#Possession Of The Messiah

[hauntingmiser]

{ G O R E ⚠️ }

[ P R I E S T ]

Ah yes! A Faith The Unholy Trinity Chapter 3 Reference! For 3/5/[ REDACTED ]

[wulfhalls]

DUNE MESSIAH FOLIO SOCIETY EDITION!?!?!?!??!!!!!!

[sir-incorrect]

oh throwback to when I made trollsonas for a handful of danganronpa characters based on their birthdays (or rather, what blood color that would give them)

transcription of my notes scribbled on the pictures under the cut in case my handwriting is illegible haha

First picture:

Shuihi Saihra and Rantar Amamii

Met when Rantar was gathering testimonies in the caverns.

Hand is blocking sign but maybe [scribble]?

He noticed Shuihi's deductive abilities, and started calling him in to consult. Shuihi is not entirely comfortable with this yet, but does want to help.

Second picture:

Pin = symbol [scribble] (compare to 十神 togami)

Byakya Togami (actually bronze)

sad bc byakya pulled his hand out of hers before the picture

Tohkoh Fukawa/ Shoyho (Sho + Syo ?)

Byakya is the only lowblood to ever actually survive, let alone win, and kind of gladiator/fighting competition against highbloods. As such, he WOULD have been culled immediately, but the heiress took a liking to him, so instead he is the center of a massive coverup. He was "actually just an indigo pretending to be a bronze". He gets to live a life of luxury and power like he earned... but is also forced to hang out with Tohkoh ALL the time and HATES it (platonically).

Third picture:

Kokchi Oouuma (?)

[Shuichi:] "Aren't you a Cancer, though?"

[Kokichi:] "Wouldn't you like to know, Virgo boy."

[next to the purple Kokchi] Troll DICE: Infamous team of subjuggulators ("in training"). Cause problems even for those of higher castes, but these are relatively tame compared to lower castes' reception. Extremely efficient.

[next to the grey Kokchi] Troll DICE: A group of lowbloods posing as purplebloods. Their reputation has to be strictly maintained, lest they get injured and give themselves away. Part of the reason they're so successful is their targets go willingly, as DICE actually helps them fake their deaths and hide. DICE has never actually killed a target or otherwise let them die.

Fourth picture:

WHEEL OF EXECUTIONS with Junkoh Ensima and Mukuro Iksaba!

Despair clowns! Pose as a normal traveling circus act (for Alternia. So lots of murder, prob lowblood killing games), but they're actually spreading "despair", as a concept fundamentally opposite to the Mirthful Messiahs. Junkoh really just wants to see the entire PLANET start killing each other senselessly, even seadwellers, and especially lowbloods killing highbloods.

Fifth picture:

Horns are supposed to be like ⊘ [scribble]

World's worst and most boring clown

*sacrifices your shitty, shitty clown to the Mirthful Messiahs*

Sixth picture:

[Screenshot of quote from the wiki] "could hold her head up high as a "cosplaycat criminal","

Makes fursuits, doesn't wear them herself but DOES do the occasional nya~

Sumugi Shrgne

[watchingyoufromthestars]

Already thinking about a tma au but it would require me first to actually design characters which I don’t have time forrrrrrrrr :( but it will be rotating in my mind the rest of the day anyways

[moddeerling]

OH FUCK OH SHIT OH GOD HOLY SHIT OH BOY IM NOT READY IM VERY NOT READY FOR THIS OH DEAR LORD O H NOOOOOO

HOW THE FUCK DO I DO THIS?!

[teecupangel]

From @noficbyhalves

#lolol #meanwhile they're hiding from the cops bc they're also Real Interested in whatever ichabod's got going on #(abby is having A Time) #on one hand this guy is wanted by like interpol as an alleged terrorist #on the other he *clearly* knows a lil too much about what might be going on #wait wait wait is desmond her primary suspect for the headless horseman bullshit #i only vaguely remember the a plot of this show #sleepy hollow #assassins creed #desmond miles #i ship desmond miles with being alive #ichabod crane

From @blue-cat-ter-flies-blog

They gonna be fighting the Horseman, then? What is he, a Sage? Some Guy who got into the Mead?

From @thinkingwildthoughts

Desmond seemingly possessed by Ratonhnhaké:ton- wonder how right Ichabod’s gonna assume he is the longer he knows him Also, Ichabod Crane, Rebecca Crabe- ant family resemblance?

From @mysticalbasementwitch

So why do they think Ratonhnhaké:ton is possessing Desmond

“Now, it’s time for our emergency ‘Desmond screwed everything up’ meeting.”

“Hey-”

“We’re stuck here because of you, hence this is your mess.” Shaun ignored Desmond’s pouting as he continued, “So, we are now effectively stuck here in Sleepy Hollow until we figure out what is happening in this place and if this headless horseman is connected to the Isus because it’s definitely worrying this all started after the Solar Flare.”

Rebecca opened her mouth but Shaun beat her to it as he added, “And a police officer threatens to tell the FBI we were here if we leave without helping her solve all of these AND give her undeniable proof that Desmond didn’t have anything to do with all of these.Oh and, apparently, Rebecca’s ancestor is still alive and thinks Desmond is possessed by Connor.”

“We don’t know if he’s my ancestor yet.” Rebecca reminded him, “He doesn’t seem to think so and he still doesn’t want the Animus to check his DNA to see if we’re related at the very least.”

“If we go by the Desmond Miles rule, everyone is related to you in some way or another.”

“Hey!”

Shaun ignored Desmond once more and clapped his hands once before continuing, “So… who wants to tell Bill?”

The silence that prevailed their little meeting room (Desmond’s room in the small house the police officer who threatened to tell the FBI about them gave them and looked the other way when Rebecca illegally obtained it) said a lot about how much they didn’t want to explain this to Bill.

.

Yes, Ichabod definitely believes Ratonhnhaké:ton is possessing Desmond. Desmond is not beating any possession allegation because his mannerism and speech pattern slowly turn to Ratonhnhaké:ton’s the longer he talks to Ichabod. It’s not Ratonhnhaké:ton’s Bleed take over but Desmond’s mind (influenced by the Bleeding Effect) subconsciously acting like Ratonhnhaké:ton because it felt natural.

Whether Ichabod and Rebecca are related is up to you :)

The four horsemen are related to an Isu device that was created by an Isu that goes by many names. Ichabod might know him more as Moloch.

And Moloch knows Desmond Miles is in Sleepy Hollow.

Nothing could be more auspicious than the Capitoline Triad’s child coming to his ‘domain’, unaware of how valuable he is to Moloch’s plans.

@0ryza13 left this reblog in this idea

God I go feral over the concept of Sleepy Hollow x AC, purely because theres the possibility of Desmond wandering into town and seeing Ichabod and going "hey Shaun, Rebecca, am I hallucinating or is that the guy Connor knew during the revolution"

(I’m making this a Sleepy Hollow the TV show crossover because I’m hoping that what’s you mean XD)

Desmond is permitted to go rest for a ‘bit’ after saving the world with Shaun and Rebecca while Bill tries to get info about how the entire world is holding up. They were on their way to a safe location where Altaïr II is waiting for them so Desmond could have his ‘vacation in the Caribbean Sea’ (I don’t know why, Becs, but I kinda wanna go sailing there for some reasons) and they just happen to pass by Sleepy Hollow when Desmond sees Ichabod Crane.

