#Darkside AU

[risedarksideau]

Hamato Miwa

[sharkteethies]

sith!au cal

[takkebboki]

HERE THEY AREEE 🫶💘💝💞💗💖🩷💓💕

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney : Rapunzel

Hey! I'm back again with this series for Spooky Season! If you haven't seen my Darkside Disney Princesses before, here's the link to the master post

So, the OG Darkside Design herself, Princess Rapunzel

Ok, so I am drawing on Tangled the Series lore, as you can see, but as all my other ideas happened by twisting the original films, in this story Rapunzel’s downfall starts when Eugene fails to cut Rapunzel’s hair in the tower.

Gothel keeps her deal, lets Rapunzel heal him, and then promptly makes off into the night with Rapunzel, leaving Eugene locked up in the tower.

Gothel is determined to keep Rapunzel’s hair safely for herself this time, and so decides to make for a more secure hiding place, leagues and leagues away from Corona -- The Great Tree, the stronghold of Gothel's old master, Zhan Tiri

Rapunzel, true to her word, doesn't fight back. She follows where Gothel leads, all the while praying that her sacrifice will be worth it, that Eugene has managed to free himself and is safe somewhere.

Eugene of course, has managed to free himself, and is anything but safe as he tries desperately to avoid re-capture while doing everything he can to try and track down Gothel and Rapunzel--all while some strange black rocks continue to spread across Corona and the surrounding lands.

Unfortunately, he'll be too late if he ever does.

Gothel for years has been waiting patiently to discover the further secrets of the Sundrop flower, driven by a prophecy that said a child raised by her would reveal them in their 21st year.

For ages she tried to have child after child to fulfill this prophecy, discarding them as they failed her--until Rapunzel, a child born of the Sundrop itself.

In the canon timeline, Rapunzel fulfills this Destiny after being freed from Gothel and reuniting with her true family, discovering the secrets of the Sundrop and Moonstone and defeating Zhan Tiri...

In this darker world, Gothel, in her greed and ignorance, upon Rapunzel's 21st year, has been forcing Rapunzel to do various experiments to awaken the powers within her. The black rocks have spread to the Great Tree at this point, and so Rapunzel still gains the powers of the Moonstone, while retaining the power of the Sundrop as well. So that when at last Gothel has her chant the Decay Spell—all the healing spells are undone.

Gothel crumbles into dust before Rapunzel’s eyes. Eugene, finally having found Rapunzel’s trail, suddenly feels his wounds suddenly reopen. Pascal, having accompanied Eugene on his quest, at last succumbs to the snake bite that brought him to Rapunzel.

And Rapunzel herself, after so much pain, so much heartbreak and disillusionment, having spent so long chained to Gothel and her abuse—Rapunzel embraces the promise of the Decay Spell, the only hope for freedom she feels she has left

“Wither and decay. End this destiny. Break these earthly chains. And set the spirit free.The spirit free…”

A lone figure emerges from the husk of The Great Tree, eyes a sickly green, long hair black as night, tears forever falling down an empty, souless face. The power of the Moonstone has set the spirit free, even as the power of the Sundrop keep the body animate.

A wandering revenant, spreading decay wherever it goes, following the black rocks on and on, slowly shambling towards some unknown terrible destiny.….

And soon enough, a long locked away demon may find a new host

[izachin]

Guys you need to read Qimir’s POV of The First Hits Free” called “Shadow of the Sun” It is so good 💜#renewtheacolyte #SaveTheAcolyte #theacolyte #qimir #thestranger #oshamir #starwars #fanart #artistsoninstagram #qimirtheacolyte

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59152555

[geksuroll]

Seems like I can't stop anymore xd It was made to see how his head changes from usual human to what I imagine back here and there, but I listened to one certain song, and kinda transformation reference turned out :,D Fan fact: first I tried to do a human head, and in the end wasted like half-an-hour of my life.. then I quickly/successfully made the monstrous head, after it - middle one, and only after them - the human one xd

I cannot escape I can’t run away The sickness that I created Has sunk its teeth into me ... Take a breath Close your eyes And be consumed -> Song: Swarm - Consumed

[imagine-darksiders]

Mobsiders, chapter 1.

Timeless Unrest.

So, I'm trying something different here, this is a mafia au in which the Horsemen are mob bosses, and they take an interest in the Reader. This story will be set in the Universe of Darksiders, 2 years post-resurrection.

