#astra heights

[cassynite]

Been thinking about Astra's parents recently and decided to draw them lol. Aurelia and Cethryn around the time they would have met each other.

[calluna-of-the-grey]

The heights of my dnd group's characters, plus Ariawyn's 9ft sharkin friend >:D

[astraveil]

1/2/24

going to use this challenge as an excuse to finish a lot of my art that’s been collecting dust lmao

but anyway, gee i wonder who that shirt could belong to 🤔🤔🤔

[astralshipper]

OH YEAH BTW i met jar.pad who plays sam winch.ester like almost a year ago now. when i asked for a hug this man like. almost knelt down to do it and i was like yeah thats about what sam would do just to fuck with me isnt it

[furys-burn]

hedona is just simply gonna lean against astra with love. ❤️ | HEDONA & ASTRA | @iithildim

" I see even me being useful will not earn me a moment alone. " At attempt at annoyance came off fond as Astra tucked her crochet away to lean against the side of her Lady. It was rare they had peace between quests and missions and the demands of whatever group they had pissed off that week. It was nice. Astra leaned more into the side of her friend and closed her eyes enjoying the warmth of the fire and the distant croon of a bard.

If these moments were so precious then who was she to turn them down ?

[primeministerofantarctica]

ONE FOOT TWO?

OH HE'S SMALL SMALL

[artofmaquenda]

I am thrilled to share that the incredible Mike Nash (nashterpiece_art on IG) has completed an extraordinary stained glass piece inspired by my artwork, “Sins.” This collaboration holds profound meaning for both of us, as the work was inspired by a quote from Ad Astra about generational trauma and the possibility of healing.

This quote resonated deeply with both Mike and me, adding even more significance to this beautiful collaboration.

Thank you so much, Mike, for bringing this vision to life. I could never have imagined seeing my art transformed in such a stunning way. Your craftsmanship has truly elevated it to new heights!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[stellaefelices]

Unfortunately Square played right into my hands by giving Angeal Latin limit break names, so let’s have a look!

Serit Arbores - literally, “He plants trees.” It’s most likely a reference to Book 1 of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations, “On the Contempt of Death,” which features a fictional speech by Cato the Elder praising elderly farmers that dutifully tend to their fields for the benefit of the next generation. Cato quotes a line from the poet Caecilius Statius:

“Serit arbores quae alteri s[a]eculo prosint.” (“He plants trees so that they may benefit another generation.”)

I believe this could be a reference to Angeal’s SOLDIER Honour, the legacy that he passes down to Zack.

“SOLDIER Honor, the catalyst for Genesis's change in values, is the Gift of the Goddess for him. As SOLDIER Honor represents Angeal's wishes, it can be said that Zack, who inherited Angeal's wishes, was the Gift of the Goddess for Genesis.” (Crisis Core Complete Guide, 2008, p.274)

Angeal’s legacy, carried out first through Zack, and later Cloud, serves to benefit others long after his passing. Additionally, his dreams and honour speeches were given to many of his junior SOLDIER members and continued to inspire them too:

“He has said, "If you are to live as a hero, as a SOLDIER, and as a decent person, you must never forget your honor." Those words made a deep impression on his younger colleagues, especially Zack, and lived on in them.” (Crisis Core Ultimania, 2007)

This is why I believe the choice of this Limit Break name to be very intentional. Of course, given that one of Angeal’s weapons is a shovel (😭) we could understand it at the surface level meaning (Farm Boy Angeal planting apple trees 🤠🍎), but isn’t it fun to dig a little deeper?

Ad Astra - “to the stars.” This could go in many directions as it’s a popular motto on its own, but perhaps its most frequently seen within “per aspera ad astra,” “through hardships to the stars.” I think this could be a reference to Angeal’s life journey, which saw his humble beginnings in a poor family and his rise to the very top ranks as a SOLDIER First Class. It also may reference his wings:

“The white feature, as well as being a symbol for Angeal, is also a symbol for ‘wings’. The “wings” which cross the ‘blue sky’ is Angeal, and it also includes the hint that in order to reach those heights, dreams, he needs to overcome many difficulties.” (Crisis Core Complete Guide, 2008)

The idea of having to face many hardships on the journey towards the fulfillment of dreams seems built-in to the character of Angeal, and why I think that quote is the one they’re referencing in this limit break.

[httyd-art-requests]

I've been thinking about names for the Gravity Falls crossover AU

(Yes they have to be latin phrases, shush)

"Ex Altiora" = "From the heights", referencing Toothless' arrival in Gravity Falls

"Ad Astra" = "To the stars", referencing both the ad astra per aspera title in Journal 3, and also the Pines family's eventual goal of getting Toothless to fly again so he can return home

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - IV

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.1k.

Reading Time: 25min.

Warnings: blood extraction, body control, corruption kink,finger sucking, forced sexual activity,gaslighting,irrelevant character death,mentions of death by sun exposure, non-consensual sexual activity,objectification, religious disillusionment, religious trauma, sexual harassment, taking advantage of innocence, use of needles,use of the word “bitch��� unkindly

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @whitepawfics @dolceterzo

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed. “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

You couldn’t help the wave of disappointment and fear take over you. But as you spoke, you tried to keep your voice level and nonchalant, “Oh. What befell thy previous caretaker?”

“I found out he was trying to help a certain prisoner escape, and so he needed to be punished.”

“If thou has slain him, I swear by the Almighty I shall smite thee!” Your anger bubbled up far too quickly for someone who was supposed to remain nonchalant.

“Oh relax, you crazy bitch. We sent him to an abbey in America to shovel pig shit.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling your muscles relax knowing that he was okay. “For what reason?”

The Cardinal tapped Brother López on the shoulder and gestured for him to leave, which he did promptly, fearing what he was going to see. “You know why.” The Cardinal said, simply. His voice quieter than usual.

Your voice was less sharp, but still loud. “I can assure thee, I do not.”

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t trying to escape? That you and Brother Hayward weren’t attempting to break you out of that little cage to get you to freedom, hm? Come on now, Angel. I’m more than happy for my pets to have pets, but when they start rebelling against me, lines must be drawn.”

“Thou wast aware he visited here?”

He took in a long breath through his nose, so sharp his nostrils retracted with the inhale. “Could smell him Every time I came home and his scent was stronger than usual - knew he was here a while. And then when he was under the bed, his heartbeat was so loud.” The Cardinal walked over to the cage and rested his hands on the bars, leaning his whole body on it. “His fear would have tasted so good.”

