#I don't know this is my first time actually putting sexuality as a factor in these lists

[sophie-frm-mars]

Hi, ex-supporter here. Genuinely hope you’re doing well. I have been tempted to start up my support again because you genuinely are a talented writer/creator and I do enjoy your work.

I hope you understand supporting your Patreon is somewhat fraught. Your private life should be none of our business, but sadly it is relevant here. Moral action, both private and political is central to your work; you have called out plenty of people for abuse & morality drives your politics. We know abuse took place on your end, but that’s all.

A lot of people like myself might be emotionally rooting for you to bounce back from this, but are unable to support you right now because that moral dissonance has not been resolved. We really don’t know if you are like other ‘cancelled’ leftist influencers and just use leftist values to deflect attention away from abuse, or you are actually trying to do better and working on yourself.

You don’t owe us anything. However, many of us who are eager to support you are forced to hold back because trust has been damaged, and there has not been any real sign of reparation or reconciliation. Maybe you think those kind of questions are invasive, maybe you don’t think we are real fans for not sticking by you despite the allegations.

I don’t know, I just want you to know that there are plenty of people who do want to support you, but feel they need to trust you first. And that can’t happen without addressing some things.

Anyways, best wishes. Take care.

Hiya, thank you for speaking to me on this.

Before I say the rest of what I say I want to be clear that between me and the people I was involved with in 2023, there were some instances where I was responsible for harm, there were instances where I received harm and there was also a general pervasive ecosystem of harmful behaviours in the community I was in. This includes people who signed the statement against me, and in one instance one of them did something which everyone to whom I have described it has agreed is sexual assault, though there is more besides.

For the time being I'm not talking publicly more about what happened because it was a very messy situation, and although I have been seriously harmed by issues in my personal life being litigated in public in this way, I don't want to give my full account of my relationships with everyone involved because I don't want that type of harm to be done to other trans women. There are plenty of complicating factors as there often are in real life that social media isn't really capable of parsing. I have made it clear repeatedly that I am open to hearing anything that people involved want to say to me, and I talked in this post in January about that and about what I would be doing to ensure that I put in the work and make sure I don't cause harm like it again

https://x.com/sophie_frm_mars/status/1745414530455261531

I think that that post says everything I would like to say for now, although I regret saying I agree that my behaviour was abusive, because with more distance and perspective I don't think abusive behaviour was actually described to me.

As I understand it via the support that my therapist and friends have offered, my problems in 2023 were that: I wasn't taking my mental health seriously, I didn't learn good kink practice, I had very little appreciation of my own boundaries and when I shouldn't be doing something that someone asks me to do, and I was high basically all the time. I am in therapy and doing DBT and taking my mental health deadly seriously, I have done a huge amount of reading assigned by my therapist about kink, sex, relationships and mental health, I am working in an ongoing way on learning how to effectively communicate, know my boundaries and understand myself well enough to not be in the kinds of situations that risk harm, and I'm no longer high all the time.

(If anyone is interested in those book recs, so far I've read: Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again by Katherine Angel; The Right To Sex by Amia Srinivasan; Screw Consent (I hate this edgy title) by Joseph Fischel; Playing Well With Others; The Loving Dominant by John and Libby Warren; I Hope We Choose Love by Kai Cheng Thom; The New Topping Book by Dossie Easton and Janet W Hardy; and Dissociation Made Simple by Jamie Marich. There have been some others, and I've written a bit about them in the book club channel on my discord as I've been reading)

I haven't heard from the people involved. The last I heard from anyone was one of my exes calling me a pathological liar and saying that they just want to move on with their lives, so while I'm doing the work to make sure I act better in future I am just trying to get on with my life and let them get on with theirs. I hope this clarifies why I have not talked further about the situation.

