his construction. Routined and boring. 

How could there ever be the expectation of fidelity from you, the Goddess of Love? 

How could you be shackled to the bedside of a man who has never known the strength of the sea from which you are born? How can you love a man who does not know the impact of the tide and draws no desire from its power? How can you be with a man who does not know and adore you as you are? For a millenia, nonetheless! 

You've come to know of this arrangement as a curse; A woeful attempt to tame you from the wild and lustful by forcing you to make acquaintance with the bland and boring. Binding you to the shore, never to make acquaintance with the push and pull of the forceful nature. 

Credit must be paid your way. You had tried. In the depths of shame and sorrow, you tried to do as your brothers and sisters and settle. Gave in and let yourself  believe that love and happiness could be found within routine, eventually. It is your novelty, after all. And yet, it still finds you. This yearning for more, the urge to love and be loved. Your nature still rises from the swaying tide and dares to edge the coast. 

Your father would not approve were he to see you now, watching from your high plane in the heavens to the happenings of the mortal world. Surely, your husband would violently disapprove too, convinced that he has you loyal. 

You shouldn’t fixate; Had promised in low lights and empty words in your husband’s grimy embrace that you have seen the errors of your ways; That you have and will change. For his sake. But he does not know what happens when he is away in his cave of brimstone. 

Your attention is caught. And the object of your fascination is a marvel.

Sculpted from clay himself, you have half a mind to believe that one of your siblings has had a part in his creation. Broad and muscular, sharp and angular in all the places that deem him a man. This mortal has caught your eye since his ascension from boy to man. He is a village soldier. Fiercely protective and eager for a fight, and yet always looking to the heavens. As though there was something there waiting for him, beckoning him closer. You suppose he isn’t wrong, as you peer down to him just as he looks up. 

There have been whispers of his fate amongst the crowds since he was a boy, certainty issued in his great destiny.  No one is more sure of it than he. 

Which may be what finds him in your temple. 

Sanctuaries have never known themselves to be exclusive, but you must admit that it is certainly strange to have a man of his designation pray to the Goddess of Love. Surely he must have found some alignment more towards that of your stoic sister, emboldened by the desire for courage and brawn. And yet he is here, treading the halls in the stillness of night and giving small offerings to each of your priestesses and holding one large offering basket for your statue.

He stands beneath the colonnade, staring pensively at the intricate designs of your image on marble. He speaks only when the room has been cleared, the priestesses giving him the space to pray in solace.

“I hear you.” His timbre is gruff yet smooth. Commanding as it echoes. “You are calling to me.”

You remain still, almost taken aback at his forwardness. The waves of temptation creep at your feet. 

“I intend to find you, whether you show yourself or not.” He speaks again. He looks up, and although you know it improbable, you swear eyes of vermillion have pinpointed your location in the sky. And so, it comes crashing.

It has been so long since you have last appeared before a mortal, and appearing before him transcends all relatability. To see the fixation, your desire, and to have him see you. If he is surprised by your arrival, he doesn’t show it. Eyes strong in their stoic gaze, lips almost curled in a sneer. One would think you were his enemy, but you know such a charge to be false. It’s a charge of electricity, the cooling nighttime air suddenly warming at the meeting of your gaze. 

He is no enemy to you, and you are certainly no stranger to him.

“No one has ever commanded me so directly. How did you know?” You ask. of genuine curiosity.

“I dream of you.” He says the answer so plainly, as though it were a common occurrence. You can’t help but raise a brow. 

“Oh?” 

“I have for years. It was only a matter of time before you showed yourself.”

The chains forged by your husband suddenly feel the lightest that they have ever felt. Metal rattling against each other, pushing and pulling as something brews within you. You wonder what this mortal thinks of you. If he finds you as beautiful as you find him; If the power within him is as strong as you think it is. 

If he is strong enough to cut through steel.

“And what did you dream of?” You ask, taking a step forward. Feeling elation fill you like the swirling breeze as his eyes quickly watch you step forward.

“Tch. Like you don’t know.” His jaw flexes and with it comes the bloom of a subtle blush on his cheeks. “Didn’t you plant the damn things?” 

