#creativity crusader

[dragonpigeons]

My full piece for @/stardustovazine on twitter : Jotaro vs Avdol ⭐️ This took me a long time to do because I love to suffer. Leftover sales are open until Jan 4, 2024!

[woahspacewizards]

THE GREAT CRUSADE! THE HORUS HERESY! THE SCOURING! What do these all have in common? Probably having your blorbos be in control by people who write them well but don't show up.

What if however, you were in control? You made a Legion, the blorbos within, and their Primarch? Well today I'm giving that chance in a group collaborative writing effort! Join other goobers in creating new Legions, making decisions that will affect the galaxy, and causing deep irreversible trauma. If you're interested do keep reading!

Now, while this is a group writing project first and foremost there is always a need to have some restrictions and rules. However, most of these rules will boil down to keeping a certain number of "archetypes" down; after all the universe doesn't need 5 emperor's executioners.

There will also be visuals, while I'm no master artist I can definitely draw some way of seeing the progress of the crusade and what attacks happen throughout. Giving that extra bit of spice needed.

Overall, it'll be a great time and if you're interested message me on Tumblr or hit me up on discord at Mage8500, can't wait to see your messages!

[nicknacknightmare]

Played COTL for the first time today and oh my lamb somebody get me my own game controller I don't wanna wait a week to borrow my friends I need to play the furry cult game NEOW

[alexdti]

Cameo OC belongs to @screwpinecaprice and JavaThePone

Quest for friendship RETOLD - Page 33 New page each Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday

[deusluxuria]

jjba characters with the most difficult outfits to hide a whole pizza in, ranked:

1. pillar men

2. anasui

3. vanilla ice

4. ¡Oye cómo va mi ritmo! Bueno pa' gozar, Mulata.

5. melone

6. narancia

7. mariah

[zmasters]

Promises Lost Part 2: Pride of the Fall - A Trench Crusade Fan Fic

Part 1

Marianne struggled to stay awake. It’s been a few days since she was taken by the lanky, long-limbed, rusty armor wearing knight. She had been thrown into a cage, made of scavenged plywood and loose rope, pulled by a dog-like creature that looked like it was mere-seconds from collapsing at the very back of a convoy of shambling corpses attempting to look like a military force. She could very easily break a hole in the cage and run off into no-man’s land, if she had the strength to.

Marianne stared dead-eye, her combat medic uniform dirtied by mud and whatever leaked from the hound that pulled her. The only food she has been given in this journey was a single MRE stolen from her slaughter warband, two raw potatoes, a box of crackers that was already in her pocket when she was taken, and a wooden bowl filled with an unknown meat that had fallen out of the cage three kilometers ago. She was cold and tired, the only things that could keep her a semblance of comfort being the clothes on her back and the wood floor of the cage. But the thing that kept her from trying to escape was her broken spirit. Whatever will she held was stripped away when she learned that the sister she had let die because of a lie was now a champion of one of the Princes of Hell, and it was the very last trickle of faith that sat in her that kept her from unsheathing the misericorde that sat on her thigh and slitting her own throat. Suicide is the greatest sin against God, but something in her was telling her “What was one more sin?” She was certain that she was going to Hell when she died anyway. Would dragging out her suffering be worth it?

“I haven’t seen Lady Veras bring in a live one before.”

The voice broke Marianne out of her melancholy. In her stupor, she failed to notice that the convoy had stopped, her cage resting in the middle of a small village. Sickly pale men, women, children, and other beings spoke in strained voices in a language that she didn’t understand, all cautiously side-eyeing her. All except the one who broke her trance.

This woman managed to speak English in a heavily-accented voice, muffled by the tanned scarf that covered her mouth. Strains of blonde hair stuck to her sweaty forehead as a pair of pale gray eyes.

“Where am I, heretic?”

“Mmm, one of the God-Tyrant’s followers are ye?” She laughed. “Welcome to Lady Veras’s little fiefdom of Sporeheart.”