I will say that the last few months have been hellish for me. I have been frequently suicidal, I spent Christmas and new years alone, I lost a tooth because I couldn't afford proper dental treatment, people from within the community I've been ostracised from have been putting pressure on my remaining friends to cut ties with me, Keffals had my abuser on her twitch stream, a bizarre exaggerated and monsterised version of my personal life has been publicly gossiped about by trans people, fash and "leftist" drama streamers alike, I have been doing other work to make sure I can still pay rent and afford my bills and my HRT, and to survive. As I've been getting more stable and more able to focus on things besides this, I've been working on new writing because all I want with regard to my work and my channel is for my writing to help people. I don't want to talk about my private life, but I do understand that some number of people will feel after what has been said about me that they can't move forward with me without hearing the full details. Lots of people in my life have repeatedly encouraged me to publish a full account of everything that happened but I know how the Internet works and I don't want other trans women to be harmed in the ways that I have been harmed.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Happy Sunday, my Darlings! I have a new Feyd-Rautha/Reader chapter up! (18+ Only)

Tags for this chapter: arranged marriage; dubious consent; breeding kink; overstimulation; blood kink; period sex; pain kink; oral sex (m+ and f+ receiving); vaginal sex; Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning; problematic smut; slow emotional burn; Feyd-Rautha having the most insane recovery period; discussions of pregnancy; implied/referenced past abuse; implied/referenced self-harm

Tags and notes for this story overall and full chapter below the cut. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged when I update!

CW for the entire fic: arranged marriage; forced marriage; forced pregnancy; dubious consent; implied/referenced child abuse; implied/referenced sexual abuse; implied/referenced incest; sadomasochism; pain kink; rough sex; problematic smut; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; oral sex; blood kink; breeding kink; orgasm denial; eventual switching

Just as a note: this fic was going to be a lot shorter and completely plotless but that was 40k words ago and there's no end in sight, so I'm going to make some minor edits and rewrites to earlier chapters, but this story will end up factoring into the greater plot of the story.

Chapter Five: Playin' with Fire Burns a Little Bit

He keeps his word.  It’s still somewhat dark outside when you wake to a hard cock against your backside and an arm wrapped around you, and you remember where you are and what happened.

Your ass doesn’t sting as much as it did last night; the more pressing matter is that Feyd-Rautha’s cock is slotted against the small of your back, just over the slope of your backside, and his arm that’s been looped around your ribcage is moving.  His palm presses against your stomach.  You give a soft grunt as you shift in his grasp and he raises himself up on his opposite elbow to get a good look at your face and your now-opened eyes.

“You’re awake,” he notes, voice even rougher first thing in the morning, and with that information decides to slide his hand from your ribcage to your crotch.  

“You really meant it when you said first thing ,” you say, still drowsy, voice still laced with sleep.

“I have a busy schedule,” he says, rubbing down and sliding his fingertips along your slit before giving a quiet hmm as if to say, ‘ Not quite wet enough yet.  Unfortunate .’  So he keeps circling your bud, nuzzling against your neck and jaw as you start to warm up, your breaths getting shorter.

When he wrings your first gasp out of you, he brings his fingertips back to your slit and gets the affirmation he wants that he’s getting you wet, enough that he can commence with his actual plans for you. In any case, you’re wide awake now.

You remind yourself that this isn’t the most depraved thing you’ve heard of on Geidi Prime.  You don’t have to remind yourself that even as off-putting a concept it is, it felt great last night.

He turns you on your back and wastes no further time bringing his head between your legs.  He takes just a moment to smell the blood between your thighs before he’s alternating between licking over you, wriggling his tongue inside of you, and suckling at your bud.

This time your hands are free to explore, to press against the back of his neck and scratch along his shoulders and biceps, to cup your own breasts to add to the stimulation until he covers them with his own.

He’s good at this , you realize, head falling back against the covers, hips arching up, and you have no frame of reference, no comparison for this, so it’s just a feeling.  You’re pretty sure he likes this, likes the way you taste perhaps in part because of the blood coming out of you, and you’re willing to set aside how morbid that is if he keeps this up.  You pant and moan, unconsciously grinding against his mouth and he lets you, lets you grip the back of his head as your breath comes in harsh and your entire body flushes hot.  You couldn’t form a coherent sentence if your life depended on it.

Your whimpers turn into a warning, one that he ignores as he keeps going, pulling back only to spit on his thumb and bring it to your bud as he presses his tongue back inside of you.  He doesn’t let up, either, when you shake and come, trembling against his mouth.  If anything it spurs him on, giving you too much. 

You wish he had hair so you could tug on it to pull him away and give you a moment to cool down.  You’ve never just kept on going after coming and it’s too much, it’s too intense.  And that, apparently, is the idea because he keeps your hips pulled to him, his face still buried in between your legs.  You groan, frustrated, knocking your head back against your pillow as your hips clench and you give another spasm.

