#mostly

[sentimental-darkness]

Wow, this is really good, let me reblog that for further, more detailed reading at later time!

Shrileket: God of the Beautiful Wrath, God of the Spear, Sun-Dropper Shrileket is the embodiment of focus, gust, conspiracy, spears, venom, meteors, and just punishment. He is represented by the Cone-Shell in the South, and by the Heron and Fisher in the North. Warriors may wear an eye-marked sea shell upon their head or as necklace to evoke Shrileket’s accuracy and deliverance and be blessed with a just rage.

The Shell Gods were gods of strength, endurance, and handiwork, and so the birth of the armless and scrawny Shrileket to a consort of Zridtara was not revered. The wobbly weakling only had a shell upon his small head and had no feet but pin points that left it oddly balanced. Afraid to inform their chief, the consort left the newborn to be raised by the Servikah giants within the lower chambers of the Mesa. Despite his seeming lameness, Shrileket was already quite clever and remembered each wrong done to him as he grew in the shadows of his Shell kin, from the neglect of his mother to the bullying of his siblings. From hidden corners of the Mesa, he payed great attention to the habits of each brother and planned every detail of their shaming. He perfected his movements under the guise of dancing with his Servikah and sharpened his shell head with his feet. He would challenge his proudest and tallest brother, Thulla the god of Towers, to a duel. Red with laughter, Thulla agreed to the contest with this comical upstart and met him at the ground of his choosing. The brothers would fight upon the morning ground of Glarelund, carved into an arena so Thulla and Shrileket’s siblings could be audience. After a boast of mockery, Thulla’s first step into the ring followed with immediate foolery as the tall god teetered and tottered upon the shiny ground. Shrileket, however, slid with grace and elegance, dancing around the oaf with pecks and kicks to trip him further. In but a few moments Thulla had fallen, intensely embarrassed by Shrileket who had known that ice grew thin and smooth in the mornings of this region due to his Servikah guardians. Shrileket’s glee was the brightest he felt in a long time, but would sour as Thulla spit cruelties at the victor. Too indignant to let his win soothe him, Shrileket pounced on his brother and castrated him with his sharpened head to the horror of his fellows. The victory of the honourable duel had been ignored by the Shell Gods, instead enraged by the maiming of their proudest son and had banished Shrileket. Painting himself eyes from the gore of Thulla, Shrileket remembered the face of each and every one who cursed him and set off into the world. From there he would receive an invitation from the Feather Gods who admired Shrileket’s strategy and wrath, and especially his shaming of Thulla and gifted him with cloth weaved from god feather so he may join them in The Sun. Shrileket accepted and would earn further gifts, such as Godler servants sculpted into arms for his use and a consort for whom weaved him his cloth. From there he would take his seat at the bottom of The Sun, enthroned upside down at it’s tear ducts were he harvest his sunlight spears to damn those he chooses. Though his cool rage made him a fine arbitrator, his arm servants despised their role and their master and ever whispered bad advice and annoyances into his ears. Their hope was to be destroyed by their owner and freed of their obligations, released into the next life. Unfortunately for them Shrileket found it better to punish their betrayal with further eternal service. His many years of dedication as a divine punisher would end upon the beginning of the Deiomachy, as he would be sent to stop his brother-by-fate god of rage, Tilshek, from entering The Sun. Disgusted by how much Tilshek reminded him of an unrefined self, Shrileket would stop at nothing to kill the half-Jak, dropping from The Sun like tear drop lighting. Their clash would announce war between the Feather and Shell, booming as only gods could for days until they fell upon each other’s impalements.

[padme-amitabha]

Anidala Week 2025: Day 3 (Everything Goes Sideways/Role Reversal AU)

A Star Meant for the Sky

Padmé Amidala Naberrie had always believed in stars. She believed in stories too - tales spun by her mother in the dusky kitchens of their modest estate on Naboo. Stories of queens and warrior-priestesses, of lost Jedi temples and forgotten prophecies, of girls born under ill-fated moons who defied the storm.

She was no queen then. Just a senator’s daughter, all wide eyes and restless heart. Even as a child, Padmé was the sort to slip from elaborate dinners and courtly lectures, vanishing into the city streets to help patch storm-torn roofs or bring water to homes when the rivers ran too high. The palace called her reckless. Her father called her headstrong. Her mother, long before she passed, had called her brave.