“Vera owns this place.” Marianne glanced away from this woman, her eyes catching her sister’s monstrous form walking towards the largest building in the village, a one story shack with a slightly higher roof. She was stopped by a small child, or what looked like one. The child handed the three meter tall knight a crown made of sticks and dead leaves, a crown she happily placed on her helmeted head.

“Yes, she does. I’m surprised that one of the God-Tyrant’s zealots knows of her name.” The woman continued. “When the Bride of Beelzebub was slain, her knights were shunned from their dark paradise of Ekron, forever wandering the Earth in shame for failing their sire. But Veras, brave, caring Veras the Executioner commanded her few loyal knights and brought order to this land. All in an effort to prove her worth to her sire.”

“She’s like her own little queen.” Marianne muttered to herself.

“It’s disgusting.”

Marianne turned to the woman, her metal mask hiding her glare.

“Beelzebub is not a forgiving lord. Short of killing YHWH by her own hands, he will never let her back into his Unholy City.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we have the same goal, pilgrim.” Marianne felt the woman’s predatory grin from under her scarf. “To send her soul screaming back to Hell.”

Before Marianne could say anything, the door to the makeshift collapsed to the ground. “Ready to kill an enemy of your God?”

“What?”

The woman placed a dagger into the nurse’s hand. “You failed your God for being captured by these-” She coughed. “Heathens.”

“Yes.”

“But if you kill one of the Princes of Hell’s mortal champions, you’d be granted a seat right next to him in Heaven or whatever you guys believe in.”

“But helping a different champion of Hell would only damn me more.” Marianne growled.

“The way I’m seeing it, you’re going to Hell right now. Why don’t you take a poor sinner’s knife and test your luck. Best case scenario, you prove yourself wrong. Worst case, you go to Hell with some pride and a favor owed by my boss. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

Marianne looked down at the knife now in her hand. It was a jagged blade made of a pure black metal, but she felt a slight heat radiating from the blade. Something not too dissimilar than the feeling she felt while in the presence of a Communicant, divine yet twisted. As she closed her hand around the handle, she felt a wave of pride washing over her. A voice in her head telling her that this is what she was supposed to do.

“What will you have me do?”

Lady Veras finally reached the wooden door of her makeshift castle. The tall knight squeezed under a frame of rotting wood held together by the moss and spores wrapping around each strip of wood, into the damp hold she has been calling home for Beelzebub knows how long.

It was a single room, with a single bed, a single stove, and a single table. The bed was massive, laying haphazardly on a frame that had been broken long ago. The iron stove was rusted, having not been used in months. She was used to the cold anyway. The table, a small wooden table, was too small for her. Even sitting on her knees the top of the table was just below her waist. Where the kitchen of this house would’ve been was instead replaced with weapon and armor racks. She had no need for a kitchen, as she never cooked for herself. The people of this village were more than happy to prepare meals for her and her knights whenever they wanted. Despite that, and despite being a knight of the Prince of Gluttony, she was very rarely hungry enough to demand a subject to give her food. She was a glutton for something else.

The staved Marianne skulked through the town, reaching a window to the house. Peering in, she saw the leader of this community grab her rusty helm with her rusty gauntlet. The helmet leaked a black liquid as she aggressively ripped the helmet from her head, slamming it into the table with enough force to break through it.

“Why did it have to be her?” Veras growled. Marianne had a glance of her sister’s face as she smashed her table. Her skin was almost translucent, pulled taunt against her skull. Her messy hair was blonde, stringy, and looked wet. Her eyes were yellow, with the black liquid that was in her helmet leaking from her tear ducts. “Damn it damn it DAMN IT!” She growled, gnashing her sharp fangs as she spat out a black bile.

“Lady Veras.” The husky voice of one of the knights said as they entered the house. “Please calm down.”

“I will not calm down! That is my bloody sister.”