You are a self-proclaimed reporter, tasking yourself with hunting down a rumour that humans are being sold off-realm as slaves to a certain Demon Prince. At the centre of those rumours is one, particular family who control Haven City, and the Earth at large. You've been found out, and now you're going to have to meet the very beings you've been trying to expose.

--------

You’ve heard it said that a good journalist will face down threats every day in search of the truth, but a great journalist has already skirted so close to the truth that they’ve been privy to the inside of a burlap sack.

‘If there’s one thing to take out of this,’ you muse, panting for breath inside the coarse, stinking bag slung around your head as you’re dragged forwards down an unseen path, ‘At least I can finally say I’ve made it.’

Jesus… You’d only gone out to pick up your ration of milk for the week…

The passage of time seeps by at a disjointed rhythm when you can’t see. It seems only minutes ago you were trekking through the murky fog from your tiny, jerry-built apartment to the community centre near Fifth to collect your weekly rations. A small slip of card had been clutched protectively against your chest. On it, in little black writing was a short, unimaginative list.

'Bacon.'

'Milk.'

'Cheese.'

'Eggs.'

'Water.'

Two years since the Great Waking has seen Humanity still struggling to cobble their lives back together, and although supplies aren't nearly as sparse as they were in those first few months of chaos and disorder, people are still being careful with what little they have.

You'd been fantasising about how soon you'd see the word 'chocolate' appear on the list when, from out of nowhere, there was a loud squeal of tyres on tarmac, and something came careening to a halt behind you.

Strangely, it took you a moment to register what you were hearing.

When it eventually clicked, the first thought that sprang to mind was, ‘Who the Hell has a working car?’ Your second thought came moments later when you wheeled around just in time to see two, suited men plunge a sack down over your head and heave you bodily into an old, rusty car.

In the struggle you dropped your precious ration card.

The jolt of panic that shot up your spine was so potent, you almost managed to lurch right out of their grasp.

They weren’t expecting you to put up a fight, you suppose.

But how could they not? One of the cruellest aspects of the Great Waking was that humanity didn’t come back as new-born souls who had no recollection of their past lives. Instead, in a sick twist of fate, everyone, yourself included, can still recall how they died.

It sure as Hell made you want to avoid meeting a similar fate ever again.

Which is partly why you’d all but exploded into action when you were grabbed, thrashing your limbs, kicking, lurching sideways, gnashing your teeth to try and catch the burlap between them and tear your way out from the inside if you had to.

With all the ceremony of tossing out a bag of rubbish, you were flung, yowling like a terrified bearcat, and the hands left you for all of a blessed second before your back hit a stiff, leathery surface that punched the wind right out of you.

You can still remember the morbid satisfaction of kicking out and striking something solid that went ‘crunch!’ when it connected with the heel of your shoe.

It wasn’t as satisfying moments later when you were slugged so hard in the cheek, your head snapped back and your vision exploded into colourful speckles of light.

An engine had rumbled to life underneath you as car doors slammed shut, and through the ringing in your ears and swimming head, you caught snippets of conversation, mostly revolving around a broken nose and a call for tissues.

You have no idea how long you were in that car for. All you remember is just how peculiar it was to be in one again. Even more peculiar to realise it had been over a century since you sat on a leather seat with an engine purring against your spine.

You still fought, of course.

Borrowing strength from your fear, you struggled furiously against a weight settled on your legs and a pair of hands that kept your flailing wrists in their vice-like grip.

In hindsight, you regret fighting so hard in the car.

Now that you’re on your feet again, stumbling blindly through an unknowable building with half a chance at running away, you’re exhausted, mouth hoarse and dry from shrieking and limbs that tremble with terror and fatigue.

Your throat aches now, thick with emotions, and your cheek isn’t faring any better either, throbbing like it has its own heartbeat.

Even without the tears clinging to your lashes and muddying your view, the path ahead is still obscured from sight by your scratchy, unconventional headgear.

You’re inside a building. You can deduce that much.

And from the sounds of dress shoes clacking hurriedly on the floor below you, it’s either somewhere that’s been newly built, or a place that had remained miraculously untouched during the stretch of time between Humanity’s extinction and their resurrection.

The surface below you is perfectly and unusually smooth from what you can tell as you’re dragged along by two unknown thugs, neither of whom seem hindered by your stubborn efforts to dig the heels of your plimsolls into the floor, hoping to trip on a notch or bump.

It’s only been two years since the Great Waking, and all the buildings in Haven City have one thing in common that this place doesn’t.

Structurally, every single one of them is as rickety and unstable as a two-legged horse.