He’s hit with Ratonhnhaké:ton’s Bleed because he looks exactly like the Ichabod Crane who worked for George Washington.

And he confronts him.

Ichabod didn’t recognize Desmond at all but he recognized the tone and the posture. He remembered Ratonhnhaké:ton. The way Washington’s relationship with the native man ended had always haunted Washington and Ichabod saw the aftermath.

Washington’s focus on the supernatural had been due to his final meeting with Ratonhnhaké:ton.

And Ichabod now believes that Desmond is possessed by Ratonhnhaké:ton’s ghost.

.

“You’re the one who wanted to go on vacation.”

“I know.”

“Yet here we are, stuck here in this god forsaken town-”

“Don’t be rude.”

“- investigating… what? An immortal who thinks you’re Connor?”

“… Sorta? There’s something in this town… it just… calls to me.”

“… you think it’s a POE?”

“Or something related to Minerva and her people.”

“…”

“…”

“… you’re not getting another vacation after this.”

“(sigh)”

[sleep-0-deprived]

Dom! Yan professor x himbo reader imagines~! ໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა

Just imagining your biology professor being a total hard ass, rude and unkind to every student he’s ever had and giving out the most excessive amounts of homework daily, as soon as he met you something sinister had awoken inside him. The way you’d smile at him all stupid wearing shorts that showed to much and jogging pants that let him see the side profile of your cock during the first day of meeting you had this man losing it.

Just imagining you staying back after your college classes, you being freshly twenty three and scraping by if not failing every class you took, only making it to college on a sports scholarship with you staring and blinking at your professor all class. Yandere professor, just imagining him watching you from the corner of his eye the whole class, his hands moving on auto pilot only able to think about you and how you blink dumbly at him while he teaches making him speak up “is something wrong Mr L/n?”

Just imagining you getting stuck after class in tutoring sessions all hours of the day because he claims “I’m just trying to help you achieve better [name]” he’d utter those words so sincerely it would keep you oblivious while he stares at your ass and your pecs, bitting his lips when you lean in your chair showing him the perfect peak of your body having this man insane having to excuse himself for a moment during your sessions while he goes and “fixes” the situation between his legs.

Just imagining Yandere professor who rubs up against you grabbing and touching your body all over at any chance he gets with close proximity, slowly over time building trust off of his age and status, him pushing mid forties and freshly divorced. Just imagining him bringing up chats about his golden retriever just to twist your oblivious trust into something else, making you feel special whilst he gives you all the attention you could ever dream of with the intent of getting you all to himself wanting to possess and keep you like a boy toy.

Just imagining Yandere professor who asks you for “favors” claiming he’d make sure you passed all your classes, that you’d never have to worry about losing your scholar ship. He’d have your face in his crotch with your mouth wide open engulfing his cock all flushed in the face with teary eyes holding his thighs. Oh how he almost felt sorry for those poor girls that drooled after you during your games….almost, but having your mouth stuffed full of cock asking “am I doin good E’nough f’you sherr” while you soured your words with spit making slurping sounds just trying to please a good grade out of him.

Just imagining Yandere professor who does random dorm checkups on you, making you stay over at his apartment the nights your frat bros throw parties, not standing for the thought of some sorority girl getting her manicured hands on you, you were His and he’d fuck you so good that you knew it. Two glasses of wine later sitting in his apartment with your hand gripping the counters in shambles “s-ir!” All you can repeat over and over is his name speaking it like a prayer to your messiah feeling a drunken man going at it fucking you so hard the sounds start buzzing together and the over head light in his kitchen blurs under your pupils.

Just imagining Yandere professor who had your legs spread wide open sitting leaned back on his desk eating your ass out like a starving man. Gripping your skin and kissing your pucker, practically making out with your rim and letting you ramble on cluelessly about your plays and strategies, whining about how “the coach is placing me as Qb this year!” While you grip the back of your professors head looking down at him just blinking and getting comfy when you see him having no intentions of letting you go since him being able to work your body and play with you however he liked was part of the “conditions”

Just imagining your grades going from a fifties and forties across the boards to becoming a straight A+ student having all of your friends asking how you managed to swindle that, having your fiends wanting to know your secret while one of them asks “all those time you’ve been ditching, you must be going off to secretly study huh!” Your closest buddy just laughs and nudges you during practice unable to tell him that you’ve been whoring yourself out to the most hated teacher on campus.

[ashes2caches]

we need more transfem cult leaders. i’d never give away all my worldly possessions to some cis guy but you know i’d be the first in line to sacrifice my organs to the tgirl messiah.

[lavender-rosa]

The thing about Erzsebet is that she's a very unsubtle colonialism metaphor.

Olrox likens her to the Spaniards who invaded his land and slaughtered his people, She speaks of how she wants to conquer Europe and later the "New World" because she considers it her divine right to do so (The Manifest Destiny ideology that made invaders believe that they were divinely ordained to destroy the native population and settle on their land).

She tells the Night Creatures in episode 8 to silence Edouard's singing. During the French Revolution, music and songs were considered a fundamentally important part of it (him singing the songs he used to sing when he was a human could also symbolise his rebellion against his nature as a Night Creature, beings that were considered nothing but bloodthirsty, mindless monsters that held no memories of their past lives)

Even the great power she possesses is not her own, it was the blood of Sekhmet, an Egyptian goddess, another land she conquered and stole from (Drolta says that she was an Egyptian priestess in life, making me believe that Erzsebet was the one to turn her)

She promises slave-owning vampires that as their Messiah she will return the world to it's "natural order", where the slaves that revolted against them will become their property again.

This directly contradicts what Annette's mentor said. That slavery may seem like this practise that always existed to people like Annette who was born into a family of slaves, and lived the majority of her life in chains and people like Comte de Vaublanc who was likely born into a family of slaveowners, someone who spent his entire life enslaving and abusing people. But ultimately, humans did not come into this world as slaves and slaveowners. Turning slavery into something that is not natural and inevitable but rather a man-made evil that can be defeated.

Idk i noticed those things while watching the show and i saw no one in the tags talking about it so I decided to write down my thoughts.

[voidsentprinces]

Reminder: A Realm Reborn wasn't particularly about us. It was about the Eorzean Factions, it was about the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and their interactions with and thwarting Gaius and the XIVth Legion. We were just a useful champion slowly growing to fame but not truly a Warrior of Light until literally the prelude to the Castrum raiding mission.

The Parting of Glass wasn't about us either. It was, once again, about the world. And how it had begun changing after Gaius's fall and the brief period of peace away from Garlemald's Shadow. About Alphinaud beginning his arc of growth with hubris and the creation the Crystal Braves and what it might of looked like IF the Scion's good nature was lent to anyone and everyone. And thus opening itself up to the very corruption Minfilia feared to move away from the Waking Sands and to the Rising Stones in the first place.

