#fic: false prophets

[kat-xox]

FALSE PROPHETS?

FALSE PROPHETS.

[da-janela-lateral]

People always comment about cool Dimple possession ideas and forget one of the most frankly underrated ones: the teenage journalist who STOLE his cult.

[helyiios]

fluctuat nec mergitur. it is tossed by the waves but does not founder.

Gregory Hirsch, now Roy, has not seen Tom Wambsgans in over a year. They have not spoken nor texted a single word to each other, and all he knows is that his superior is somewhere around the globe, working hard to make Matsson happy. He knows he would come back someday, he just hadn't expected it to happen at the RECNY.

And he hadn't expected him to accidentally overdose, hadn't expected the unhealed scars all over his body, the limp when he walks, the hollow cheeks or the worryingly dark eyebags.

And Tom? Well, he's not sure what he expected.

Probably not to see Gregory laugh and kiss a man across the room.

—

100k tomgreg fic is here! i posted 61k so far, so i can wrap up the rest properly w/o rushing. i hope you'll like it :)

[hiemaldesirae]

so was anyone gonna tell me vox was a cult leader when he was alive or was i supposed to find that out from a twitter post myself

[quixotical-lymbo]

OMG I LOVED YOU ORION PAX FIC (this bot needs more love) can you do an Orion pax x reader, but it’s the reader’s reaction to Orion falling in that hole thingy? (yk at the end of the movie that D-16 dropped him in) like does

1. the reader goes crazy and bets up D-16 ?

2. jumps in after him?

3. cries and says "HE WAS MY FUTURE"

I need to knowwwww (also take some food bc i know you cooking with your fics 🍎🥐🥯🍔🍗🍟🌯🌮) TYY

Pairing: Orion Pax/Optimus Prime x gn!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: What happens when a bot witnesses their conjunx endura die in front of their eyes?  Warnings/Tags: Transformers One SPOILERS, guard!reader, cybertronian reader, mild descriptions of violence. Word Count: 1300+ words 

The first time you met Orion Pax was a blurry moment of rushing figures and yelling. This red and blue bot had a reputation, but you didn't know his designation at the time where you first started your job as a guard. 

Well, you certainly knew all about him, especially after your first run in with the troublemaker making his grand exit through a balcony. Of course, you just had to be making your rounds flying around the perimeter of the building when you were tackled out of the sky and pinned against the rooftop of the neighboring building. Groaning as the mech on top of you sputtered a flurry of apologies. The mech ran away without even offering a servo to help you up. 

The second time the two of you met, you learned his designation from the gossip about a miner always sneaking in and out of government buildings which held old records. You connected the name to the face of the mech you ran into again when patrolling indoors. 

It was…a unique exchange of pleasantries as Orion Pax attempted to sway you out of sounding the alarm. His attempts at distracting you with those flirty glances and sweet words did nothing to stop you from cuffing him and bringing him back to his station.

Over the deca-cycle, the interactions between you two grew warmer as the forced proximity bred an intimacy between you two. 

A conjunx ritus later and the two of you were an odd couple in the optics of Iacon. 

All because you managed to 'catch' the mech of who stole your spark. 

So why couldn't you save your conjunx when he needed you the most? 

It all happened too fast for your mind to react in time, but your frame moved before you could even scream the name out of your conjunx as his battered form dropped into the pit. You rushed forward, cables feeling like they were on fire as you reached a servo out in hopes of grabbing hold of something. Yet, you were too late and Orion was swallowed by the abyss right as something grasped your arms and yanked you away from the edge. 

You struggled to throw them off of you, blurred edges of your vision and the muffled shouts of your name didn't stop you from trying to fly down there—it didn't matter whether or not your spark would extinguish in the process. All that mattered was finding Orion Pax, your best friend, your companion, your everything. 

A voice heavy with grief managed to snap you out of your haze. You glanced over to meet Elita's optics, her face twisted with a pitying look that nearly sent you over the edge–metaphorically and literally. 