He rocks his hips against the bed, devolving into grunts and moans against your sensitive skin, like this might be what sends him over the edge, too.  Not that you realize it yet but he actually could.  If he chose to, he could let the friction between his cock and the sheets below him get him there.  But that would be a waste of his seed that he’s bent on spilling inside of you.

So after a minute he pulls away so he can sit up and flip you onto your stomach, pulls you up by your hips, and takes a moment to look at the remnants of the damage he did last night.  It must be still sufficiently red and look as tender as it feels because he wastes no time squeezing the cheeks of your ass, probably smirking at your responding pained whine.

He chose this position on purpose, you realize.  You’re still sore from last night, and you’ll feel the sting of his hips slapping against your ass, especially at the punishing pace he often sets.  Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he quickly, wordlessly, assures you this morning’s no different.

When he makes a ponytail out of your hair and tugs, spurred on by the noises you’re making, you wonder about the collars in the armoire.  Are those because women on Geidi Prime don’t have hair to pull? Or will he use those collars on you, too?

He starts talking; a little unusual for him, since he doesn’t normally talk while he’s inside of you, but the words spill out of his chest in his gravely timbre. You just have no idea what he’s saying, it’s all guttural Harkonnen battle language that you haven’t learned yet.

You barely manage to hold your upper body upright, and you’re sure that’s mostly because of Feyd-Rautha’s grip on your hair.  He stops talking altogether and his speech devolves back into grunts and growls with each snap of his hips that almost drown out your moans and whimpers.

And then it’s done, he comes, one hand clutching your hip and the other still buried in your hair.  For a few moments he stays there, still holding you onto him as he begins to soften, then he moves his hand from your hair to your stomach, coaxing you up until your back aligns with his chest.  He breathes in, shifting his hand upwards until it curls loosely around your neck, which you turn in alarm to try and face him.  Your blood is quickly drying, tacky and dark, on his mouth as he tilts his head and presses those blood-stained lips to yours.  He only gives your neck the lightest of squeezes, a reminder of what he’s capable of but not a real threat, before moving his hand to your breast, palming it roughly.  He keeps at it, kissing and fondling every exposed part of you he can reach until he gets hard again and you gasp at the feel of it, him filling out and stiffening inside of you once more.

Is this…normal?  It can’t be, right?  You’d probably have heard about it if it was.

He’s not a normal man , you have to remind yourself.

He took you in this position a couple of nights ago, when he had you brace your hands against the headboard as he fucked you, but right now the headboard’s too far away and so you rely on him holding you onto him, one of your hands reaching behind you to grab his hip as the other rubs down against your bud, your cries high and reedy as your fingers brush so close to where he’s pistoning in and out of you.  His grunts and growls against your ear grow ragged; you half-expect him to snap his jaws and sink his teeth into your neck for the animalistic way he fucks you, like being inside of you makes him an even baser and more primitive creature.  It makes you rub harder, feeling helpless to do anything else.

He lets you come this time.

For a full minute afterwards, he holds you to him, his breath going from panting back to normal, his pulse slowing back down, before he wordlessly tilts your hips forward and coaxes you on to your front before pulling out of you.  You shut your eyes for a moment, hearing the telltale sounds of him padding over to the bathroom and take a moment to readjust yourself, shifting to lie on your side, waiting for him to come out.

When he does, his face and cock have been cleaned off and he heads for the dresser, and you’re about to get up to use the bathroom for yourself when he starts talking.

“I’ll grab you again in three hours for breakfast,” he says as he reaches into his drawers for clothes to train in.  “When you didn’t show up yesterday my uncle was concerned that I may have been too much for you and wanted to verify that you’re still in one piece.”

“Was he really?” you ask.  The best opinion the Baron seems to have of you is one of polite indifference; an adequate broodmare for the Harkonnen line.

“Harkonnen men can get overzealous,” he says.  “He wants to make sure that I’m taking care of my new bride.”

That’s one way to put it , you think, shifting again to sit on the edge of the bed.  It’s an effort, and even though the sheets are soft you can’t help but wince at the feeling of them against your well-used backside.

“Fine.  I might get an hour or two of sleep before then.”  You could certainly use it; your husband has certainly proved his stamina and energy in bed.  