And so she served. At thirteen she volunteered with Naboo’s relief corps during a season of floods, tending the sick with hands far too small to hold so much grief. At fourteen she delivered speeches before the Assembly, calling for reparations for the Outer Rim settlers no one else cared to remember. She threw herself at every battle she was allowed, dreaming not of ballrooms but of stars and of the war-torn, impossible galaxy beyond them.

She would have stayed on Naboo forever, had it not been for the Jedi.

Qui-Gon Jinn came to Theed for a matter of trade - or at least that was what he told the Council. There were stirrings in the Force, strange fractures in fate’s tapestry and he followed them like a wolf chasing smoke.

He found her in the palace’s south atrium, speaking to a group of healers about transport routes for the northern sick.

And he felt it.

A hum. A shiver in the Force, ancient and aching.

When Padmé turned toward him, it felt like the stars themselves shifted in their cradle.

“You feel it too,” she murmured, though she did not know what she meant.

Qui-Gon’s throat worked. “Who are you?”

“Padmé Naberrie,” she said. “Daughter of Ruwee. I’m nobody.”

But she wasn’t.

Within days, he’d convinced her family, an impossible task by all rights. The Naberries were protective, bound by tradition. No child of theirs had ever become a Jedi. The Council itself refused at first, citing her age, her attachment to her homeworld, the unorthodox method.

But Qui-Gon was not a man who bent easily. He brought them an artifact. An ancient, weathered sketch rendered by the Jedi seers of old. The child of prophecy, the one who would bring balance to the Force. The face in the drawing was soft, feminine, marked by eyes like twin stars and a necklace shaped like a crescent moon.

It was Padmé.

“She was born for the stars,” Qui-Gon told them. “The Force speaks through her.”

And in the end, in fear or in hope, they let her go.

She trained on the move, because the Council never fully approved. It was unorthodox. Dangerous, even. But Qui-Gon would have it no other way. She learned saber stances in the cargo bays of old freighters, Force meditation in open fields beneath alien moons.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon’s senior apprentice, grumbled at first. He thought her too reckless, too headstrong, too willing to chase the impossible. But in time, she charmed even him.

“Maker help me,” he’d sigh when she talked her way into yet another diplomatic squabble or leapt without thinking. “She’s worse than you, Master.”

And Qui-Gon would smile, weary but proud. “She’s better.”

Their little mismatched family - a tired, stubborn Master, an exasperated older brother figure and a teenage girl made of starlight and ruin - drifted through the galaxy, chasing skirmishes and lost artifacts, bringing peace where they could.

Padmé loved them fiercely.

And then there was Alderaan.

It was a routine mission, escorting a prince to Tatooine to negotiate with the Hutts. Padmé didn’t care for nobility but the war made for strange alliances and this child was apparently important enough for the Jedi to intervene.

She found him in the palace gardens.

Nine years old. Blond curls mussed from the wind. A face too solemn for his years. He was sitting cross-legged beneath a tree, staring at the stars beyond the dusky sky.

“You’re not from here,” he said, without looking up.

Padmé raised a brow. “Neither are you, technically.”

He glanced at her then. And the world cracked a little.

“I saw you,” the boy said softly. “In a dream. You had a crown made of light and the stars listened to you.”

She should have laughed. Should have brushed it off as a child’s fancy.

But something in his gaze - a storm, a knowing - made her chest ache.

“I’m Padmé,” she offered, crouching beside him. “And you must be the Prince.”

He smiled, crooked and shy. “I’m Anakin.”

“Prince Anakin of Alderaan,” she teased.

“I’m just Ani,” he said. “And I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Padmé laughed then, a startled, real thing. The boy’s cheeks flushed crimson but he grinned anyway.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Careful, Ani. The galaxy’s a dangerous place for princes with big hearts.”

He beamed up at her. “It’s okay. You’ll protect me.”