You spat in his face, hearing some of your spittle sizzle against the metal bars. The Cardinal sighed, and wiped it away before hitting the side of the cage.

“The next time you pull something like that, Angel,” he began, his voice loud and so enraged, “I will personally make sure your little pet dies in front of you, and I’ll make it slow and painful. Do you understand?”

When you didn’t answer, he hit the cage again. “Understand?”

“I understand.”

He stood up to his full height and straightened his hair, then began fiddling with his clothes. “I don’t like getting angry with you, Angel. But sometimes you leave me no choice.” He turned to walk away, but stopped at the door. “Oh, and angel?” He said, his voice soft and sweet like butter wouldn’t melt. He looked at you, mismatched eyes piercing into your soul. “Brother Hayward may be in a different country, but one word from me and all 6 litres of his blood gets delivered to my fridge, and his corpse will be buried beneath abbey soil. I’ll be back.”

The threat of his return felt even more sinister with the tone of voice he used, and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, you felt the sharp pang of fear that had the small amount of blood inside you run cold. Your safety didn’t matter. You were just you. But now Thomas’ life was in jeopardy and it was entirely your fault. Memories of Brother Thomas’ kind eyes and gentle words flooded your thoughts, each one a painful reminder of the danger he now faced because of you. Guilt gnawed at your insides like a ravenous beast, twisting and clawing at your conscience until it threatened to consume you whole. You had thought yourself strong, resilient in the face of the Cardinal’s torment. But now, faced with the consequences of your actions, you felt nothing but fear and despair creeping in, threatening to engulf you entirely.

As the Cardinal’s footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving behind an oppressive silence, you couldn’t shake the weight of his threats echoing in your mind. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. For though you may be trapped in this gilded cage, your spirit remained unbroken. And as long as there was breath in your body, you would fight tooth and nail to protect those you held dear, no matter the cost.

Your own body continued to repair itself, slower than it usually would. The five days it took you to regain consciousness turned into twenty more of total healing time. The Cardinal kept a monitor of your levels based on how you smelled, which meant every day, his long, rodent nose would poke through the bars as he inhaled your scent, making sure his tavern was restocking perfectly well. He didn’t try and pry any information from you in that time, which you hated to admit that you were grateful for. But he had developed a habit of sitting and staring at you, taking joy in watching you squirm uncomfortably. He’d brought in a red, velvet armchair from the living space to do just that. Every evening, he’d waltz into his room with a glass of your blood, now tainted red from your essence, and sit and observe you, like an animal in a cage. You never said anything: always believing he wanted you to start a conversation, but you’d never let him win.

At first, the Cardinal’s constant scrutiny had been unbearable, like a stifling weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. His presence had been a constant reminder of your captivity, of just how at his mercy you truly were. But as the days stretched into weeks and the Cardinal’s routine became an unsettling rhythm in your life, something shifted within you. You found yourself growing accustomed to his gaze, almost welcoming it in a twisted sort of way. Not that you enjoyed it, by any means. Just that a routine was being established and the Cardinal became the only constant in your life. The only entertainment, too. And so, instead of shrinking away from his viewing, you began to meet his eyes head-on, a silent challenge in your gaze. You refused to cower under his oppressive stare, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. You found yourself seeing him in return, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes glinted with a predatory gleam. There was a darkness lurking behind those mismatched orbs, a darkness that chilled you to the bone. But even as you studied him, a sense of defiance burned within you. You refused to let the Cardinal break you, refused to let him strip away your dignity and humanity. You were more than just a prisoner in a cage; you were a warrior, a survivor, and you would not be defeated so easily. Heaven couldn’t get you, neither could he.

So, you met the Cardinal’s gaze with steely determination, a silent reminder that despite his best efforts, you would not be broken. And as you stared back at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay hidden behind those calculating eyes, what darkness lurked within the depths of his soul.

The Cardinal’s entrance into the room that night was accompanied by an air of smugness so thick you could practically taste it. His smirk was evident as he sauntered in, a book tucked under one arm and a glass of your blood held casually in the other, a smile so wide, you could see his fangs underneath the skin. You watched him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, wondering what had put that self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. It was rare to see him so openly pleased with himself, and it set your nerves on edge.

As he approached your cage, he made no attempt to hide his triumphant grin, relishing in the power he held over you. He settled into the red velvet armchair with an air of satisfaction, taking a leisurely sip from the glass of blood as if it were the finest vintage wine, because, to him, it was. His eyes flicked over to you, and you met his gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to let him see any hint of fear or weakness. “So, Angel,” he began, his voice dripping with arrogance, but his words slurred slightly from the drink, “I’ve been doing some reading lately. Did you know there’s a whole chapter in this book dedicated to angels like you?”

Your stomach twisted uneasily at the implications of his words, but you kept your expression carefully neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“It seems there’s quite a lot I didn’t know about your kind,” he continued, his tone laced with malice. “But don’t worry, Angel. I plan on remedying that very soon.” With a chilling smile, he opened the book in his hands, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know this book?”

You shook your head.

“It was written by Lorenzo Giovanni during the Renaissance, the last time an angel knowingly fell to Earth. A vampyre, like me. Spent most of his days studying the angel, finding out what makes you tick - turns out, he got pretty far. Unfortunately, his work was unfinished. A mob found out what he was and got to him in 1492, tied him up and let the Sun do all the work. But, do you know what he did find?” He didn’t wait for you to shake your head this time. He cleared his throat, and began to read aloud. As he began to read, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more sinister. “‘In celestial governance, once the manner is known, it is a simple matter. The heavenly messengers utilize the dread of the Almighty to manage their subordinates. However, those angels who have questioned the supremacy of the Lord are subject to the influences of their sacred radiance, the origin of which is their halo. Thus, one who attains an angel’s halo possesses the capability to command the entity, as well as the sacred radiance enveloping it.’ This we know, correct?”

You remained silent. So, the Cardinal continued, “‘This process assumes two guises: one to govern the physical form, the other to govern the intellect. To command the physical form, one must initially acquaint themselves with the name of the angel. As is observed with infernal entities, names possess a potency beyond human comprehension. Consequently, an angel bearing a name can readily relinquish control of their physical form merely by disclosing this fragment of information. Subduing the intellect, however, presents a greater challenge.’