"The age of primes has ended....no more false prophets, follow me and you will never again be deceived!"

Cheers broke out from the high guards scattered within the shocked crowd of Iacon's citizens. 

"I will lead us all into the future!" Megatron opened his chassis and replaced the cog in his chest with Megatronus's cog. Purple electrical sparks emitted from his frame as his body transformed into a bulkier form.

"I…am…MEGATRON!" 

"Burn it down…all of it!"

Shots fired from the crowd as Megatron began shooting at the Sentinel statue and the structures surrounding it. 

 

"He's going to kill everyone." 

"We have to stop him-" Elita-1 was cut off as your form rushed past her and headed for the silver mech. Bee and Elita-1 glanced at each other before nodding and hastening after you. 

As Megatron continued shooting his cannon, a pede slammed into the side of his helm knocking him onto his knees. Megatron whipped around to find your fist heading toward his faceplate, he dodged and managed to grab your wrist in time to swing you around like a rag doll. 

Despite having a cog all this time, your frame was still shorter compared to Megatron's—but that didn't make you any less of a fighter. 

"You took him away from me! Your own best friend!" You bellowed and wrapped your legs around his arm to twist out of his grip. You swung your body weight to shift behind him and pummel him in punches. 

"He was your friend! My conjunx…my future….mine!" You grunted as Megatron ripped you off and threw you away. You rolled onto your servos and knees before jumping aside before the energy blast could hit you. The weight of losing Orion hit you all at once as you realized you had just rolled near the place where D-16…Megatron had dropped him. Your optics dimmed as your vision blurred from the rising dust and smoke. Your helm dropped and you couldn't see the massive cannon pointing at your pathetic form. 

"I took down the only thing standing in my way," Megatron sneered. The purr of his weapon charging up became a roar as the light within readied to snuff your spark. "And now? I will make sure you join him along with the rest who stand against me." 

"Not if we have anything to do about that!" Elita-1 charged in and snatched the cannon in time to redirect the shot elsewhere. 

A fight ensued and a multitude of thoughts ran through your processor. Your distraught and grief melded your frame into the floor. The noises and smell of destruction around you all blurred into one as you curled into a ball, wishing to disappear into the same abyss your conjunx had dropped in. 

After all, why continue this seemingly never ending cycle of injustice without the bot who made life worth living? 

No, Orion wouldn't have wanted you to think that way. Nor would have sat there wallowing in his own misery if your spark had stopped beating. He would've fought for you and you…will do the same.

Slamming your clenched servos into the ground you shot up and barreled toward the fight. Snarling as you drew closer and pounced onto Megatron just as he kicked Bee away. Before anyone on the tower could react, something exploded a piece of it and shot up into the sky. 

 

Amidst the chaos, you, Bee, and Elita-1 slid off the dome and landed on the lower platform again. 

Snapping your gaze up you found an familiar yet strange mech donning a similar color scheme to Orion standing before Megatron. 

 

"It can't be…" Bee began.

"It is." Elita-1 finished with wide optics. 

"Orion?" You whispered. 

 

He was alive. Alive. 

 

He was…different. 

 

…he wasn't dead and that's the important part. 

When all was said and done, Megatron was banished from Iacon and Energon returned to Cybertron, cogs being returned to the cogless citizens, you were finally able to have a moment alone with your conjunx now named Optimus Prime. 

His optics shone brightly as they landed on your faceplate. He turned to you fully and stretched his arm to reach you. You eagerly leaned into the palm of his servo, cheek pressing against the warmth of his hold on you. The faint hum of his spark calmed the raging storm within you, allowing your tense cables to ease up. 

"You've…changed." You sighed as you blinked back the liquid in your optics. 

"...so have you," Optimus craned his helm down to hold your gaze. "Come, we have a lot of things to discuss." 