Yet this place has no creaky floorboards, no potholes left over from where the ground was blasted apart by a falling meteorite, no dip, sag, scoop or pocket to trip yourself up on and shake your kidnappers loose.

You try to focus on the pounding of footsteps, not your heart, nor the abject terror that tries to sink its teeth into you every time those bruising hands clench all the tighter around your arms and heave you upright again when your legs yield underneath you.

Eyes pinched shut, you force a kerosene-drenched breath in through your mouth and choke it out again, blowing droplets of sweat and tears off your upper lip.

You nearly bite your damn tongue off when ahead of you, something unlatches – ‘a door?’ – and you’re readjusted in the men’s grasp, two hands on each arm, keeping you marching forwards.

The toes of your plimsolls squeak against the hard floor as you’re dragged over a small bump and onto a different surface entirely.

Softer. More giving. The footfalls are quieter…

Carpet, you surmise.

“Ah, finally!”

Your hammering heart seizes up at the sound of a booming, unexpected voice that filters in through the fibrous gaps in your burlap prison. You’d almost grown used to the grunts and curses of the men hauling you along, it’s odd to hear actual words for a change.

“Boss,” one of the men at your side speaks up, his clear, nasally tone confirming he isn’t the one you’d kicked in the face, “Got ‘er right here, Boss! Just like you said.”

The breath hitches in your chest and you wrack your brains to place the first voice as it speaks again.

“Oh for- C’mon, guys. The sack? Really?” a distinctly male voice complains.

Your ears catch the sound of metal clinking, heavy footsteps on the carpet as their wearer draws closer to you… He sounds big, weighty, far more so than either of the two who lugged you in here.

‘Shit…’ you think, breathing hard. And when nothing more helpful springs to mind…‘Fuck!’

Stealing an iota of adrenaline from somewhere deep inside your guts, you start to struggle in earnest again, lips stuffed together to stop yourself from letting out any pitiable whimpers of distress. You have an awful, awful suspicion about whose turf you’re on, and it has everything to do with the little, red notebook currently locked in the top drawer of your bedside table.

“Sorry, Boss,” the nasally man to your left responds, shifting on his feet, “Gave us a little more trouble than we was expectin’. Look what she did to poor Dimitri.”

There’s a pause, in which you assume he must finally see the extent of your efforts to escape the car.

“Yeah,” the stranger eventually says, “I noticed that… S’it bad?”

The man to your right – Dimitri, you infer – huffs out an acidic hiss through his teeth and starts to dig blunted fingernails into your sleeve, upping the pressure until you wince beneath the sack.

“Broke my fucken’ nose,” he sneers in a voice that’s thick and wet, as if he’s bunged up with a bad cold, “F’she knocked any teeth out, this little bitch’d be-“

“-HEY.”

It’s alarming how one simple word can crack across the room like a bolt of lightning, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck and causing Dimitri to choke on his tongue in his haste to fall silent. Instinctively, you flinch away from the shout, as far as the hands will allow, though you can’t help but notice that the men on either side of you do the same thing, each taking a quick, aborted step back before they seem to remember themselves and stop in their tracks.

Nobody says a word. You don’t because you’re loathe to draw that kind of wrath down on your own head, and the men don’t for much the same reason.

Another heavy boot falls to the carpet with a dull, metallic ‘clunk,’ far closer to you than it was before, and when its wearer draws in a breath, you can hear the creak and stretch of leather as it expands to compensate a prodigious chest.

… He’s standing directly in front of you…

“… I catch you usin’ that kind of language about this lady again,” the stranger growls, his once casual tone now deep and dark as a mineshaft, likely just as dangerous, “And I might just forget that you humans aren’t bulletproof.”

‘Humans…? Oh, God…’ Gulping audibly, you try to keep your breaths shallow and quiet; a difficult feat when the air around you is disturbed by the terribly familiar ‘click’ of a gun’s hammer locking into position.

From within the muffled pocket of your hood, the sound is almost deafening.

Throat closed around several, trapped sobs, you hold your breath and clench your eyes shut, expecting that at any moment, you’re going to hear a man die.

But then…

“Understood…” Dimitri says, hesitating for a second before he quickly adds, “Sir.”

How he managed to speak without his voice quaking, you’ll never know.

With bated breath, you wait for his Boss’s verdict.

When it comes, the stranger’s voice bounces back to its jocular lilt in a turnaround violent enough to leave you with whiplash.

“Good!” he announces promptly, “Can’t have her thinkin’ we’re a bunch of monsters.”

His tone shifts again as he aims it at you.