“I understand, my Lady. What I don’t understand why you’re so angry that we found her? Her loyalties to the God-Tyrant was never a secret, and I don’t know why you want vengeance. Her abandonment is the reason why you were brought into the fold. It’s the reason you, Zyn, and I met.”

The second knight entered the room as she finished speaking.

Vera took a deep breath. “Iska, Zyn, meeting you two was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. If Marianne didn’t leave me to die, Lady Febris wouldn’t have found me and introduced me to you two. I have to thank her for that, and I am tempted to show her mercy.”

“So what is your plan, my Lady?” The other knight, Zyn, asked.

“While I still owe her responsibility to meeting my Lord and Lady, she is still my sister, and my sister left me to die at the hands of zealots. For that, I cannot forgive her. But to be honest, I don’t know what to actually do to her yet.”

The first knight, Iska, spoke up again. “I believe just knowing that her sister is apart of Hell’s nobility torture enough.”

“But we’re not nobles anymore.” Zyn interrupted. “We failed, our master is dead, and we’re shunned from Ekron.”

“I doubt that she knows that, let alone even cares about the politics of our situation. I propose we just kill her and throw her body to the thralls.”

“I don’t think that’s enough.” Zyn gurgled. “I think we should turn her into a thrall, and have her serve us until her crimes have been repaid.”

“Enough.” Veras roared. “I need time to think about this.”

“Of course, my Lady.” The two bowed. “Do you need anything from us?”

She sighed. “Comfort. Praise. Maybe a little bit of flesh.”

“You never need to ask.” Iska giggled, touching her helmeted forehead to Veras’s.

Marianne ducked away from the window. “She’s happy.” She muttered to herself. “She’s surrounded by people who love her, the power to do whatever she wants, and purpose. What do I have?”

She stood up, her grip tightening on the dagger as she turned east.

“You’re just going to leave her?” The woman who gave her the dagger asked.

“There’s only two things causing my sister pain.” She answered. “And I think both your lord and mine would appreciate what I’m going to do.”

“Hold on a moment, you damned zealot.” The woman placed a hand on Marianne’s shoulder. “Some of your church’s top guys can barely survive in Hell. There is no fucking way you’re going down there to kill Beelzebub yourself.”

“The Lord of Flies have shunned my sister. I will make her happy. I will make her love me again.”

“Look around you, ya lunatic.” She screamed. “You’re sister is a fuck up in charge of a shanty town in the middle of Hell on Earth. Why are you, of all people, going to get yourself killed for a sinner who willingly left the grace of your God?”

Marianne marched forward, pushing the woman aside. “Because I am proud of my sister.”

The woman watched in stunned silence as the starved nun she found inside a box marched in the direction of the Hellgate. “What about food?”

Marianne paused at a cart of body parts, something the locals were looting for meat and valuables, and grabbed a leg from the pile.

“Holy shit she’s going to fit right in.” She started running after her. “This is going to be entertaining.”

[np-art-work]

Kakyoin being a meme P.S you can follow me on Instagram for more art @np.art.work

[giantkillerjack]

Posting this here for receipts in case someone decides to steal this killer line of poetry I wrote for a spotify playlist description of all things (and which, together with the title, sounds like the heading of an essay that I would immediately want to read very badly):

[drtomt18]

I've been outlining a warhammer 40k story about the Salamanders

It starts all the way back on Terra, before the Great Crusade even really began, when the Emperor was still mustering His forces. The proto-Salamanders, then called the Dragon Warriors, are assigned the task of breaking the final Fortress of the last remaining warlords on Terra whom the Emperor have not conquered.

https://warhammer40k.fandom.com/wiki/Assault_of_the_Tempest_Galleries see details here

After that, only one thousand Marines are left standing from the 20,000 started.

