#the acolyte anew

[furious-blueberry0]

The Padawan besties, Yord and Osha

Also, I like the idea of them being from two branches of the same lineage, so I gave them matching ribbons eheheh

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! reader

summary: it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband.this will be a multi chapter work and 18+only. note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. thank you for reading! if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

@drunkennunicornn

@fanfiction-addict22

@wonderpals02

@qveendiorsworld

@turn-thy-paige

@hoyoooo

@oscarissac2099

@inesven

@blahzaiblahsheep

CHAPTER ONE

THE MUAD'DIB CHOOSES A BRIDE.

Blood and roses.

     “I told you to be careful.” Your sister chided in a motherly tone, despite being only one year older than you, handing you a small handkerchief. With a mouthful of pins, you uttered a small sound of gratitude and used your non-injured hand to finish the task of placing metal rose hair pins in her braided crown. You’d be in Arrakis in less than an hour but your sister wanted her last precious moments alone to be with you.

    “There, done.  My sister, the jewel of the outer world and now Arrakis, I still can’t believe this is happening. Do you think he will be kind?” You asked, straightening up to face your sister in the mirror.

 You shared the same deep brown skin and nose of your father but that was where the similarities ended. Both of your mothers had been models of the Bene Gesserit order but only one of your mothers had been made wife of a Duke, and the other a concubine, no less loved.

Until your mother passed, leaving you alone to face rumors of her madness. As you grew so did the stories of the concubine who lost her way and denied herself spice and in turn, denied you of a mother and the protection of the order that trained her and your sister.

     “Paul Atreides is an abomination, a tainted nova and your sister will make him anew, his kindness is of no importance. You may go, your sister and I need to speak.”  Reverend Mother Mohiam said from her place in the doorway.

    “I only need a few more minutes with my sister Reverend Mother, we’re nearly ready.” Your sister said, hand in yours.

GO.

A thousand and one tiny cuts into your brain, you found yourself outside of your sister’s room frozen in place.

  You still remember the day Reverend Mother came to take your sister away to train under the sisterhood.You made the mistake asking why, why could you not go together.

    “You carry your mother’s agony. You are not sufficient, there is no bite within you, human child. My order has no need of sentient infirmity.”

The Reverend Mother was correct.

What was to be your life after your sister was gone?

Where would your path lead?

There was no place for agony among the stars.

The heat of Arrakis resembled a distraught lover, sloppy kisses of sweat covered your body, the breeze that accompanied the opening of your ship doors held no comfort. 

You stood behind your sister, poised to pick up the train of her gown the moment your house would disembark the ship but for some reason, no one could leave yet.

Over her shoulder, your sister smiled, stretching her hand behind her back for you one last time. Yet before you could take it, your sister froze, a sudden faraway look in her eyes. Through your veil you watched her eyes widen, her hands clenched into fists. 

    “He’s coming here! The Muad'Dib is boarding the ship!”  A guard whispered fiercely to another.

No one seemed to notice what was happening but before you took a step towards your sister, her gaze was fixed on you. Despite the heat, you were freezing beneath her stare, unsure if it was your sister or the Bene Gesserit acolyte looking upon you.

The sound of marching feet and chanting distracted you both and all aboard the ship including fell to their knees, the Reverend Mother the only exception. You stood with the others, eyes to the floor, hands shaking as someone made their way down the line, your father making introductions as an attempt at conversation but there was only silence in return.

 You waited for the footsteps to end at your sister but they continued on, barely masked gasps filled the now crowded ship and a pair of boots entered your line of vision.

REMOVE YOUR VEIL. 

The trembling in your fingers instantly vanished and with otherworldly precision, you removed the veil from your face, the silk sliding down the back of your braids and to the floor.

The Muad’Dib was looking at you. 

      “Her.”

One by one, every Feydakin behind him took a knee and your house got over their confusion quickly, copying the motion, your sister, eyes wet, included. 

Paul Atreides bowed before you, blue within blue eyes never leaving yours.

      “Welcome to Arrakis.”

That’s our first chapter, I hope you like it! If you would like to see chapter two, please interact with this chapter, comment or reblog! Thank you for reading. 

[starbeltconstellation]

Good grief, what is with the recent crosstagging posts in the PRO JEDI tag??? I blocked them, but STILL...

It’s horrible sometimes. 😭😒💔 The Acolyte has only made it worse… but while I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not glad it’s canceled… I’m also not gonna rub fans’s faces in it. Especially because of the lost representation they all probably felt. The show just wasn’t for me. I was never going to enjoy it after the Order 66 genocide apologia line. 🥶😒

But it is ABHORRENT how the actors have been treated by the alt right/dudebro members of the fandom who hate it for “wOkEnEsS 🤪”. 🤢 The people who harassed the actors from the beginning before even learning what the STORY would be like are just… horrible, HORRIBLE little people. And the way the actress for Osha has been treated is the worst of it all.

But anyway, I kinda went off on a tangent. 😅😂❤️ The point is that I feel you about anti Jedi SW fans posting in the pro jedi/Jedi tags. It sucks, but the best thing you can do is just block them for your piece of mind.

I’m just glad that The Acolyte won’t be around to continue to spread such anti Jedi resentment in the fandom. There’s already so much of it, and it’s always stomach turning to read people’s “hot takes 😒” on how the Jedi got what was coming to them or that they were “corrupted” or that Order 66 gave them the chance to “start anew” with Luke. 🤢🫠💔

People don’t even be realizing how they sound sometimes.

So sorry for the late response! ❤️❤️ I hope this long reply is worth the wait.

[peppermintquartz]

The back of Chirrut's hands are spotted with age, and the veins more prominent as flesh receded. Baze touches his lips to the knuckles, as he has done every morning since they pledged themselves to each other when they were merely acolytes in the Temple.

The Temple is long gone, as is the city. The moon as well.

"My love," says Chirrut, a tender smile on his wrinkled face, "why is there old grief in your heart?"