You interlocked your digits with his, reluctant to drift away from him, but his softening gaze and even softer words persuaded you to let go. 

Trailing after the three but sticking close to Optimus's side, you nearly tripped over your own pedes as you felt the weight of his love through the bond. Keeping your expression neutral, you smiled inwardly and returned his affections tenfold. 

Primus, you were happy he was alive. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banner(s) by @enchanthings !!

[mars-ipan]

grins

see kelper here’s the thing: you can tell priest au!hajime to run all you want but… run??? from Father Komaeda??? if he runs from the house of God will he not simply be running into the arms of the devil? Father Komaeda is going to Fix him, he swore he would. he’s leading him to the light, he’s going to free him from his sin. hajime just has to try harder, but Father Komaeda believes in him. he can’t disappoint the only person who’s ever seen him for the vile thing he is and forgiven him. what would he do without him? he can’t absolve himself of sin on his own, he needs Father Komaeda to assist him in resisting temptation. after years of running from his shame, he’s finally brave enough to face it head on, to see the light of God and be washed of his impurities. don’t you see? God is good. this is good.

yeah he’s um. not leaving that church anytime soon

i am sat here in horror and fear and i am deeply scared of you my brother in christ this IS the spooky mormon hell dream

[yesimwriting]

False Prophets

A/n was looking through my drafts and decided to let this logan fic leave the vault also fun fact the title is inspired by a line in a gracie abrams song

Summary: After the laboratory that's served as the only home you've ever known is ambushed by those that don't believe in the mission you've dedicated your life to, you're left with no other option but to trust the stranger that helped do so.

Warnings/info: slight allusions to manipulative use of an unspecified religion, reader has a touch of stockholm syndrome bc she was raised by a cult that experiments on mutants, brief mentions/implications of being medically abused by a caretaker, age gap (reader is in their early 20's)

----

The knife is as intangible as everything else. You squeeze the blade's handle regardless, knuckles straining against your skin as you try to force the metal's weight to mean something to you.

How did--how did things turn so quickly? Father Daniel grabbed you by the arm, he dragged you up the stairs and into the above ground. He gave you little instruction and even less explanation.

Protect the cause. That was all he could say before the defiers found you. Things had moved so quickly, your instincts allowing you to neutralize an assailant before--before the world became little more than a nauseating haze.

The pulsing ache behind your skull, the weight of your limbs, the resistance of your lungs, the dark spots clouding your vision. You set a palm against the floor, the coolness of the tile doing little to ground you. It's not unusual for you to feel unwell after over exerting your abilities, but this has been something else.

You need to--to evaluate, to begin the contingency process. Who knows how much time you've lost?

You bend your legs, hand pressing against the ground as you try to stand. A sharp pain immediately latches onto every tendon in your body. You screw your eyes shut. Breathe. Breathe.

A soft creak brings you back to where you are. The handle in front of you begins to twist. The door's pushed open, revealing a man who occupies too much of the doorway for you to consider bolting.

His attention shifts around the small space before settling on you. Everything about the stranger is harsh--his stance, his expression, the blood staining his clothing and skin.

The man takes a step forward. You flinch, head hitting the closet's back wall. He presses his lips together before exhaling. He holds his hands out in front of him as he steps back to where he was before, behind the doorway's threshold. "I'm not going to hurt you."

One of the many lies Father Daniel had warned you about. When you don't respond, the man sighs again. "So drop the knife. You look more likely to hurt yourself with it than me."

The perceived weakness only adds to your mounting unease. You scoff. He may have the physical advantage, but you have something he doesn't. You tilt your head, ignoring the pounding of your skull as you focus on mentally reaching for him. He's easy enough to latch onto, but actually doing anything takes more from you than you'd ever admit.

You take a deep breath, letting your energy build before pushing it onto him. It takes longer than it should, but eventually, your mind finds the strength to obey you. Just as the man's starting to bend to your will, his feet beginning to drag against the floor, your hold on him lapses.