Heavensward isn't about us. It is about Alphinaud's continue growth, learning of Ishgard's past and history. Hubris, arrogance and narrow viewing lead Alphinaud to steps of the Foundation, it has lead Estinien astray and made Ysayle believe she is a messiah incarnate. And through the journey, each of them grow as they learn the terrible truth about the Dragonsong War. Estinien in particular has his eyes opened and no longer simply seeks revenge on Nidhogg but to get to the bottom of it all. So no other shepherd's son has to live as he has. Ysayle learns she is a shade and a faux Shiva not truly Hraesvelgr's beloved or even in the same category as her. She learns swallow such delusions and embrace what Saint Shiva stood for in its entirety. Which means leaning to lay the road for peace between Ishgard and the Dragons and opening a path to this by sacrificing herself for those she loved so dearly. Alphinaud learns from all of this and more and is humbled by the duty of a knight, the fervor of a dragoon, the sacrifice of a saint, and the courage of his companions and of Sharlayan's arrogance from Master Matoya. To put others before himself and allow others to support him when he falls.

The Far Edge of Fate isn't about us. It was about how Ishgard carries on after Thordan and the Heavens Ward are shown to be the monsters they are. How the remnants of the church, the knights of Ishgard, and the civilian population react to the realization with rejection. How facing off against Nidhogg possessing Estinien, the Warriors of Darkness, and the machinations of Ilberd force Eorzea and Ishgard to look inward and know truly where they should go from there. To ignore the easier road and take the higher path no matter the strife and hardship it provides them. Because when they reach the otherside they would be better for it. Finding that courage, after five years of procrastinating and hemming and hawing, the Eorzean Alliance finally begin to mobilize to free Ala Mhigo from Garlemald and perhaps take on the Empire itself.

Stormblood isn't about us. It is about Doma and Ala Mhigo fighting for the survival of their people and cultures. Facing the parts of their society that were spurned and used as tools of hatred against their principles. That provided the necessary cracks required for Garlemald to break them down and oppress them in the first place. And how reforging under those values and those long histories of violence can make a new path and come to terms to over throw the tyrants who fed on their weakened states and make a strong unity still.

A Requiem of Heroes wasn't about us, it was about the world facing down the barrel of war with Garlemald. And uncovering its origins, its founding father was an Ascian. How Varis is forced to face down the lie as Elidibus wears the skin of his son and the great grandfather he and other Garleans were taught was a walking god in all but name was a sham and a daemon bent on causing more pain and suffering than mankind ever deserved. How the effigies of hate and pain choose to use their fervor to help their people instead of turning against them once more. How every person can change and be given a second chance. How that second chance is what that person requires or if they are pushed the wrong direction, can caused tragedy to unfold. And lastly, it is about our companions, slowly. One by one. Being dragged to the unknown. The story slowly taking away the players on the stage until finally...

Shadowbringers was about us. It was about how we were instrumental to the world so much that it lost nearly all hope in another timeline. How a group of your fondest friends began and how your comrade's furthest decendents acting on the hope of your legend and stories. To provide a plan of action and lead to happier world. How even when everything seems lost and gone and your purpose seems to turned everything around you into twisted monstrosities. That you can bring the night and wait in comfort for a dawn to bring better days. And the tenacity of your aid providing a world on the brink, the love, the compassion, the understanding, the strength, and the will to stand up to a flood of destruction and spit fate in the eye. Even it costs them everything, they keep fighting until they can see a brighter tomorrow.

Death unto Dawn was about what the tomorrow brings. How it could be another fight but to find what is WORTH fighting for. The memories of those you fight and lived amongst, old studies and things of the past being made to provide the answer to the future, making right wrongs even against those you had wronged unfairly, and to gather together and keep each other safe. You are not alone out here. There are those who will help you along to a brighter future.

Endwalker was about you and yours. About how everyone reacts to an uncertain future in different manners. How some would make ready to flee at the approaching storm, while others would fight, and others might even push you further to the edge. But even when all is lost, call upon the memory of happier times to light the way with hearts aligned shining brilliantly against despair and finding your place amongst those memories.

Growing Light was about us teaching another to hear, feel, and think and experience the world seemingly gone. That everything needn't be give or take. It can be a charitable, warmer place if we make it. It can be kinder and even in the face of unrelenting and undying destruction. Hope will spit out a tooth and stand up once more.

I say all of this because, I've seen people mad that Dawntrail is leaning hard about being about Wuk Lamat and others. To which I say so what if Dawntrail is about Wuk Lamat and Koana? So what if its not about us? We've had four story lines about us. Now we must impart what we've learned to the future as they face similar and sometimes overwhelming odds. To stand tall against the onslaught and make their own choices, their own way to bring a smile to all they hold dear. How family needn't be blood related, they can just be a group who sit down at the table at the end of the day. And speak, laugh, cry, and love. Unto this trail to dawn we shall light way for the future of our world and everything this new dawn brings is worth it.

[sp4ceboo]

Upon the Sands of the Arena: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: basically reader fights feyd in the arena, my apologies if there are any inaccuracies, i'm dUmB

tw: 18+, smut YAAA, fighting, swearing, i use fire metaphors too much, blood, violence and death (it's in a a gladiatorial arena ffs), creampie, one ass spank, fingering + oral (f receiveing) hella lot of sexual tension, Fighting as Foreplay, feyd sorta has a blood kink but he's just freaky like that, sort of fluffy at the end, hint of voyeurism if you squint really hard, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 4.1k

part 2

The Bene Gesserit are distracted.

If the Kwisatz Haderach was not so near, they would have disposed of you properly. Instead, they sucked you back into their dark web of deceit and occulted plans only to spit you out just as fast, leaving your fate to the blood soaked sands of Giedi Prime’s arenas. You believe that if it were not for the actions of Lady Jessica Atreides and her defiance of the order, they’d pay you more attention.

Not that you’re complaining.

You were trained to flourish in the dark, lurking in the shadows of the deepest of nights, awaiting a time to strike. However, you are not like your mentors, you do not believe in the hoping, the weaving of bloodlines for the production of a distant messiah, nor do you dirty your hands to obey an imperious Reverend Mother.

Truly, you admire Lady Jessica for doing the same as you did - defying the order and thereby splintering from it; all the same, you do not desire what she wants. For she wants power for her son and her unborn daughter, and you want nothing but to be left alone.

In a universe full of yearning for a greater purpose, you want the opposite. Often, you find yourself wishing you were something of nature: not mundane, by any means, but uncontrollable, like the desert winds that sift through the sands of Arrakis simply because. To be like them, without a master, without the endless search for purpose, is freedom.

Instead, you have been branded with the title Bene Gesserit - ex Bene Gesserit now - and you wield too much power for the order to ignore you, even alone. Hence why they incorporated your capture into their plans, engineering it so that you face the Baron’s brutal, bloodthirsty nephew in the arena.

They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill you.

You think they forget that you once were as good as the rest of them. They forget that you still possess the ability to alter the molecules in your blood to resist the drugs they pump into the arena prisoners, and they forget that you trained beside the best in combat.