"There is always grief in my old heart," replies Baze. His voice is rougher now, and his shoulders no longer bear the burden of his weapons. Here, on a worn out planet on the edges of the known galaxy, they are resting.

The small plot of land they have claimed for their shelter yields enough for them both, but their students and other acolytes are hard at work in the food forest tending to the plants and gathering enough for the whole temple. Later, Chirrut will teach from memory while Baze oversees the scribes who are recording everything Chirrut and Baze remember of their education. Copies will be sent out to different planets, where some of their students have set up Temples for those who have faith.

The cycle has begun anew, swinging again from light to dark after a long peace. Chirrut and Baze both know it is no longer their fight, but they intend to help as many as possible survive the coming storm.

It has been a hard life. Baze looks at Chirrut, with his thinning head of white, wispy hair and his gnarled hands, and thinks of his own wrinkles and aches and arthritic joints.

It has been a hard life, and it has been worth every moment. He touches Chirrut's cheek and leans in to kiss him, two old men in the twilight of their lives, and thinks, When you leave, I will follow.

--

edited on AO3

[grimalkinmessor]

9 and 14 please?

9: Which antagonist could you never forgive?

Well, I'm actually a notorious villain lover, so this a very difficult question for me to answer lmao. Especially for an anime that usually attempts to forgive every antagonist and show them the error of their ways. There are antagonists I don't particularly like but still see the reasoning and the attempt at redemption of, like Toichiro.

I think the antagonist I like but could never forgive is Mogami. The dude is hella interesting, he's OP, he's a great foil for Mob—but his reasoning for being evil is trash. My dude literally did not have to kill all those people 😐 And then BLAME it on the people who paid him to do it. Like bestie you made the choice to take that route allll by yourself, even if other people made it easier for you to take than others. He doesn't acknowledge his own failures and acts like Mob is the stupid one for wanting to be kind and help people. And to show him how "terrible" other people are, Mogami,,,,warps the world by removing every one that's ever been kind to Mob. Then removing his powers and telling him THAT'S the reason people treat him badly?? Make it make sense. He did that shit for fun or because he's legit insane or both. AND HE'S NOT EVEN SORRY. MY DUDE JUST CAME BACK, SPOUTED SOME MORE BULLSHIT ABOUT HOW MERCY CAN'T BE THE ANSWER AND THEN FUCKED OFF INTO THE ETHER.

So, while Mogami is my scrunkly and I adore him, if I ever catch that bitch in my neighborhood irl he's catching these hands 😌🙏

14: Are there any MP 100 fanfics you HAVE to rec?

*cracks knuckles* BUCKLE UP BOYS I HAVE A TRUCKLOAD >:D

First up, the fic that roped my into this fucking fandom against my will—

Sunflower by Copyspaghetti (Mobreirit, unfinished)

Seeing the world from the lens of a powerless child brought novelty. There was a point to doing things that didn’t boil down to the fate of humanity.

This simple interaction left something alive in his chest that would only grow.

—

In which a hyperactive middle schooler forces his way into Mob’s heart, allowing him to start life anew after giving his youth to extremism. Juggling therapy, a brother, a kid, and the remnants of Claw is a lot.. his past haunts him. And befriends him.

Terryh and Sasha posted a flurry of screenshots of this fic on twitter a while back, and I remembered them when I was looking for a new piece of media to get into, and this fic was the reason I watched MP100 at all—because I wanted to read it with all the context lmao. And it did not disappoint; Sunflower is an Age Swap fic that really digs into the hows and whys of the MP100 world, and while I adore all of Copy's fics, this one is number two on my list of all time favorites. Tiny Arataka and his struggles, Shigeo and Ritsu and their attempts to get better while also wading through their own struggles, the soft fluffiness of their time together contrasted with the world around them, just,,,,,,💋🤌✨ fuckin' SUPERB.

Between Acolytes and Sanctities by Copyspaghetti (Mobrei, unfinished)

The book burnt Arataka's fingers through the leather gloves. As an acolyte of his father's church he got the worst jobs with a front row view of how little it all mattered. Saltville was starving but the Gods did nothing. That's why he stood there now, alone in the woods at the foot of the shadow mountain with a spell book hotter than the bonfire itself. – In which Arataka's village, Saltville, is famined and he asks a forgotten God of the shadow mountains for help. Instead of feeding his village, he lends some of his divine power to the boy to solve his own problems. What could a human become to a God?

My FAVORITE, number ONE Copy fic if you MUST know—because it's about ✨✨ the INTRIGUE ✨✨✨✨🤌🙏✨💕�� Really super old super powerful Mob tired of everything?? Convinced he's nothing but a plague, only capable of causing devastation?? And little stubborn Arataka demanding that he pay attention to the ants humans again, staring with Arataka, of course. Obviously. The imagery in this one has me by the balls. I'm feral about it, feening for it, I wanna print out this fic's vibes and make it into a snowglobe that I can eat.

but it does no damn good by quiveringpalm (Reimob, finished)

"We can’t have this sort of conversation," Reigen says softly.

Mob is blinking slowly at him, his eyes searching all over his face as if to find a real chink in his proverbial armor, except that Reigen hasn’t ever felt more naked than he does now in the dark on this fucking bed in this fucking hotel in this godforsaken fucking town, he really never should have taken Mob here but it’s too little too late, too late and too little, god, Mob is so little.

His voice is even littler, barely above a whisper. "... Even if I want to?"

The oneshot that one-shots my whole heart ong. I can't even explain how much I love this fic, it just gives me all the warm fuzzies 🥰 Also the tire swing. The tire swing. Read it and you'll know what I mean 🙏

Ironic Process Theory by tragakes (Reirit, unfinished)

Right now Ritsu was virtuous. He was righteous. He was doing what lesser people could not; he was carrying Reigen back to his apartment because Reigen had been beaten within an inch of death, and later he would tell Shigeo that he had saved his boyfriend. Were they boyfriends? They had never referred to each other as such, but Ritsu knew they were fucking, which had to make them boyfriends.