Great--you've revealed your only real advantage and for what. You try to stand a little straighter, eyes landing on the stranger. You stare at him with wide eyes, fear making it difficult to breathe right. Father Daniel has always warned you about what happens to your kind in the real world.

You don't know what you expect from him--anger, horror, something else equally brutal. Instead of displaying any of that, the corner of his mouth briefly pulls itself upwards. "Got it out of your system, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." The raspiness of your own voice surprises you. "Where is he?"

He seems to know what you mean immediately. "The man that held you hostage and experimented on you for what--twenty years?"

Of course that's what he'd believe. "Father Daniel is a visionary with a divine calling, who is doing what he needs to do to pioneer a better future for mutants and humans alike."

"Yeah? Is that why he hasn't let you go outside in two decades?"

You scoff. It's not--the situation isn't like that, and to pretend that things are that black and white is ridiculous. You've been outside. Family outings to the movies after particularly strenuous medical trials, birthdays, and sometimes Christmas. Sure, you're not worldly, but that's the cost your family pays for safety. Until society is no longer cruel to your kind, you're safer in the lab.

If you were feeling a little more like yourself, you'd tell him all of this. But all you can manage is a defensive, "I've been outside."

His eyebrows draw together, something in the look coming terribly close to un-harsh. He doesn't believe you. Whatever. This man's opinions mean nothing to you. The only thing you know about him is that he's one of the ones that decided to invade your home in order to target you and Father Daniel's work.

His eyes drift downwards, landing on the band-aids stuck to your forearms. Some urging part of you wants to explain that things aren't always like this. That your labs and medical trials only make a fraction of your life, that these last few weeks have only been extra uncomfortable because Father Daniel has been getting closer. But the words needed to explain this to a stranger feel so far, and you doubt he'd be able to understand, regardless, so you settle for turning your forearms away from him.

"Congratulations," he mumbles dismissively, attention shifting away from your arms, "You're going again."

"What?" He sighs, as if there's something deeply irritating about the question. He can't--he can't possibly mean to take you from here. You squeeze the knife's handle. "No. I'm not--" Your protests don't impact him in the slightest. "No."

"I know it doesn't seem like it," there's something measured about his gruff assurance, "But you'll be okay if you come with me. I'm taking you to people that want to help you."

You press your a hand against the wall, as if the plaster will offer you a means of escape. "No one like you wants to help someone like me."

He watches you for a moment, something behind his expression becoming a little less fragile. "Someone like me?"

The man takes a measured step forward, crossing the door's threshold. Dread digs into you as your mind tries to reach for him. You've barely touched his energy before a piercing ache in your skull forces the connection to snap. If the stranger noticed your attempt at self defense, he gives no indication of it, taking another step in your direction.

He continues forward, his movements slow and definitive until he's so close you have to tilt your chin upwards to look him in the eye. Like this, his anger feels less...prominent.

After a moment, his eyebrows draw together slightly. If you didn't know any better, you might have mistaken the look for a barely there grimace. The man drops his gaze downwards, and you follow his line of sight.

His hand, the back of his palm--he had been weaponless before. And now, sharp, metal blades have split his skin from the inside out. You lift your chin to meet his gaze. He's not exactly smiling, but there's something gentle about the set of his mouth.

You angle your head downwards again, carefully pulling your free hand away from the wall. You move slowly, holding your arm out between the two of you for a moment before letting your pointer finger touch the edge of one of the blades. In another life, you might've been willing to tell him how cool you find his mutation.

He pulls back immediately, his hand moving away from you as his claws retract back into his skin. "You get it now?"

You press your lips together. Just because he's a mutant doesn't mean he's like you. Very few people understand your family's mission, and he isn't one of them. The fact that he broke in here is proof of that. But the ache in your skull is too disorientating for you to be efficiently hostile, and maybe there's a small chance that the fact he wanted to ease you when he could have easily just attacked you is throwing you slightly.