The arena is where you thrive.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. It excites you, the swell of noise that is thousands of harsh Harkonnen tongues heckling for blood; the stamp of their feet as they cry their na-Baron’s name vibrates through the arena, through the grains of sand beneath your feet, deep and heady like burgundy wine.

Your fingers tighten around the blade given to you, barely sharpened and made of unsanded wood, but solid all the same. It’s all you’ll need against the na-Baron. He is but a cruel man set on fire with exterminable blue flames, and you are Bene Gesserit: defiant of the order or not, it is who and what you are, and it is pure power coursing through your veins - power that answers to you and you only.

The roar of the na-Baron soars over the crowd’s cheering, animalistic and full of fury that makes you wonder what incenses him so much. Something in his past, maybe, something that he only acknowledges in the inner machinations of his cunning mind.

The grate in front of you opens, and you allow yourself a smile as you step out into Giedi Prime’s tortorous ebony sun. High above, you spot the slit of a balcony where the Baron himself reclines, watching his nephew with a benevolent smile and a pipe in his hand, flanked by subservient concubines with bowed heads. All around, the crowd shouts, thunderous, urging their na-Baron to spill blood on the sand, to paint the arena red. It swirls around you like a washed out dream, black and white but simultaneously vivid, the stink of rotting bodies and sun bleached white sand pungent in your nostrils, the occasional pop from the fireworks overhead heavy in your ears.

Rolling your shoulders, you pace a few steps in before sitting down in the sand, cross legged, the backs of your hands against your knees with your blade flat against one of your palms. Pitiless, you watch as the na-Baron slices the throat of the first prisoner that staggers his way, throwing him an enigmatic smile when he glances towards you.

His eyes are cold; calculating. They’re dark, striking against his pale skin as they suck in the light, and hungry too, as if he strives for something he does not quite know, always reaching, always burning for more.

Intriguing.

He circles in on the next prisoner, who meets his end by the same savage knife work as the first, his guts spilled out onto the greedy sand. Insatiable, chest heaving with excitement more than fatigue, the na-Baron turns to you, his final prey - his black teeth are bared in a magnificent, maniacal grin, his footsteps silent as he approaches.

Facing him now, you understand why the Bene Gesserit believed that by crossing the Atreides’ meant-to-be daughter with the Harkonnen’s na-Baron, they would make the Kwisatz Haderach. There’s no doubt in this man’s genetics, in the solid lines of his strength sheathed bones and the sheer virility and ferocity that permeates the air around him - it’s almost elegant, the way he prowls towards you, his stride lilting and laced with power. They picked him well.

Too bad you’ll have to kill him.

If he proves to be obtuse, you’ll have no choice but to slay him in order to save yourself. If he is, however, as cunning as they say, you’ll give him a chance to live - it’d be a shame to end him, actually: something draws you to the rawness of his nature, to the frigidity of the ire in his eyes.

The na-Baron circles closer, his skin like moonlight. He watches you like a hawk, as if he’s the one who’s hunting, ready for his next meal; his eyes flash in the sun, studying you, watching for your tells even as you identify his. Smiling, you drop into a crouch, knife outstretched like a twisted mockery of a peace offering, waiting for him to take the bait and strike.

He cocks his head. ‘It’s rare that I face a woman in the arena.’

‘I’m sure it will still be of pleasure to you, Feyd-Rautha.’

‘I believe it will increase it tenfold, little witch.’

You don’t have time to figure out how he knows you’re Bene Gesserit, because he slashes at you, once down towards your ribs and once back up at your throat. His knife flashes in the sun, reflecting the bloodlust in his eyes as it arcs towards you; light on your feet, you parry both of his blows, dipping in to land your own. He’s strong, which is of less concern to you than his speed. Feyd-Rautha fights as if he’s dancing: not in the aspect that there’s flourish in his bladework - quite the opposite, he keeps his strikes efficient and tight - but in the smooth, hypnotic way that the movements of his body blend seamlessly together.

The crowd screams as he forces you into defence. It’s temporary, though, because he gets reckless, both driven and blinded by his hunger for blood - enough so that you can dart your foot out, hooking it around his ankles and overbalancing him. Sprays of sand are kicked up as he tries to steady himself, and you force him down with the tip of your blade to his pale throat.

A single, sleek drop of scarlet slides down his skin. Unhurriedly, he brings a hand up to catch it before it leaks onto his black armour, lifting it so he can see the blood your knife has shed. His gaze flicks up to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

‘Huh,’ he remarks, pleasantly surprised.

And then he lashes out, bringing you down into the sand beside him. With the hilt of his knife, he knocks your own out of your hand, and it’s catapulted into the air, spinning end over end and catching the light before it somersaults into the ground a few feet away. The grit plumes up at your face as you scuffle with him, and you hiss, frustrated that the sand does not lend you any more traction.

Rolling you over so fast your head spins, Feyd-Rautha drives his knife down towards your exposed neck. It makes a bolt of panic shoot through you, followed by the deep seated, survival impelled instinct to use the Voice on him, but like hell you’re doing that; honour prevents you, as well as the desire to finish this fight properly. You have no choice but to grab his forearm, slowing his blade’s descent, and a mirthful, rasping noise leaves his chest - a laugh that sets his eyes alight.

And then, the pressure dissolves, falling away. He stands, smirking down at you, the sun like a damning halo around his head. Silence falls over the arena, the anticipation thick in the air as he raises his hand, gesturing somewhere over your shoulder.

‘Go on, little witch, get your knife.’

You sneer, seeing the greed in his eyes, the misguided belief that he’s got you where he wants you. He wants to play, and it delights you.

Taking a few steps in the direction of the knife, you feign acquiescence. You can feel his eyes on your back, can sense the triumph oozing off him, and you let the adrenaline coursing through your veins guide your limbs, twisting you around so you can lunge at him, one hand wrapping around his bare forearm and bending it backwards as you spin him sharply until his back meets your chest. Viciously, you yank his arm further back, and the pain of that combined with your elbow tight around his throat, constricting his airways, is enough to loosen his grip.

A gasp ripples through the crowd as Feyd-Rautha drops his knife. It lodges in the ground beside your foot, and you flick it up with the toe of your boot, your hand darting out to snatch it from the air. The man in your arms bucks and writhes, but you keep your hold on him as you bring the knife to his neck for the second time.

‘Uh oh,’ you sing-song into his ear. ‘What’s happened here?’

He stills in your arms a little. ‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘I fear I’ve grown attached to you during our little fight,’ you hum. ‘It would be a shame to end a specimen like yourself.’

‘You are Bene Gesserit, I’m sure that you have arrangements - ’

‘I may be one, but I do not follow the order,’ you snarl. ‘I spare you because I wish to. Now, Harkonnen, knock the knife from my hand.’

You feel his muscles tense, the hesitation coursing through his body as he determines whether your bid is a trick or not, and then he does as you say, catching it smoothly and spinning to bring it to your throat. Calmly, you stare into his narrowed eyes, the cold caress of the blade harsh against your exposed skin.

‘What’s stopping me from killing you now, little witch?’

You laugh. ‘I trust I’ve piqued your interest sufficiently, na-Baron.’

‘Just Feyd is fine.’