“Basically,” he said, closing the book shut for dramatic affect, “I know your name, your body becomes mine.” He sighed, “Giovanni then goes onto say your mind is fully intact during this process, that you’ll feel your body moving but have no control over it.” He set his glass down on the dresser and walked towards your halo in its cage.

He grasped hold of it and you notice his hand was gloved, taking note of the care he was using to touch it. Your halo was just as dangerous to him as it was to you, but for different reasons. Without your halo, you were dead. Without your halo, you were controlled. For him, his skin would burn at the touch of it, like yours did with hellfire. For him, one wrong move and he would evaporate in the holy light. There was a part of you that wanted that to happen - wanted to see him perish in one of the most painful ways you had ever known. Yet there was an overpowering guilt that ate at you when you thought about it - knowing that the Almighty wanted you to love everyone, even at the detriment to yourself.

He took a step back and looked at you, smugness oozing from every pore. “I haven’t told Sister yet,” he mumbled, sitting back down on the chair. “I wanted to find out if it worked first. Tell me your name, Angel.”

“Thou must deem me a fool to willingly disclose such information.” You retorted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your mouth was dry.

He chuckled, a dark sound that shook you to your core. He nestled into the armchair, becoming comfortable in his throne of power. All of his movement was in his hips, lifting himself off the velvet to help him slide down it a little more, legs spread wide to exude his dominance. He was disgusting. “I thought you might say that,” he commented, his grin widening, “but you forget who I have.”

Thomas.

“You’ve experienced firsthand what I can do, Angel,” he continued, “except, I’ll make sure I’m much worse with him.”

“Thou would not.” You protested, trying to quell your panic. “The constabulary would be aware. Thou would be compelled to answer to the authorities.”

“I never said he’d survive.”

A chill ran down your spine. Your mind raced with fear and uncertainty as the Cardinal’s threat hung in the air like a dark cloud. Thomas was now in grave danger, and you were faced with an impossible choice. Would you sacrifice your own identity to save him, or would you stand firm and risk his life? You did know what the Cardinal could do - you’d been subjected to it since the moment you met him however long ago that was. You knew you could survive going through that again, especially if you had nothing to lose; but you couldn’t be sure about Thomas. He definitely didn’t deserve to feel the Cardinal’s wrath any more than he already may have. And could you live with yourself knowing you’d condemned a man to death just to save yourself, even if he did belong to the Satanic Church? By robbing him of his life, he’d never get the chance to return to God, to see the light and repent. You’d never get the chance to meet him again in Heaven. You’d rob him of his salvation, but you’d save yourself from the Cardinal’s damnation. Either way, you lost.

“If I divulge,” you began, puffing your chest to sound more confident and unafraid, “can thou ensure his well-being?”

The smugness faded from the Cardinal, if only for a moment. “Of course.” He responded, genuinely. “How else would I get you to do things I wanted?” He let the second sentence slip out, but paid it no mind once it had been released. He planned on using Thomas’ safety to continue to control you. You never should have let yourself get close to him - it allowed the Cardinal to win.

“And wilt thou demonstrate that he is unharmed? Wilt thou prove that thou speakest truthfully unto me?”

“I’ll get him to video chat you every week.”

You frowned, “I comprehend naught of thy words.”

“Video chat? FaceTime? Angels have no technology up there at all?” The Cardinal sighed at your blank expression and rummaged in his pocket to pull out the device you first saw him use. “This thing lets you have conversations with people that aren’t there with you. It shows you their face and hear their voice and, boom, conversation.”

“And thou wilt employ that contrivance to contact Tho- Brother Hayward?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “___.”

“What?”

“My name. It is ___.”

“___.” The Cardinal nodded and set down the device next to his glass. He stood and unlocked your cage, before returning to his spot on the couch. He gently maneuvered your halo into the palm of his right hand, and brought it up to his mouth. “___, I command you to exit the cage.”

You laughed. You laughed at him. He lacked conviction which was why it failed, and it was so funny to watch him fumble. He cleared his throat, and now, with more confidence, repeated his order. Your body tingled in response, and despite you fighting it with great strength, your legs moved of their own accord. Your bare foot stepped out of the cage and onto the floor, barely feeling the textures beneath your feet. Your body ducked around the metal, wings tucked tightly to your body to stop any part of you from getting injured. Even under control, your body still did what it could to preserve itself. This was a new sensation to you, as you’d never been under someone else’s control before - you’d never needed to be because you were always a good soldier, even when you had your doubts. You’d never known anyone be subjected to this, either. Within seconds, you were out of the cage, standing in front of it with your wings outstretched. He hadn’t ordered you to stay still, to wait for the next instruction. But you did anyway, fearing that defiance would bring a painful end to Brother Thomas.

“___, I command you to spin on the spot.” The Cardinal ordered, a mischievous smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

When you did as he commanded, he laughed. It was a guttural laugh, hearty and jovial, clearly he was having fun with this. “Like a game of Capitan Giro. Capitan Giro dice stand on one leg.”

You did as commanded, and the Cardinal screamed in delight.

“Wait, I don’t need your name? I don’t need to be so formal? What if… put both feet to the floor.”

You did as commanded.

“Incredible. I wonder what else I could get you to do. How else I could humiliate you…” He stopped and thought for a moment, eyes darkening. “Come here.” This command was lower and deeper than the previous ones, quieter and somehow more intimate.

You fought against this command, but to no avail. Your feet, slowly, dragged you towards the Cardinal and only stopping when you were right in front of him, between his open legs. “On your knees.”

You obeyed. The whole time you made eye contact with him, staring daggers into his face and still hoping that the halo hurt him.

He held out his left hand, the one not holding the halo, and said, “Remove the glove.”

Your hands immediately sprung into action, grasping onto the hem of the leather and peeling it gently off of his hand, exposing the skin beneath.

“You know,” he grumbled as you pulled the final finger of his glove off him, “the Sister told me about you.”

He moved his hand to your face and tried to caress your cheek, but you moved away. “Come back, don’t fight me.” Slowly, you moved back to your original position, feeling your cheek meet his fingertips. His hand was large, taking up most of your face as he stroked it with such gentility, you weren’t entirely sure that this was the same man who had caused you great pain for so long. His thumb sat beside your nose, and gently stroked your skin.

“She told me about your purity,” he continued. “How you’re still the good angel Yhwh intended.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Open your mouth.”

