Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]
Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)
tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers
Summary: Being a prophet is both a gift and a curse; you see the future and you’re burdened with the weight of knowing that every decision you make could shape or destroy entire universe, with the overwhelming pressure that the fate of the galaxy hinges on your choice, and every path fraught with sacrifice.
Status: work in progress (This is a long fanfic that will be about 10+ chapters.)
A/N : I'm thai and english isn't my first language (sorry for the broken English)
This fic exists 'cause I got high (thanks to weed!). So my work's full of random shit in many ways. But I hope you'll dig it.
I got inspo from novels and movies I'm obsessed with: Dune, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Blue Eye Samurai, and Anne Carson's Cassandra Float Can. (Hence the title "The Curse of Cassandra," linking to the Greek myth)
It's a mash-up of different universes, not just Star Wars, with a lot of tweaks for my storyline. If you want fanfic that strict Star Wars canon, this fic isn't for you.
Also, diversity FTW! the reader in this fic isn't white, she's a SEA woman, we gonna representing ASEAN pride.
➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8
[Intro] A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away
What fate could be worse?
Being captured by Jedi
Or being hunted by Sith
You close your eyelids, frowning at the stabbing sensation creeping into your brain. It's always like this when you try to sink into the stream of time, pondering what's yet to come. The price for this wicked foresight is torment of both body and soul, intensifying as your senses expand.
You see, you hear, you feel. The moisture in the air, the sound of water droplets hitting the ground, the wind rustling through the grass, the capillaries in your nasal cavities twisting and rupturing before blood gushes from your nose.
As you casually wipe away the red fluid with the back of your hand, you suddenly realize certain truths that have always been part of you.
You are an aberration, something repulsive. An Abomination.
And abominations must be eliminated—so they say.
You let out a long sigh, allowing your mind to drift through the past, present, and future—every possible event and situation. You watch it all with a numb mind, as if you've seen the same movie hundreds or thousands of times, a movie whose ending you already know well.
Yet there's one thing you still don't know: which ending will the path you're on now lead to?
Something pulls you out of your meditation, coinciding with the moment you sense someone's piercing gaze openly fixed upon you. That man is watching you from the shadows behind a large tree, not with malicious intent but with curiosity mixed with several other complex emotions too ambiguous to explain.
You remain seated in meditation at the same spot, amidst the blood and corpses of the Jedi, not daring to move, almost forgetting even to breathe.
You are the last one still breathing, the final victim of the Jedi massacre carried out by the mysterious Sith—The Stranger who is now closely observing you.
His face is completely hidden beneath a dark, twisted metal mask. Yet you can still feel his gleaming eyes surveying your body, as far as sight allows, focusing excessively, even invasively.
The curiosity in his mind is so intense that you find yourself trembling.
You see visions of what might happen—there's a high chance he'll rush in to slice you to pieces with his red lightsaber, searching for secrets or whatever might be hidden inside your body. Or he might subjugate you with his Force, using his power to penetrate your mind, deep into your subconscious, hoping to taste the forbidden fruit of secrets that you alone possess.
But he will never know, as long as you don't wish him to.
The scent of death hangs heavy in the air as heavy footsteps crunch over gravel, approaching you slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. You freeze, every muscle in your body tense, as you face the tall figure in dark robes, his visage concealed behind a strange metal mask carved into a distorted smile.
For a moment, this man reminds you of the grim reaper from ancient religious myths that vanished thousands of years ago.
He is the harbinger of death everywhere he goes, including your own death
Awareness strikes like a warning signal. Various possibilities flash through your memory, similar to how a dying person recalls everything that happened in their life.
You instantly realize how crucial this moment is. This is an incredibly fragile juncture.
There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life.
Fear spreads throughout your flesh, imprinting itself on your soul, turning your blood ice-cold. Your pulse races with panic.
You take a deep breath, quickly focusing, trying hard to regain control of your shaken mind. "I must not fear," you mutter to yourself, the same phrase your mother used to teach you as a child. "Fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration..."
A low, hoarse laugh escapes from behind the metal mask. Clearly, he heard what you said. "Oh, I think you should fear," he says, his words teetering between mockery and sarcasm.
You know he wants you to fear because, for the Sith, fear leads to power.
You do the opposite, swallowing the lump of fear in your throat, maintaining a calm demeanor as you force a faint smile for the person before you.
"Humans fear what they don't know, just as they fear me, and just as they fear you." You pause momentarily, carefully considering your final sentence, which could determine your fate.