He glances over at you as he reaches for a training shirt.  “I’m going to have a door installed connecting your quarters to mine.  It’ll make it easier for us to meet at night,” he says, as if it wasn’t already easy.  “Save us the trouble of having to get dressed before and afterwards.”

You could almost laugh.  It would figure that’s his reasoning.

“Alright, I’ll be up in just a second.”

You’re a little surprised he’s not openly smug about how he wears you out.  You’d almost expect him to joke about how hard it is to keep up with him, but he must realize he doesn’t have to.  The way your legs shake a little as you walk over to your discarded clothing, the way you wince as you bend over to pick them up, speak for themselves.  He does watch you, though, the rest of his clothes momentarily forgotten, as if trying to commit the sight of you to memory before you leave.

**********

You manage to get another hour’s sleep in which you quickly realize that sleeping on your back is out of the question for now.

Idrisa comes in shortly after you wake up to bring you water and coffee and prepare a bath for you.  You’re so grateful for it that you could cry, hissing as the water hits your backside.  

Idrisa peers in, concerned.  “Everything alright, Na-Baroness?” she asks.  

You look over at her.  “Would you be so kind as to get me a glass of water and one of those menstrual pain tablets?” you ask.

**********

You finish getting ready just in time for the Na-Baron to greet you in what you’ve gathered is his typical politician’s attire; black, clearly high-end and well-tailored material to show off his form.  Too formal to train in but fitted for ease of movement.  He has a holster on his thigh that holds a knife in its scabbard.

He gives you his arm for you to take; it’s almost whiplash how he oscillates between fucking you like a beast and having you on his arm like a courtly gentleman, but you accept and stroll down the hall together in silence for a moment.

He looks ahead as he says, “It’s going to be uncomfortable for you to sit down for a couple of days.”

“I figured that out earlier, but thank you,” you say.  

“He’s going to notice and he’s going to bait you.  Don’t acknowledge it.  Getting flustered will just add fuel to the fire,” he adds.

“ You like seeing my discomfort,” you tell him.

His jaw tightens.  He opens his mouth enough to run his tongue–strangely pink despite everything else being black–over his teeth before he clicks his tongue against them.  “I like it for my own amusement, not his,” he says.  

You reach the Dining Hall, with a spread being set out.  It’s already too much food for three people, but with the Baron it’s unlikely that it’ll go to waste.

You stop and curtsy as Feyd-Rautha pulls your chair out for you.

“Good morning, Baron,” you say, face downcast, waiting for him to give you a nod before you sit down.

Feyd wasn’t lying, sitting in a chair’s even worse than sitting on a bed.  You try not to shift around to get more comfortable; you just know that they’re going to notice. 

“I suppose you’re still adjusting to Geidi Prime and married life?” the Baron asks you.   You know he really means, Still adjusting to getting railed by my nephew, eh?  Can’t say I’m surprised; I’ve heard that he’s hung like a donkey.  

“Yes, Baron.  It is getting easier, though.  Everyone’s been accommodating,” you tell him as you take a sip of juice and avoid looking directly at him.  He can probably sense your dislike despite your best efforts to be polite and deferential.  He probably doesn’t care.  He probably likes that you have to simper and fawn over how gracious he is when you wish you never had to speak to him.

“The relaxation chambers are still at your disposal, if you’ve changed your mind,” he says.

“Thank you, Baron, that’s an excellent idea.”  And it is, much as you hate to admit it.  All that worries you is the idea of anyone but you, Feyd, and Idrisa knowing that there’s no way that you’re pregnant yet.  You’ll have to investigate first and see how bad the risk is of exposure.  If word got back to the Baron…you’re certain he would be less thrilled than his nephew.

Conversation quickly turns to Arrakis. Since regaining it from the house of Atreides Rabban apparently has been struggling to overpower Fremen rebels.  You’re a little taken aback that they’d be willing to discuss this in front of you and realize that it’s because you have no one to talk to about this anyways.  The Atreides have been all but exterminated, not that you really knew any of them in the first place.  Even Father was shocked to see how swiftly they met their end when it happened.

The Fremen, it turns out, are another story.  It’s not a surprise that they can match the Harkonnens in brutality; they’re the only ones who inhabit a planet just as hostile and unforgiving as Geidi Prime and they’ve found ways to adapt to Arrakis that the Harkonnens haven’t needed to before.