You did. You opened it a small amount, but it was enough for him. He slotted his thumb inside and rubbed the pad over your tongue, as if he was studying your mouth. His knuckle, briefly, hit the tip of your small fangs - not enough to hurt him, but enough to have him fascinated by them.

“Suck on my finger.”

Your mouth closed around the digit in your mouth, lips stretching just a little over his skin, and you heard the Cardinal exhale a shaky breath. He watched the obscenity in front of him, how your cheeks hollowed around his thumb that he slowly began to move in and out of your mouth. His cheeks were flushed, partially because of your blood, but also because his own was rushing around his body, still pumping life into it despite his insides being almost dead. His pupils were blown, and his eyes were hooded, making him look a little crazy. His lips parted, and his breaths were laboured, chest rising and falling as though his lungs still worked - a force of habit, you thought.

You didn’t understand this - what he was doing. You’d never seen anyone do this before, but your mind was racing with possibilities. Perhaps he was testing your mouth, making sure your health was good. Or maybe it was some strange form of comfort for him, you pondered. Perhaps he found solace in this bizarre act, a fleeting moment of intimacy amidst the chaos of his life. As his thumb moved in and out of your mouth, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease mingled with curiosity.

You should bite down.

You couldn’t. Not that you weren’t trying, but you were under the influence of the halo. You just couldn’t get your teeth to clench around his thumb.

Despite your confusion, you continued to suck on his finger obediently, just as the Cardinal had ordered. You focused on the rhythm of his movements, trying to make sense of the strange sensation in your mouth.

“Cazzo.” He let out a whisper, barely audible but because of the quiet of the room, the humming of technology barely covered the sound.

As time passed, it couldn’t have been more than a minute, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that gnawed at you. Yet, you dared not speak up, afraid to disrupt the fragile peace that enveloped the room. So you remained silent, your mind still racing with unanswered questions, as you obediently continued to suck on his finger.

Suddenly, the Cardinal’s eyes widened, a look of shock appearing on his face. He yanked his thumb from your mouth and physically pushed you away, grasping onto the halo a little tighter than he should have. “B-back in the cage.” He said quickly, standing up and walking over to your halo’s cage.

He didn’t need to use the halo to order you back behind bars, you were already scrambling to your feet and rushing to fit yourself in through the bars. He refused to make eye contact with you, noticing that he was feeling shame. Shame for what, you couldn’t say, but he spent most of the time staring at the floor as he locked you back inside. Your eyes wandered, too. From his face, over his body, until you saw the tent in his crotch every time he stood side-on. You weren’t completely foolish, you knew what that meant. You’d spent enough time with mortals, and saw a varying degree of sin that they would commit regularly. But you still couldn’t piece together the correlation between his finger in your mouth and the reason for his body’s reaction. He didn’t say a word, instead grabbing the glass and all but running out the door.

Perhaps you were feeling some of his shame now that you knew he’d used you to sin. He’d sinned with you before, every single time he caused you pain was sin enough, but this felt different somehow. Before, it was all the sins that were done to you; because of your implicitness due to the halo’s control, it felt like he was sinning with you. Shame, anger, and a deep sense of discomfort gnawed at your insides, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You had been subjected to a degrading and humiliating act, one that left you feeling powerless and violated. The Cardinal’s actions had stripped away your dignity and autonomy, reducing you to nothing more than a mere object for his pleasures.

Anger simmered within you, fueled by the injustice of being treated in such a deplorable manner. You resented the Cardinal for his blatant disregard for your dignity and for his abuse of power. How dare he manipulate and exploit you for his own perverse desires?

The deep sense of discomfort stemmed from the violation of your boundaries and the invasion of your personal space. His unwelcome advances had left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very essence had been laid bare for his scrutiny.

But then, the feeling dawned on you, was this not a similar way the Almighty had treated you? How He would get His subordinates to send you down to the mortal realm and commit atrocities on His behalf. In Egypt and Canaan, and even the shores of Italia, in His name you enacted awful things, bore witness to tragedies no person should ever see. While the Cardinal used you for some kind of sexual gratification, the Almighty used you for egotistical gratification, and either way, you were a pawn in someone else’s game, an object to be used at will regardless of your own opinions. You could never condone or justify the Cardinal’s behaviour towards you, but you’d also never had autonomy over your own person, so was it any different?

In some weird twist, you had come to realise that despite being trapped in a cage, your mind was freer than it ever had been in Heaven, your thoughts were your own, and your feelings went more-or-less unpunished. And in comparison, who was truly the Devil? Lucifer, or the Almighty?

The Cardinal didn’t come to visit you the next day, or the day after that, or the subsequent week that followed. He wouldn’t even come back to his chambers to rest, opting to spend his time elsewhere and avoiding you - an easy task, you were sure, given that he had kept you in the cage the whole time. You were unsure how to feel about this, whether this was something you should be grateful for, or if you should be afraid.

The longer you were around the vampyres, the more you’d begun to understand them and their ways; their thoughts and feelings, and what made them tick. Given that you’d not seen the Sister in so long, you could assume that the Cardinal hadn’t told her about his discovery. If he had, she’d have charged into his chambers, gripped hold of your halo, and practiced on you herself. Her insatiable thirst for power and control outweighed her thirst for your blood, and thus, if she knew your secret, you’d know too.

But then, why had the Cardinal kept that secret? Both he and the Sister wanted power, specifically power over you. They had been working together from the start to make sure they got what they wanted, your health and safety be damned. So why hadn’t the Cardinal told her everything? You pondered these questions in the silence of your cage, the only company being the dim glow of your halo, a sense of unease washing over you in more ways than one.

By the time you had healed completely, the Cardinal had returned with the empty bottles, but still found it difficult to look you in the eye. His gaze flickered with a mixture of guilt and apprehension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspeakable acts he had committed in his pursuit of power… or pleasure?

You watched him closely, noting the tension in his movements and the weariness etched into his features. Despite the disguise of indifference he attempted to show, you could sense the conflict raging within him, a storm of inconsistent emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He’d not rested well enough - you wondered if he’d even eaten properly. Then you wondered why you cared.

As he went about his task of arranging empty buckets around his bed, you remained silent, studying his every move with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Why buckets, this time? There was an obvious shift in the air, a tension that hung between you, heavily shrouding you both an an intense suffocation.

With each passing moment, the weight of his silence grew heavier, a burden that bore down upon you with unbearable force. You longed to break the oppressive stillness, to confront him with the questions that burned in the depths of your soul, but you held your tongue, wary of the consequences of speaking out.