You open your mouth to mock him, but he slices the blade away from your neck, very purposefully nicking you. Blood beads at the seam of the cut, hot and vengeful; he grips the back of your neck, exposing your throat to him, and prickles of pain shoot through you as the wound stretches. Frozen, you wait to see what he’ll do next, heart fluttering in your chest in a way that you know is not fear.

Insouciantly, he licks a long stripe up your skin, his scorching tongue following the trail of crimson his blade left behind. All consuming heat wells up in your stomach when he grins at you, displaying the hint of red coating his obsidian teeth, his eyes igniting the air between you as they dip down to survey your body, your heaving chest.

And then he releases you. You find your knees have gone weak, and you stumble as the guards close around you, grabbing you roughly under the armpits and dragging you out of the arena, your knees making twin tracks in the sand.

Managing a glance behind you, you catch sight of Feyd, his fist held triumphantly in the air as the crowd roars for their na-Baron.

Unsurprisingly, they throw you into a cell. Its walls are made of smooth, dark metal which seem to swallow up any sound that you make - it doesn’t surprise you that Vladimir Harkonnen has a Bene Gesserit proof cell - and the only thing furnishing it is a black blanket on the ground. A servant comes in and treats the shallow cut on your neck, but he refuses to meet your eyes and scurries off as fast as he can, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

You estimate two hours, maybe three, before Feyd appears in the doorway. His silhouette appears in the small glass window set in the door and pauses; you wonder if he’s considering leaving you there for a little longer, but then the lock disengages with a whoosh and the door slides open.

The air is immediately charged as he strides down the steps, eyes locked on you. With the smooth hiss of hydraulics, the door closes behind him, and he prowls forward, not quite smiling yet - you sense that he’s here to continue what you didn’t finish in the arena, and your back straightens a little as his gaze rakes over your body. He’s taken off his armour, leaving him in the thin black underclothes beneath, and he too has had someone treat the wound in his neck.

‘Your resistance to the drugs is remarkable, little witch. My blade was laced too.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘I find that matter quite disappointing, actually, that you must face your opponents in the arena when they are half sedated in order to best them.’

He smiles, stepping closer to you until you share air. ‘It’s not just the winning I seek.’

‘Oh, what is it then?’ You ask. ‘Pain?’

Quick as a snake, you strike, letting the thrill of the fight shoot through you yet again as he matches you blow for blow. He looks at you as if he wants to eat you, to taste you - not just your lips or your tongue, but the defiant burn of your lifeblood too, and it makes you want to sink your teeth into him.

Slipping past his guard to catch the front of his shirt, you bunch the material in your hand and tear, baring his well muscled chest to you. The sight of it makes your lips quirk upwards, further so at the sound he makes: a half growl and a half groan as he lunges for you, wonderfully infuriated by the way you dance just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers like water. His eyes are kindled with ardour - for both your blood and your flesh - and when they meet yours, shivers snap down your spine and tug at your stomach.

Feinting to the left, you jab at his neck. Like a scorpion waiting to strike, he grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him; you glance down at his feet, easily predicting that he’s going to sweep your legs out from under you if you let him bring you any closer. Yanking your hand back, you attempt to shake his grip on you, but he refuses to let go.

You slap him across the face.

Hard.

His fingers loosen on you as his head snaps to the side, the noise your palm makes against his chiselled cheek sharp and ringing in the cell. A soft, animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, and when he lifts his chin, his jaw clenched to perfection, the pure lust in his eyes makes you stumble back a step.

Rushing at you, he takes advantage of the heady swoop of desire that messes with your head, slowly backing you against the wall with each punch and kick he throws. Heat roils in his gaze, so intense that when he slams you against the wall, you don’t know whether he’s going to kill you or kiss you - the not-knowing thrills you, sets your bones and soul on fire. One of his hands comes up, his fingertips caressing your throat before he pounces, mercilessly cutting off your air supply.

Leaning into your space, he brings his lips up to your ear. ‘If I’d had my way, little witch, I’d have fucked you right there on the sand, with all of them watching.’

Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs or the feeling of his strong thigh pressing between your legs, relentless as he grinds it against your clit. You allow yourself a second to enjoy it before you retaliate, adrenaline seething in your blood.

Burying your nails into his arm, you twist it to the side, unbalancing him and taking him to the floor - his fingers grip your shirt, bringing you down with him. You land on his torso, straddling his hips, and as you do, he snaps his wrists down and rips your shirt from top to bottom down your back. The cool air of the cell sends ripples of goosebumps up your skin, and Feyd’s wide, calloused palms follow their path, surprisingly warm, deceptively gentle.

Bucking his lower body, he flips you over, pinning your hands over head, his long fingers circling your wrists as his hips press heavily into yours. Your eyes flick down to his mouth as he dips his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek; the curve of his lips is soft and almost graceful compared to the rough way he grinds against you, eager for more, yet eager to torture himself with the wait.

Tipping your jaw up, you let your lower lip brush his before you turn your head to the side, denying him. Amusingly, he follows your touch, insistent that you kiss him, but you ease out of his grip and trap him between your arms when he gives chase - a growl sounds low in his chest, one of his hands gripping your thigh, futilely yanking at your trousers as you grapple, rolling over and over on the cell’s floor.

His hand slams down beside your head, stopping your course, his forearm flat against your throat - not quite choking you, but not letting your air supply run free. Feyd’s touch sears your skin in the best way, and you wish to be consumed by the flames.

‘Must I tie you up, little witch?’

His voice is low and rasping, sending shivers up your spine. You don’t answer, instead claiming his lips, welcoming the insistent press of his tongue as you thrust your hips against his, seeking that exquisite friction. Running your hands up his strong back, you hook your elbow around the nape of his neck, locking him to you as he explores the taste of you.

Abruptly, he pulls away, and you open your mouth, protest on your lips until he tugs down your trousers and underwear, tossing them somewhere to the side, his own garments following. You get one good look at him, at his powerful, muscle lined thighs framing your hips and the curve of his leaking cock against his stomach before he swipes his fingers between your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.

When he lowers his face to your heat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a breathless moan slips from you, loaded with anticipation. You can’t stop the louder echo that leaves you when he dips his fingers into cunt, curling them to hit your sweet spot, and your nails claw at his shoulder blades, leaving red trails behind them.

‘That’s it, little witch,’ he croons. ‘Sing for me.’

And sing you do, as he wrings the pleasure from you with his tongue and fingers until your legs tremble and close around his head. He pins your thighs to the floor, holding you open for him as he tastes you, insatiable, pushing you unrelentingly over the edge, again and again until hot tears slide down your cheeks and your voice breaks from crying his name.

Finally, he buries his length inside you. Your eyes roll back at the stretch of it, your pussy fluttering around him; you muffle the moan that rips itself from your chest by biting down on his shoulder. He chuckles as you mewl his name, your back arching as he pulls out, only sheathe himself up to the hilt when he thrusts back in - he’s as drunk on your sounds as you are on his cock: he needs more. More of you, of your delicious sounds and your intoxicating scent and that sweet, sweet cunt of yours.

Feyd fucks like he fights: ruthless, full of passion and lust, remorseless.