“Now then...”

Gentle, amicable, friendliness wrapped in a cloak of deception. You know how loud his voice can be, so this unexpected softness means nothing to you.

“Let’s get you outta there, n’ see that pretty face up close…”

Oh, if only you could will yourself to dematerialise and sink through the floorboards like you’ve seen so many demons do on a whim.

Finding your voice, you shake your head, eyes wild behind the sack as they flit from side to side. “Please,” you croak, fruitlessly trying to peel your arms away from the hands rooting you to the spot, “I-I haven’t seen your face, I don’t know who you are, just-!”

Enormous, unnaturally cool fingers brush against the bottom of the sack, wriggling under the twine and tugging the knot loose. In an instant, you reel backwards, throwing your head as far away from the touch as you can, chest heaving hysterically when the man simply follows your motions.

“Just let me go home!” you sob, realising that maybe you aren’t cut out for this, after all.

A reporter. You could spit at the idea now. What the Hell were you thinking? You could have taken up with the group who left to build farmlands outside the city. You could be relaxing on a maker-built porch right now after a hard day of planting those precious seeds an angel found in Svalbard.

You could have picked up a hammer and set to work patching the holes in a shelter's roof, or jumped in a wagon that trundles around the city, distributing supplies and medical aid.

There are no jobs anymore. People are too busy focusing on the rebuilding effort, trying to restore an entire world and its civilisation to something functional once again. Nearly everyone wants to help, in their own way.

And what did you decide to do, to help? You thought it would be a grand idea to pick up a pen and a notebook and chase down information, scribbling out newsletters from the rickety desk in your apartment and distributing them around the city by hand.

And that foolish decision has led you here, to your doom. You'd grown too cocky, thought nobody would pay attention to one, little human trying to track down the sources of rumours that people are being sold off-world as slaves.

A mellow chuckle rolls from a throat high above your head and resonates inside your ribcage. “Easy, sweetheart,” the stranger coos, gripping the sack and raising it carefully up over your face, adjusting easily to the way you twist your neck from side to side, “You’re all right.”

When the burlap finally pulls free of your eyes, you can’t keep yourself from squinting against the sudden intrusion of light, blinking rapidly to clear your vision.

“There you are,” the voice says, quiet with barely contained wonder.

Keeping your head locked straight ahead of you, you finally manage to peel your eyelids apart and free the tears that were trapped behind them. Little tracks roll down the curves of your cheeks and gather on your chin as the body in front of you comes into focus.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. And shit.

You’ve been flying too close to the sun, haven’t you, Icarus? Now you’re going to die, and what came of it? What was it all for? Exposing a corrupt family to the world. A world who could do nothing to fight back even if you armed them with knowledge?

There’s nowhere you can look that isn’t absolutely covered by armour. You can't even see the room beyond it.

A vast torso stretches across your field of view, protected entirely by segments of silver armour. Each interlocking part connects with another seamlessly to fit over the swollen muscles of a body built solely for destruction.

Every inch of it is marred with a constellation of scratches, welts, and age-old scorch marks tarnishing the silver black in places, and from waist to chest span three, distinct gouges that have torn through the armour entirely, leaving thin lines through the metal and giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of black, skin-tight leather beneath.

Something big had left those marks, and still he'd come out the victor.

Everything your bulging eyes take in attests to a life lived in battle, and a survivor of all that have made an attempt on his life.

You don’t want to look up. You’ve heard a rumour that to meet his eyes is akin to slapping a hungry bear on its snout. Your eyes can’t see high enough to glimpse the mask you suspect is tilted down at you anyway.

You know what you’ll see if you do. You know the man standing in front of you, perhaps not personally, perhaps more than you should, perhaps not at all. His name is scribbled on almost every page in your notebook.

Gritting your teeth, you swallow thickly and instead, allow your gaze to creep lower, away from the eyes burning a hole into the top of your head.

You regret looking down almost immediately when your stare lands on the butt of an enormous, silver revolver jutting from a holster strapped to his hips, so large that it would make any ordinary man who wields it look like a toddler trying to play with a cannon.

An audible whimper falls through your teeth as you flick your gaze sideways and see the second gun you already knew was there.

You swear you can feel several pints of blood drain from your face.

These guns are about as infamous as their wielder. And you’re standing within spitting distance of all three.

“O-oh, shit,” you stutter through buzzing teeth. And really, what else is there to say?

You’re in the den of one of the most dangerous beings in the Universe. One of four, in fact.

You’ve heard so many names accredited to him.