In the end, it was the Cardinal who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he addressed you. “I won’t bind you when I let you out… I’m trusting you to be on your best behaviour.”

You simply nodded in response.

“No funny business, no trying to escape… no attacking, got it?”

“I shall not undertake such actions today,” you told him, “yet I offer no assurances for the morrow.”

He laughed as though you were telling him a joke. His laughter echoed through the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberated off the walls. Despite the tension that lingered between you, there was a sense of relief in his amusement, a fleeting moment of levity amidst the heavy atmosphere that surrounded you. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing,” he replied, his tone lightening slightly. “Just remember, Angel, I’m not afraid to put you back in that cage if you step out of line.”

You met his gaze with a steady stare, your eyes alight with a quiet defiance. “I understand,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “But mark this, Cardinal - I shall not be imprisoned anew, not without resistance.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a spark of recognition that mirrored the fire that burned within your own soul. In that moment, you saw a glimmer of respect in his gaze, a grudging acknowledgment of your strength and determination.

“Very well,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He moved towards your cage, unlocked and opened the door, and took a step back, still holding it as though he were a gentleman holding the door for his wife. With apprehension, you climbed out, wings cocooning your body again until you were completely free of the metal. You chanced a glance at your halo, which was still locked up tight in the cage, and somehow you felt relieved. You stretched your entire body out, wings included, grateful for the feeling. All the while, you still watched the Cardinal potter around the room until he invited you onto his bed again.

You hesitated until you saw the plea in his eyes. “What dost thou withhold from me, Cardinal?”

He shook his head, “If you don’t let me drain you now, things will end up worse for us both. Just do as I ask this one time, please.”

You regarded him with a mix of wariness and resignation, knowing that you had little choice but to comply with his request. With a heavy sigh, you moved towards the bed, your movements slow and deliberate as you approached him.

As you settled onto the plush mattress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a heavy cloak. The Cardinal’s intentions were clear, his desire for your blood palpable in the air, and yet you found yourself unable to resist his command. You felt the first needle prick into the crook of your arm, and watched as your blood began to pour into the bucket. Then you saw him prick the second needle in, and the cycle repeat. Usually, the Cardinal would stand back and watch menacingly. But this time, he gently crawled onto the bed, lifted you up, and slotted you on top of him, so you were using his body as a pillow instead.

As the Cardinal cradled you in his arms, using his body as a makeshift pillow, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of discomfort wash over you. The intimacy of the gesture was unsettling, a stark contrast to the usual brutality of your interactions with him.

With each drop of blood that left your body, you felt a sense of vulnerability creep in, the realization dawning on you that you were completely at his mercy. Despite your instinctive urge to resist, you found yourself unable to muster the strength to pull away, trapped in a state of submission that left you feeling powerless and exposed.

You passed out, despite your body fighting it.

You were barely conscious when you woke, the needles still in your arms and the Cardinal still behind you. This time, you could feel his hands running up and down your biceps and stroking your hair, as if he was trying to comfort you. You wanted to recoil from his touch, to push him away and reclaim the boundaries he had violated so mercilessly more than once. And yet, a part of you couldn’t help but crave the warmth of his embrace, the fleeting sense of connection that offered a brief respite from the cold reality of your captivity.

Your body lost consciousness again, the last thing you felt were his fingertips tracing light patterns into your skin.

You roused from your uneasy slumber, disoriented and groggy, the memory of the Cardinal’s touch haunting your exposed flesh. As your senses slowly returned, you realized that the needles were no longer piercing your skin, their absence bringing a faint sense of relief amidst the lingering discomfort.

You looked around the room, heart heavy, seeking any sign of the Cardinal’s whereabouts, but all you saw was the empty space of his bed and the stifling silence that enveloped the room like a blanket. Feelings of fear and panic started to seethe at the borders of your mind as you struggled with the disconcerting realisation that you were alone in the room, and not trapped up in your cage where you’d normally be after such an extraction.

You strained to get yourself upright, your muscles protesting with each movement as you forced yourself to look around more closely. However, no matter how hard you looked, there was no sign of the Cardinal, no clue of where he had gone or what he was plotting next.

The sound of voices coming from the living room sent shivers down your spine, breaking the strange calm that had encased the Cardinal’s quarters. You strained your ears, nervously attempting to figure out who was talking and who was there.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened closely, the murmur of voices becoming louder and clearer with each passing instant. Their tones conveyed a sense of urgency, a palpable tension that appeared to linger in the air like a building storm.

For a tiny moment, you cherished the hope that Brother Thomas would return to liberate you from your captivity and deliver you from the Cardinal’s tyranny. But deep down, you understood that such dreams were nothing more than desperate illusions created out of your own sorrow.

One of the voices belonged to the Cardinal… the other… the Sister.

You strained to catch every word of the furious discussion between the Sister and the Cardinal, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony of wrath and frustration. From your position in the bedroom, you could feel the tension crackling in the air like electricity, heavy and stifling.

The words they exchanged formed a bleak picture, indicating a flaw in their carefully crafted relationship. It became clear that the Cardinal had acted with purposeful intent by draining you of your blood before the full moon night, undermining their plans to perform the second ritual.

Confusion blurred your mind as you tried to make sense of the Cardinal’s strange choice to sabotage the ceremony. It didn’t make sense; why would he go to such extent to foil plans that he had personally set up? You felt lost and confused, as if the puzzle pieces would not fit together in your brain.

You couldn’t shake the notion that the Cardinal’s acts were more than just what they appeared to be. His intentions remained a mystery, and you couldn’t help but wonder what underlying agenda drove his betrayal. Was he behaving in his own self-interest, or was he motivated by something else that you couldn’t figure out? Or was there a deeper, more nefarious motive at work?

Prev. / Next

Anon commissioned artwork by @taylaedraws - I believe the full version is on their Patreon! Please be sure to check it out when you can!

[natequarter]

imagine if the fourth doctor had regenerated into princess astra's body, though. firstly it would be objectively funny for the fifth doctor to have to explain why him doing it is ethical to romana, secondly his companions would be even more freaked out than his canon regeneration, thirdly the doctor would once again be suffering from Sudden Height Change to a truly terrible degree, and fourthly it would be even more obvious how completely not over romana his past life he is. crucially he should have the same personality as the canonical fifth doctor, but a different face

[adastra-sf]

Sun Reaches Solar Maximum

watch the full NASA YouTube video: X

The Sun is stirring from its latest slumber.