The story follows Captain Vor'shar of the Dragon Warriors, shortly after the utter devastation of that Tempest Galleries. As the Emperor of Mankind offered each surviving Dragon Warrior a small boon as reward for their victory, Vor'Shar asked the Master of Mankind to join one of the Solar Auxilia regiments as part of the Rear Guard for the Great Crusade. The Emperor accepted, and Vor’shar and about 50 Dragon Warriors who opted to go with him set out.

The defensive fleet was dubbed the Dragonlance, and very quickly the Solar Auxilia found that they worked very, very well with the Dragon Warriors. To the degree that Vor'shar dubbed them as his brothers and sisters. They fought together, bled together, held their ground against impossible odds time and time again.

Eventually, the Dragonlance faced a fight so big that even they couldn't hold their ground. Even the menials of the Forge World took up arms beside the Skitarii, battle servitors, and Titans against an enormous space Hulk that controlled by an Abominable Intelligence. The Intelligence was once responsible for managing the space habitat that was the home to billions. It had been swallowed by the Warp when the Eye of Terror opened at the beginning of the age of Strife. A Greater Demon made its home inside the habitat, fusing with the AI to such a degree that they could never be separated. Their personalities melded into a single malicious entity that used the inhabitants of the habitats as play things. Turning them into mutant abominations.

Just when all was lost, Vulkan arrived with the rest of the Dragon Warriors, now dubbed the Salamanders, and unleashed the fury of Nocturne on the space Hulk. Vulkan himself and a squad of Terminators teleported aboard and fought their way through to the AIs core. Vulkan didn't know what the hell it was, assuming that it was just a crazed AI. Once it was destroyed, the Legion fleet fell upon the Hulk with everything it had, until it exploded in a ball of fire that utterly consumed it. The Legion turned its attention to the Forge World, quickly deploying via drop pod to reinforce the besieged defenders. The tide was already turning, with the loss of the demonic AI, the coordination of the host of cybernetic abominations quickly lost cohesion.

When the fighting finally ended, the Solar Auxilia and Dragon Warriors met with Vulkan. He welcomed both into the Salamanders as his sons (and daughters too!)

Vor'shar was invited by Vulkan to join the Pyre Guard. But Vor'shar politely declined the honor. He wanted to stay with his little brothers and sisters. What remained of the Auxilia were as much as family, and to be separated from them was unthinkable. Vulkan accepted this answer and told his Terran born son that he Dragonlance would be the shining example of what it meant to be a Salamander. To live and fight beside mortals as equals. Vor'shar, in turn, adopted the teachings of his father with great enthusiasm. Becoming even more fervent in his zeal, welcoming his Nocturne born brothers into the Dragonlance and showing them what the fury of the Salamanders was. To be utterly unrelenting towards the enemy, to stand against the tide when all others falter, and to protect those who can not protect themselves.

Vulkan gave Vor'shar a spear, one he has used during his time in Nocturne to fight off the mighty beasts of the desert (and Dark Eldar.) The Spear of Vulkan was presented to the Dragonlance as a symbol of their name sake, and a sign that Vulkan respected them greatly.

Vor'shar and the Dragonlance would fight beside Vulkan across the galaxy, bringing many worlds to compliance both with kindness and with fire. The Dragonlance being the first into the fray, and the last to leave.

I have more written bout what happened during the Horus Heresy n such but I tire. Maybe I'll post the whole doc later lmao. Hope someone reads this and likes it.

[lordplavis]

Would you like to find out what you would be the god of? Take my new uqiz to find out

[death-crusade]

IT NEVER LASTS x2

To all those things considered, I don’t want to change at all.

I was doing fine until I wasn’t, my strange kind mind things abandoned.

Spread faint after the dark, my wet concrete and it’s shimmer.

What’s the point. There you go again watching from the hide.

My own minds eye reflection, it never lasts, it never lasts.

Only there when time is turbulent, I feel you on my back.

Gently fingers sliding down my spine, I’ve been misplaced.

My cement now brings a comfort to another fearful night.

Ascension divide in all the madness, it never lasts, it never lasts.

Your shape glides past a dull celestial sky.