Endless Spirit of Timeless Unrest is your personal favourite for nothing else but the sheer pageantry of it.

He’s a killer, a monster, spreading desolation and terror everywhere he goes…

Worse still, before the End War and Earth’s downfall, you and everyone else assumed he was nothing more than a fairy-tale written into the pages of an old, allegorical book.

After all, a Horseman of the Apocalypse? It was always such an outlandish idea.

Until it wasn’t. Until he wasn’t.

“Hah…”

You give a start at the soft chuckle rumbling above your head.

“Not the reaction I was hopin’ for, but beggars can’t be choosers…”

You try to keep your tear-blurred vision on the armoured torso in front of you, but the decision to of inaction is stolen from you seconds later when a gargantuan, metal gauntlet rises up in front of your face.

Startling, you buck against the goons pinning you in place as he extends a finger and slips it underneath your chin.

You cram your lips together, fighting to stop that impossibly strong hand from tilting your head back.

Eyes rolling with fright, your face crumples and you let out a wheezing sob that catches in your throat as your gaze is forced up past a monstrous, armoured chest, then over a thick neck until finally, when you can hardly muster up the courage to draw in a rattling breath… there he is, staring down at you with eyes that exude all the qualities of a predator. Bright and yellow like melted gold, illuminating the silver helm that conceals every other feature from view.

Thick spikes of hair jut from the back of it, and you're reminded more of sharp, ebony horns belonging to that of a demon, rather than anything human.

Above you looms the man who holds Haven City and all the world in the palm of his unforgiving hand.

Of their own accord, your quivering lips peel apart and release his name into the air like a curse, uttered in terrified reverence.

“Strife.”

[fanfic-obsessed]

Fundemental Cultural Misunderstanding

Can I just say that there is so much humor potential in Star as far as cultural misunderstandings go. 

Try this AU on for size. 

-Note:Though it is not necessary for this idea, it is important to me for you to know that in this world Anakin did not slaughter the Tuskens. He reached Shimi in time to save her and his focus was getting her to safety. Thus his relationship with Padme is much healthier.-

Anakin on a fundamental, and somewhat deliberate, level misunderstands some parts of Jedi culture. He believes that Jedi cannot get married.  In this world, this is not true.  

Marriage in this Jedi culture includes a marriage bond between all parties that, if not set up correctly, can do a fair amount of damage (and even when set up correctly doesn’t provide more than a sense of the other person's physical condition and emotions; rarely bonded might be compatible enough that that they can track each other through the bond). This is particularly true if one of the parties is not Force sensitive, or one of the parties is particularly Force Sensitive. So there is a lot of pomp and ceremony around getting married in the Jedi tradition to make sure the bond is correctly set up. Also consent is such a large portion of Jedi culture, so extra pains are taken to make sure non force sensitives understand what such a bond might mean…to the point where it freaks out most non force sensitives.  This all culminates in, by the time of the prequels, most Jedi just don’t get married.

-It should also be noted that marriage as a legal institution and marriage as a cultural institution are actually two very different things, though they are often conflated. Marriage as a legal institution means absolutely nothing to Jedi, and in fact many cultures, because the rights granted by the legal institution of marriage either don’t apply to Jedi or are covered by other Jedi related laws.-

This is also misunderstood by the Galaxy at large.  Also, because of this misunderstanding most cultures do not discuss their marriage customs with Jedi, sure it might come up organically but no one thinks that this is a cultural norm that the Jedi need to know. Which means as much as the Galaxy misunderstands the Jedi’s marriage customs, the Jedi misunderstand most other cultures' marriage customs as well.  In fact the Jedi, through generations of a benign misunderstanding, believe that most cultures will not discuss their marriage customs with Jedi, so all they can go on is their own observations. 

Picture if you will, little padawans vibrating their way into the Archives, up to the nearest archivist, who drops everything because the little Padawan wants to report that they ATTENDED A WEDDING. 

This leads to the archives being chock full of conflicting information about the various marriage customs throughout the galaxy, because anything that happens at a wedding now becomes a TRADITION of that planet, even things might be just a preference of the people marrying, or even a happenstance. The Jedi have all collectively agreed that they are just gonna roll with it, no matter how strange the custom or if it contradicts anything else (It is not like they can get information directly from the source after all).