As sunspots and flares bubble from the Sun’s surface, representatives from NASA, NOAA, and the Solar Cycle Prediction Panel announced that the Sun has reached its solar maximum period.

The solar cycle is a natural cycle the Sun goes through as it transitions between low and high magnetic activity and back again. Roughly every 11 years, at the height of the solar cycle, the Sun’s magnetic poles flip (on Earth, that’d be like the North and South poles swapping places every decade), and the Sun goes from calm to an active and stormy state.

During this most active part of the cycle (solar maximum), the Sun shows many more sunspots and often unleashes immense explosions of light, energy, and solar radiation, creating "space weather" which affects satellites and astronauts in space, as well as communications systems and power grids down here on Earth.

NASA and NOAA track sunspots to determine and predict the progress of the solar cycle - and ultimately solar activity. Sunspots are cooler regions on the Sun caused by a concentration of magnetic field lines. They're the visible component of active regions, areas of intense and complex magnetic fields on the Sun and the source of solar eruptions.

“During solar maximum, the number of sunspots, and therefore the amount of solar activity, increases,” says Jamie Favors of the NASA Space Weather Program. “This increase in activity provides an exciting opportunity to learn about our closest star, but also causes real effects at Earth and throughout our solar system.”

Solar activity has led to increased auroral activity and impacts on satellites and electronic infrastructure this year. During 2024, barrages of huge solar flares and coronal mass ejections launched clouds of charged particles toward Earth, creating the strongest geomagnetic storms we've experienced in decades, and possibly the strongest auroras visible in the past 500 years.

This is a great time to watch the Sun (via the internet or a properly filtered telescope only - never view the Sun without certified safe solar filters made for your instrument) and catch some auroras. Even here at Ad Astra headquarters in Kansas (which almost never sees an aurora), we've been able to enjoy a few nighttime light shows this year!

This solar maximum could last for many more months, so stay tuned!

[fredwkong]

Virgo Season: Blaine

Blaine just wanted this long nightmare of a conference over. There were still events on the schedule, but there were only a few of Pastor Blanco’s adherents left at the Astra Hotel. The incident in the conference hall had confirmed for the few remaining normal people that ordinary men were being transformed into depraved freaks.

Blaine had known for over a week now. That was why he hadn’t been attending any events. He had watched his friend, Spencer, become infected by whatever force was changing the men in the Astra.

Blaine and Spencer had been evangelists in Houston their whole lives, managers of adjoining branches in the movement. Friends since childhood, it had just made sense that they came to a conference as important as Pastor Blanco’s together and had rooms next to each other. They shared meals and compared notes on the proceedings after the events. It was a joke between them that Blaine and Spencer were closer to each other than either of them were to their wives.

The difference between them was that Spencer was much more aggressive about evangelising. From the instant that the freaks had first appeared in the Astra Hotel, Blaine had known they were beyond help, not worth the time and effort to save. But Spencer had doggedly persisted, striking up conversations with the youngest, most impressionable-looking queers whenever he could. It had seemed harmless, so Blaine hadn’t said anything.

But one morning, Spencer walked out of his room in leather pants. He had just said they were “comfortable,” but the Spencer Blaine knew would never have worn something like that. And he’d had what looked like a tattoo peeking out from his shirtsleeves.

That night, Spencer had begged off their usual debrief of the day’s events. Blaine had noticed he’d seemed uncomfortable during a bunch of the presentations, but didn’t want to ask about it. Instead, still in those tight leather pants, Spencer had strutted out of Blaine’s hotel room and gotten in the elevator, headed God knows where.

The next morning, an unrecognisable leatherman had stepped out of Spencer’s room, and Blaine had just known, with cold certainty, that this man had been Spencer before.

Since then, Blaine had barely left his room. He had tried to move up his flight, even considered driving back to Houston, but he couldn’t bring himself to commit. What if he could still do something to save Spencer? Blaine had never put much stock in exorcisms or purification rituals, but something dark and supernatural was clearly happening here.

Surfing the internet, Blaine had stumbled on some kind of strange ritual meant to purify someone who had lost themselves to false worship. After days of little sleep and intense anxiety, Blaine was willing to try anything.

Just as he collected the items he would need and began to steel himself to leave his room and knock on Spencer’s door, a note was pushed under Blaine’s door. He went and picked it up.

Miss u man. Can we talk? —Spence

Spencer—Spence—answered his door at Blaine’s first knock. It was midafternoon, and he seemed to be dressed down, compared to when Blaine had last seen him. Loose button-up shirt open to his toned belly, sleeves rolled up to show intricate forearm tattoos, looser leather pants. Blaine found himself cataloguing Spence as he followed the man into his hotel room. He had something of Spencer’s gait, his height and age, but Spence took up space. He was all angles and sex appeal, unlike Spencer, who women had always described as safe and cuddly. Unlike Blaine, for whom the compliment had always been that he was “conscientious.”

“What’s up?” said Spence in a deeper, louder voice than Blaine was used to, sitting down on the bed and spreading his legs. “I feel like it’s been ages since I saw you. Did getting a few days off from the convention help?”

It was now or never. Blaine flung a handful of salt in Spence’s face, opened his Bible to the marked passage, and started to read aloud. His hand shook so much that half the salt poured down his own clothes.

Spence looked down at himself, brushing salt grains off his shirt. “What the hell, dude? Is this, like, some roleplay thing?” He suddenly smirked. “Ooh, like an uptight evangelist getting seduced by a hot, hedonistic leatherman? That sounds pretty hot.”

Blaine tried to tune Spence out and keep reading. It was hard. Spence laid himself out on his mattress, as if he was bound spreadeagle. He seemed to know exactly how to pose himself to show off his thick, hairy chest through the gap in his shirt. He grinned up as Blaine kept reading.

“Father,” Spence said, “are you sure you wanna preach to me? I got a sermon you might like, too.” He thrust his hips a bit, showing off a thick bulge.

Why was Blaine’s mouth watering? He refocussed on reading. He knew these words off by heart, they were automatic. He’d missed Spence so much this last week. Instead of trying to exorcise him, he wanted to give the shorter man a hug. He wanted to let his hands run down Spence’s body, to that tight ass in his leather pants. Give that bulge a squeeze, maybe a lick…

It was so warm in this room. Still reading from his Bible, Blaine efficiently stripped off his dress shirt. He and Spence had seen each other like this back when they were roommates in college. Anyway, Spence seemed to appreciate the view, biting his lip as Blaine bared his body. It was normal, just a step in the process. Soon, Blaine would have Spence back to normal.