Nothing below and everything above, and so there you go again,

Spilling with love and all your kindness, it never lasts, it never lasts.

Your harrowing cry shocks through me all my bones,

Tears dripping on my lifeless skin, but for now I feel the comfort,

Ice cold for the brief moment I feel you, it never lasts, it never lasts.

Come back to see me off, or maybe bring me to revive.

This concrete is fine, dead weight the poor pebbles must bare.

So you lay next to me, as if were doing this together.

A shared moment on my cement is all I needed.

I’m okay with dying, I’m okay being close to you.

There’s things far worse than dying, savouring the calm.

We’ve always come back to my concrete.

Place your thumb press to my forehead.

An impression to imbed, to be born again after teething.

A private moment in a public place, wallowing in ending time.

But you wont let it be, it never lasts, it never lasts.

I let you know all of everything’s fine, so long and goodbye.

Time is the best healer, but a wound like that though,

a wound like that, no.

I’m feeling myself drift and I encourage.

But there you always are at my salvage, always insisting.

You’re whispering “you know this too shall pass.”

I never asked you to save me not even once.

Are you trying to send a message, what’s it like on the other side?

Why don’t you want me there with you? How is it you always know.

Still floating around my lifeless, buying time I much suspect.

I feel again my drifting, it never lasts, it never lasts.

You pull me out from life reflection, I’ve missed your skin on mine,

Both hands keep my head at balance, our tears seem to recognise.

I’ve aged but you’re still the same, I hold your gaze with fear of falling,

To remember your face for next time, but it never lasts, it never lasts.

You never tell me why you only show up at times like this.

Why should my pain always bring your presence.

Smiling like you know something is yet to pass.

With concrete turning to dust and sky spinning to spirals.

All I hear is your love, flawlessly entwined.

Your fragile resurrection, the black hole in my mind.

So there you go with again kindness, it never lasts, it never lasts.

DEATH CRUSADE - SubStack

[tsnbrainrot]

Your tags on the Ryan interview post?? 100% agree. Fandom killed the ship. Not Tommy. Not Ryan. Not ABC. Fandom killed the ship. I went from checking the tag every day, to not checking it at all.

oh anon, that makes me sooooo sad. like.... i'm really new to this space and i was never a big bff to lovers/kids fic girlie, so i knew there was a chance i wouldn't vibe with it ? but my irl bff is SUPER into it so when bi buck happened i was like ok as a bi person i 100% want to check that out yk? and if i get into the ship cool!

turns out it's not really my vibe (the most popular tropes in b*ddie fics are like.... all my least favourites lmao, so i was fighting a pointless fight i think?) but what made me go from meh not my fav but if it happens in the show cool to actually i'm gonna blacklist the tag again and i actively don't want this is 100% some of the horrid behaviour i've seen on here and twt. in one month, i went from 'oh what's this about?' to 'actually, no thank you the vibe here is rancid.' and obvs fandom is all about curating your own space so if i was suuuuuuuper into it, i could probably just a follow a few blogs and vibe with it, but as it is... i don't even want to do that. it's sooo dead to me. i did my time in toxic fandom spaces and i'm done with that. i'm so done.

but yeah, it makes sad for people like you who are chill and who enjoy it and who want to vibe and have fun.... it's literally a silly cheesy tv show, it's so far from being that serious? imagine being so negative you turn off other fans? that's the opposite of what fandom is to me yk? it's meant to be a space to share what we love??? idk. it sucks. as i said, it makes me sad.