No, you didn’t. You could certainly look to see what it is he dreamed of, but this is more fun. Finally, finally, you feel the remnants of yourself pulse alive. 

“Have you come to give me a greater purpose?” He asks quickly, in diversion. You let him, too satisfied with the newfound freedom to care much about his attempt at modesty. 

You step closer to him, watching as his eyes cascade down the sheer chiton adorning your body. “Is that what I did in your dreams? Fill you with purpose?”

You find yourself almost chest to chest with him, his eyes never leaving yours, “Or did you fill me?”

You laugh when his eyes widen, turning to take a chocolate from the offering basket held still in his hands and plopping it into your mouth. Marveling at its taste, deciding that it must be homemade.  “Is that what you are in search for? A greater purpose? How about a culinary artist? Your skills are impeccable.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I am destined for more.” 

He knows he is. You know he is. Have not eyed him for so long to have not known. He stands firm before you, a soldier waiting for instruction. In any other instance you would rebuke such a stand, revolt at the rigid and serious, and yet with him—

Well, in devotion to you, who can fault you for testing its limits? Especially when there is something that has sat within you, waiting for the opportune moment. 

You meet his gaze, deciding to no longer tease. “How much more?”

“Anything you will give me.” He quickly responds. 

“And this destiny you seek, do you do it for pride or service?”

“I am your loyal follower and patron, Goddess Divine. What I do is for you.”

“A man like you, patron to me. How lucky am I?” You smile, but it is quickly assumed by the sneaking tendrils of your dark desire. Your voice stills, “The task I have for you is very arduous. Unyielding, difficult, and not aimed for the weak. Destiny setting, to be sure.”

The man seems to preen at those words, a smile finally finding its way to his face. It curls, dangerously, hungrily. “Name it.”

“Once it is spoken, it cannot be undone.” You warn.

“The task is mine alone.” He insists.

You find yourself before him again, and he leans in to listen closely. You can sense the fight in him, smell his musk. The promised freedom teeters on the edge of your words. 

“...kill Hephaestus. Free me from the shackles of my constricting punishment.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t balk, doesn’t shy away from the treasonous words. He does as you have seen him do and stands firm, almost vibrates with his desire to act. 

You can almost feel the brush of the sea on your skin again. 

“And my reward?” He asks, confidently.

“Is my eternal patronage and favor not enough?” You laugh, eased in his presence rather than tight at the admittance of your evil. Circling around him, you drag your finger across the broadness of his bare and unmarred shoulders. You wonder if the purity of his skin is a reflection of his valiance. Wonder if your desires are steered correctly, that he is the one to have the strength to carry him to victory. 

He glances to you over his shoulder, “Surely, the Goddess has more in plan for the man set to kill her husband than bragging rights?”

Curiosity clouded with the tendrils of lust at the man who holds your fate in his hands, you place your chin on his shoulder, meeting his vermillion gaze as your nose scarcely brushes the smooth expanse of his sculptured chin. Intimacy with a man who isn’t your husband, intimacy that is natural and wanted rather than forced.

“Cheeky.” You murmur, and his grin widens. A veil of clouded air blurs his vision before you reappear in front of him, your weight placed onto him as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Bring me the head of my oppressor,” You begin, said so airily it could be mistaken as a light conversation rather than a plot for murder, “And I will make you a God in his place. Meant to enact your own destiny, made to rule beside me.”

You lean your forehead closer, meeting him as your noses brush in meeting. Tracing one another, you whisper, “Can you do it?”

Without hesitation, he breathes into you. “I am yours, Goddess Divine.”

“And your name, O Great Warrior?”

“Bakugou.” A storm brews mightily in his irises and you can taste the salt of the spray, feel the ocean beckoning you home. 

Your release from the cage is so close to the touch, the hilt of the sword dealing the victory blow to your freedom held by him. 

You smile, wide, and true, and lustful for blood. “A fitting name for a God.” 

It comes as no great surprise when the mortal appears at your temple a few weeks later. He is limping through marbled halls and dripping with blood, the key to your cage held in his hands. Your husband's severed head held by his bloodied and mangled fingers, a wicked smile on his face as he beckons you down from the heavens. You find yourself once again, marveling.