There is no good answer, so instead, you offer another question, "Where is he?"

"He left." The response is flat. "Ran downstairs and then disappeared."

What? Father Daniel--he left. That's not...that's not part of the contingency plan.

Okay--you let out a breath in an attempt to neutralize your expression. If Father Daniel left, he must have had a reason. There are other things that needed protecting. He'll come back.

You must look as thrown as you feel, because the man sighs. "Do you understand now?" When you don't react, he pauses. "You can stay here--in an abandoned warehouse, or you can come with and--and get some help."

Help. The word digs at you. You're not--not some kind of victim. You were chosen for a higher purpose, your mutation was given to you so that you could help others. However, that doesn't mean that the prospect of staying here, in a now compromised lab, without your family, isn't much more unappealing than leaving with this stranger.

You swallow, ignoring the lump in your throat as you weigh your options. Maybe there's something to remaining within a certain proximity to those that attempted to destroy Father Daniel's work. You could learn about their operations, their goals and desires; then, when the time is right, you'll have information to share with your family. It might not be the simplest task, but it's better than waiting.

This man also knows more about the outside world than you do. You could always just use his offer as a way to get some distance and then bolt once you're somewhere more secure. It might be easier to find Father Daniel from somewhere...out there.

You can't will yourself to look at him as you nod, wounded pride only amplifying your anxiety.

"Okay." His voice gives you no indication of what he thinks of your compliance, but something tells you that he'll be cautious of you for awhile. "You gonna drop the knife?"

The request is spoken so casually, you do briefly consider listening. You've never been much of a physical fighter, and you're sure the stranger could easily overpower you regardless of your small weapon, but you can't bring yourself to let it go. Besides, the stranger gets to have multiple knives physically attached to him. You should get to keep your one.

You briefly lift your chin in a vague gesture towards his hands. "I'll lose mine when you lose yours."

Some aspect of him seems to shift, his brow relaxing and his lips pressing together. The differences are gone too soon for you to dwell on them, his expression returning to its default blankness as he turns. You assume that's the closest thing to an 'okay' that you're getting, so after a beat, you follow him.

----

a/n i was considering adding to it and it lowkey feels like a waste of lore not to, so if you'd like a part 2 lmk!!

[goldenatreides]

dune masterlist

hi! i’m vee! she/her, 20s

my askbox is open! feel free to come chat or request—but no promises if requests will be finished or not. your honor i am just a girl 💌

i write mainly paul x reader. bc i am insufferable.

NO use of y/n. will also be branching out in paul x chani, feyd x reader, feyd x irulan. maybe even paul x irulan. feyd x paul!!!! who knows!!! not me!!

WARNING: most of my fics may be 18+ and will be marked as such. MDNI!

i dont currently have a tag list, but let me know if you want me to make one! 🏷️

[ - paul atreides x reader - ]

-> training season (18+)

[one shot, 2.7k words, fluff, smut, pining <3, friends to lovers] read on ao3

in a pinch, a dusty old supply closet turns out to be a good hiding spot, actually.

-> daylight (18+) [coming soon]

in which wine and ballrooms lead to an interesting arrangement. after all, who better to understand the burdens of an heir bound to duty than another?

-> espresso (18+) [coming VERY soon]

[one shot, 2k words, smut, emperor!paul, potential dubcon?? under the influence of spice]

you serve the emperor paul atreides his morning spice coffee.

-> worship at the altar of your sins (18+) [coming soon]

the fool saint, the false messiah, the despot prophet. he can give you the moon and the stars but all you ever needed was him.

-> maroon (18+) [coming soon]

both blood and wine are crimson in the snow.

-> untitled (18+) [coming soon]

[one shot, 1.5k words, smut, paul is a cocky little bitch]

in which paul shows you exactly why he wanted to be a pilot.

[ - feyd rautha x reader - ]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys (18+) [coming soon]

you’re queen of sandcastles he destroys.

