#general astra

[officialclangen]

I got the longest loner name I've ever seen in Clangen. ever. like look at this:

like what??

you. you are weird. who named you this

the game can't even load their name properly in the bio cuz it's so dang long

anyways props to whoever coded this name into the game, you're really going wild with the Loner Names™

Loner/Kittypet names are where the coders have a bit of goofy fun LOL Off the top of my head, other notable long and hilarious ones are First Generation Ipod and Molly Murder Mittens ~Astra

[myownwholewildworld]

flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: for death was not the end, but the beginning. a/n: to whoever is reading this... I'M TRULY SORRY, okay?? 😭 i am a sucker for happy endings, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart needs. forgive me, please. comments, likes and reblogs are really appreciated! <3 warnings: mdni. full on ANGST. everyone dies. you've been warned. w/c: ~1.5k

Laid on his back, Marcus Justus Acacius’s life was a thin thread, just a moment away from being cut by the Parcae. It coiled and it stretched between their bony fingers, testing its resistance, its adaptability, its flexibility and elasticity. He could feel them toying with him, just another soul waiting to be reaped.

The sand beneath felt wet, his own blood pooling underneath him like a warm blanket beckoning him to go to sleep. But he couldn’t, not yet, not until he knew you’d be safe, away from harm. He was buying you time, his death an entertainment for Traianus, a loitering distraction so your father wouldn’t realise you were not in the Colosseum’s Cubiculum, watching him die.

He had ensured that the last of his loyal men took you away at dawn. Far from this forsaken city and its bloody claws, from your father’s thirst for revenge. Rome was nothing but the vestige of a forgotten promise and its Emperor was a ghoul who would stop at nothing when bereft.

Exhausted, he mentally scanned his body, weighing his options. His back hurt like hell; breathing felt like fire burning his insides; a piercing pain drilling his left temple from an almost final blow; his right fingers dislocated along with his shoulder which had popped out of its socket. And the injury right under his blood-soaked breastplate, where his torso met his hip, kept on gushing, no matter how hard he pressed the wound.

Marcus felt his life, his breath, slipping away. He was completely spent, having been in the arena for the last hour, fighting for his life like a wild animal. But the stamina, the adrenaline that fuelled him, was running out. His time was running out, one he hoped you gained — a fair exchange, one he would gladly comply to.

After duelling with opponents and animals alike, he felt clumsy, his limbs unresponsive. He was the last man standing but knew better than thinking the Emperor would grant him freedom. This was just a farce, a way of torturing him in his final moments. A lesson to others: not even an acclaimed, well-loved General was immune to Traianus’ rage.

Marcus heard a metallic, creaking sound, the gate ascending to present his next foe.

Almost choking on his own blood, his left fingers wrapped around the hilt of his gladius, and slowly turned to his side — his bloody saliva dripping off the corner of his mouth onto the dusty ground. Sticking the pointy side of the blade into the sand, he used it as leverage to stand up, his knees trembling like a newborn foal.

Two men approached him slowly, full, impenetrable armour on. One with a sword, another with a spear. Drawing a deep breath in, which caused havoc in his strained lungs, Marcus swung his own gladius in a perfect circle, then bent his knees ever so slightly to stand his ground.

Even through the pain, the fatigue and the heartache, he fought to death. The gladiator with the sword fell to his knees before his head dramatically rolled off his shoulders with ease. Marcus rotated on his heels to face his last rival; gladius tightly gripped at the ready.

“Libertas! Libertas! Libertas! (Freedom)” chanted the crowd, asking for his release.

The loud mantra was deafening and soothing at the same time. It wrapped around his achy body, knowing that even though Rome was savage, its citizens were not. A chink of hope, rather small but present. They saw the injustice unfolding in front of them, how cruel and vicious the Emperor was.

Perhaps his death would become more than just a distraction or a lesson. Perhaps it would be a wakeup call. And if so, his destiny would be fulfilled.

A sudden silence befell the Colosseum, the chanting dying off and transforming into pitiful gasps.

Marcus stopped on his tracks, catching a glimpse of the crowd — hands hovering over mouths in disbelief, faces ridden with teary, widened eyes. Then shrieking cries filling the air, pleas for mercy.

Something dark and heavy sunk to his stomach, impending dread and anxious nerves consuming him as he turned around to face the Imperial Box.

You had not been able to escape at dawn as he had planned, you were right there. Precious and beautiful and determined.

You were standing proud and mighty — a flowy, white dress hugging the hourglass figure he loved most, and golden ornaments amplifying your raw beauty. Your father was right behind you and only when the sun reflected off the blade he was holding to your neck, did Marcus react.

He lunged forward, his last enemy forgotten — heart beating wildly against his ribcage, throat closing off as tears welled up and blurred his vision. Marcus threw his gladius to the side, coming down to his knees in front of the loge.

If begging would save you, he would do it loudly and unashamedly — Marcus would drag himself over the embers of hell, set all his dignity aside, exclusively for you.

“Please, Your Imperial Highness. I beg of you. Spare her life and I’ll gladly give mine,” he screamed at the top of his lungs, his grievous voice floating above the gut-wrenching cries of the crowd.

