#technically a prequel

[skydaemon]

the appeal of star wars media is, primarily, having a protagonist who doesn't know fuck about shit

[itsnotmourn]

the reason why carmen and richard did not appear on spooky month 6

(audio from pelo twitch stream!)

[wishchip106]

i’m still just thinking about how in apocalypse the thing that stops magneto from destroying the world is an edit of charles just seeing the good in him.

🤨

not even his DEAD wife and daughter?

or maybe mutants from the brotherhood?

nope. charles

[crossistent]

[egberts]

ok fuck it i'm doing it scared

here's the second song i ever made

[dejasenti99]

was there one you saw too clearly did they seem too real to you? they were kids that i once knew, they were kids that i once knew.

[bagheerita]

So I read A Stitch in Time and one result of that which I was certainly not expecting was that I feel so much sympathy for Enabran Tain. Garak's life is a tragedy, but Tain's is a fucking black comedy.

I mean, he's a terrible person and an absolute shitbag, but can you imagine? You have this kid. You go to all the trouble of arranging for him to be raised in a family situation where he won't be rejected from society for being your bastard. You get him into the nicest indoctrination school where he can hobnob with plenty of uppercrust kids. You get him a job in your Order and all the proper training. And he's actually, like, really good at it. But he has this fatal flaw of being completely incapable of not making stupid, short-sighted, emotional decisions.

A scene I imagine has to have happened just prior to Garak and Tain's confrontation at the end of part II:

Like goddamn. When Tain asked "what's your plan for getting rid of her husband?" and Garak's just like "plan what plan." Dude. I'M disappointed, I can only imagine the guy who's job it is to know and plan for everything isn't at least as disappointed.

I know he didn't actually, but do you think there was ever a time when Tain wanted to be like, You know what. Just go back to Tolan and become a gardener. Join that illegal hippie cult. It's fine.

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[marmot-bee-person]

so far wonton had accidentally clicked into rise of Skywalker and started it and we had a fight about seating

[low-quality-comic-characters]

X-Men 2 Prequels: Nightcrawler

Karl Kerschl, Jung Choi

[escapedaudios]

Who's that? A New Jersey Rat from the past? You'll see soon, in The New Orleans Rats prequel.

Illustrated by @palilious

[chipistrate]

WARNING - POTENTIAL SECURITY BREACH!

System file C:/Users/[REDACTED]/[…]/GGY.exe has gone offline. Shutting down associated files: GlamrockPerformers/Freddy.exe TheaterPerformers/Sun.exe TheaterPerformers/Moon.exe

Flats cause I was messing with my line art style this time and think it's neat :]

[ceruleanvermillion]

Okay wait I desperately need a qui-gon lives AU where he's sent on a secret undercover mission to the midrim for a year and or two that his lineage knows but kept quiet about because confidentiality, and when he came back the Clone Wars was already ongoing. Imagine Obi-wan and Anakin delightedly going "Master Jinn!" when he returns, completely disregarding the utter confusion of the clones and because they have never ever seen this man man before.

[wishchip106]

happy birthday to this loser who stole my wife 😒

95 year old man can’t believe him 😒 YOU SHOULD BE IN THE GRAVE (/j i love you Erik 🤩)

[tomicaleto]

The hero with no fear

Inspired by this post, an obikin version with Obi-Wan staring at a war propaganda poster with Anakin on it. He was the poster man for the Republic apparently. Can you feel the longing in Obi-Wan? For Anakin's pose I used one of Hayden's ROTS promo pictures, they are for promoting material after all!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i think what consoles me about the x-men movies, despite their slightly questionable quality, is that at least they didn't take charles out of his wheelchair

ah. well. hm. for the most part he IS in his chair this is true !