“We’re going to need to train our men harder,” Feyd-Rautha says.  “We’ve allowed ourselves to get complacent when we can’t afford to.  The Sardaukar army helped us win back Arrakis; we need to hold ourselves to their standards.  Until then, Rabban needs to stop trying to ply his ego with direct combat and use aerial strikes instead.”

The Baron looks up from his food and sits back for a moment, considering his nephew’s words with a small smile.  See, this is why you’re my successor and not him, he seems to think, even when their conversation leads elsewhere.  It’s the look of a man who’s playing a game he has yet to reveal, and it sticks with you for the remainder of breakfast.

What else does he have planned for his nephew?

******

Feyd-Rautha walks with you out of the Dining Hall, still playing the courtly married man, taking your hand on his arm as you pass slaves and soldiers alike who lower their heads in deference.  It’s going to take some getting used to.  He apparently has a meeting to attend, though, as he escorts you back to your quarters.

“I’ll see you this evening,” he says, with no need for innuendo.

And so it continues for a few days.  At night he takes you into his own bedchambers, tastes you until you nearly weep from the overstimulation, fucks you until you’re sore and shaking, sleeps with you, and wakes you up early the next morning to do it all again before he leaves to train.  You save your energy during the day by staying more sedentary than you’re used to, remaining in the library or your quarters and listening to recorded lessons of basic Harkonnen words and phrases.  Your pronunciation when you try to mimic the guttural tones is laughable, but you put in an effort.  You’ll save the relaxation chambers for when you start training.

The fourth night, before he buries his face between your legs, he has you do the same to him; has you kneel as he sits on the edge of the bed and pushes his cock into the confines of your mouth.

“ You’ll learn to take everything, ” he tells you, one hand buried in your hair as he pushes you down farther than you’ve managed before, until tears spill out of the corners of your eyes and the noises your mouth makes around him sound utterly obscene.  He lets you brace your hands on his legs and it’s between then and when he pulls you off of him to bring you up into bed that you notice something.  The scars on his inner thigh have an uneven mirror; there are scars on his other thigh, as well, along an invisible inseam, but they don’t match.  Those other scars look shorter and like they run deeper.  It’s yet another question you’re sure you won’t get to ask anytime soon.  Before he devours you, though, he cups your chin in his hand and looks over your tear-stained cheeks and lips puffy from sucking his cock with unrestrained lust.  

“What is it about me like this, husband?” you ask, after it’s done and he’s come inside of you.  You’re both naked, sprawled, and spent in his bed.  The blood’s been lighter and lighter and soon you imagine these visits will go back to just the evenings.  “Do you only like tasting women when we’re like this?”

He looks over at you and draws one arm behind his head.  “Not only then,” he says.  “But I like enjoying something other men are too weak to even attempt.”

You wait for him to continue his explanation, but he doesn’t.  You’ve been continuously worn out and sore since your wedding night, but there’s something pleasant in your ache. Perhaps it’s just your body getting used to being thoroughly debauched on a regular basis for the first time in your life, but there’s also a part of you that’s starting to enjoy it.   

“It’s time,” he adds.  “To start training you.  It can’t last long so it will have to be comprehensive.”  

“I already have training,” you tell him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says.  “Tomorrow morning.”

You consider this.  “Fine.  Do I sleep here tonight or in my room?”

He gives it a moment’s thought.  “Yours.”

You’ve been sleeping with him the past four nights; you suppose it had to end eventually.  You’re surprised at how easy it was to fall asleep next to him even with the early mornings.

“Now?” you ask, trying to keep the conversation as business-like as possible.  It’s just easier that way; to shut off any impression that you want intimacy from him that he simply can’t provide.  You’re pretty sure it’s impossible for him.

He looks over at you, considering.  “In a few minutes,” he decides.  “I’m not sure if I want to go again tonight or not.”

As it turns out, he doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from glancing over at you a few times, his eyes-half-lidded as his gaze goes up and down the length of your body.  When you meet his gaze he looks back at you as if to say, What?  Am I not allowed to look at my own wife?

He finally tells you what hour he wants you up.  “Get a good night’s rest,” he adds.  “You’ll need it.”

He sits up to watch you as you rise from bed, padding naked over to his dresser.  He stares unapologetically at your form as you get dressed and leave for your quarters.  Construction for the door connecting your bathroom to his is almost complete, and soon you won’t need to leave your quarters to meet him in his.

