What Does The Arab In Your Carrd Mean? Is It Like Afab And Amab?

I'm just adding fuel to the fire

Fushiguro and Ryomen Sukuna

Diving into the mythology surrounding Fushiguro’s shikigami Makora. Disclaimer first: I am no expert, just a humble myth buff.

This is the hand seal (mudra) Fushiguro make to call forward his domain expansion. This mudra is associated with deity Bhaisajyaguru (薬師如来). Bhaisajyaguru is Buddha of healing from Mahayana Buddhism and known also as Yakushi Nyorai in Japan. Yakushi Nyorai has been known to release disease and pain from sick people. The believe of Yakushi Nyorai is the first to develop in Japan after the introduction of Buddhism to Japan.

Yakushi Nyorai is also the Buddha at the center of the Twelve Heavenly Generals (十二神将 read as Juuni shinshou) legends. Originally, the Twelve Heavenly Generals are yaksha or devils who were converted to Buddhism because of Yakushi Nyorai’s teaching. They are then tasked to protect Bhaisajyaguru and his followers.

So it is not actually surprising that one of Fushiguro’s shikigami is based on one of the Heavenly Generals.  

Keep reading

Do you sometimes read a fic writer’s work, and just… thank all the gods this person managed to get obsessed with the same fictional people you did?

in the midst of drawing... i just had the urge

sorry

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not >:^D

Journal Entry_VEGASPETE

“Someday, judgment will come to you,” Pete hisses.

The drag of chains from the movement of his shackled hands clang loudly in the quiet of the room. And he, the devil himself, only smiled sweetly at this. Dark eyes crinkled in delight as his lips stretched into a beautiful smile with white fangs dangerously glinting behind.

“And no hell will ever accept you,” he finishes, venom coating his words as his eyes glare at the other in the dim lights of the room.

To this, the evil incarnate only laughs. Puffs of breath sensually intertwine with his low-timbred voice. A beautiful laugh, really. If only it wasn’t from someone so despicable as Vegas.

He tilts his head and approaches Pete’s kneeling form, hands raised above and feet bound on its spot. Quickly, the hand roughly clutched his jaw and tilted it, gazing up at the delighted expression plastered on Vegas’ face.

He is amused, Pete nervously concluded.

Shifting, he tries to move away. The chains rattling loudly at his subtle movement. But as he tries to withdraw, the grip tightened. The insides of his cheeks pushing to his teeth, premolars painfully touching the fragile buccal. He gulps, breath harshly leaving parted lips. Eyes diverting anywhere but of the figure casting him in its shadows.

He shivers, like prey, and he, the apex predator, pounces.

 Bending down at him with his vice grip, allowing no room for escape, he whispers, “Good.” Vegas’ face draws closer to his, round eyes unable to meet the sharp gaze. The pounding of Pete’s heart is loud in his ears as he forcefully moves away, but the hold, the fucking grip, on him doesn’t allow it.

“Khun Veg—”

“I only want you to accept me.”

Pete sucks a harsh breath. Wide eyes focused onto Vegas while he shivers at the words.

This cannot be real, his mind echoes. But with the half-lidded gaze so focused on him, he felt untethered in his panic. 

Oh my god, this shit cannot be happening.

Wide eyes rove anywhere but Vegas, trying to find a way out of this nightmare. Because if this is reality, Pete believes death to be the better option.

“Don’t worry, Pete.” 

His exhales warm Pete’s jaw as it crept slowly towards his neck. Painful grip, loosening to gently caress his cheek, but despite of its softness, he can feel it dominating his senses. And Pete wills himself to move away.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Still frozen, he can feel his chest rapidly expanding and deflating. His eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other as his mind scream for his mobility.

“Unless, you want me to.”

He moves.

I love this. Damn, the details are great!

More Hogwarts AU stuff. Introducing classmates! Lucille is the bird-girl from OTGW (I just gave her a name) and Pat and Oliver are OCs of mine. Info on Dipper, Mabel, Wirt and Greg’s parents, hopefully the writing isn’t too small (more info on Pacifica will appear during the AU, as well as Wendy; Wirt’s dad does not make any appearance in the AU. He’s just there to be the reason to a problem XP

Also, Wirt’s Beast. Now ya know 8DD

Chuuya and Dazai DO NOT hate each other

These two do not hate each other! Yes, they hate each other to a degree or to an extent but most of it is superficial and an example of that is empty death threats. If they truly hated each other, Chuuya wouldn't trust Dazai to stop him every time he uses corruption and Dazai wouldn't save Chuuya every time he uses corruption. I'm not saying they're lovers, friends, or anything for that matter! But calling their relationship toxic would be an understatement and so does calling it a love-hate relationship. Their relationship is very very complicated to comprehend to someone's brain.

DAMEN LOVE FEST 2023 begins next Friday!

As a friendly reminder, this December we are hosting a dedicated celebration for Damen. The celebration will run from December 1rst to December 7th. You can find the list of prompts here!