“Damn, Father, when’d you get those tattoos?” Spence asked. “Looking more like a Daddy than a Father.”

Confused, Blaine glanced away from the page, still speaking the words aloud. His arms holding up the Bible looked unfamiliar. Muscular, coated in hair, and covered in tattoos. As Blaine began to speak the next verse, he watched the transformation push further up his biceps. They rounded out with thick muscle, a layer of fine black hair, and an interlacing network of tattoos.

Spence was looking at Blaine like he wanted to eat him alive. Why was Blaine the one changing? Why was he still reading? Blaine tried to stop, but the words continued to flow. Horrified, he flung the Bible away, but still continued to recite the verses from memory.

The tattoos and muscle continued to spread, filling out Blaine’s shoulders as thick hair grew in his armpits, spreading a virile, masculine scent as Blaine sweat in the heat. His chest and belly bulked up with muscle and fat. His reciting voice deepened as the change rushed up his neck and over his head. His face became more masculine as piercings appeared in his brows, his hair receded, and wide gauges appeared in his ears.

His pants felt so tight. Blaine found himself unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down his growing legs, watching in horror as the tattoos followed the muscles and hair right down to his ankles. Hadn’t he been wearing underwear before? Why was he commando? Why was his thick cock getting hard?

Blaine rested a hand at the base of his cock as he kept on reciting. He wanted to run right out of the Astra Hotel, but found his feet rooted to the spot. He couldn’t even control his face enough to cry or grimace, just continued to blankly recite the Bible at Spence.

Spence flipped around on the bed, presenting his leather-clad ass to Blaine as he watched the transformation over his shoulder. “Yes, Daddy,” he said, giving his ass a slap to try and encourage Blaine. “No need for an annoying church controlling you when all you gotta worship is this ass.”

Had Blaine somehow turned his ritual on himself? He couldn’t help but agree with Spence that the church could be pretty controlling, plus Spence did have a pretty nice ass. Blaine found himself drooling at the sight. It wasn’t that weird. He and Spence had been so close all their lives, and Spence had always been such a showoff sex fiend. It was what had gotten Blaine out from under the thumb of the church back in college…

Something about that thought didn’t feel right, but it all seemed correct in Blaine’s memories. Being Spence’s roommate had unlocked thoughts and feelings for Blaine that he’d never known he had. His sexual life, spiritual independence, their shared love for leather, it had all come from college.

Blaine ground out the next verse, shifting his footing as he started to stroke his big cock at the sight of Spence’s hot ass presented just for him. He was almost done the recitation. Why had he decided to roleplay this again? He’d just wanted a break from the kink conference, and a chance to have his husband of twenty years all to himself.

Finally, Blaine finished reciting the Bible verses. All that time spent memorising the Bible back in his misspent youth definitely helped this kind of roleplay. Fully “corrupted” by Spence, transformed into Daddy instead of Father, Blaine threw himself onto the bed and yanked Spence’s pants down with a single motion of his strong, tattooed arms. Spence moaned as Blaine dove into his ass, eating him out with the passion of a demon.

After they’d both cum all over the sheets, Blaine and Spence lay next to each other. “You ready to head back down, babe?” Spence asked. “I think Dan’s hosting a dom/sub workshop in the conference hall.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome,” Blaine slurred, half asleep. “Go find our caps.”

His husband always had the best ideas. He loved Spence so much.

Click here to see all of Virgo Season.

If you feel inspired, write a story set at the Astra Hotel and post it @ me to join in. Help me celebrate my birthday by turning more conference attendees into geared up gay kinksters.

[jazeswhbhaven]

An Unsightly Guy | React | Spoilers

It's Day 7 and 8 lovelies!!! And boy do we have some great content ahead especially in day 8 lol

It seems though the momentum on this event has slowed down and I think it's mostly due to the fact that it's so drawn out and so far there's nothing really "exciting" happening.

But that seems to be the case with these events like the hype is high the first two to three days and after it's like s p l o o t.

I think if this was a Amy only event and the card had an adore mode people would be more excited about it.

But that's just my ramblings forgive me.

So we're back with Sitri being on his BS when seeing Amy at any given moment lol But before this they were just staring at each other quietly again like my favorite gif that ya'll often see.

but if i'm being honestly Sitri and I have the same brain cell here because I can't stand other's hot ass breath on me even if it doesn't smell bad because why??? are??? you this damn close???

So Amy ofc tells Sitri that he's breathing like that because he's hurt. Fair but this man don't give a shit lol

He goes over to him to access the damage I assume because it turns out even though the forest is torn up there's more angel bodies dead than devil bodies. They remained victorious.

I love how Amy's subordinates are always worried about him and it shows solidarity for their leader. But yeah Sitri also has this thing about him where he shows care for everyone else except the person he dislikes this being Amy.

That's from him being up in Hades. I swear to ya'll it is. That snooty ass attitude rubbed off so badly Sitri can't help but reflect that back into the universe

STOP

the height difference, how the sprites are close to each other, Amy being a foul mouth demon that he is...I really can't get away from my cxc ship bullshit ever when they do things like this lol

I do however like that Amy is a punk. Just mouthing off and cursing any time he can.

that's why Astra likes to provoke him too

But Sitri just simply tells him to stop bitching because the pain is proof that he's alive. So Amy takes this opportunity to one up on this moment because of what happened a few days ago

first of all, Amy is adorable. I just wanna tap his booba and tell him he's doing great.

Sitri gets pissed off though because it's the exact same thing he told him when he arrived a few days back when he had to save that devil boy from his commando unit. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he had this one coming. An eye for an eye basically and Amy came and showed out.

So a couple things about this.

Remember what they said about him here, not usually being foul-mouthed and foul-tempered for a bit. You'll see where I'm getting at later.

Second. This is the pronoun thing I was referring to, which now has me thinking that maybe Sitri didn't mean "her" on day 6 and that was possibly just a mistake on the translating/writing part.

Though I am still wondering what incident caused him to be very angry back then where he had to smack himself back to reality to keep from focusing on it.

And while this little interaction is going on, the devils around them are gossiping about how Sitri and Amy always found time to fight each other even in situations like this.