********

Idrisa wakes you up early.

“My apologies, my Lady, but the Na-Baron wants you to meet him in the Training Halls before breakfast,” she says, holding a pair of flat boots and a couple of other garments in her arms.  “He has this for you to wear,” she adds, setting the boots on the floor and everything else on the dresser.  “Your coffee is on the desk.  He’s given you half an hour to get ready and wants you to bring your dagger.”

You blink, trying to take in what she’s saying before rubbing the heel of your palm against your eyelid.  Right.  The training.

“Would you like any assistance, or would you like me to wait by the door?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, wondering for a moment if Feyd-Rautha was preparing you to get up this early for the past few days knowing that you’d be training with him.

Probably not.  I think he just wanted to fuck in the mornings too .

You sip your coffee before plaiting your hair and taking a look at the clothes your new husband wants you to wear.

It's a practical training outfit; you're pretty sure that Geidi Prime doesn't make training clothes for women, and that he had this commissioned for you given that it fits better, especially in the hips, than you expected.  Women on Geidi Prime don’t serve in combat, much like your own planet and if there’s any formal training for women you haven’t heard about it yet.

You manage to make it to the Training Halls in time but still not feeling fully awake.

Feyd-Rautha senses you from the moment you enter, even at the farthest end of the room.  It occurs to you that you haven’t seen him in something as innocuous as training gear yet; simple trousers and boots, a fitted but breathable black shirt that stretches across his chest and shoulders, a holster strapped to his thigh.  If it weren’t for his bearing he could almost blend into his surroundings.

“Good morning, Na-Baron,” you tell him with a polite incline of your head, figuring that his most formal title would be best to address him in front of the very men he’s meant to lead.  You imagine that you make an unusual match for him as it is given how unambiguously foreign you are.

“Good, you’re here,” he says.  His tone is casual, light; in front of his men, you may as well be an acquaintance.  “We have a lot to cover, but today my main agenda today is to see your skill level as it is now.  When we first met you said you were out of practice.  How long has it been since you’ve sparred?”

You try to think.  “It’s been about eight months since I’ve done anything,” you admit.  

“And when did you start?” he asks.

“Age fifteen,” you tell him.

“And how often would you train?” he asks.

“About an hour, two or three times a week,” you tell him.

He looks both unsurprised and unimpressed with this new information.  Instead he takes a small, black device from the waistband of his pants and holds it up.  “Have you used one of these before?”  You immediately recognize it as a shield activator.

“I have, Na-Baron,” you tell him.  “During fighting lessons.”        

“Good.  You’ll be using one for all of our sessions, just in case.” He hands it over to you to clip onto your own waistband before he signals to another man who’s slight of build and several inches shorter than him.  The man strides over to you and lowers his head in deference.

“Na-Baroness,” he says.

“This is Korvo,” Feyd-Rautha says.  “He’ll make a suitable opponent,” he says, looking you both over as if to confirm that the two of you are in a similar enough weight class.  “Which are you more familiar with?  Knife or dagger?”

“I would say the dagger,” you tell him.  

“Then I’ll start you off with the knife,” he says.  “Start with mid-range fighting and work from there.”

“Alright,” you say, looking over at Korvo, who finally raises his head to look you in the eye.  They’re dark brown; there’s a scar along where one of his eyebrows would be.  His expression is entirely neutral; if he has a single opinion about you, you’d have no idea.  It’s been a week since the wedding and you still don’t know how any of Harkonnen's subjects feel about you.

Feyd-Rautha pulls a knife from one of many lining the walls and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the handle.  He releases it immediately, watching you adjust it in your hand.

“How’s the grip?” he prompts.

“Fine, thank you,” you tell him, glancing over at him before he steps back to a safe distance, and turning your attention back to your opponent as you turn on your shields and settle into position.  Korvo does the same, staying still until you both hear Feyd-Rautha’s voice give the simple command, “ Go. ”

You circle each other, and you try to remember your footwork, trying not to cross one leg in front of the other, keeping your stance guarded.

Korvo waits, letting you get nervous as you keep expecting him to make the first move.  He makes no offense until you finally think, Oh, get on with it, and lunge first.

For a minute Korvo seems to let you get reacquainted with the practice; one of you strikes, the other blocks, still circling each other.  You remember to play to your strengths, which you’ve been told is your form and your flexibility.

