History Repeats Itself

The fact that The Acolyte faced a hate campaign before it even aired speaks volumes about the real reason behind its cancellation. This was NEVER about the show’s quality or its potential….it was always about the toxic gatekeeping mentality that has taken root in the Star Wars community! When the so called "fans" choose to attack and sabotage a project before it even has a chance to prove itself it’s not a valid critique; it’s a reflection of deep seated prejudice and intolerance.

This whole controversy surrounding The Acolyte exposes the toxic and problematic values that the Star Wars community has embraced. Even if the show doesn’t return, I want you to remember how you behaved. This kind of behavior doesn’t just harm the show—it undermines the inclusive and hopeful spirit that Star Wars is supposed to represent. You call us "fake Star Wars fans" while embodying everything that Star Wars stands against. You've built a bubble of fear prejudice and intolerance towards anything new. but at some point this bubble will burst—what will you do then? Knowing random facts about lightsabers and Yoda doesn’t make you a real Star Wars fan. embracing the Star Wars spirit, its true message, and being kind and open to change is what makes you a real fan. So in a way you’ve been the fake fan all along and you SHOULD feel bad about the way you've treated all the people involved in this show and its fans.

is this anything? are there enough of us jsmn enjoyers out there for this to be anything?

"battle cries" | the amazing devil (insp.)

all the spirits that I know I saw, do you see no ghost in me at all?

love like ghosts - lord huron

i hate when you google a word and some fucking company comes up instead. Do you think you are more important than the english dictionary you piece of shit corporation

I had a name but they took it from me

lord huron - the world ender

Magic in her Blood: story concept

(This is an idea I played around with. I might make a small series out of it if some people are interested)

Please do not replicate my work anywhere without my permission :)

*

Smoke filled the streets of Small Heath, workmen feeding coal to metal beasts, breathing in the toxic air. The noise of their exploits echoed over the slated roofs, carrying for miles, and allowing for a cloaked figure to pass by silently.

Her eyes flashed with each burst of flame, catching the depth and piercing brightness of their blue. A pointed, angled hat cast shadow over her features, the glint of steel on the brim a warning to all those who are prey, and obscuring everything but the subtly smirking lips; painted blood red.

She passed through Small Heath with no opposition, no second glances, for all those who saw her, knew. This woman was one of them.

Granddaughter of a Romani king, princess of the Peaky Blinders, and all round predator. Sarah Shelby walked the streets of Birmingham like royalty, because that's exactly what she was.

The doors to the Garrison swung open, and heads came up, only to dip down again in respect. And fear. A few newcomers stared, until one of their friends shoved their heads to the table. 

She swept along the bar, plucking whiskey and a glass on her way. Her heels clicked off the wooden floor, a quiet power spilling out from the smooth, rolling silk that hugged her figure. Equally dark curls bounced upon her shoulders as she turned her head, one last look falling over the pub before she vanished into the private booth.

The Shelby boys all looked up, grins appearing on their faces and papers being set down. To those outside, nothing would have shocked them more than to know she returned the smiles.

"Good to see you again, boys," she said, sitting adjacent from the eldest sibling, Arthur.

"And you, sister," Thomas said, "we'd begun to think ourselves too common for your tastes."

"Oh, not at all," Sarah replied, matching the smirk he wore as she poured herself a drink, "I merely had some business of my own to attend," she said, and crossed her legs.

The air, filled with smoke from their cigarettes, tasted bitter on her tongue. Something hung there, unspoken, interrupted. It seeped into the old wood, spinning around the circular booth like a wailing spirit, begging for freedom.

Eyes narrowed, Sarah regarded her brothers with a tilted head. "What's happened?"

John chuckled, glancing over at Thomas and bouncing his leg. Little humour was to be found in his face, only a rather satisfied "I-told-you-so" gleam in his eye.

The two elders exchanged a brief look, and Arthur gestured towards her, raising another cigarette to his lips and leaving Thomas to answer the question.

"There is a copper from Belfast sticking his nose in our business," he explained, hands clasped on the table he leant on, "and he's causing problems."

"Now the barmaid makes sense," Sarah murmured, sipping her whiskey and gazing at it as the liquid swirled.

The brothers straightened in their seats. Thomas wet his lips. "What do you mean?"

She raised her eyes to them, one eyebrow arched. "A copper from Belfast comes along, poking his snout where it isn't wanted, and a beautiful Irish girl suddenly drops into Harry's lap; surely you don't think it's a coincidence?"

John and Arthur laughed, but quickly stopped, noticing the missing voice. Thomas stared at his sister, heart hammering in his chest, and fell back against the bench.

"Grace is not working for Inspector Campbell," he said, in a tone that seemed directed more at himself than anyone else.

Sarah drew her wand from its sheath at her side, rolling the cool instrument in her grasp. The familiar touch sent gentle sparks flying as she waved it through the air.

They each gulped, glancing at one another and backing up, further away from the weapon. But Thomas met her eyes, and smirked.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

WIP of Bilbo enjoying a pipe. Now it’s time to do the color. I keep wanting to add more flowers and mushrooms. He deserves a chaotic cozy garden.

Should I keep posting WIPs or not?