Now when Anakin got married to Padme, he thought that Jedi cannot marry.  He thinks that his elopement would have to be a secret. He does not realize that he broadcasted his joy at marrying Padme to every Force Sensitive in the galaxy (no seriously, there are Force Sensitives on planets that don’t even have space flight yet, on the other side of the galaxy that felt an abrupt and incomprehensible wave of utter joy-some of those were physiologically incapable of feeling joy like near humans and had to lay down for a while). Also, not that he realized it, the part of his Force Signature (which Jedi are taught in the creche how to read) that deals with identity flashed with the equivalent neon lighted dashboard in Times Square that he was ‘Mr. Padme Naberrie’ from that point forward. 

So when Anakin leaves on a mission, unmarried, and comes back very married, but clearly hiding it, it is quickly noticed. But no one thinks that it is Anakin who does not trust them. Of course not, he is family. They decide that this must be some heretofore unknown Naboo marriage TRADITION, elopement followed by hiding the marriage. 

No one, not a single jedi in 10,000, thought to ask Anakin directly. 

Several Archivists promptly write some very well written papers on this tradition, and how it fits into their other knowledge, basically filling in the gaps to create a tradition out of whole cloth (even though they are acting in earnest). 

The war still starts, with all that entrails. But every Jedi knows about Anakin’s ‘secret’ marriage. The little ones all giggle about it. Most are eagerly waiting for the tradition of hiding to be complete, because surely ‘The Man Without Fear’ and his wife would also want to marry in the Jedi tradition.  There was so little to be excited about these days that everyone bought into this notion, even those that had long decided they would not go through the process of the Jedi Marriage. 

The children in the creche insist on making decorations for the eventual Jedi Wedding.  In fact there were multiple sets of decorations, depending on where the happy couple wanted the ceremony performed. Just rooms and rooms of decorations and drawings and artwork of all kinds. 

The High Council, including Obi wan, started researching to make sure they knew all the steps and traditions for the Wedding backwards and forwards whenever they had the chance. The last time a Jedi Wedding had been performed was 200 years earlier and enough had happened since that even those who were alive during that time were a bit fuzzy on the details.  They wanted to be ready to support Anakin and Padme in any way possible.  Padme’s biometrics are quietly added to the Temple’s banks; ready to be activated as soon as the couple is ready. A plan is put together so that Padme can be quickly evacuated if there was an active threat against Anakin specifically, or Jedi adjacent beings in general. 

And the Archivists are practically having duels to see who would get to speak to the happy couple once the period of hiding is done. There is hope throughout the archives that maybe, if they ask really nicely, Padme would be willing to answer a few questions on Naboo marriage traditions (All the Archivists want to learn so badly, all they want to do is be able to learn. Can they please learn).

Perhaps if it had gone on much longer someone would have cottoned on to how stressed this secret was making Anakin. Maybe not.  Perhaps this world still could have ended in unimaginable tragedy. 

Perhaps in another world like this. In this world, we look to humor instead of horror. 

A little over a year into the war several of the youngling clans, ages ranging from about 4-6, got to go on a tour of the Senate.  One of the younglings (Age 4, species was Sabetue and was genderless) got separated and couldn’t find a clone guard or anyone they recognized. They were wandering and scared, but somehow made it up to the level where Padme’s office is. And the Youngling recognized Padme’s Force signature as Master Skywalker’s wife, so they knew they would be safe with her.  

So now Padme has a small Jedi child in her office. Thankfully she was not in a meeting. She manages to get a hold of the Guard, who send up two of creche masters, who had been beside themselves with worry.  While in her office the child said things that made it clear that the child knew about Padme’s marriage to Anakin and how they couldn’t wait to see how pretty she would be in the Jedi Wedding.  One of the Crechemasters very gently reminded the child that Anakin and Padme might decide not to get married in the Jedi Tradition, that it had to be their choice and followed up with:

“And if we forced them…”

The child piped back with a solemn “we would be meanies”

One of the creche masters brought the child back down to the group while the other remained behind. First to thank Padme for finding their lost child. Then also to apologize for the child breaking the Hiding Tradition, expressing a hope that this would not have any negative impact on Padme’s marriage. 

The Crechmaster seemed so proud at saying ‘Hiding Tradition’ that Padme did not have the heart to tell them that she had no idea what they were talking about (they are very proud of remembering what the Archivists were calling this tradition).  They continue to have a brief conversation where Padme learned a number of things:

The Jedi, every single one of them, knew about Padme’s marriage.

They are all, every single one of them, actively supportive instead of the at best disapproving she thought they would be.

The Jedi somehow believe that Padme and Anakin are hiding their marriage over a Naboo Tradition

There are rooms full of crafts created specifically to decorate for her wedding in the Jedi Tradition created by hordes of earnest younglings. 