We wholeheartedly welcome all forms of creative posts, whether it's gifsets, edits, artwork, meta, or your cherished moments and quotes. Don't forget to include the #damenlovefest2023 tag so we can easily find and share your contributions. Additionally, we kindly ask that you reblog this post to help signal boost the event.

We can't wait to celebrate Damen with you! ♡

water be testin' my little patience.

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Laurent's pretty face makes everything worth it tho :')

This just killed me. It's so beautiful ╯﹏╰

At last, Harry stands before Voldemort in a blood-soaked field, the taste of copper and ash coating Harry’s tongue. The sound of war has faded into the background as the soulmates stare one another down. Things could have gone differently. Harry could have given himself up as requested, could have walked through the Forbidden Forest to his doom. But Harry is not willing to chance that Voldemort will live through this. He’s fought his way through countless Death Eaters to stand here in Voldemort’s way.

It has come to this at last and there are but two pieces of soul left to destroy, one in himself and one in the tall, inhuman frame barely ten metres away.

Harry is tired. Harry is ready for this to be over.

“You have lost,” Voldemort taunts.

“No,” Harry replies simply, raising his wand.

And then Voldemort is tilting his head, studying Harry in a silent moment. His eyes have narrowed, but they are oddly unthreatening.

“No?” Voldemort repeats, tasting the word, his normally high-pitched voice toned low.

“No,” Harry states calmly.

“You should have told me,” Voldemort says, then. There’s a holy fire in Voldemort’s eyes that Harry hasn’t seen ignited before. Unlike the light of obsession and rage and violence, this flame does not call for bloodshed. Instead, it burns with possessive wonder.

And Harry knows, right at that moment, that Voldemort has figured it out. That he hadn’t until then.

“I thought it was obvious,” Harry answers instead, the wand in his grip warming, tone dry, gesturing to the space between them. “How else would you explain this?”

“I suppose it was,” Voldemort replies, considering. “And I have been too far gone to see it. Though, looking back, it explains a much-needed drive to find you. Come here, soulmate. Be with me.”

It’s like a punch in the chest, wringing his lungs dry. It hurts his very soul to hear Voldemort acknowledge their bond, it hurts more than Umbridge’s punishments, more than seeing his godfather fall through The Veil, more than hearing the wails of Hermione as she’s tortured by an insane witch.

But pain is all Harry knows, all he’s ever known. Harry ignores those words, knows Voldemort is trying to draw him in with the same glowing warmth of an angler fish's lure, positioning Harry just before the strike. Harry knows that he must die to bring Voldemort down. That mutually assured destruction is the only way. So he ignores those words, ignores the potential of even more future words that Voldemort will whisper but is physically incapable of meaning, and stands his ground, staring Voldemort down with cold steel in his eye.

“It is considered a foul reflection of one’s character for their soulmate’s first word to be no,” Voldemort states abruptly. “It is poor form for your destined companion to deny you instantly. I would never have considered the words of my soulmate to have been spoken by a toddler as I raised my wand against his mother.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Harry retorts humourlessly, wand-hand beginning to tremor lightly with exhaustion, but he keeps it steadily trained on Voldemort. “Imagine if your soulmark was the death curse.”

Voldemort doesn’t reply to that, instead still and calm, unnaturally at peace.

“I thought I had killed you long ago, for I’ve heard so many noes from so many strangers,” Voldemort then eventually replies, contemplative. “Though if I must have an equal, I suppose I would only accept it, if it were to be you. After all, you already have a bit of my soul, don’t you?”

Harry realizes things are rapidly going downhill. Voldemort has figured out what he is; Harry sees this going one of two ways.

“Fight me,” Harry whispers sharply, inhaling deep.

“No,” Voldemort states simply, lowering his wand, lip twitching as if telling an inside joke.

Harry shrugs, embodiment of indifference, and lowers his wand.

Voldemort smiles and it is a cruel expression.

Harry thinks to himself, quietly in the confines of his mind, Extinguo Animarum. The wand in his hand glows gently at first but then, in a moment of sudden movement, a golden bubble explodes from his wand and entraps Voldemort and himself in a sphere of his own design.

“You didn’t,” Voldemort says.

Harry tries to laugh at the aghast nature of Voldemort’s tone, but a dry sob heaves out of his chest instead.

Voldemort could never expect this, would never, because Voldemort could not possibly imagine doing something like this himself.

“Extinguisher of Souls,” Voldemort whispers and he does not struggle. Voldemort knows there is no way out of this now. “You are mine, Harry Potter, in this life and the next. Do not forget.”

The glowing, golden orb sears ever brighter. It fills with blinding light, piercing into Harry’s chest as it floods Voldemort. Voldemort’s eyes never leave Harry’s, upper lip twitching in an expression Harry cannot decipher.

This is right, this is what you are made for, Harry tells himself in the moment as the light swells to unbearableness, glows in his glasses, a reflection of his life in a solitary beam of light.

Harry hears the words echo in the timelessness between moments as his soul is ripped apart, as he feels his connection to Voldemort shatter as his soulmate is obliterated by purifying, heatless flame, as they are torn violently from the mortal plane in the mutually assured destruction of Harry’s own making.

No.

Avada Kedavra.

What a couple they make.