[woahspacewizards]

Hiii, I have been doing some creative writing for a Great Crusade AU and wanted to share! Feel free to give comments, critiques, and anything else :D

Chapter 1 - The Royal Court

Palets - The Warp - Suveren Sector - Segmentum Solar - 801.M30

The thunderous bang of army firepower, the miniature explosions of the Astartes bolter fire, and the clanking of God-Engine gears rang out in Mantorov's mind. Each of the wars he found as he searched within the tides of the Warp was about as interesting as the servitors; perhaps at one time, he'd have been fascinated, but they were now as benign as breathing or eating. He continued flowing, his body taken by the stream, for only a fool would fate the hand of fate. That is when he found it, a silver strand that called to him. His mind pushed toward the trail, hoping to find that which the Legion had sought for so long. Then, his mind hit the wall. His senses suddenly left the swirling painting that was the Warp and returned to his body; the darkness of his room did not help the sudden sensory deprivation.

Mantorov looked upon his brother; Domnin stood there, his face contorted in the oh-so-familiar grimace that he held. While Mantorov would never say it to his brother's face, he knew if the grimace stopped, then the man would be handsome even despite his years of battle scars. "You said your dive into the Tides would take a few minutes," Domnin nearly roared, his voice only dampened by his armor and the telekinetic field placed around Mantorov. Once he gained his breath, Mantorov word's scratched their way out of his throat, "It was a few minutes; I never specified that it was Terran standard time that I was going by," his venomous laughter rang through the room. Even to one of the Illuminated Lords, there was always something unnerving when an Astartes laughed. Even Mantorov was made uneasy by his own vocalization. Luckily, Mantorov was forcibly cut off by the ringing of an alarm; after nearly three months of sitting around and doing nothing, they had stumbled upon a world. 

Palets, the mighty vessel that held the Sun Brother chapter of the Illuminated Lords, left the confines of the Warp and breached real space. The terrible sound of the Warp breaking was voxxed across the ship. For the psychically inclined of the vessel would hear the stories of their upcoming victory within. To those who lacked such gifts, they simply heard what sounded like the chittering laughter of those who were to watch them perish. Mantorov stood alongside the Chapter Master Kulik, and his mind wandered as he stood upon the dias as it always did when he was forced to perform the benign rituals before war. Of course, once the psychic rituals and divination began, he truly felt most at home. However, his mind was taken away from the Warp, and now he had to listen to a speech for which he cared not and find a way to apologize to Domnin.

He understood the need for a Watcher. They all knew the risks of any prolonged dive into the Tides. While not every member of the Legion was a Psyker, a good portion of them were or at least had enough to feel the clawing of Neverborn, who wanted into their souls. Yet, the unfortunate sods who would be called into service as the Watchers always grew furious that a dive into a realm of chaos takes longer than originally expected. It was, however, one facet in a multiprong problem the Legion faced with the new role they had claimed; the old Rats desired brutal efficiency to conquer a world in a matter of hours instead of days. They still strove for speed, but with the Illuminated Lords' new way of war, patience was becoming more and more of a virtue.

Hours passed as the set-up for war began. The world was a simple one, just a small feral world in need of Imperial forces who could show them the Imperial Truth, not to mention that from divination and scanning, the world held resources that would be highly sought after. Mantorov and his Koldun squad of fellow psykers landed upon the world; their ship, designed for stealth, would appear as little more than a shooting star to the world's inhabitants. Mantorov silent contemplation about who would be the unfortunate Lord of the world was broken when Galkin, a recent recruit to the ever-growing Librarium, managed to squeak, "Dear master, do you think the death toll will be high?" Mantorov knew the answer, for the Tides sang in the song of tens, so there would be ten mortals who would pass before the night was done. Mantorov broke his silence, his face forcing itself into a nightmarish visage of a grin, "Oh my dear boy, the deaths will be low, but they will be glorious."

Chapter 2 - The Prince and the Pauper

Sovlum V - Feral World - Suveren Sector - Segmentum Solar - 801.M30

The tactics of the Illuminated Lords were not built for worlds like these. Weak and pathetic planets could easily be swayed by the beauty of the other Legions or the calamitous brutish strength that the barbarian Legions could muster. To the uninitiated, the actions of the Illuminated, the desire to go out and conquer every world they encountered instead of just sending mortal warriors or informing nearby, smaller detachments was strange. The Illuminated never trusted their fellow Astartes to get the job done, of course, but there was a more profound element to the issue: control. Each Legion was given a few worlds over which they held ownership; for many, to expand their power base, they would simply make deals or contracts with nearby factions to acquire resources. Pathetic dealing with factors that would invariably ask for more than they gave, so the 15th had decided there was but one way to expand in the galaxy. The Under-Empire is the connected network of secret governance under everyone's nose.