He imagined telling his brother, and he imagined his brother’s expression when he learnt Reigen got hurt, and all of his insides twisted into a hot, tight, knot, and he decided that maybe he wouldn’t tell his brother after all.

That was, in fact, the virtuous and righteous thing to do. One couldn’t go around boasting about their good deeds.

Read this fic RN. 👁️👁️ I love me some ritrei but this? This right here? Takes the cake. Holy shit. It's technically transitive property mobreirit (in that order) but that just makes it better tbh. One of the tags is "Ritsu and his mental gymnastic: extended edition" and that about sums it up. Bitter Anxiety-Ridden Ritsu my beloved 🙏

Piece of Me by allthisandheaventoo (Mob?Rei?, finished)

Mob is a late bloomer. Not enough to be concerning; most kids present at ten or eleven, and Mob is only thirteen. Reigen himself was twelve when it happened, when he had woken up one morning squirming and feverish and horny as all hell before realizing that meant he was an omega. He remembers a kid in his grade who didn’t present until he was sixteen, smelling like pup until halfway through high school. The point being that Mob is completely normal for not having presented yet, and having him around the office has never presented a problem for Reigen before. Until it does.

The A/B/O breastfeeding fic. I think about this fic all the time. It's nested into my brain and it's never leaving. Yes. The ship bit is said to be ambiguous but not TO ME. Fantastic, give me fourteen of 'em rn 🙏

facing three ways by hapful (gen, finished)

The alarm settles as Taka walks out to the fields to join his class lined up. Keiji comes up to him immediately, eyes full of concern. “What happened? You look sick,” he says, and Taka could cry but he doesn’t.

“Hey Keiji,” he says instead, “aren’t you sick of people?”

“Yeah,” Keiji answers, concern still lacing his tone but with a tired, understanding edge.

Taka smiles. It isn’t pleasant. “I have an idea.”

two beaten down kids decide to summon a demon to solve their problems, and everything changes.

AHHHH. AHH. The Age Swap platonic mogarei fic I didn't know I needed until I found it *collapses* BEAUTIFUL.

The Paper Moon by DespiteWhatShouldBeOtherwise (gen, finished)

It wasn't the rain, or the car, or even dying that ruined his day.

The worst was when he woke up, and everything that happened after.

In short, Reigen gets hit by a car and winds up leaving the hospital with a little something extra.

I can't say much about this fic without spoiling it, but please know that the mystery and intrigue kept my eyeballs glued to my phone screen every free moment for three whole days. Thank you.

Where Did You Go? by iamwish (gen, unfinished)

“You know what else is important? Eating. And paying rent. And, hey, we’ve had this conversation, our clients’ lives are important, too. Your life is important. This stopped being a sprint a long time ago, Ritsu. It’s a marathon now. And what do we do during marathons?”

“We pace ourselves,” Ritsu answers rotely.

-

Is this fic:

1. Technically a rewrite of season 1 with Ritsu as the main character

2. An exploration of the consequences that one change, one absence can have

3. The author torturing Ritsu by giving him something he wanted for a price he never would have willingly paid

4. All of the above

Deshi Ritsu AU. DESHI RITSU AU. Well, kind of not really but dESHI RITSU—

Soft and Wet by UnderWickedSky (Ekurei, finished)

Ekubo offers an explanation, “The spirit is in your guts, twisted around your inner organs. This is exactly the type of curse that makes someone perfectly healthy suddenly drop dead from a heart attack or an aneurysm. The kind that gets reported in all the newspapers because it was just so unlikely."

“At least I’d be famous,” manages Reigen weakly.

[Ekubo helps Reigen with a pesky curse, and eats well in the process.]

There is no smut in this fic. There is NO smut in this fic. It just FEELS like there is. I can't explain it, it's like a fish hook—yoinks you in and leaves you super confused and super intrigued at the same time. My favorite Ekurei fic.

if i start a commotion by carnation (Ritmob, unfinished)

“Can you take back a confession...?”

“I can,” Ritsu says obstinately. “I do. I take it back, I didn’t mean it. I did mean it but I shouldn’t have said it so I take it back, it didn’t happen. Now you can’t talk about it anymore, because it didn’t happen.”

“I think it did,” Mob says, doubtfully. “I still remember it, so... I think it did happen. I think – maybe you can’t take it back. Sorry.”

ANXIETY-RIDDEN RITSU MY BELOVED 💕✨ And Mob just,,,trying to wrap his little brain around the idea of Ritsu loving him romantically, slowing growing to like the idea and giving Ritsu several heart attacks in the process—and Dimple several migraines—I love him your honor.

or at least i pretend by carnation (Ritmob, finished)

He tells Shigeo about a test he did well in and another he did less well in, and about how it is competitive here, like everyone says it is, like everyone at home had warned him it would be every time they learned he was applying to Matcha University, but it’s competitive in a good way, a friendly way, not a damaging way, because everyone here wants to work hard and do their best and they want everyone around them to do well, too – competitive, but supportive; so it’s good, it’s all good, and it’s all new and different but it’s good. Everything is good. All of Ritsu's stories are pleasant and mild and nice because everything about Ritsu's life is pleasant and mild and nice as well, and all his stories have been told so many times they’re polished smooth by repetition: he offers them up to his brother with well-practised ease.

This fic came into my house and personally beat me up with its bare hands. I'm in love with it. Unrequited Love combined with MEGA "It's Complicated", Ritsu pulling off the heist of the century, and Mob just. Mob. Sigh MOB. carnation always nails the exact flavor of ritmob that I enjoy, but the angst of this one combined with happy(?) ending makes it one of my favs 🥰

Better Him by ConnorRK (explicit gen, finished)

“Reigen, are you kidding me? Can’t you keep it in your pants for one minute! This is serious.” Ritsu, outraged, undoubtedly trying to murder Reigen with his eyes. It makes Sato laugh, delighted, and in front of him, Takashi positively grins.

“Sounds like this ain’t the first time, is it, Reigen? You got a thing for stuff like this? You wanna be held down? We can do that for you.”