The Jedi are very into consent. 

Anakin is not due back on Coruscant for another week, and during that week Padme made discrete inquiries (oddly enough these are actually discrete) that told her nothing important about what was going on and driving her to distraction. So Anakin comes back to Padme nearly screaming at him ‘Why do the Jedi think we are hiding our marriage over a Naboo tradition?’

Anakin very much does not know but suggests that they ask the Chancellor (Anakin has very much been conditioned by the Chancellor to turn to him first in any instance of confusion).

Padme stares at him for a moment, tells him that is a stupid idea and to call Obi Wan.

Anakin does not want to call Obi Wan. He does not want to tell Obi Wan about their marriage and get in trouble. 

Padme stares at him with the dead eyes of someone dealing with too much ridiculous information at once, then says ‘Call Kenobi’.

Anakin obeys. 

Obi Wan comes over, they all sit down and Padme very calmly tells Obi Wan that she and Anakin are married. Obi Wan immediately begins radiating blinding excitement.  He congratulates them and starts to ask about having a Jedi wedding before deflating again and asking if not pretending he was surprised would ruin anything. He offers to go out and they can do it again, he can pretend to be shocked. 

Padme reassures him. Anakin starts to express his surprised (in a way that would have made it really clear about why he was hiding his marriage) but Padme quickly interrupts him, asking about Jedi Wedding traditions and lets Obi Wan ramble really happily about the research that the High Council had been doing to make sure they can recreate those traditions if Padme and Anakin want.

Obi Wan leaves with a promise that Padme and Anakin would come to speak with the High Council to make sure all the legalities (making sure everything is set up so that Padme can come and go as she pleases at the temple, and have a login to access the Archives, and would it be possible for her to come in for a baseline check up so that medical their records are up to date) are taken care of. As soon he is gone Padme grabs Anakin by the collar and goes ‘we can never tell them’

Anakin goes ‘what?’ 

‘We can never tell the Jedi why we were hiding our marriage. I’ll contact my parents as soon as it is morning on Naboo. They can back us up. We can say it is an old family tradition to hide the marriage for the first year. It isn’t used much, but after being in the public eye and with the War I was feeling superstitious, ok?’

Anakin goes ‘What, Why?’

Padme shakes at the arm in her hand, ‘telling the other Jedi that you didn’t trust them with your marriage would break their hearts. Do you want to be the reason small children are crying?’

Anakin looked far too considering for Padme's piece of mind, and what little sanity she had left. 

‘Let me put it this way, do you want to be what finally break’s Obi wan’s heart? That man was vibrating with excitement to celebrate our wedding so hard I could feel in the Force.’

Anakin deflated, ‘Oh. No.’

Padme’s parents laugh their ass off that she needs to create a long held family tradition because she doesn’t want to admit to the Jedi that she had thought they would react badly to her marriage.  They agree to do it. 

<Somehow this does derail Palpatine’s plans. Personally I want it to be in a way that leaves people unaware that he is a Sith, so for the rest of his life he needs to maintain the kindly old grandpa look and suffer for it- maybe something that means he has to actually live a clean life; no more crime or torturing for him.>

Twenty four years later Obi Wan helps Leia Naberrie meet up with Han Solo in order to Elope in the long held family tradition (Bringing with them only R2 to follow the actual tradition closer than they realize). Obi Wan very carefully leaves before Han arrives, so that he can truthfully say he does not know that they eloped. 

Leia’s twin Luke does not need to elope, as he followed his Uncle Obi Wan into the Jedi (an unrelated note he also followed Obi Wan into the mindset of ‘Why Monogamy when Harems naturally occur’-From that day the war ends Obi Wan has no less than three clones with him at all times; he also appears to have a lover, a friend, or an antagonist that he has weirdly sexual dialogue with on every planet he visits. Or Hondo Ohnaka, who has a category all his own. The years that Boba Fett comes to the holiday meals as one of Luke’s plus 6’s-He couldn't choose just one and no one would think of making him- are among the most awkward of most of their lives.)