-> will be updated as stories get published. thanks for your support!! all feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

-> please do not reupload/redistribute my work anywhere else. the only other place you can find it is my ao3.

-> thank you to @cafekitsune for the banners!

[witchofthesouls]

The image of the false prophet haunts us all

OHHHHHHHHHH, what a title!

One, TFP canon compliant exploration of Alpha Trion and why he kept himself buried in the Archives - the reasons and motivatiors as he's the last of the Guiding Hand with Prima's death and Alchemist's disappearance along with his Primal Artifact that allows him glimpses of the future and the multiverse. He tried calling on Vector, and his brother only sent him the very insignia that would come to represent the Autobots.

Two, Bayverse fic that focuses on Sentinel Prime's ascension to a new Prime and what drove him to become the mech in the films. After the death of Zeta, his own position became unstable with only Star Saber as his Lord Protector. The foundlings that would eventually become Optimus and Megatron had sparked hope, but a nearly successful assassination attempt had gotten him. Only Star Saber sacrificed himself to ensure the Sentinel's spark didn't gutter out. The catch: Star Saber and Sentinel had melded together, and the zealot that left a huge imprint of what a Prime was meant to be. And it cements canon events. Any personality changes were thought to be a trauma response as, once again, Sentinel Prime stood alone.

Three, TFP fic that focuses on Soundwave in the Shadowzone. Delves deep into the life of the gladiatorial clades and the motivations that drove him to serve faithfully to Megatron. He talks to the 'ghosts' of Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble, and a few other mecha that shaped his outlook in his youth.

Four, is a messy crossover between TFP and One. (Messy because I haven't seen the film, but my boy Megatonus Prime didn't Fall?! Oh, I'm interested!) Specifically, Other!TFP AUs were a cyberized June Darby who ascended to the Primacy as Nemesis Prime because of the Fallen (like directly taking his mantle in burn your sins and wash away your virtues or as a direct descendant) had summoned into Transformers One verse. Go forth, Juno Nemesis, and execute Sentinel and devour the Quintessons! Get yourself a bladed staff!

[art-by-ady]

Satisfy your priest kink. Read the Bloodweave AU fic below 🔥

[dying-brb]

desolation / an ellie x f!oc fanfiction / tlou universe

!slowburn !angst !subreader !domellie !fluff

tw: this is a heavy fic. mentions of sa, violence, gore, etc.

(oc starts off 14 but only for backstory)

chapter 1: 1090 words

ᨒ↟ 𖠰 1  -  serene release ᨒ↟ 𖠰

december 2033 - colorado

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Natalie -  14 yrs old  ⋆⭒˚.⋆

As I laid there, dying, I tried desperately to find the will to escape, blinking my heavy eyes in repetition.

Stay awake, Natalie.

But my eyes faltered. They rolled back and sank back into my skull begging for the relief of sleep. No, this wasn't sleep. It was a false prophet - an early demise clawing its way inside of my being, desperately pulling and tearing my soul from the weak husk I clung to.

My eyelids weighed heavier, the urge gnawing at me to let them fall shut, let the agony end; For just a moment, I considered it.

No.

Stay Awake.

I wasn't ready to die. Not really.

Ironically so, I prepared myself for this moment - begged for it, time and time again. When loved ones had died, when previous groups abandoned me, death had seemed like a serene release.

Growing up in this sick excuse for a world, I always wondered how it would happen. Would I be torn apart by Infected? Become the Infected? Succumb to the cruelty of a harsh winter? Starve?

No.

At this moment, it seemed more likely that I was going to die to a group of savage cannibals, and I would be butchered at the hands of a man that had a fascination for little girls.

My heart sank at the mere thought, and I felt bile rise in my throat, scorching my dry esophagus. I coughed lightly, choking down the vomit, I gasped for a quick breath of air and my lungs screamed in pain at the sudden inhalation. I gritted my teeth.