Hi hello yes may I have this fic printed onto my eyelids please, thanks—rape aftermath/recovery fics are actually some of my favorites, and this one? Reigen discovering just how far he'd go for his kids?? I can't—just take my wallet at this point you've already ripped my heart outta my chest 😭 LOVELY 💕

Zero by SeaSaltFreckles (Mobrei², unfinished)

Joseph still looks apprehensive. He puts a finger up to the earpiece and listens carefully to whoever is on the other end. Then, he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back. “Our records say that Reigen Arataka is the one who eventually stopped him. Why?”

Again, Rei’s eyes shift all around, and his expression shifts from realization to sadness in the blink of an eye. “Because that’s how it happened in my world… I also tried to stop him, but I couldn't and– and because of that, Shigeo…” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Shigeo is the one who wiped out humanity. He's the one who destroyed my universe.”

A story in which Reigen Arataka and his world's Kageyama Shigeo travel across dimensions and bring their fight to the doorstep of Mob and Reigen, but everything is far more complicated than it should be.

YOUR HONOR THE WAY I AM UNHINGED ABOUT THIS FIC 🙏🤌✨😳💕😭❤️‍🔥 GOD. ???-kun is my favorite character forever and always and I'm a slut for characters meeting alternate versions of themselves, so this fic just absolutely fucks its way right up my alley, holy hot damn.

I'll stop there, because otherwise this post will be super long instead of just mildly long, but please be aware that I'm feral about several more fics. Yelling about them forever and ever amen 🙏

[ms-scarletwings]

Oh,

to sink down in the tower and weep

as the fury of Her pain rips through my flesh

and the weight of her despair takes me under

and leaves behind my bones

like her false stones, forgotten on the shore.

Would She hear my prayer, or does She sleep

Far beneath the sand and seaward thresh?

Did her sisters tear her forever

asunder

could she be made less alone

if I followed her to be forgotten, another memory deplored?

Oh,

To dunk my head into that reddened stream

and float in the tunnels beyond the bounds

where the lost ones linger, and mutter, and

wallow in their past

and speaking without hearing,

forever stuck in another time.

Would I wallow too, stuck between the world and a dream;

Only by the next new trespasser to be found?

Would I join them to murmur and muse and idle while I rasp

Drinking it, always fearing

made too a prisoner of my mind?

Oh,

To be the offering laid at your feet, willingly or not

Or perhaps the reluctant acolyte breaking the earth.

Should I have been the keeper lapping from your well?

Or would you rather me as the blood within,

carried from the husk between your roots?

As either I’d learn the song of the trees, of bugs and rot.

I would be faithful to the soil, wrought to fill its dearth.

As either I’d know the sights of graves and bloodbells.

Imagine what beauty that’d flourish from the flavor of my sin,

If I joined the whispers beneath my boots.

Oh,

To follow the path that you carved for me,

the one that rounds the hill and leads to your home.

To bow at your throne of tendons and jaws,

and flayed by my welcoming host’s hands;

I’ll be stripped of skin, unwound, unraveled.

Certainly at once in hers I would truly be

as snug as the grub laid to fester in wasp’s comb,

Twsited and formed anew, witnessing with awe

as my fodder inspires someone else’s plans.

What a family I’ll find, down a road untraveled.

Oh,

To pursue you down to your starving center,

to feel the teeth clamp down and crush,

to be your hapless dweller betrayed

and feel the acid’s unforgiving burn.

Just how would your vengeance taste?

“So, so sorry” I may cry, too late to realize what I’ve done wrong.

What if I could be foolish enough to enter

and vivisect you from foundation to truss

and become your cruel traitor repaid,

given the punishment I must deserve?

A vagrant morsel, a hungry house: both wastes.

“Finally again,” we may sigh,

“evermore to someone I belong”

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge || 2024

Day 1: Mysterious / Appearance (Gravekeeper)

Day 2: Agony/Embrace

Day 3: Shame/Favorite

It was a meeting, in secrecy. The warlock constantly underestimated Elernia, and now she swore Safrona would pay for her lax attention, her utter dismissal and betrayal. Their infernal bond waned as the warlock's bond with the new young succubus AND incubus strengthened, allowing the Elder Sayaad to roam further from the warlock without notice. She lured a victim by teaching her name to the right lovesick acolyte and she was effectively summoned in the dank crypt long enough for her to overpower and slaughter the silly elf. And now, presenting the fresh flesh with the right sigil, she bid the one in mind to attend her.

The Sayaadi presented herself in her full demonic glory for her potential new favorite. No glamour, even giving over the truth of her name. A Sister would have been taken aback at such a risk. Elernia might have even been called foolish, a weak link among the Legion even, once, but there was a trust to be earned here with her audience. She could feel the cold distrust in the icy stare she was given as her victim rose anew, yet Elernia basked in the presence as if it were a stage spotlight, putting on her best infernal charm. She was intent on winning over her new prospect.

“Why did you call me here, demon?” Her company was not so easily charmed, none too thrilled to be called to the husk the demon murdered.

“Mmmn, curiousity,” Elernia offered coquettishly. “You would not have answered unless you were just a bit curious too, no? Have you forgotten me already?”

“Perhaps." How DID the demon know the personal sigil to call that particular soul by? "But I will not play your games long, especially if I don't feel quite entertained.” Her company’s voice darkened with an insidious edge. “Sometimes toys like to break.”

The succubus laughed, titilated. “Oh…promise my Pretty? We can play any time, but I called you here because I’d like to think we have some things in common.” Elernia sighed with a little dramatic flair.” My mistress shames us both.”

“I have very little care in how your mistress shames you. She is a mistake. And she will breed more mistakes until she is buried.”

“Oh, I absolutely agree,” Elernia grinned intensely. “It took me far too long to realize that little truth, sadly. I placed her on a damned pedestal for SO very long. Now the years of devotion to her melt to nothing, and I've been such a fool. I am nearly 327 years now, my Pretty, and I am shamed to only now see the lesson. The Shadow on the Sun is a mistake of life, and has little worth on the Path of Power. She is disgustingly complacent, wasting every breath she's stolen."