And stars help her, she already wanted to.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And there you go: a little snippet of my Role Reversal Anidala AU! I’ve always loved the concept of Jedi!Padmé trained by Qui-Gon so I had to write it with Padmé as the main character at the heart of the story. In this AU, Anakin is the prince of Alderaan and Breha’s step-brother. I’ll be expanding this into full scenes and posting the whole thing properly on my AO3 sometime soon (along with prompts from the whole week) but for now, here’s a tiny tease because the prompts this year are too interesting not to join in. Hope you enjoy this dreamy little start!

@anidalaweeks

[calkestis]

#rebellions are built on hope alcohol consumption that makes the unbearable weight of a fascist regime somehow manageable 

[imheretoreadafic]

When Bruce was new to the whole having children thing, he was always stepping in and trying to break up fights. His resolve was quickly broken, and he just decided to put rules on fighting out problems. No breaking anything, no weapons, no hitting face, neck, or groin, and no knockouts.

Batman leaned against the wall and casually watched as Robin and Red Robin beat the shit out of each other. The JL glanced at each other.

"You... You gonna do something about that, Bats?" Barry asks cautiously.

"It's been a long time coming." Bruce grunts. "Let them handle it." A hit to the jaw lands on Damian, and he shouts at them: "AY, KEEP IT AWAY FROM THE FACE!"

"FUCK OFF!" Tim screams but he doesn't punch Damian in the face again.

Diana nods. "I approve of this parenting technique. Sometimes problems need to be solved with some bruises and blood." Bruce nods as well.

"I've found breaking up their fights just means they still get bruised but no issue is solved." Batman explains and Diana hums thoughtfully.

"Would it not also be adequate to have them duel?"

"No, they do actual damage if i let them have a weapon.

"Ah, I suppose that makes sense."

Everyone is horrified.

[mariekavanagh]

James Potter is the ultimate spoiled indulged only child who never had to share attention at home and was allowed to think he was the world's main character.

James Potter is what happens when a man is loved properly from day one. He just walks around like joy is default. Insane of him.

[enbyandyy]

you go girl they're here for the vibes

[0owitheredquinceyo0]

HES SO FUCKING.. CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK.

Sorry aNYWAYYY..

[sadagios]

artblock be damned here are some doodles and unfinished wips from june

[ebibily]

Regulus gets black coffee when he’s with people and a pink drink when he’s alone.

Unless it’s just him and James, then he gets white mocha Frappuccino with extra whip.

What do yall think the marauders go to Starbucks order would be?

I’ll start: Remus Lupin has always given me tea vibes, so I think he would go for an iced chai latte.

[frownyalfred]

“You wanna fight someone, you fight me” seemed like a silly rule at first. but after there was more than one batkid living in the Manor at the same time, suddenly the prospect of having to spar with Bruce on the mats because you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing a punch at Tim earlier is terrifying.

[auroras-void]

Idiotic hot take of mine:

Children should be introduced to computers via the command line only.

No smartphones. No iPad babies. We use BASH in this household.

Pros:

- Children have to actually learn how a computer works in order to use it.

- No dark design patterns. No hyperoptimized attention vortex in your pocket.

- Your 7 year old can brag to the other kids on the playground that they use Arch btw.

- Easier to sandbox into a VM to prevent installation of malware.

- Can use FreeDOS to raise them with an understanding of legacy systems.

- By the time they figure out how to connect to the internet they will be ready for it.

Cons:

- sudo rm -rf

[sethdomain]

Space experimented child soldier capitalism miraculous ladybug AU. What's next

[raineyraven]

man i feel bad for fans of the httyd movies who haven't seen the shows, especially race to the edge. like they don't know that the riders left berk and lived on an outpost together to go adventuring and fight dragon hunters as a team. they don't know that snotlout and astrid and fishlegs and the twins got character development. they don't know how cool and interesting the villains in the shows are compared to the movies. they don't know that the riders are filled with love and loyalty to each other and they bicker and train and play card games with each other and have sleepovers together and will risk their lives for their friends and their dragons in a heartbeat. imagine that.

[mubabee]

(Idk if it uploaded so imma try again)Jing yuan with child!reader like I said

I hate writing dialogue for this man he got a certain way of wording shit that I can’t comprehend or think of

The art style change with each drawing man I was getting lazy I didn’t even shade the last one errrr

u can see this as y/n or ur child with him

He apologized dw

[the-hopeless-fanboy]