Just as you’re about to come around his cock, he pulls out, leaving you scrabbling against the floor, hips futile as they follow his, his name like a plea on your lips. He drinks in your desperation, flipping you over and cracking his palm down hard on your ass before slamming himself back into your weeping pussy, the ragged cry that escapes you like the nectar of the gods on his tongue as he swallows it with a kiss. Gathering your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back, pounding tirelessly into you as he pins you to his solid chest, mouthing at the skin behind your ear.

As Feyd spills his warm seed inside you, you wonder if the Bene Gesserit were actually distracted, or if that was what they wanted you to think as they crossed bloodlines, even despite your defiance of their order.

You flop onto the blanket as Feyd eases himself out of your spasming cunt. Your head is fuzzy, warm, and a dumb smile pulls at your lips.

Feyd chuckles. ‘I have not broken you, have I, little witch?’

You send him a look half as fierce as it should be. ‘Barely. You have merely sated me - for now.’

He laughs again, lying next to you on the blankets. His body is angled towards you, but he doesn’t reach out - that he lay down beside you is surprising to you in the first place, but you seize the opportunity and curl up in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Slowly, his fingers card through your hair, and you close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment of softness from the bloodthirsty na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Reaching out, you grab the blanket and fold it over the two of you - he rolls over so that he lies with his head resting on your chest. His lips brush the skin between your breasts, and you're struck by the glimpse of vulnerability that Feyd allows you to witness; this is not by accident, this is a gift from him, a way of silently telling you that he has come as close to trusting you as he could ever come to trusting someone.

Silent, you bask there in the afterglow, eyes half closed. At some point, you seek Feyd’s lips, and he obliges you, lazily exploring your mouth in a way he did not get a chance to do before, sighing contentedly as you trace the lines your nails carved along the grooves of his broad back. Eventually, you pull away, staring into his eyes where the embers of the fire that had blazed in them still glow with the heat of it. You need to go.

Gently, your breath mingling with his, you kiss his cheek, your lips gliding against his skin before you get up, briefly laughing at the wobbly nature of your legs before gathering your clothes and dressing as best as you can, considering he ripped your shirt all the way down the back.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s propped himself up on his elbows; the blanket has slipped down to reveal most of his moon coloured stomach, and he regards you with mirth mixed with something like respect.

You pause in the doorway. You can tell he’s letting you leave.

A smile plays on his lips.

‘We’ll meet again, little witch.’

It’s not a question, nor a whimsy. It’s a promise.

[hauntingmiser]

( ⚠️ some gore & blood & spoiler? )

ＰＲＩＥＳＴ.

★ 𝐇appy March 5th! ★

Remember : beware the possessed one

This is a remaster of the 2023 variant lol so....

please enjoy it as my ✨ gratitude ✨

[theomnicode]

How does Genos show he cares? How to write a relatable cyborg character

Warning: Very long post incoming, tl;dr at the bottom

This meta doubles as Genos appreciation post. :D

Ever since his introduction, Genos has shown multiple times his very humane side of caring about Saitama and caring about defeating evil for the betterment of mankind. (Chapter 5: Itch explosion)

The first line he utters to Saitama is to tell him to hide because he does not want this casualty and when he forgets Saitama was there with him, he worries about him having become a casualty to his incinerator. (Chapter 6: Saitama)

Genos has to resort to almost blowing himself and mosquito girl up because he sees no other way to rid the world of such a powerful monster, but fortunately Saitama intervenes. They exchange names and go their merry way but later on, Genos knock on his door as he promised he would. Saitama is very uncertain about this new cyborg buddy of his, but he lets him in regardless and they have a chat.

Here Genos shows that he also worries about Saitama's health, after having barely met him, when he considers how odd it is that Saitama has balded completely at his age already, which is very abnormal medically considering. (Chapter 7: Mysterious raid)

Genos seems to have bunch of medical knowledge inside his head, as later on in the series he improvises a defiblirator and would have used it on Tank-top master if Bang hadn't gotten his heart started first. (Chapter 144: Silver fang)

He also remarks about Kombu's not so proven scientitic research about it growing hair when Saitama has defeated the Kombu monster and taken the leaf parts for him to eat, making the assumption that Saitama must've gotten the Kombu for growing out his hair. Genos cares a lot about Saitama's health already and they're barely acquainted at best at this point. (Chapter 20: Rumour)

The first duo battle they have shows Genos showing a lot of concern towards Saitama's well being, even when he really does not have to, but he's not yet acquainted well with the level of power Saitama actually possesses so he would not need to worry so much. (Chapter 7: Mysterious raid)

He also looks very disdraught about the fact that he cannot just rush to Saitama's aid because he's too busy himself with Armored gorilla, when the other monster decides to take advantage of Saitama's immobile state. (Chapter 8: You mean this guy?)

Poor Genos is such a worrywart because of his own trauma of losing everything in an instant, it honestly does him good to be able to trust Saitama and that Saitama cannot be harmed that easily. It is good that nowdays, he trusts in Saitama's capabilities to handle himself and he worries a lot less (Chapter 165: Absolute evil), even if he immediately went for an enthusiastic armless glomp on him the moment he saw Saitama was back safe and sound. (Chapter 168: Awakening of the gods)

Otherwise he might want to rush to Saitama's aid without thinking about himself and his own opponent first, like he does with Armored Gorilla, who manages to grab his shoulder when he turns his back to his own enemy. If he cares too much, he lets his guard down against enemies and that is not a good habit to have when his enemies are extremely strong.

A very glaring weakness that could be exploited without mercy in any kind of (double) battle if he does not have the insurance that Saitama is just about impossible to be harmed...well, physically at least.

Genos trust in Saitama's capabilities has unfortunately gotten to the point where he thinks Saitama is an answer to every possible problem mankind could face and where Saitama is basically some sort of messiah. Not without reason either, because Saitama performed some insane feats during the Garou fight. (Chapter 166-168, Chapter 173.)

-*-

Moving back in timeline, Genos is instantly very protective of Saitama, to the point of zealousness and jealosy popping up from time to time when other people try to monopolise Saitama's time to themselves.

Genos overprotectiveness early on also shows in way that he wants to take care of anything that might threathen Saitama's well being without mercy, like blowing up the entirety of the House of Evolution building and ramming himself into the next enemy he sees, that being Carnage Kabuto, but in doing so he can and will easily overexert himself. (Chapter 11: The key to his power)

Genos has immediately become the guard dog of Saitama, that even Flashy flash makes a remark on and tells Genos to sit out like a dog, that Genos immediately refutes by having a peep hole into Saitama's apartment and rejects the proposal of Flashy becoming Saitama's master. (Chapter 193: World I know nothing about)

Genos just outright refuses anybody from monopolising Saitama's time to themselves when he's the one who feels like he has the right to 1 on 1 interaction with Saitama, being his obsessive disciple. 😂

Anybody who dares to waste Saitama sensei's precious time, they have to go through him first.