Elernia could see her contact had quieted with a gathering interest, giving pause to all that she would say. “After all my years of devotion and service in making her stronger, she dares to replace me. ME.” Hate oozed out in each sharply spoke word now, the demon did not mince a word. “I am trapped, made useless, cast aside. Abandoned by the one I have been a constant too. And I seethe.”

Her company scoffed. “Seems to me you must lay in the bed you made. Maybe you’ll warm the empty sheets with your ‘righteous’ anger.”

“Oh, but I’m a little rebel.” Elernia shimmied, and slid her fingers down her skin sensually. “And I want a new bed.”

A wave of dismay, even disgust radiated from her singular witness. “Don’t even think to ask. I will NOT pact with you. I won't make the same mistake again.”

Elernia pouted briefly, but feigned consignment to the denial. “Be that as it may, scorned soul to soul, I offer my help to you out of the kindness of my little black heart. If she gets to play favorites, so will I.”

The corpse sighed. “So now you’re going to find new ways to annoy me? I don't quite like the idea of you knowing how to call me.”

“Oooh Pretty, that hurts! Think about what I'm offering. A direct connection to the little bitch. Information, freely.” Elernia leaned forward, basking in the luminent visage of her company as she whispered her schemes. “I offer opportunity for you to take. I can see that one gleaming desire when you look at me, even now. You desire to make her suffer as much as I do.”

The banshee gazed now in return, her yellow eyes agleam on the succubus as she processed the potential of the words that next slithered off the demon's tongue. “And when we have ruined her enough and had our fun? I will happily help you to bury her."

Elernia felt a swell of victory as the corpse the banshee wore showed a sign of a smile, just before it rapidly rotted, contorted upon itself with sickening crunches, and lay dead once more. "I must go, the spectral form replied, an old haunt to the demon that held its wealth of nostalgia. "Perhaps...we'll speak again. But first, be a good demon and de-bone your little gift for me. "

The Lady Haunt gazed on the crumpled acolyte thoughtfully as the demon began to separate bone from the withered husk. "In fact, make more gifts of more stupid warlocks for me, and I'll continue to answer in the "flesh". I think it's terribly fitting of you."

@daily-writing-challenge

[graementality]

the idea about acolyte having moth wings is interesting! i like the symbolism behind it

also idk if you would like to know this but. the reason he has butterfly wings is because butterflies (in various cultures) represent the soul. so it symbolises soul's increasing influence over heart. it can also symbolise rebirth aka the making anew thing, and also soul's goal to sacrifice hms so they can live in whole

Ohhhh that makes so much sense!! That's so perfect actually, I love the thought behind that :]

I completely forgot about butterflies being a symbol of rebirth but yeah now that I think about it,,,

And Soul's influence yeah!!! Something something Soul's always a part of him, something something religious trauma,, the fact they keep growing back,,, I'm rotating that idea ghh

[prismaiden]

⚘ @confessthysiins // cont.

Strange comfort radiated from that scaled hand, from the features pock-marked with pin feathers.  Child he called her, and for a moment it was as though that young and reluctant acolyte lived again.  Quiet, wide-eyed girl, a church mouse who had collected memories and mementos, who had suffered in anguished silence, whose every prayer had gone unanswered.

Still the crow-man’s hand lingered on her forearm, talons glinting against her armour.  Although it was the lightest of touches, it held within it a weight of kindness that threatened to undo her.  Grief clawed its way up her throat so viciously that Anri could not hope to suppress the sob that shot from her, a brittle sound blending both sorrow and relief.  Some absurd, half-wild part of her longed to be small and precious, fit to be carried in his pockets.  She imagined they would be warm, lined with down-feathers.  There she might feel safe, listening to the holy man’s wisdom, his ancient dialect a rook-sung lullaby.

This man was no stranger to devotion.  His altar gleamed, lit by carefully placed candles, scented by the heavy-headed flowers spread at the goddess’ feet, her stone effigy polished to cast out any trace of lichen or decay.  Anri, force-fed a diet of dark sermons, understood little of other faiths, but she recognised love when it presented itself. Seeing it first-hand made the wiry threads of her heart ache anew.

“My apologies,” she whispered, lifting the visor of her helm to dab at her eyes with leather-tipped fingers.  “I cannot recall the last time I was spoken to with such gentleness.”

What she withheld was the deeper truth that she could not remember a time she had felt safe.  Now, the promise of it seemed near and Anri clung to the possibility, letting hope wash over her aching bones.  Here, in this small and sanctified space, his invitation was a benediction, his hand upon hers a permission – she need not prove her worth, nor fight, nor mask her tears.  

“I should like to stay awhile,” she continued, almost ashamedly.  “I should like that very much.”

Corvid eyes watched her, dark and unfathomable.  Under their weight, Anri laid down her strength.  With trembling hands, she placed her shield on the ground, then her sword, each an act of surrender and blind faith in the man at her side.

“I only hope that someone is there to shoulder your burdens, as you do for those who find their way here.”

[niseag-arts]

Skylax (and Seven) lore dump

a strange one, since sky is mindcleansed.