Finally, you speak, firm and unwavering, "But I know you, so I do not fear."
There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life—this thought returns to your mind once more.
He had always kept his secret well, never letting anyone who knew his true identity survive.
'Why does this woman know who I am?' He must have thought.
You know well that your revelation will bring about an end that changes everything, both for better and for worse.
This is the gamble you've already placed your bet on, for this purpose and for this moment.
The lightsaber hilt in his hand remains tightly closed, showing no sign of the red flame that has taken countless lives. He kneels before you, his action clearly revealing vulnerabilities in his body. You could easily grab the lightsaber from the Jedi's corpse and behead him in one stroke.
But you don't kill him, just as he doesn't kill you.
You look into his eyes, he looks into yours, gauging each other in silence.
His large hand reaches beneath his mask, unlocks the mechanism, and slowly removes it, revealing the familiar face in your sight.
His face is sharp in every proportion, with messy jet-black hair. His eyes, once gentle when touched by sunlight, now cold as ice, contrast starkly with the smile slowly spreading wide, in the same fashion as the smile on the mask he wore earlier.
"Qimir"
His name sounds strange when you utter it, as if it's not a name you're familiar with, and the man before you is not the man you know.
The man chuckles softly and moves even closer, cutting off any chance for you to escape. You swallow hard, trying to turn your face away from his intense gaze. But he doesn't let you. His fingers, wet with others' blood, dig into both of your cheeks, pressing hard enough to hurt, forcing you to look only at him.
"Surprised?" He leans in closer, his hot breath on your face, and whispers softly in your ear, "I told you, you can't run away from me."
Sad update everyone, Tama recently passed away… An estimated 3,000 people, including railway officials, attended Tama the cat’s funeral on Sunday, days after she died of heart failure aged 16. [x]
For those who haven’t read articles about it, the local shrine elevated her to a god. She’s now the Eternal Stationmaster and patron god of the station.
Nitama, already now a mature cat (born 2010), has a protege named Yontama (fourth Tama, b. 2016). There is no information available for either the physical befellment or tragic self-disgrace which has removed Santama from contention.
okay but actually what happened to santama (or sun-tama-tama, which is her name because it’s a pun on santama) was that she was basically sent to train for the position in okayama and they liked her so much they refused to send her back
“Sun-tama-tama” (a pun off of “Santama”, lit. “third Tama”) was a calico cat sent for training in Okayama. Sun-tama-tama was considered as a candidate for Tama’s successor, but the Okayama Public Relations representative who had been caring for Sun-tama-tama refused to give the cat up writing, “I will not let go of this child, she will stay in Okayama.” [25]
As of September 2018, Sun-tama-tama is working as the stationmaster in Naka-ku, Okayama and appears occasionally on Tama’s Twitter account.
The shrine of Tama Daimyōjin (Great gracious deity Tama), next to the Kishi station where she worked.
Nitama presenting her yearly offerings to Tama Daimyōjin on the anniversary of Tama’s Death, June 23 (The offerings are presented by the company president, as Nitama is a cat and thus can’t hold the offerings herself) (Not pictured, but also present, Yontama)
when i say “unfollow me if you support trump” im not saying it ironically. no, seriously, if you support trump then i dont want your disgraceful ass to be in any way associated with my blog. get out.
trump and his group of terrorists are currently attempting a coup d’état and occupiying Capitol Hill. supporting trump is supporting fascism and terrorism. period.
I’ve been saying this for four years, and I’ll say it again: anyone who supports Trump supports a Fascist White Supremacist, and can fuck all the way off until they vanish from existence.
They are shooting the scene in Desolation of Smaug where Kili and Tauriel are having their first real conversation in the dungeons.
In the scene, they talk about a party happening upstairs (something about the stars, I can’t remember). Legolas is supposed to be seen staring at the two of them in jealousy ‘cause he likes Tauriel.
Orlando, however, chose to make this glorious blooper happen by wearing a party hat and calling them sluts.
I grew up with a grandma who quilted, but she’d never been interested in passing along the hobby, so when she finally kicked it I was the grandkid who got all her materials, ‘cause I was the only one who knew how to use a sewing machine. Then, in 2015, a friend had a baby and I figured I’d make her a quilt, ‘cause how hard could it be?
oh
my
god
Luckily I am the stubbornest human alive, ‘cause I never woulda finished otherwise. I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know the terms to look up how to do anything, I musta reinvented the wheel like eight times and it took ten months, BUT I DID IT.
