#cosmicworn

don’t call her out on this but DAMN STRAIGHT SHE CAN !

like imagine her, or that shitgod bhunivelze speaking through her — taunting noctis in versus and having this epic boss battle and stella doing the freaking ojou laugh.

belated munday ask me anything meme

HUEHUEHUE . . . I actually was just discussing her a bit with @tenebrial​ a couple days ago and I am happy to talk about Eldritch Setsuna always. 

It’s honestly kind of a given with the way I portray Setsuna/Pluto and what I have in my headcanons already -- she is the daughter of Chronos, god of time, in that she is space-time incarnate, molded into the shape of what appears to be ‘human’. It’s why she “dies” when she stops time -- she is essentially stopping her own heartbeat, unraveling her being only to reappear at the Door of Space-Time -- her literal other half. 

When she was created to fulfill her duty, both she and Door had to be made because she could not be contained in one vessel -- she would be too powerful, and we couldn’t have someone who was meant to serve another as all-powerful, could we? Separating the two also meant Pluto was always tethered to the Door and her duty. She essentially cannot escape it. 

The Door of Space-Time exists in the Underworld, her other dominion. So you’ve got a stunted immortal space-time goddess of death. She’s the terrifying guardian behind the door who kills nearly anyone on sight. 

So you can only imagine what would happen if she was to reach her Absolute True Form -- when she would be able to absorb the door into her own being and become One.  

She doesn’t change a whole lot at first look, but enough that’s obvious that this is a God. Her eyes would always glow, her skin could shift and shimmer and appear to look like the night sky, her whole form could move like shadows, and she’d be back to her ruthless and cold self. She could make her voice sound like multiple voices speaking in unison at once -- the multiverses of the universe coming together as one. 

(  unprompted asks  /  with @cosmicworn  /  always accepting !!  )

        She  always  knew  there  were  different  timelines.  Pluto  had  made  this  very  clear  when  she  began  travelling  through  the  Space-Time  Door  more  frequently.  There  were  an  endless  number  of  timelines,  with  an  endless  number  of  possibilities  twisting  and  turning  like  the  trail  of  a  grand  parade;  no  two  were  alike.  She  knew  this,  and  yet  it  didn’t  abate  the  lance  of  pain  that  coursed  through  her  at  Cosmos’  words.  

        Cosmos  was  not  her  mother,  though  she  resembled  her  enough  in  beauty  and  countenance  that  it  was  hard  to  reconcile  that  she  hadn’t,  at  one  point,  been  on  the  path  to  becoming  her  mother.  It’s  different.  Cosmos  is  different,  she  reasoned  with  herself,  even  as  her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears  she  couldn’t  bring  herself  to  shed.  Chibiusa  had  no  place  in  Cosmos’  future.  It  made  sense  that  she  wouldn’t  exist,  but  somehow,  it  still  hurt  hearing  it  from  her  lips  directly—so  final  and  cold.

        The  little  princess  didn’t  even  remember  grabbing  the  woman’s  hand,  but  even  through  her  own  gloves,  Cosmos’  skin  felt  unnaturally  cold  to  the  touch—the  way  open  Space  must  feel  to  unprotected  skin—and  Chibiusa  mourned  the  loss  of  warmth  she  would  normally  feel  from  her  mother.    

HE BARELY FELT HER. It was uncommon for someone of his mortal caliber to be able to not sense anything that approached. But this woman had all but materialized in front of him; so bright to the point of almost blinding - no, she was blinding. 

Her light, so pure, the unfathomable thoughts he could scarcely read save something akin to deep sadness made Kenshin nearly choke at the ‘how’s’ the ‘why’s’. She is ephemeral, she is beatific, she is not human. 

For a man many thought more god than mortal, he finds the irony of them, of their miscalculations for is his reaction no less human than they? Is he not flesh and tired bone? The indelible war between his soul of both past and present struggling to merge into one future? For all his strength, all his will, his beating heart, he is not prepared for h e r .  

An indiscernible silence follows; but perhaps she might know it, might know him. No, she must know him, she must know something of him if she would approach him without disgust or fear and cradle holy fingers behind his crown of fire. 