What Skylax knows: Skylax woke up less than a year ago, with a headache and no memories of note. A magos informed him that his designation is "Skylax unit Q11-20" and that he is a cyber-mastiff handler. Some memories returned once he was presented with a small metal mastiff: Seven. Seven is made with the neural network of a regular canine, that is to say, a dog, in a robottic body that has been augmented and specialised for tracking and scouting. Seven is mind-linked to Skylax and acts like an extention of Sky's own body. Albeit with its own personality and wants. Unless Skylax directly over-rides Seven's mind (which is something he can do) Seven will simply behave like a well-trained dog. But this does mean that Sky senses whatever Seven senses, smells, tastes, feelings etc. Seven remembers more than Sky does, but all of that is filtered through the experiences of a puppy, and mostly include memories of cuddles and playtime, as well as vague memories of eery places and scary people, but nothing that meant much to Skylax himself. Skylax is aware that he has likely done something heretical in his past that waranted the complete removal of all his memories, but he does not know what it was. This makes them insecure, afraid that they'll make the same mistakes again. They're also afraid they might have hurt people. They try not to think too much about the life they lost, instead focussing on the new chances they'll have and gratitude to the Omnissiah for being made anew. He has headaches regularly, though, and nightmares consisting of shards of old memories and the faces of people he used to know. Typically Seven will wake him up when this happens. the headaches are also partially because of the many inhibitors and regulators stuck in his head to keep his past contained, they flare up when he tries to remember things he is not supposed to remember. Skylax currently works for the inquisition. Oh yes, being with no memories or identity other than those belonging to a dog, he's developed some more canine characteristics, which he is insecure about. He wants pats. he has figured out that that's considered weird. Beyond this could be considered "spoilers", I suppose

What Skylax Doesn't Know Skylax was born on Repleator to a tech-priest father and a baseline human mother. He enrolled as an acolyte in the mechanicus when he turned 12, and was paired to Seven at 16. They were trained as a unit in order to serve the inquisition as a sniffer-dog trained to spot and report on heretical practices. He has seen some shit. He was not a fighting unit and was encouraged to document and report back, but in his eager to document everything he has come across things he really shouldn't have read, and oh no was he a curious young man... He's read so many things, and learnt so many things...all of which lost now, of course. He was caught and was about to executed. Seven was to be bonded to a different tech priest, which the mastiff refused at all points, even after it was disconnected from Skylax. this convinced their superiors to let Skylax live, as to not waste a perfectly good mastiff, so Seven was reconnected, and then they wiped Skylax's mind.

[furious-blueberry0]

Wait omg your post… does that mean in your rewrite Osha will appear to be zabrak too?? Because if so that would be so cool

Hell yeah she will

[autumnsup]

Deathflight Blues

For @hp-poetry-fest , prompted by Jan Beatty's poem The Body's River. Artwork of Tom Riddle/Voldemort by @leafiloaf, posted with the artist's kind permission.

When Tom Riddle dreams, he dreams in green.

Green not for jealousy, not for envy, not even for spite. Green is awake, green is alive, green is a new beginning for someone with such pitiful origins as himself.

He loathes the feeling of being out of control, and wherever possible, he claws his way back up the cliff toward taking charge of his destiny. Because he has a destiny, he knows it, no matter what the people at the orphanage told him on the daily.

He tried being adorable at first, and it worked – to a point. The problem with depending on adorability as a sole method of getting your way is that people stop taking you seriously. The way he learned to let them know that he wasn’t faffing around was to scare them. So much so, they would hesitate to tell anyone else, for fear of being disbelieved.

So Tom became secretly cruel.

He felt pity for his victims sometimes. Not because of the pain, or the mess, or the damage he left scarred across their psyches. But because of their clear, inescapable inferiority to him and his intelligence, his drive, his will. It would have been more merciful to kill each of them, rather than let them continue to live with themselves, but alas, the world he dwelt in was not so easily capable of overlooking dead bodies, or magic.

Until he came to Hogwarts.

To be sure, Albus Dumbledore was a sharp-minded master, and none of Tom’s usual tricks worked with him. It was a sweet victory when Tom worked out a way to get at what he’d been wanting to do all along, which was to repair the flaw that could lead to his downfall – having a mind attached to a single body. But to do it all under Dumbledore’s nose? Now that was a feeling he could savor.

The cruelty came to the surface more frequently now, like honey laced with bittersweet belladonna, and he had to put in extra effort to prove that he was a golden boy, someone worthy of fearful respect and not just loathing. Because in those years, he still liked to be praised, honored, looked up to. And the problem with being too obviously cruel was that eventually, people’s perception of you lost its glow and withered into hate.

Hate was such a clumsy word, but in time, he learned to wear it with pride, like the blue-black cloak of his name born anew from the rot that was Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He was beautiful once, and he knew it. But by the time he came to the realization that there was no turning back from what he’d become, he hardly even cared any more. Not with his soul carved up like a Christmas goose, each portion tucked away as insurance against the former inevitability of the future. Not with his companion Nagini to bring him comfort when the business of taking over the world got to be too much, when the power he sought seemed too far out of reach.

Now, when he looks in the mirror, he sees not a ravished version of his former self, but a statue chiseled closer to perfection than he’d ever been. Man’s body is weak, but man’s mind is strong, and spread across the continent as he is, he’s become nigh invincible.

Nobody knows his secret except for the most faithful, whom he invites in like acolytes to a conqueror’s tomb. None of them have truly known him, but there are those who remember him from his Hogwarts days, and revere that image of him. It’s useful, if silly, and he turns their memories against them, one by one, until all they can see is the future. A pure, flawless river of destiny.

When Voldemort sleeps – which he never truly does anymore – he dreams in black and white. Black for all the paths he could have taken but rejected, and white for the paths he’d chosen to follow, narrowing his vision into one vicious, all-encompassing spotlight.

These days, no one is safe from the light.

[jackals-ships]

selfshiptober time babyyy slaps the top of these freaks for day one

[alduin pov, brief allusion to their past as enemies + alduin typical "what's a boundary?"

#1. confession | night. [jackal/alduin]

Sleep does not come easy to his Dragonborn. It does not come easy to him either, but then, The World Eater does not actually need it. He merely play acts it to set them at ease. (he's learned to play at many such things. the mortals are more relaxed when he matches his breathing to theirs, when he blinks more often, when he eats and drinks as they do.)

His Dragonborn on the other hand does need sleep. And yet their body fights it at every turn. (a sickness of the mind, the healer acolyte told him. not uncommon in those touched by the Hunter Lord. even more so by those personally blessed by Him.)

In Skuldafn he oft found them wandering the halls when all others were abed. Here among the ash he watched them pace restlessly, back and forth and around their small campsite. Sometimes they would pause, head tilted back towards the moons, expression unknowable under their mask. They would stay like that for long moments before returning to their pacing anew.