This was hell, but the pain was keeping me alert, keeping me alive.

Keep your fucking eyes open.

I remembered before, the moments when I had begged for the end to come, I had wondered if it would hurt—Death. Which now, in this moment, seemed like an idiotic thing to question.

Yeah, of course it fucking hurts. It hurts like hell.

The searing agony that gripped my muscles snapped me back to reality. I yanked my mind out of the past, only to be forcefully thrust into the harshness of the present moment. My heart was thumping quicker now, my breaths, once slow and wheezing were now rapid and full, croaking and stuttering, but full. I wondered if this was my bodies last-ditch attempt to save itself.

Alarm bells clanged inside my head, their echoes reverberating through my skull, vibrating as they reached my ears. My eyes widened, my once heavy lids were lighter now. Adrenaline surged through my veins, making my legs twitch with the urge to flee. I desperately wanted to leave this place and never look back, but I remained frozen on the cold tile where I lay, my body writhing with excruciating pain.

Still frozen in torment, I harnessed this newfound mental energy to survey my surroundings and formulate a plan. My eyes darted from corner to corner of the room, the hellish nature of the scene before me causing my heart to slam in my chest, and pound against my eardrums.

Breathe. Make a plan.

I refocused, absorbing every detail my fading mind could manage. I took deep breaths, exhaling slowly, my hands trembling as I noted the positions of windows, doors, and any potential exits for a swift escape. I scanned for anything that could serve as a weapon, should I break free from this confinement.

The caged room I lay in reeked of rotting meat and iron. I honed in on the pungent smell, the harsh fluorescent lighting casting unwelcome shadows, and the distant murmur of voices echoing through the halls.

Digging my nails into my side, I embraced the pain, using it to sharpen my senses and maintain consciousness. I resolved to absorb every detail, knowing that once I escaped and recovered, I would meticulously recount my steps, retrace him. Kill him. That fucking bastard.

David.

Suppressing tears of rage, I scoffed as I recalled how I found myself in this wretched corner of the world; Merely stumbled upon it in a midnight daze.

Just yesterday, I was scavenging through the snow-laden forests of Colorado. As for my exact location in Colorado, I couldn't tell you—it had become a blur amidst the relentless hunger that left my head light and my heart faintly beating. Lost in a delirium, as if I was one of them, the infected.

Perhaps this was what the early stages of mutation felt like, just before losing oneself—their personality, dreams, aspirations, and will to live all slipping away. Maybe all that remained was a relentless hunger and confusion, grasping at the flickering remnants of life while clinging desperately to the feeble fragments of humanity.

Then again, maybe not.

I simply felt adrift, with no hope left to cling to, my grasp slipping away from what little remained. It plunged me into a primal struggle for survival, fueled by animalistic paranoia. With my mind spinning, driven by the desperate quest for food, I had long abandoned the map and strayed from the path she had set me on. The path that led to the Fireflies. The path that would give meaning to my immunity. 

This thought sparked a glimmer of hope within me, reigniting my determination. Clutching my grumbling stomach, I leaned against a nearby tree trunk for support, resting my head against its rough bark, my breath ragged.

That's when realization sunk in—I couldn't feel my fingers or toes. Hypothermia.

Was this the end?

As I contemplated giving up and surrendering to the cold embrace of eternal slumber, a light pierced through the darkness of the forest, forcing my hand to shield my sensitive eyes. A voice, tinged with feigned concern, broke the silence.

"Excuse me. Are you alright?" The voice trembled slightly as a flashlight nervously scanned my body. "You look like hell."

I groaned in response, my lips barely moving, cautious of this stranger in these desperate times. Yet, with no other options left, I felt a flicker of hope that perhaps this solitary figure could be my salvation. Someone, anyone, was here, offering a chance at survival.