Figured I’d suffered enough and would never do it again and now I’m on quilt #9 smdh
————————–
I’m hyperventilating.
Holy shit. Holy SHIT.
This is INCREDIBLE.
Oh my god.
I’ve gotta go lay down holy shit look at this how do we just walk by other human beings every day and live our separate lives when there’s a person sitting next to you on the train or in line for coffee who goes home and makes things like this what even IS being human holy shit.
Oh heck I did not expect the notes to blow up on this, UM
Okay so on a purely technical level, this is not that difficult, you just gotta come at it a little sideways.
The background of this sucker is just rows of 1.5″-wide fabric strips. I can’t remember the exact pattern, but I wanna say it was something like one row 6″ strips, one row 4.5″ strips, one row alternating? I don’t remember exactly, it was a while ago. That’s not difficult, you just lay it out and sew it all together one row at a time. It’s not hard, just tedious.
The fish are a lil different. I can’t draw, there is a disconnect somewhere and my hands are stupid, so I figured out probably fifteen years ago that tracing was the way to go. For this, I legit just yanked several photos of fancy-looking goldfish off the internet and traced over ‘em in Photoshop.
Once I had enough, I printed my outlines, laid ‘em out on the background to create the idea of movement, and then traced the outlines out on fabric and pinned the hell out of ‘em.
This woulda been WAY easier with Heat ‘N Bond, but I didn’t know that was a thing at the time. From there I just used just about every fancy stitch on my inherited sewing machine to make the fish STAY WHERE I PUT THEM, and also look good.
I have since learned this is called “raw edge applique” but whatever. It’s fun, it’s neat, you can do it with a bunch of stuff and impress the hell outta people. More recently, it’s how I’ve gone from this:
to this:
(this was another project I SUFFERED over unnecessarily, because I’m the dip that decided to quilt the waves, like a moron)
god that sucked but it looked SO COOL when I was done!
[Video description: a man holding a small chocolate box is wearing a orange plaid shirt, he is mostly bald but has a beard and small amount of hair on his head. The man also has tattoos on his arms.
Man: you know, momma always said having kids was like a box of chocolates
You never know what your gonna get
(the man opens the box and pulls out a small note with the word pansexual written on it)
Man: thats a good one!
(pulls out note with bisexual written on it)
Man: i like that one too!
(pulls out another note with asexual on it)
Man: thats a good one!
(pulls out card with gender fluid on it)
Man: yes!
(pulls out card with non binary on it)
Man: oh, yes!
(pulls out card with trans gender on it)
Man: definitely!!
(pulls out card with straight on it)
Man: thats a good one
(pulls out card with gay on it)
Man: i like that one!
(pulls out card with lesbian on it)
Man: and i like this one too!
There isn’t anything in this box that i dont like!
The video ends and is credited to princess dad @/ourdadnow on tik tok
tumblr is probably gonna destroy the quality, but here’s a quick little comic i came up with last night! an asexual child of aphrodite asks for some guidance from her mom.
(ACE EXCLUSIONISTS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS NOT FOR YOU)
my writing is a little bit illegible, so there’s a visual description with text under the cut:
If you can’t find a place on your blog for Patrick Stewart in a bathtub dressed like a lobster, then your blog probably doesn’t deserve such majesty anyway.
Most shows with overpowered supernatural characters always try to come up with elaborate excuses to explain why the characters can’t just magic themselves out of every situation. Good Omens doesn’t really do that, but you don’t really question it because you completely buy that these morons are so unequivocally incompetent that they straight up forget that they have the powers of fucking demigods. They’re like high-level d&d characters who only use the same three moves and have completely forgotten about the 73 magic items sitting in their inventory.
Crowley: I was totally planning on teleporting to this galaxy 4.3 light-years away but then you died and I was sad :(
Aziraphale: Oh I’m sorry. But listen, I need you to go to this village about an hour outside of London
Crowley: You Want me to GO WHere?? How the– how the FUuuck am I supposed to- I can’t Drive, it’s Rush Hour! You want me to WaLK?? In the Rain??! Please, be Realistic.
I cannot express the effect this post had on me. I read it aloud to my roommate and she burst into helpless laughter because it had never occurred to her that Crowley could do anything to get to Tadfield but drive the Bentley. It absolutely never had occurred to me, either. We both have been reading, rereading, and loving this book for about a decade now.
Welcome to my crazy. @do-not-feed-sugar - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