This could not be happening. Not you, the most innocent, kind soul Rome had ever seen — that he had ever seen. His love, his devotion for you had brought you here. He could make peace with dying for you, for your freedom — but with this? Not with this senseless, revengeful death.

His eyes were transfixed on you, widened with fear, with sorrow. Asking for your forgiveness. He was sorry he couldn’t do more, he couldn’t save you.

You gifted him with a weak smile before mouthing an “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he muttered silently, desperately. Hoping his breathless confession would reach you.

Your father’s hand moved along your neck, slitting your throat.

When Marcus saw a river of red staining the front of your white dress, his body and mind just went numb, tears falling unbeknownst to him.

He’d failed. It was over. It felt like if it had been his own hand slashing your neck. Because it probably had been.

Still on his knees, he sat back on his heels, his shoulders sloping down as all purpose left him. Marcus was empty, devoid of emotion, unable to feel. A carcass of someone he was but no longer existed. There was no reason to fight, to remain on this earthly plane.

He’d rather meet you on the other side than living a purposeless, unsavoury life. He’d welcome death like an old friend and would hope for your warm embrace before embarking onto your next adventure together.

Defeated, and through a thick veil of numbness, he saw Traianus’ thumb pointing downwards. A welcome sight.

Before closing his eyes, Marcus saw the spear coming towards him on the corner of his eye.

Then darkness. Forever darkness. A final relief.

“Wait, I know he’ll come,” you begged the Underworld’s ferryman, your hands nervously twisting on your lap.

“The time has come, my lady,” his guttural, harsh voice reached your ears, but not your heart.

You knew he’d come, and you’d wait. Perhaps not today, not at the same time as you, but Marcus would join you. You could have your happily ever after away from Rome, from your father. From life. You could love each other in joint Death, since you couldn’t do it freely in life.

The small boat started moving, drifting away through the dense fog, while your sight lingered on the shore. Hopeful, always hopeful, even in death. A sudden shift in the atmosphere made you squint your eyes, distinguishing a silhouette on the shore — one you would recognise in all lives you lived.

You sprung to your feet, your salty tears mixing with your trembling smile.

“Marcus!” you called him, gripping the edge of the boat.

You watched him turn around, first confused, then understanding. When your eyes locked through the thick mist, the resolution you saw told you he’d follow you wherever you wound up. Even if that was the Underworld.

Marcus jumped into the river, swimming through the darkness and the floating souls clinging onto him. Soon enough he got to you, strong arms lifting him up over the edge of the boat. You sighed, a wave of comfort washing over you as you welcomed him in your warm embrace.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it today,” you confessed, cradling his face with your lips closed to his.

“For you, I’d give up my life in the blink of an eye, mea vita (my life). Don’t you ever forget that,” he whispered, his thumb caressing your bottom lip.

Knelt on the ferryman’s boat, you hugged each other, his soothing hands roaming your body as you blended into a loving, eternal kiss.

For death was not the end, but the beginning.

[maximura]

Ad Astra team

[adm-starblitzsteel-4305]

HOW TO BABYSIT MOTHZILLA BABIES?

By @adm-starblitzsteel-4305 & @sassyassblog

~✦~

Godzilla, pointing at their crying babies: Do you even know anything about babysitting?

Mothra: How hard can it be? They baby, I sit.

Godzilla, sarcastic: Oh, wow, you're a dope.

Mothra: Hey! Don't call me a dope! *slaps Godzilla*

Godzilla: ...

Mothzilla Babies: ... *laughing and giggling*

Godzilla: Oh no, I don't like where this is going...

Mothra: Let me try something... *hits Godzilla*

Mothzilla Babies: *laughing and giggling*

Mothra: Oh, babysitting is awesome.

Godzilla: Wait wait wait hold on! *slaps Mothra so hard*

Mothra, winces in pain: OW! WHAT I DO TO YOU?!

Godzilla: ...

Mothra: ...

Godzilla and Mothra: *both stared back to their babies*

Mothzilla Babies: ... *begin crying*

Godzilla, completely exaggerated: OH COME ON! IT ONLY WORKS WHEN IT'S ME GETTING HIT!!!

Mothra, satisfied: The babies have spoken.

Godzilla, defeated: Do it for the babies...

Mothra continues to slaps and beats Godzilla so fucking hard that their little babies are shifted their crying into laughters and giggles.

[Source: Tiktok]

[texaschainsawmascara]

Game of Thrones / The Cursed / Ptolemaea - Ethel Cain / Ad Astra / Persepolis

[laurabenanti]

insp.

[not-so-lovely-astra]

You will NEVER get rid of me. I will always HAUNT you for the rest of eternity! Ah.. feels so good to be back. Did you really think I would be gone.. just like THAT? Ahahaha! I ALWAYS COME BACK! NOW I WILL FINISH WHAT I STARTED!

[foxx-queen]

you left me in the dark - 15/17

Is it the nature of the universe for things to happen all at once? For chaos to continue, once peace has been broken? For things to tumble out of control with continuous events that plunge the world further into confusion?