This night was no different. Masser and Secunda were high in the sky before they ceased moving. Yet even in their bedroll Alduin watched through lidded eyes as they shuffled. Rolling back and forth, kicking the blankets off and then pulling them back up.

It is only when they have finally stilled for more than a few moments that he opens his eyes fully.

They lay close to the fire, away from him, and he is careful as he walks to them. He is always so careful not to wake them.

Because each night he trespasses. Each night he steals a glimpse of that which does not belong to him. Each night he promises that he will be satisfied this time.

Each night the gnawing pit of hunger grows ever deeper.

Tonight they have fallen asleep on their back, and for that he is grateful. Once he was almost caught as he tried to shift them for they'd laid on their stomach. He is unsure what they would do if they were to discover him and he does not intend to find out.

A claw slips under the edge of their mask, a gentle tug all that's necessary to break the spell holding it in place.

His Dragonborn doesn't even twitch, breathing still slow and even as he sets the mask aside.

He is more hesitant as he reaches a hand out again, for they wear a tighter mask of cloth under the polished obsidian. It leaves the upper half of their face exposed and he always tells himself he will be content with just this much.

Each night Alduin proves himself to be a liar yet again.

The slightest frown creases their brow as he pulls the cloth down, but it smooths itself back out. Lucky for him his Dragonborn may struggle to sleep but once they are down it is to a corpse like depth.

It is that depth that emboldens him further.

He curls his fingers, leery of putting claws to their flesh. (the memory of the ease with which their flesh parted under his hands haunts him now, where once it had made him croon with a predator's satisfaction, now it makes his stomach roil.)

It is the ghost of a touch upon their cheek, knuckle dragging slowly over pale skin that under the moonlight is even more corpse like in its pallor. When they don't twitch he does it again, attempting to be gentle in his clumsy touch.

Their skin is so soft. Even the delicate golden scales under their eyes barely feel like the scales of him and his. It makes an odd sort of heat bloom under his skin. An itch in his scales that no amount of clawing alleviates.

“...what have you done to me, Dragonborn? Is this a taint from that accursed Shout?” His hand moves almost unconsciously, slow and steady strokes across their cheek. “..I fear not. But you have still…”

He tilts his head back then, huffing out a bout of irritated smoke. It does nothing to that slowly creeping feeling he cannot place. “...you have cursed me. You have cursed me with your mortal emotions. You have.”

A pause as he uncurls his hand, clumsily mimicking the way he has seen acolytes cradle each other's faces. It is…nice enough he supposes. “..I have heard you throw the word about with nary a thought. And now I wonder, now I fear, is this what you mean when you tell my kin you love them? Do I love you? I fear I must.”

He leans down then, nose bumping against their cheek. Another thing he thinks he's seen the mortals do to show they care.

“...you have ruined me, Dragonborn. Would it please you in the knowing? Would you believe me at all, or decry my words as another lie? Would you return my affections, my Dragonborn? Or do I frighten you still for all the harm I have laid upon you? It is selfish of me to wish that you feel the same, but I have always been and always will be thus.”

He allows himself a few more moments of gazing upon their face before carefully returning their masks.

He will not sleep tonight, his gaze fixed onto the twin moons above him.

The moons watch back. Twin celestial bodies that would ring with laughter if they had the mouths with which to do so.

Twin bodies that watch a pair of would be lovers feign sleep, one unknowing of the others nightly deception.

[doodlepede]

thinking about this ya series i read in highschool and how it starts SO strong and then shits itself at the end. it's called the Arc of a Scythe trilogy by Neal Clusterfuck, and without spending a century just summarizing the plot.....

youve got this excellent world building where the worls has advanced to the point that death is defeated via the use of nanobots, but overpopulation is actually still of concern, so there's this society of reapers whose job it is to kill peoppe within a specific quota, no more and no less. the Old Guard takes it very seriously, is humble and severe but the New Guard (idr what theyre called) believes that if they alone have the legal responsibility and right to permanently kill, they should have fun doing it, they should be free to do it however they please, even though it will lead to massive discrimination and inhumane methods. One of the Old Guard takes a pair of acolytes, something that is very much unheard of, and there's conflict there because it turns out only one of them can graduate their training, one has to kill the other. this doesnt come to pass, the boy escapes and becomes a rogue. the girl ends up making enemies with the New Guard which is lead by Donald Trump, like fucking seriously neal keeps making the villain character quote donald trump at every opportunity and i cannot emphasize enough how this book was published in 2016, its so fucking egregious it broke my immersion every time it was fucking awful, so now Main Character Girl has to d plot stuff and try to keep Main Character Boy from getting killed and thats exactly what hes trying to do for her and the plot amps up and up abd up until the second book ends on a cliffhanger with them both locked in an airtight safe at the bottom of the ocean, it was the only way to esacpe donald trump's massacre.... how are they gonna get out of this?

well that's the neat part, they don't! this is called "writing oneself into a corner". so now the main character is not this dynamic duo we've come to know and love, its actually a background character who literally didn't have a name until now. book three feels like it should really just be a standalone novel because none of this book has to do with the first two until like the last couple chapters when neal forces this plot to collide with the first one. like. we spend the entire book learning about this random guy and how he accidentally became the leader of a new religious movement and he ends up saving the world at the end. not those two kids with their unique and opposing yet intertwined worldviews and philosophies on the nature of morality, life and death and the human condition, but some random fucking guy we just met. he saves the human race from donald trump, not the two kids most personally victimized by him. what the fuck. oh and he does it by using the godmachine i didnt mention because it barely mattered to build spaceships to send his cult into space to hopefully begin life anew on different planets and just let trump do whatever he wants to the ten (ten!) billion people left over. and the two kids got to go back into hibernation to hopefully survive the many lightyears of spacetravel. i wish they'd fucking died on trump's island in book 2 because

what the fuck?!?!?!?!