Early on, Saitama has also learned that he can't scare Genos away with his problems. Genos is far too loyal and even if Saitama wanted to stew with his problem alone, Genos cares far too much already and is far too loyal to be sidelined that easily. (Chapter 15: Hobby and work)

Saitama has also learned that Genos can get quite passionate, intimidating and murderous even if he feels like Saitama's been hurt in some way, such as embarrassed due to low score on his exam when Genos thinks he deserves much better scores, so Saitama has to rein him in lest he seriously go off on some random poor dude who just examined his scores. (Chapter 16: Passed the exam)

(Ah Genos, always over the top reaction. Never change. :D)

-*-

One thing about Genos that gives him points in Saitama's eye is that he is quite willing to explain any concept to Saitama, without judgement even if the logical deduction of said thing would've been easy for to understand. Other people might make snide remarks at Saitama, but not Genos. (Chapter 17: Sparring)

Genos also always has Saitama's best interest in hand and asks if he's going to be fine considering his hero rank and that he hasn't seen Saitama active. (Chapter 18: Business activity)

Genos integrates into Saitama's life almost seamlessly, from grocery shopping to meticulously cleaning the house each and every day, from cleaning the windows, vacuuming, cooking, doing dishes and even scrubbing the toilet on daily basis. There is a lot house work that he does for Saitama.

However, the most outstanding character quality in Genos is that he refuses to give up, no matter how dire or dark the situation may seem, such as during the meteor incident, where he goes completely alone to face such a dragon level threat that it could wipe out the entire city and then some. He cares much about Saitama, but so does he care about the innocent citizens getting caught by such a disaster. (Chapter 21: Giant meteor)

Being close to Saitama, it gives Genos strenght to carry on through even the most difficult tasks shoved on him, because not trusting himself enough and his capabilities will only cause him to hesitate in the face of potential collateral damage and that can be a big weakness in itself when time is of the essence.

After the meteor incident has been dealt with, Genos also shows that he cares a lot about Saitama's feelings and does not want them to be hurt, so that is why he omits telling him that public has made Saitama their enemy, hoping that with time their unjust anger would fade. Unfortunately, that is not to be because Saitama goes outside and faces these angry people anyway. (Chapter 22: Voices)

Genos holds Saitama is very high regard and immediately writes down Saitama's inspiring quote. It is not enough that he cares about his physical and mental well being, but he also cares about Saitama as the person and his feelings, even if he idolizes him a lot.

This trait is further explored in the anime with the extra scene where Genos comes to bring Saitama back home because he worries for Saitama's well being again since the public is turned against him, listens to Saitama's rant and affirms his feelings but still tells Saitama that he would always follow him, no matter what the public thinks about him. Saitama however does not quite get it and only thinks Genos is just buttering him up like earlier, with complements and such, because he does not think of himself very highly but it still manages to bring a smile to his face, something that Genos unfortunately does not get to see. (Episode 7, The greatest apprentice)

Genos being a caring, loyal, headstrong and hardworking protector is put to another test against Sea King, where he gets pummeled and pummels back as much as he can give in an incredible fight, but chooses again to self-sacrifice himself to save a little girl from the corrosive acid of Sea king when he sees no other option to save her, besides throwing his more resilient cyborg body in the way, but at the same time, allows himself to become inoperable and at the mercy of Sea king. (Chapter 26: Glimmer of hope)

It is in Mumen rider's care and headstrong intervention that saves Genos from dying at the hands of Sea King because Saitama had become lost and only just made it there to save them both. At the end, Genos contemplates that he will still follow Saitama, even if the public turned on him en masse and he found himself in a tight spot. (Chapter 28: Since it's raining)

As soon as the letters start pouring in about their heroics, Genos sees how ugly the masses treat Saitama in the form of hate letters and he does not want to stand idly by while everyone throws disparaging comments about Saitama. But poor Genos also feels like he's the one to blame, for showing the letters to Saitama. 😭

This has become quite a long ramble about how Genos is very caring, headstrong, hardworking hero and I could go on for even longer than that since I've only checked out the first portion of the manga for this meta to use as examples, but as a final thought, not a whole lot encompasses Genos as a character than the last panels I can put into this post.

Genos cares so much he does not just fiercely fight for the individuals; he fights for his sensei, for the citizens, for the other heroes and for the world to be a better place, rid of evil. That he still came to Tatsumaki's aid even when the situation seemed hopeless because he could. This humane side of him is very relatable, caring about our loved ones and other human beings is very intrinsical to our own well being as social people. (Chapter 134: Twist & Chapter 137: Resonance)

However, he still has those self-destructing tendencies that are hopefully curbed now that he got positive reinforcement from Saitama for not blowing himself up, so that he values himself a bit more. That he is not expendable piece. (Chapter 155: Results)

Last thoughts, Genos is incredibly passionate individual when it comes to protecting others and avenging his loved ones. He even threw his remainder of a torso directly at Cosmic Garou, just because he's resistant to radiation, with his brain being encompassed behind heavy fortifications. (Chapter 166: Squared.)

(^ Chapter 186: Turning point ^)

Hope y'all enjoyed this incredibly long post about Genos and how he shows his caring side. :D

Thank you @themisterhip for this meta idea on discord. :)

Tl;dr Genos is hardworking, passionate, very caring, meticulous, fierce, intelligent and well-researched individual who fights to the best of his ability for other people, no matter what it takes. Ironically, Genos is one if not the most humane character in the series, despite being a cyborg.

[antianakin]

I watched Dune: Part Two over the weekend, and I came to realize something: Anakin Skywalker has a lot in common with Paul Atreides, and none of them are good.

Funnily enough, I was also making comparisons between Dune and Star Wars when I saw it this weekend, but more positively. Not necessarily specifically between Paul and Anakin, but in the ways the two stories subverted the Chosen One storyline.

In Star Wars, Anakin is the Chosen One and it IS a good thing, but it's not INEVITABLE unless Anakin chooses it. He HAS to make the choice to be a good, balanced, selfless person in order to achieve the perfect prophecized ending. It is impossible to achieve it through brute force of will or selfish agendas.

In Dune (based purely on the story in the films, I have not read the books so I cannot speak to what the story was in there if it's different), Paul is the Chosen One by design of other mortal people around him, he is the Chosen One because they CREATED a Chosen One through specific breeding and manipulation of cultures and religions. They literally achieve their prophecized ending through brute force, Paul becomes a messiah by forcing himself to ride a sand worm, by killing and defeating the opposing forces on the planet, by using Fremen as weapons in a holy war, by drinking poison and coming out of it alive. The subversion here isn't in how the prophecized ending is achieved, but in how it was CREATED and the fact that achieving it is a BAD THING.

Anakin chooses to DEFY his destiny out of selfishness while Paul chooses to GIVE IN to his destiny out of selflessness, and then they both end up villains as a result. Both of them made their own choices, but were also manipulated onto this path by forces they couldn't control and people they should've been able to trust. They're both left feeling like they're out of choices and so the only one left is the one they KNOW is bad.