[poppy-metal]

What does it say abt me that art thinking "I want her dead for this" made me a lil bit... 💦 Yk..

it made me wet writing it.....

y'all dont cross paths again tills years later (time skip incoming) but the amount of fantasies he has about finding you..... its like the more time passes and the longer he remembers it the more unhinged he becomes.... he doesn't heal or get better. he gets worse. fisting his cock and physically cant cum unless hes thinking about hurting you - this faceless woman - his birdie - tracking you down somehow, subduing you, at first he just thinks about fucking you - making you bleed on his cock - "is it amusing to you now? you made me do this - is it funny now?"

but his fantasies get darker over time - he imagines tying you down. drugging you and trapping you in some basement - cutting off your fingers - the fingers you'd used to write him letters with - fucking inside your little cunt while you bleed and wail and say sorry but he just spits in your face. thinks of babytrapping you and keeping you locked up and breaking your mind like you broke his until you're a braindead toy. giving him babies. as many as he wants. over and over again. you'll never leave him again.

he cums so hard thinking about it - he doesn't even feel shame for it anymore.

[twilights-stuff]

Just finished my art of Stan and Ford for my GFxSW AU. Just to be clear, this au took place during the time of the Galactic Empire and both Stan Twins are in their salt and pepper era. Really loving the whole red and blue thing they have going on.

Bonus art, a wip of Grand Inquisitor!Bill and Ford in this au, The Master and The Apprentice:

[risedarksideau]

Hamato Leonardo | Hamato Michelangelo

:3

[snugg-slugg]

“You have money, right?”

Halloooooo it’s been a bit since I’ve done a fully rendered thing.

I spent a good while on this one and I’m neutral to the outcome. There’s something that feels a little off with it, but it’s alright. Also this is a screenshot redraw of that one scene in into the spider verse because LOTD McQueen gives me BIG Peter B. Parker vibes.

This is a drawing of @x-eightball’s AU (look on the Darkside) where Dooley was gone for 10 years rather than one. He gets fired from TLPD and has to go around basically doing freelance paranormal investigator stuff. Go check it out, it’s really cool and angsty and stuff. :)

Below is a version without all the fancy filters and stuff cause there’s a ton of references in the back ground :)))

[takkebboki]

🤭

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Sleeping Beauty

Click for better quality

(Edited, changed the picture as I didn’t think it was as high quality as the others were, old picture under the cut)

Sleeping Beauty I decided to take a twist on the whole Maleficent movie relationship thing.

So for this AU, Briar Rose, instead of running up to her room in despair after hearing she's a princess and has to leave her whole life behind, instead runs out into the woods. And before the fairies can find her--they're still keeping their magic small to keep their location secret, not knowing its already been compromised--she runs into Maleficent.

Of course, she has no idea who the wicked fairy is. No one has ever told her about her. All she knows is that a beautiful and powerful being of the forest is before her, but Rose has never known real wickedness, and perhaps she's feeling somewhat rebellious towards her aunts, so she begins talking to the strange woman when Maleficent --who likes to play with her food-- feigna concern asks Rose to tell her what's made her so upset.

So Rose tells her about how she just found out her whole life is a lie, and how she'll never see the first boy she ever met again, and how she doesn't want to go and be princess with a king and queen she doesnt know, parents who gave her up for some reason intead of bothering to raise her themselves.

If she had had time to process her grief, and the promise of not being separated from her new found love, Rose might have been able to get over these resentments, spoken in the heat of the moment, more quickly.

But Maleficent decides that fanning the flames of he Princess's broken heart and trust, playing on her anger towards Stefan and the three fairies, could be so much more entertaining than just killing the girl outright.

So she takes Rose by the arm, and back with her to her palace, where she promises her the truth about all her questions, and the answers to how to solve all her problems...

Time passes, and the princess never arrives on her 16th birthday.

The king and queen are distraught. Relations breakdown between the human kingdom and the fairy court, as the fairies failed in their duties to guard the human girl, and they are called back into the Veil of the Fairies, leaving the mortals to fend for themselves.

Then relations break down between the human kingdoms when Prince Phillip goes missing as well, vanished into the forest, never to be seen again.

And then others begin to vanish. A farmer here, a wandering knight there. A whole group of children one moonless night. As more disappear, many more begin to flee entirely. Fields are left untilled, houses abandoned, borders undefended.

Tales soon cross the land as the refugees take flight from Stefan and Hubert's kingdoms. Tales of a dark presence that haunts the shadows of the woods, stealing away those who are foolish enough to wander beneath the trees. A fiend who takes the shape of a beautiful forest sprite, with a voice like a nightnagle. She causes all who hear it to fall under her spell, wandering into the shadows like they're walking in a dream, one from which they will never wake...

[darks-art]

Corp of the Flug 005 - You Had to say THAT Phrase???

If it can get worse, it SHALL get worse, muahahahaha!

[imagine-darksiders]

Mob boss Horsemen.

Is this anything?