And finally, in love.

[emprcaesar]

au where the wall is a waffle house.

you commit a crime you get sent there and have to protect the realm from white trash and theater kids.

satin would make that frialator his bitch but would constantly get reprimand for sitting in the freezer doing nothing.

stannis rated that waffle house 2/5 for the uncleanliness and the absolute hostility and how they only employ twinks and domestic terrorists.

jon is somehow the manager at 15 and all the older workers (literally everyone) fucking hates him. jons the type of person to message the employee group chat when opening and be like “friendly reminder…”. in this au jon still gets stabbed.

[vamprisms]

sandman season 2 confirmed....... can't wait to see that horrible freak suffer some more. reflect a bit. learn his actions have consequences or whatever.

[supercap2319]

Fighting the ice dragon had been the easy part. Facing the king of this land was another story all together. Y/N's not sure how he ended up here. He was performing a spell that Strange was teaching him and the next moment, poof! He's standing in the middle of the forest in the dead of winter as he saw some men in chainmail running from a dragon that breathes ice instead of fire.

It was kinda cool. Fighting a real life dragon, but also terrifying. He wasn't sure if he could take it down, but a few punches and chaos magic blasts had it flying off. One of the men, who looked exactly like Dane Whitman, introduced himself as Jon Snow and that they were eternally grateful for the assistance. That's how he was summoned with an audience with their king. The King of North.

Y/N stood in the center of the throne room as the King approached him and he tried not to let out a gasp of surprise. The Lord of Winterfell looked exactly like the Eternal, Ikaris. Minus the curly hair. He eyed Y/N with his deep blue eyes and took his seat at the throne and commanded attention. "And who is this?" His voice was low and deep.

Jon Snow moved to him. "This is the one who saved us, your majesty. From the dragon."

"Oh? This boy?" He glanced at him.

"With all due respect your majesty, I'm no boy. And you look very familiar. I don't suppose you and your people have heard of the Eternals?"

[aliciab85]

Game Of Thrones Panel

Superhero ComicCon San Antonio 2023

Kit Harington & Emilia Clarke

[anthros-vanitas-archive]

OC Questions Tag

Well pretty late for this one but better late than ever, or I hope so. I was tagged in this ask game for the lovely @axl-ul, thank you for the tag! So here are 6 questions about my OC: <Samuel> protagonist of The Eternal Throne.

5 words to physically describe your OC (do you have a drawing? even better!)

Rough, Intimidating, Average-height, Pale, Athletic.

Who did inspire your OC? (can be your mum to a very famous fungi)

"Spellstitched undead", now there’s an explanation for this but it's gonna be a little long so prepare yourself. Ready? Okay then… Spellstitched undead is, in the lore of D&D, a more powerful variation of an undead which is infused with magic runes in their rotten flesh or bone, so as a DM after learning about this concept my mind started to create and thought about the idea of a lich (an undead wizard for those who don’t know) so paranoid that once they became a lich they didn’t wanted anyone to steal their grimoire so they tattooed those magical secrets on themselves, to never lose their own secrets out of their sight becoming a Spellstitched Lich. Now you might be wondering: “Why is all this relevant to your OC Vanitas?” because that little concept led me to another, in this case the opposite of this; what if there was a wizard who wasn’t ever afraid of someone stealing their grimoire because there’s nothing but blank pages in that book? Why are there only blank pages? And as they say: "The rest is history."

Give me a song to define your OC (I will listen to it to enter in your WIP mood!)

The Ghost Who Is Still Alive by Beth Crowley

If I met your OC on the street how would they greet me?

"You bumped hard into a stranger in the street, this figure concealed with a hood over his head just quickly apologizes to you with a —Sorry— and moves on, you remind yourself of your bag full of trinkets, expecting to find them all in the ground you look down and you find yourself surprise that none have felt but even more surprising is that every single one of this items is on their respective place in your bag. You look back to the street to perhaps see that stranger again but nobody is there."

Can your OC be your best friend? Why?