But I think they forgot the part where Sitri can fucking hear them lmaooo because he was quietly stewing in annoyance by the entire thing, so much he had to think about when he and Amy first met.

So this was centuries ago, and it's wild because I'm like wait it's been that long for them holy shit my life is fleeting because to me a decade blinking by is so long.

A bit of lore about Satan btw, this was a time where he barely had an army, so it must have been he first came into power as a king. (we really need that backstory honestly) And went around scouting for willing participants even neighboring countries.

They also bring up that devils who saw him traveling around decided to join because they loved his energy.

When I think about this it's wild that Satan had to foot for his own army. This leads me to believe Gehenna was low due to the amount of deaths, or perhaps something happened with the previous king that caused this.

Either way, the babes did his thing and now he's got more than enough helping him during the battles. Picturing him recruiting folks though is cute because I imagine he's a great motivational speaker or just "hey join me btw" and it just works.

So the instructors didn't even notice Sitri because well in their defense they hadn't seen him yet. So of course they see this pretty, "slender" looking devil show up with his hair all nice and pushed back and is just like "aye so???"

He introduces himself and then that's when everyone starts acting accordingly and seeing him as a superior. But I mean that's why he was nice about it anyway because to him, they should be wary of someone they hadn't seen before and Gehenna needs that type of energy.

So now that we're in day 8 there's a few things I wanted to point out. One of them being the breadcrumb here that Hades had a fully formed solid military. That means...Leviathan is either the same age as Satan or a bit older, or he is younger than him but he's just better efficient with managing devils with his strict ass.

Sitri though see's Satan's army as an advantage. Because the Gehenna devils are flexible and free but also disciplined. That leads me to believe that it's only really fear and power that Leviathan uses to make sure that everyone in his military doesn't fuck things over. It makes sense, given Levi doesn't really have a carefree personality. There's too much trauma in there for him to break down that wall.

So while Sitri was daydreaming about his plans for leading Satan's army...someone...i think we know who fucking spits in his direction...

Now the reason he's pulling this face again is because he stepped into the spit. And I'm sitting here like ?????? I get it.

Again, like imagine just minding your business and someone just hacks a fucking loogie on the ground and you step in it. With your good shoes at that.

I'd be so disgusted like??? IRL bodily functions even my own gross me out easily so I apologize if anyone ever feels offended by me having strong opinion's about things we can't help. It's just me ya'll I live in pain constantly due to this.

Yup, it was Amy ya'll lmao big surprise.

So the reason Amy wasn't reading the room here, is because he felt like he didn't need to due to his status as a solider and being recently done with training. He was really good at what he does, so he felt anything else was not worth paying attention to.

Including spitting in the direction of your superior.

Now remember when I told ya'll to keep in mind that they said Amy wasn't usually foul mouth or foul tempered?

Then what the hell is this? Lmao

I get it, people change and well devils ain't got nothin' but time so perhaps Amy did mellow out with age and he was much younger here so that "I don't need to listen or do jack shit that ain't got to do with Satan" was very heavy. So ofcourse he'd pick a fight with everyone else.

But them expect Sitri to deal with it because he was nice to everyone?

Nah. He about that life.

He pretty much said "fuck you" without actually saying it and spat ON Amy. Mind you, Amy didn't even spit on him directly just in his walking path.

Yeah...?

That goddamn fucking smirk I'm going to lovingly kick his ass because Levi PLS

You're telling me he literally took this man, molded him into a Levi clone and sent him back out like that in Gehenna? I feel this is deliberate lmao "You sent me someone and gave me work to do so here you go here's your present <3"

Imagine all of the ass kicking Satan had to do in order to fix that attitude? Phew...I bet he was like "Again?"

now ya'll know why Cain is always on that everyone is stupid to me energy because look who he takes after?

I just find it hilarious that Sitri took that personally, because Levi would take that personally. If fact Levi wouldn't even spit on Amy back he'd just fucking hang him for being disgusting LOL

i couldn't resist.

So with Amy it was on sight, because trust, if someone spat on my face I'd be swinging too because clearly you want to disrespect me

Like ya'll think about it?

All he did was just spit on the ground and Sitri wasn't paying attention and stepped in it. He didn't spit directly on him.

small story time but it reminds me of a story i was told that i ripped up a boy's classwork in kindergarten because he tore my page on the corner as a "joke". i legit took his page and ripped it up. apparently i was on demon mode lmao

But now we're really starting to see the meat and potatoes of their dynamic. Sitri actually started it and ran with it. He saw the spit as disrespect and intentional when Amy sees it as "this dude fucking spit on me now we have beef"

So they're having this little interaction of Amy trying to punch Sitri, and because Sitri's ability to hear his heart and his muscles swell before he makes the movement he can dodge him without problem. But Amy is robust and not clumsy so he doesn't do the comical falling forward thing most of us see in cartoons.

Sitri is annoyed though because he sees the potential in Amy and his talent, he simply just doesn't like that attitude and sees it as a problem.

This is definitely Levi vibes.

So the next time Amy goes for him, he actually trips him so he falls. And it ends there.

Mannnnnnnnn this is a whole trip and a half. Like imagine if Sitri would have just simply ignored the spit and just dismissed Amy's bad attitude? I wonder if that would of even helped or if Amy would have done something to annoy Sitri later that would start the same beef regardless.

Imagine.

Centuries old beef because someone stepped in spit.

[furys-burn]

❛ it’s always my fault, isn’t it? ❜ | ( HEDONA & ASTRA ) | @iithildim​

Being in the Hold’s library made her sad enough to almost miss Montsimmard where the spread and keep of knowledge was one of their testaments. Still, she ran her finger over the few books on magic that could be usable humming at her Lady’s brooding self. 

She knew she would be looking down at...him and she was sure there was a whole story there. Ever since their rendezvous to the Fade he ( and her ) had been in a hell of a mood. Astra herself was still cross with his intent with the Wardens; their ragtag group of rejects were the last to judge another for past indiscretions. 

“ Did he throw another tantrum then ? He should be reminded that this is your inquisition and not his as much as he may butt his nose in with 'friendly advice’.” Raising her voice hoping he would hear her, she tossed the book on the shelf, “ Not to mention his audacity to have any sort of attitude after taking anything worth reading in this place; like he’s the only mage hired to help- ” She lowered her voice back down and went back to scanning. “ Please tell me, does he take them to his room for a wank or does he eat them to consume their knowledge ? ”