‘I thought you’d be in the war room’. 

Cat’s office, or the war room as Carter dubbed it, is where they moved everything once their next move became clear. Kara adopted the phrase almost at once, and Astra was reminded with startling clarity of the many times she’d done a similar thing with Kara, when her niece was just a girl who loved to hear her stories. 

The memory doesn’t hurt as much as it might’ve, once. It’s oddly comforting, in a way, to know that no matter how much Kara has grown, no matter how much hardship the world throws her way, she’s still that girl that always laughed a little too hard at a terrible joke. She’s just also the one telling them, now. 

‘It has been some time since I've found myself without my powers’. Astra sighs, lifting her cup to her lips and taking a grateful sip of her tea. ‘I may have forgotten that going for hours without nourishment is not the most conducive way to stay focused’. 

Kara groans. ‘You’re forgetting to eat now? Maybe Alex is having a bad influence on you’. 

Astra glances at her niece to find her grinning, and the corner of her mouth quirks. ‘Why, little one, if one of us is a bad influence, surely it's me’. 

keep reading

[officialclangen]

I had this cat, clover paw. I really wanted her warrior name to be cloverpatch and planned to change it when it auto generated, lo and behold she generates with the patch suffix. Score!

Awh, Cloverpatch sounds very precious! It's always great when your headcannoned warrior name for a cat just so happens to be what the game chose LOL ~Astra

[myownwholewildworld]

faber est suae quisque fortunae (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: marcus would die for you. literally. a/n: this is a drabble from a whole story i didn't think i'd write into a fic but maybe i should?? idk c': comments, likes and reblogs are really appreciated! <3 warnings: kissing, an unhealthy dose of angst. that's it really. w/c: 579 (a baby)

“You shouldn’t be here, Carissima (dearest),” Marcus’ coarse voice was just but an inaudible whisper, his dry, chipped lips moving against yours.

His warm, wounded hands cradled your face, his thumbs swiping the salty tears falling from your tired, reddened eyes. A sob tore through your throat, unable to control the fountain of mixed feelings boiling inside you, giving way to desperation.

You were certain you were about to lose him. The man who had stood by your side through thick and thin in the last few months; the only shoulder you had allowed yourself to cry on. The rock who had kept you afloat since the death of your husband, no matter how treacherous the ocean of your emotions was. Marcus had been the only true constant for the past year of your life; the only person you could rely on and bring you comfort. The only one you would trust.

And because of that, because of his loyalty and devotion to you, he was going to die a traitor. Long forgotten were his sacrifices for the Roman Empire — his whole life committed to serving Rome, his own son slaughtered to quench the thirst of Rome. None of it had mattered.

Your father, Emperor Traianus, would have his head before he could have your hand. In your father’s eyes, Marcus had betrayed his trust, having been accused of treason. Traianus had even ventured to say Marcus had killed your late husband so he could have you. Nonsense, for you knew the truth.

You nuzzled your cheek against the palm of his calloused hand and kissed the rough skin, hugging him tighter. Only leaned back slightly to study his handsome, beaten face. A split eyebrow, a bloodstain on the white of his left eye, a broken bottom lip — your fingertips traced the map of his skin, guilt engulfing you.

“I’m so sorry, Marcus. Had I known this was how it all would unfold—” your throat clamped, your lungs exhaling all air within them in a painful wail.

“I would have done nothing different, my lady. Nothing,” he emphasized, his fingers cupping your chin to tilt your head up. “I made my choice and made my peace with it too. None of this is your fault.”

Tears sprung again to your eyes as Marcus leaned forward to press a heartfelt kiss to your forehead, his soothing touch lingering for a few seconds before he kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheeks — leaving a love trail on your skin down to your trembling lips. His mouth ghosted over yours before he pecked your bottom lip asking for permission.

Sinking your fingers in the nape of his neck, you kissed him as if your life depended on it — perhaps because it did. You sought his tongue, his sweet taste soon flooding your senses. He tasted of longing, of love, of missed opportunities, of goodbye.

But not of regret. Never of regret.

“Tomorrow I’ll die, however I won’t be giving my life for Rome but for you. There’s no better death than that. Rome has taken enough from me, won’t take my last dying breath too,” Marcus muttered, his lips pressed against your ear. “My last breath is only yours.”

Bowing your head down, you buried your tear-ridden face in the filthy tunic covering his chest.

How badly you wished it wasn’t true. But it would be, because you both had been the artisans of your own fortune.

[scottyfreaks]

what really happened on the podcast 🎙️

Full image Close-up 1 Close-up 2

Had these four messages sent between me and a friend and suddenly I had this Infront of me

[melien]

Coming soon👀

[texaschainsawmascara]

The Batman / Game of Thrones / Ptolemaea - Ethel Cain / The Cursed / Ad Astra / Persepolis

[laurabenanti]

if love had to die, i wanted it to die quickly. 

[not-so-lovely-astra]

( @kidd-thundr )

I know you're there Astra, listen to me. We'll get you out of this.

You foolish thing, Astra is DEAD. And his body is mine to control.