But I find myself somewhat more able to sympathize with Paul because he tries SO HARD throughout the entire film to keep this from happening, he knows exactly what's going to happen if it does, and in the end, he's just outplayed basically. He'll never be a match for the greater forces at play until he becomes one of them, and at that point he's lost in every way that matters. It's a completely lose-lose situation for Paul the way I saw it. Even with the visions, Paul has had multiple visions come true before he has the one about the holy war, and has a lot more reason to believe that it's true due to Jessica's training. And it felt like when he drank that poison that some part of Paul almost literally did die, that someone else came back to life in some ways and that's part of the whole tragedy. He's almost possessed by the powers around him by the time he declares himself Emperor.

The same is DEMONSTRABLY not true for Anakin. Anakin walks into the darkness with his eyes open and his head held high because he believes HE ALONE will benefit from it. There's no selflessness in this choice in any way shape or form. He has had ONE VISION come true that we know of before he gets the dream about Padme and the Jedi notoriously do not believe visions to be all that trustworthy to begin with, so all of his training tells him that just because ONE vision came true still doesn't mean that THIS one is true and even if it were, he can't trust that any action he takes to keep it from happening will actually have that result. But he's selfish and greedy enough to try anyway, to discard everything he's ever been taught, for power. He convinces himself that doing this makes him a hero, that murdering the Jedi, down to the last child, makes him a hero. There's no evidence that doing what he's doing will save Padme, or that Padme would even WANT him to do this to save her. He's not truly outplayed, he had all the tools at his disposal to make the better choice in that moment in Palpatine's office, he's just not a good enough person to make it. He IS a match for the greater forces at play in terms of power, he and Mace could've EASILY killed Palpatine together if only Anakin had chosen the better path. He just... chooses not to because it doesn't benefit him to do so. Anakin could've won, in every way that mattered. He only loses because he makes the stupidest choice imaginable.

Dune is a political sci fi epic about how people in power will literally create messiahs for the people they intend to subject as a way to consolidate their own power.

Star Wars is a children's cautionary tale wrapped in an space opera adventure about how letting your fears control you will bring about your own destruction, and only kindness and selflessness will save the world.

It's not exactly a secret that Lucas was inspired by Dune when coming up with Star Wars, so I find it really interesting to look at the similarities and differences in how they each approached their Chosen One storylines.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Am I in love with just a theme ? ✧

Plot: You watch your boyfriend becoming a serial killer…

An eerie hush permeated the modest bedroom save for the scratching of Light's pen etching yet another convicted criminal's name into that innocuous black notebook.

You couldn't tear your gaze away, stomach roiling in uneasy revulsion at how...casually he wielded such monstrous power these days.

Like some self-appointed deity passing judgment with a flick of his wrist.

This merciless, arrogant demigod bore only the barest fleeting resemblance to the brilliant yet tenderhearted boyfriend you once adored.

Since acquiring the Death Note's insidious abilities, your Light had steadily devolved into a twisted shell of his former self, driven by an all-consuming messiah complex.

You barely recognized him anymore - the Light you knew would've recoiled in horror over such wanton slaughter, dismissing the very notion as abhorrent. These days? He didn't so much as blink as person after person perished at his whim, swaths of human lives extinguished with infuriatingly casual indifference.

Swallowing thickly, you finally found your voice. Hesitant, yet brimming with desperation to reach whatever tattered remnants of the man you loved still lurked beneath Kira's pitiless exterior.

"Light?"

When those russet eyes flickered up towards you, glacial and utterly devoid of warmth, the words shriveled in your throat for an agonizing heartbeat.

Plunging onwards with a strained exhale, you barrelled through before your nerve could crumble entirely.

"Why don't you just...pass the notebook off to someone else?" Achingly wistful, you curled your arms across your midsection like a flimsy shield.

"You don't...you don't have to keep doing this yourself. We could go back to how things were before and-"

"Enough." Light cut you off with a curt growl, snapping the Death Note closed with a dull thud that made you flinch.

Abruptly he stood, stalking towards the bed with leonine grace yet stiff, clipped movements radiating frigid menace. Too late, you shrank from his imposing form looming over you now.

Face to face, scarcely inches apart, you could see the fanatical glint smoldering behind those impassive, handsome features.

A shudder slithered down your vertebrae under his unnerving scrutiny.

"I can't let this power slip into anyone else's hands."

The words emerged through gritted teeth, a muscle feathering along Light's taut jawline.

"I was chosen to become the God of this new world, to execute divine justice and establish true order with my own hands. No one else is worthy."

An errant tear slipped from the corner of your eye, tracing a glistening trail down your cheek in the tense standoff's wake. You tried valiantly to fortify your resolve, to not flinch away from the sheer gravity of that unnervingly cold, callous resolution etched into his very marrow.

But it was too much.

"Light, please..."

The words gurgled out in a desperate rasp, thick with anguished pleading and unshed tears.

"I love you, b-but I can't keep watching as you lose every shred of your humanity like this! If you won't give up that thing, then...then I have to go. I can't stay by and watch this anymore!"

At the achingly soft admission spilling through your wobbling lips, Light's expression didn't flicker for a protracted, agonizing heartbeat.

But then his mouth curled into the ghost of a smirk, utterly devoid of genuine mirth - just cruel, calculating self-assurance.

"Go ahead and try," he crooned with scathing disinterest, callused fingers seizing a rough fistful of your hair to forcibly tilt your face up towards his. Tears spilled freely now, sobs raking your trembling frame.

"You don't honestly think I'd let you walk away with everything you know about me still intact, do you?"

The icy finality behind those mocking words washed over you in a suffocating wave, stealing what little tenuous purchase on hope you still possessed.

You sagged, terror-fuelled adrenaline rapidly leaching away into numb hopelessness and misery.

Without ceremony, Light shoved you away with a scoff, leaving you sprawled across the mattress amidst your pitiful puddle of grief.

With a few perfunctory swipes of his sleeve across those chiseled features, he'd already vanished whatever fleeting glimpses of genuine emotion had flickered there just moments ago.

"You'll stay right here, powerless and silent as my humble concubine," the words emerged crisp, cold, and utterly inflexible as he returned to the Death Note splayed open in indifferent expectation.

"Embrace your purpose, devote yourself to watching over the birth of a new utopia...or perish like any other obstacle beneath my heel."

Through a fresh torrent of searing tears, you could only bring yourself to rasp out a pitiful whimper of surrender.

Beaten. Broken.

Any facade of control or dignity had long fled along with the better parts of Light's withering soul.

Beneath the weight of sickening realization settling like a shroud, darkness crept across your vision as the soft scratching of pen against paper resumed.

You were well and truly his hapless pawn now.

[starsonablackboard]

thinking about ascention lamb a lot in the past week or so.....

(au stuff under the cut and also i would struggle with this pic for a lot longer if not for @runningwithscizzorz and their drawings of nour. those back-bending legs are very hard :''')

since the defeat of narinder and the red crown coming fully in lamb's possession, their body finally broke out of that locked state and started to change. they put on some weight and muscle, not looking so unwell anymore and not relying on the crown to compensate for their body's natural lack of strength and stamina in battle, their wool was finally healthy enough to form a thick and soft coat and the "head-wool" (furry laws remember) grew past their shoulders for the first time in their life

they're in the process of moving on from their "heavenly innocent child-like messiah (with a sword)" image to a more mature, serious and properly god-like one, that would inspire both awe and (a little) fear