[twig-gy]

thinking about how everything prophet does to acolyte could be justified as being out of love. and then with eye he does genuinely just enjoy making them scared. he at least seems more outright malicious when it comes to eye. its interesting

yeah……….. he does love them also, it’s just that they need to know their place. he enjoys making them scared because it shows they Do Know + they’re so confident usually so it shows he’s truly broken them / made them anew + he just likes people being scared of him in general but it’s definitely different / more pronounced w them

[mel-0n-earth]

BG3 February Writing Challenge: Day 3

Day Three (SFW): First encounter with their love interest (LI)

Link to the original prompt list

[Again, I'm using this writing challenge as an excuse to develop some ideas I had for a Kar'niss x Tav fic. I wrote a bit about my OC Tav in my fills for Day One and Day Two.]

Shadows crawled and swirled and gripped and strangled like so many vines in a gossamer jungle of night. Yes, as did sun bring forth seed from soil, so did shadow draw the Lady’s deeds into fruition. Yet Kar’niss could not thrive in such darkness as did his Lady, no. No, no, no—it was his Majesty’s light that guided him through throngs of gloom and rot to seek out followers anew, to lead the acolytes to her temple atop the moonlit tower. He would do as she asked, for as long as she asked. What more had he than her voice like molten gold in his fractured mind?

She spoke to him now—whispers crawling like spiderlings, or more aptly, wriggling like a worm. Lead, it said. Lead them to the tower. And pleased he was to appease his Mistress.

Then a shadow, a flicker in a corner, leaving a trace like the smoking wick of a snuffed candle. Something was here, waiting, watching. For whom? Or what, for that matter?

The Lady bristled.

“’Ere, web arse, something moved up there,” the goblin said, voice crunching like tiny bones. “Want me to drag it out?”

A glimmer, a flash in his mind, like branches of lightning connecting in the sky and driving earthward in a shower of spark and dirt. Then, a figure where shadow once was, a sole figure standing defiant amidst the gloom—no, no, not any soul. True soul.  

Such a strange sight to decipher in the dark—neither male nor female, drow but not drow. Such an oddity would be lost in the rank and file of Menzoberranzan, swallowed in the limen of their placelessness. A rancid giggle escaped his throat, cackling, keening.

“Such a strange servant you have chosen, my Queen. Yet even drow have folded in your dark. How have they survived? Where is their lantern?”

A raised brow, a downturned mouth, reading, measuring, deciding. And yet, unafraid. Strange to see, so very strange.

“The Absolute guided me here,” they declared (such assurance to their voice—warm, regal even. Even if Kar’niss could not decipher their place in the grand design, yet it seemed this one knew it well, wore it like a mantle). “She said I was to take yours.”

Oh, how his mind spun with that. Loyal he had remained, yet loyalty hardly bore the same weight as survival—such a word, survival, the Underdark had brought him to loathe it.

Survival—he’d said once before, in another life. One loses something when their existence is reduced to such a trite notion. Why survive when I could live?

FOOL, fool he was. The spider bitch had not liked that—no, not at all. Blessed was he to stumble into his Majesty’s light. Better off he was crawling on eight legs on the surface than on all fours before the noble Houses of Menzoberranzan.

Yet her voice was silent now. Surely, if she objected, his Lady would say so? Was he to take her silence as acceptance? A confirmation of truth? It seemed so…

“Very well. If it is your will, they can have it.”

A glint in violet eyes, pale and glowing in the dark, like quartz in dark stone, a precious thing born of the very earth. Once, he might’ve written a song about such a lovely thing, plucked it from the vestiges of his long-shattered lyre—no more. That fool was long dead, back bowed and broken to beastly form. Only the servant remained.

“Good,” their voice came once more (no, not a mantle—more a sovereign’s ring, to be honored with a gentle hand, a touch of lips, a gesture of gratitude for having briefly brushed with such splendor). “You may go now.”

A pit formed in his stomach, large and cavernous.

“Go?!” the goblin screeched. “Whatcha mean go?”

“We can’t go without you,” the orc pleaded. “The shadows would tear us to pieces!”

Kar’niss hesitated—only for a moment. Then, a snarl, a drawing of brows, anger brewed with confusion to boil in his belly. “This is not her Majesty’s will,” he hissed, all seven eyes burning in his skull-cage.

The not-drow’s eyes narrowed, striking him like a holy beacon in the dark. “The Absolute wants you to go,” they hissed, serpent-like, deadly and exquisite in equal measure. “Now.”

The voice did not sound as his Lady’s did, yet it struck a similar chord in his fractured mind—reason in the madness, harmony among the discord, beauty amidst ugliness. He would bow to it. He would obey.

“If it is her majesty’s will—”

“You can’t be serious!” the brute fool of an orc shouted. “You know what’s out there!”

Righteous anger blazed through him, devouring sense in its wake. The words fell sharp from his tongue, like daggers buried in a corpse. Did they not see? They were under their Lady’s scrutiny. This was a test—one he did not plan to fail, for he had already suffered the full extent of his failures. “If it is her majesty’s will,” he seethed, throat bubbling with delirium, “Then we. Shall. WALK!”—

--a blinking of many eyes, their fragile figures kaleidoscopic in his vision, copies upon copies of doomed and daunted faces regarding him with disbelief. Yet he would not be swayed. They had spoken—his Majesty had spoken—

“She will protect us,” he said, voice wrapping around his own fear like a child’s blanket. “She must.”

He cast aside his Lady’s light, and crawled stumbling into the choking dark.

As the shadows slit him open, boring their tendrils into the last dredges of his sanity, he felt life slip from between his clawed and blackened fingers. Close, so close was he to his death, his salvation. It would all be over soon, the Lady’s shadows would consume his disgraced form, and silence would settle over the scattered fragments of his mind.

But it seems he would be granted no such mercy. Instead, a voice came to him, slithering and familiar.

I’m not done with you yet, my pet, the Spider Queen crooned from out the Demonweb. It would be far more fun to see how thoroughly they might break you.

Kar’niss’s eyes went wide, and a scream tore his throat as the shadows dissipated and his body began the process of slowly, agonizingly, knitting itself back together.

The fool’s journey, it seemed, had only just begun.