Mantorov truly appreciated his gifts and the gifts of his squad once they approached their destination. Deep swamps were hellish for Astartes, while the muscular forms gifted to the Emperor allowed for movement where the mortals would typically be stuck and left to die, but it still never helped, being over 1000kg. Luckily, Kulik had at least enough tactical prowess to assign fronts that his soldiers could handle. As Poma, the dear master of flames, hardened the slop of mud into a decent enough pathway for the squad, Mantorov cautioned, "I would advise caution in these muds, my brothers, for our enemies are simple in nature but well adapted to the slop."

Galkin, the youngest of the Astartes, stuttered out, "We have nothing to fear, right?" His question was initially met by the curious and terrifying gaze of the senior sorcerers of the squad; in a hurry, he elaborated, "At most, they will send spears or arrows at us, and last time, I was instructed our armor is meant to protect against even las-weaponry." 

Ved, a hulking bear of a man and master of the ways of biomancy was the first to speak. His gruff voice growled over the vox, "Armor is only as good as the flesh underneath, and your flesh is hardened but still weak against the Tide Master's will." 

All of the 15th understood the will of the Tide Master. It was common knowledge that the tides of the Warp were what decided the fates of all men. However, some people were destined for more extraordinary things. The Exorcist Cult first coined the concept of Forged Destiny before their eventual dismantling, and it was the belief that if certain people are chosen by fate, then that means someone chooses them. Many terms for the Tide Master were prevalent: Primordial Creator, Lucky Mistress, and Star God were all somewhat popular, but Tide Master was the one predestined to win.

Mantorov froze at the mention of the Tide Master; the invisible hand of destiny was his domain, and yet it always made him uneasy. The whispering and rending teeth of the Warp sang in his mind at the mention, as it had for everyone in the squad. Daemons assailed his mind, but he still managed to whimper out, "This world is far too close to the Eye for discussions of the Tide Master; please do not bring it up again until we are off of this wretched-" his voice was interrupted by the sudden swish of an arrow piercing the air.

The barbaric yells of the world's populace filled the air as their arrows littered the hard mud and thunked off the Astartes' power armor. The ineffective fire did little to damage the Astartes, yet the Daemon's laughter still incapacitated Mantorov; he knew the Emperor would have their heads if he knew about talk of the Daemonic, but what else fits what assailed them? Ved was first to act; he roared in pain as the scratching continued; tumorous pustules rose from the ground, soon sprouting limbs to grab hold of the savages and consume them. Mantorov grits his teeth as the psychic leftovers from Ved's spell are incorporated into the barrage of death. This was no psychic backlash or call from the devils; it was a psyker.

Mantorov delved deep into his mind, looked past the memories of loss and love, and drifted away from the biological imperative to survive that filled his very being. He found himself adrift in the infinite well of power that was his soul if only he let go of his limitations; he had not come to commit soul suicide; however, instead, he had come to get away from his pain. To focus on what truly mattered and what the Legion was known for: Let their blood run cold as the nightmare is made real. A mass of tendrils poured out Mantorov's mouth; the aether ran through him like adrenaline, allowing for magic to form despite the impossibility of concentrating. 

The gnashing mouths of his living thought form launched themselves at the pathetic tribals; their limbs would be shattered, and their minds would be broken. Some were lucky, dying swiftly as the tentacle maws consumed their hearts. Others were forced to feel the pain of the Astartes creation process, a great memory to tap into when torturing others; of course, those who experienced them usually chose suicide as a preferable alternative. The slithering deaths granted by Mantorov and the mutating pustules that Ved had let loose soon turned warriors into cowards, fleeing from their eldritch murderers. Mantorov knew their demonstration would give way to tall tales and legends of death, and he was proud. He observed his surroundings, taking in the newly vacant swamp before he laid eyes on a peculiar sight.