Probably not. Not because I think he'll hate me or something (although if he did, that hate would be totally justified and fair) but because I don't think he'll consider me as a friend, he's opinion about me would probably be more like: "It's surprising how someone like them created a world like that"

1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC (blue soul)

"Tired wizard" or perhaps "Hopeful fool" that is entirely a matter of perspective.

Soft tags goes to: @denrathivy, @mjparkerwriting, @writernopal and @winterandwords but as always open tag to any who like to participate; the full question are under the cut.

5 words to physically describe your OC (do you have a drawing? even better!)

Who did inspire your OC? (can be your mum to a very famous fungi)

Give me a song to define your OC (I will listen to it to enter in your WIP mood!)

If I met your OC on the street how would they greet me?

Can your OC be your best friend? Why?

1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC (blue soul)

[groundrunner100]

Each one of these girls is like wine. Pick your flavor!

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

those both sides are bad morons are just undercover greens lmao

i sincerely question these peoples intelligence

bc it is clear that this both sides are bad bs is just a way to sneakily justify the greens bc they know that supporting the greens outright is tantamount to admitting that they’re misogynists

they are intelligent enough to know that taking the greens side outright is a bad look but are too stupid to realize that claiming both sides are bad is just as idiotic of a stance to take

they also completely lack self awareness because they don’t even realize that taking the both sides are bad stance is a misogynistic stance as well

the worst part is that these people sincerely believe that they are enlightened and correct

you people need to get your heads checked bc there is only one correct side and it’s the blacks

btw this green vs black bs is just trump vs hillary

both candidates fucking sucked ass and deserve to rot in hell but one side was infinitely better than the other

pssst hillary was the better choice

literally look at what has happened to women’s rights in america after trump became president. fucking look. now look at what has happened to westerosi noblewomen and their obvious decline of power after rhaenyra was murdered.

ofc rhaenyra isn’t even close to being as awful as hillary, but you couldn’t convince me that book aegon isn’t trump just not orange and show aegon seems to be getting there

[nateofgreat]

Every single SWTOR Republic mission

Game: Alright, the Sith are planning to attack Corellia's shipyard. We've known this for at least weeks now and thus had plenty of time to prepare.

Me: Great! Sounds fun, so let's get on with the battle.

Game: BUT WAIT!!!!! The Empire's attacking civilians you'll never see, meet, or hear from ever again! And the ONLY WAY to help them is to let the Sith blow up a bunch of Republic ships and endanger the whole war effort!

Me: Seriously, again with this? How many freaking times are we going to contrive this dilemma? Can I just fight a battle normally for once?

Game: But you don't understand! Darth Malgus' last plan was so feeble and pathetic we need to force some kind of victory for him to brag about when you confront him later!

Me: But this is the most predictable plan he could've possibly used. How on earth can the Republic have not seen this coming? And wait a second, if we knew about this attack in advance why didn't we evacuate the civilian populace? Heck, Correllia's been the frontline of the whole war so far, aren't there shelters, orbital cannons, shields, anything?

Game: Nope, the whole thing's completely undefended and the Republic put all their Navy on one side of the planet and didn't take advantage of the opportunity Malgus stupidly dividing his fleet would create.

Me: For crying out loud, why is every superweapon, military advantage, and resource the Republic finds locked behind one of these dilemmas while the Empire just gets to crap out new ones every other week?

Game: Uhh...

Me: The Null Cannon, the Barrager, special droid designs, the Powerguards... Can we just get one for once without some contrived reason for why that'd be the dark side option? Heck, why are we even doing yet another "defend against the Empire" mission? They never matter anyways because every time you cripple them they somehow just spawn another giant army out of nowhere. Five years ago they were almost crippled completely, can we go back to that? How about the Republic attacks them for once. I want to liberate some Imperial worlds, how about it?

Game: Nope, just the same old dilemma over and over again. Are you going to yet again let the Empire win or be a bad mama jama and let the civilians who should've been evacuated and that you'll never hear from again die?

Me: ... Whelp, I think that's enough SWTOR for the year.

[lokiusly]

Roman Holiday AU where Loki is the mischievous royal of Asgard that escapes the castle to live a normal life for just one day— he meets Mobius, a man who is secretly a tabloid writer and wants to write a tell-all story about Loki. They end up falling for each other.