Reach the tired skin there and press sanctified lips upon them in a gesture many knew as ‘love’ to something Kenshin felt only an instinct to retreat within himself; to lower his body and prostrate himself at her feet in forgiveness that she felt such a need to touch him . Does she not see the blood, does it not cloy to him despite the scents of the trees and sunlight, the fresh mist of morning?

❝ I . .  ❞ He stumbles on his archaic speech, forgetting himself. His soul knew her, and it did not know why. He who so many revered, so many reviled.So many came to Kaoru’s door and either demanded retribution or sought his prowess…but to him, it meant so little in the face of her . He does not remember her from the pantheon, nor any teachings of the Buddha but did it even matter? 

❝ I am unworthy. I am unworthy…❞

He croaks in the face of a love that went beyond the mortal scope of man. It is a love like his mother’s long ago; lost to cholera - it is the love of any person who ever tried and died for it. It is the love of someone or something that is beyond him, and Kenshin does not fool himself. 

He instinctively grabs her hands with the slightest twitch in his fingers; finding them colder in comparison to her life-breathed hands, the light-soaked motes on her skin . He finds himself wanting. 

Almost like desperation does the rurouni places his brow to her hands and feels the stinging of eyes in the face of a love he has/and has been denied all his life, a life he has not valued, a life he does not love! Not like he does the unconditional love he has for man. He hunches his upper body slightly to press his forehead there; uttering softly under his breath,  

 ❝ Kami-sama …?  That you would visit me, whatever you are, you blind me. I…forgive me, that I would speak,  forgive me, but I know - —– I know you. This one’s heart, in its weariness, would know you blind and all the while yet not at all.  ❞ 

Please forgive me, once more, or are my sins too great,  the unspoken prayer on a broken man’s lips, as he feels himself enveloped in cosmic, unyielding, undefinable love - and allows himself to be what others failed to see, to be.

    For all the power she could hold in her hands, the chains of matches and memory she alone could tug and wind around her delicate ashen fingertips that could tear men asunder and remake them anew, it was an impressively small feat to wither the witch into a self-viewed paltry existence. Naminé knew how to make herself small, hide in the shadows of those with power and bend her head so she could maneuver as close to freedom as possible. Such was her half-existence from the start, the only means of which she had to survive. She knew her part in the story of heroes who dwell in the light, and she could play it masterfully. 

    Here, there is little difference. This is a woman of grace and otherworldly, who radiates starlight in all its great and terrible power and the chains that surround her burn with the emotion and light so rivaling of the sun that she dare not to even glance towards them. All too quickly did Naminé’s eyes seek the safety of the ground. And then came the heat….gently. 

    Her eyes raise. 

    Lips press against her forehead. It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t the striking of a match by hateful men who gauged her worth and existence by her usefulness. Yet all same heat flooded her, rising to her cheeks as awe filled her eyes at this simple act bestowed upon her seemingly without reason.

    “I-” 

THE MAINE.

                                                       ❝  The sadness ?  ❞

        HE LETS THE WORD SIMMER there on his forked tongue, contemplates her meaning. He tries to unweave her troubles, all that she might have seen and witnessed that could bring such anxiety in the way her question springs forth. Ren feels for her. A gentle claw pushes a long, silver lock over her shoulder, draws her nearer to him for company. When he speaks, there’s a hint of nostalgia in his two bright yellow glowing eyes. 

GIVE SETSUNA ALL THE HUGS. SHE DESERVES IT

   She’s not used to physical touch, given that there were a rare few who came in her orbit that did not end up immediately annihilated on the spot. She didn’t even understand that when one approached you with arms outstretched, it was meant to embrace them -- until Small Lady had shown her, of course. Such contact still caused her body to stiffen, her senses amplified as her brain tried to kick into defense mode. 

  And the same happens now as the other cosmic being places lips ( that both felt like it seared the flesh and froze it all at once ) upon her cheek. It’s startling, even for the soldier who had stood the test of time ( and was time herself ). Tension seizes her muscles, but a second’s passing allows her to be at ease once more. Yes, after all -- in this tried and bruised being was that shining girl who had united them all. Every thread always would lead back to her. Pluto feels that same warmth, that same love emanating from a heart that swells with such light it is nearly blinding, and casts her own soul into darker and deeper shadows for that is where she was always meant to be. A ghost with a beating heart.