The child had been roughly five or so; his hair was dark as night, long and unkempt, and his face was much like the 15th Legion's. In truth, Mantorov would have simply killed the child had he not reminded him of himself at a younger age, so he walked towards the thing that piqued his interest. Heavy stomping feet shook the ground as he walked, yet the boy did not run.

The Angels of Death approached the young boy; his father had told him that fear was the ultimate weakness and that one must face death head-on with bravery. He had hoped the illusion of bravery would be enough to make up for his cowardice at the moment, while his face was flat because he was spending every ounce of his power fighting his muscle's desire to flee. He forces himself to look up at the abominable metal thing, its voice assaulting his ears like the scratching of wood to make a spear. "Are you lost, little one?"

The boy did not speak, simply shaking his head "no" in response. Mantorov was still shocked that someone so young had a strong enough soul to handle such a raw spell; he knew that his new mission was to make sure this child was taken off the world. With his grim face splitting into a devilish grin, he demanded, "You will follow us and be my apprentice; in exchange, I will spare your pitiful village." The child gulped before agreeing to the deal.

The crowning ceremony was to be held on the ship, away from the swamps and the danger that came with unknown territory. Mantorov watched as Galkin marched before the congregation of Astartes and was granted ownership of the world; he had little care for such affairs, and his focus was on how his new apprentice was utterly intrigued by every minute detail occurring; curiosity was good for a Librarian. He closed his eyes, letting the details wash over him, letting the wails from the world enter his ears as within the morning, the planet would find their leaders severed into nine parts, carved with eight runes, tended with seven flowers, and flayed into six layers; the emotions washed over him, and he was proud to be an Illuminated Lord.

[fans4wga]

The Animation Guild Announces Unionization Efforts At Warner Bros. And Cartoon Network

EDIT: Because people are misreading this, please note: it is animation production workers specifically who are joining the pre-existing TAG (The Animation Guild) union.

Animators and animation writers are already covered under TAG. This news story is specifically about WB animation production workers.

News story text:

"Warner Bros. Animation and Cartoon Network production workers are attempting to unionize with The Animation Guild (TAG).

A petition was filed with the National Labor Relations Board today requesting a union election. The petition includes 66 staffers at Warner Bros. Animation and 22 at Cartoon Network, including roles like production manager, digital production assistant, IT technician, production coordinator, production assistant, design production coordinator, assistant production manager and senior assistant production manager.

They are involved in such Warner Bros. projects as Batman: The Caped Crusader, Harley Quinn and Teen Titans Go! and Cartoon Network’s Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake, We Baby Bears and Craig of the Creek.

The workers also requested voluntary recognition from management at the Warner Bros. Discovery subsidiaries.

A tweet was issued confirming the move, which was officially announced earlier on a joint Zoom call.

“Although many might not think it, production is a specialized skill; we might not be artists or writers, but what we bring to the table goes beyond traditional creativity and gets content on the air,” Warner Bros. Animation production manager Hannah Ferenc said in a statement about the organization effort. “Having lived through the existing state of the animation industry for the past seven years, I want to make sure that not only our current workers, but all those who choose to join us in the future, can feel secure in following their passion by earning livable wages and being treated with the dignity and respect they deserve.”

The Animation Guild has already established bargaining units on shows like Rick and Morty, Solar Opposites, The Simpsons, Family Guy and American Dad!  It also is active at studios like Titmouse New York and L.A. and ShadowMachine. Establishment at Walt Disney Animation Studios is currently in progress."

[alexdti]

Family dinner time!

How we met - Pinkie Pie - Page 7 New page each Monday

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.