"Here, come with me," the awkward, lanky man said, taking my hand and guiding me, his shoulder bearing my weight. I couldn't protest even if I wanted to, the exhaustion held me in a tight grip, suppressing even my primal will to survive.

And so I went, practically dragged alongside the man, into this wretched corner of the world that I lay in now.

[allfalseprophets]

This trio 🤩 somehow I just know they would be bestest friends

P.S. if you want to read a story where Rachel, Will and Nico are the main characters, running around New York City causing trouble and (attempting to) solve some mysteries, pls check out my fic All False Prophets 💛

[babkaboy]

#BlasphemousWeek Day 3: Gods, Prophets and False Prophets

a gift for my absolute muse @alucinskywalker who wrote a fic that changed the chemistry inside my brain. Omegaverse, lactation and antichrist little anakin who molests his mommywan, all in one fic 🥰 go read “This Heart, Pierced by a Sword”

[nittusidhe]

@adragonsfriend, @looseleafteeaves, and I were talking about Amavikka theater a while back and I thought I might share some of the headcannons here.

We know Amavikka theater traditions exist because Fialleril has mentioned them in fics before, and one idea bounced around is that many of the plays are retelling a of folk stories and include a lot of improve, easy to be thrown together and taken down and often preformed during sandstorms when Depur can’t walk in.

characters are differentiated by a mix of clothes, masks, and face paint. With the gods wearing complicated masks, and the prophets using face paints to distinguish who they are. Costumes range from simple to increadibly complex, though the later is more common among freed communities or enslaved populaces that have less direct oversight and are watched less closely. We ended up coming up with some variants of the more complex designs because it’s easier to scale down than up

Ar-Amu

always represented with a three eyed mask, her outfits sometimes include a water jar held like an infant and is often dressed in blue greans and blacks Leia The most variable as she's often depicted as the local krayt variant. More complex costumes include articulated "tail" carved out of wood that clacks when it's moved. Wood or bone is also used on the joints to make the clacking sound as the actor moves to replicate the sound of claws Lukka

A blank mask, with layers of fabric strips making up the outfit in shades of orange, red, white, and yellow. So that when the actor spins the fabric fans out creating a "storm"

Ekkreth

Many of the more complex ekkreth costumes are two fold, including an outer layer of their "disguise" that is held on with ties. Whenever ekkreth reveals themselves the ties are undone for a quick change as the actor "shapeshifts" Ekkreths mask is birdlike, and sometimes includes false fabric "hair" in red or black though not always

Some wonderful concept art by @two-turtleducks

[derpaworld1000]

💔 [ Day 20: Split ]‼️

“NO MORE FALSE PROPHETS. Follow me, and you will never again be deceived! RISE UP!”

Falling to a rabbit hole of no return. I’m really invested in Transformers shit now (expect maybe some fanart of The Echo Garden fic, I’m so invested baddd).

[the-common-cowgirl]

False Dragons

Summary: The Peaceful King Viserys hears word of a Targaryen Princess that resides in the broken stronghold of Valyria; which has since become an immature kingdom after of the doom befell their land. Feeling the tension between his house and believing the long night may soon come, Viserys proposes a betrothal between the Valyrian Princess and his second son, Aemond Targaryen, believing his daughter’s prophetic dream that the child born of this union will become the prince that was promised.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen/FemOC (Anikyra Targaryen)

Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Revenge, Period Typical Sexism, Blood Magic, Sacrifices, Murder, Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Non-Con/Dubcon, Period Typical Racism/Valyrian Elitism, more tags to be added later

Author’s Note: Hey guys! If this looks familiar, it’s because it’s my first fic! I’ve wanted to rewrite this fic for a long time and to really do the idea behind this fic justice…so I am doing that!

Although the work was already written, I am going in and changing some ideas and things in here to better do the work the justice it deserves! I hope you all will enjoy the new and improved, False Dragons!

Chapter 1 - Intro

Chapter 2

For updates when I post new chapters, please follow fics-by-the-common-cowgirl!