So far so good, you think as you block a blow to your shoulder.  Then he sweeps his leg, nearly tripping you, and you realize that you haven’t been paying enough attention to his footwork, too preoccupied with his upper body.  You startle and recover, regaining your balance just in time for him to swipe, and he’s closer than you realized.  When did he get this close?

Too fast! you think, gasping as you try to lean back, as Korvo’s knife swipes just under your breasts, your ribcage protected only by your shield that reverberates with the resistance so hard that your teeth chatter.

“One,” Feyd-Rautha says.  He sounds like he’s moving to get a better view as you and Korvo progress.  You try to tune him out, inhaling sharply, before finding an opening at your opponent’s left side and lunging.

You’re proud of yourself for about two seconds in which your knife meets Korvo’s shield, even as the humming of it reverberates in your bones.  Korvo counters with a knock of his forearm against yours with a force that knocks you off balance again before you realize that he’d been holding back.  There’s a mechanical coldness in his eyes as he moves.  You can only counter and have no time to lunge or attack, just trying to keep up with the barrage of swipes as he gains on you, forcing you back, before he lunges.

You stumble and trip, falling flat on your ass and in the blink of an eye Korvo’s on top of you, his blade at your heart, and you scream.

Were it not for your shield you’d be dead , you think as you stare, panting and wide-eyed up at the man who’s far more lethal than his appearance would suggest.

He immediately withdraws the knife.  “Na-Baroness,” he says, tone apologetic, as he offers you a hand to guide you up.  You’re just glad you fell on the flesh of your backside and not your tailbone.  You hadn’t realized it was happening, too caught up in your work with Korvo, but people are watching you.

Of course people are watching; you’re new, you’re unfamiliar, and you’re the future Baroness.  You sense their gazes on you but you ignore the embarrassed flush and turn to look over at Feyd-Rautha.  It’s been a while since you’ve practiced this, and longer still since you felt so out of your depth.  

He considers you, head tilted, arms crossed, as he looks between you and Korvo.  Finally he speaks, stepping in closer to you both.  “Alright, you have some decent baseline form and technique but you still need to reacquaint yourself, especially with speed and footwork.  Korvo will continue to train you.

“Speaking of which,” he turns and immediately punches the man hard in the stomach and as the man drops, raises a knee to spike him in the jaw.  You recoil at the sickening crunch.

“For scaring my wife,” he explains to the man now crumpled on the floor.

“ Was that necessary? ” you demand, voice cracking.

“He’ll be fine,” Feyd says.  “We have Healers for anything broken, and I can help you with the rest of our session today.  I’ll test out your skills with that cute little letter-opener you keep hidden in your boot.”  He grabs another shield activator from a nearby table and clips it on.  

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Korvo slowly getting up and spitting a small wad of blood onto the floor before shuffling to his feet.  An attendant quickly comes to his aid and escorts him from the Halls.  You look down, not wanting to see whatever Feyd-Rautha may have done to his mouth or jaw.

“Now I’m going to want to get an idea of where you stand with the dagger,” Feyd-Rautha says, getting your attention again, holding out his hand for you to hand over the knife, which, once he has back, he hands over to another attendant to set amongst the others.

“Let’s see it,” he says when he turns, nodding at your boot.

You haven’t pulled it out of its holster since your last lesson eight months ago.  You’ve been carrying it around with you more as a good-luck charm rather than a weapon since then.  You pull up your pant-leg to unclip it and draw it out.  It’s a very pretty blade, if you do say so yourself.  The handle was made with a woman’s sensibilities in mind.  Feyd-Rautha waits for you to unclip it from its holster and tilts his head when he sees it.

“Ornamental,” he says.

“Still functional,” you tell him as you hand it over and watch him twirl it in his hand and examine the blade.  It was designed specifically for you, so it’s almost baffling how deftly his larger fingers twirl it with such ease.  He looks at it as if it shares deeply guarded secrets about you before looking back at you.

"The dagger's close range," he says, as if you didn't already know.  “What were you taught about evasion and disarming techniques?” 

“In the event of an ambush, don't rely on brute strength, don't hesitate, and don't bother trying to fight honorably.  It’s not a duel; they're not looking for a fair fight, either.”

“Good.  Let’s start with disarming techniques,” he says.  “In case you’re caught unarmed or unable to reach your weapon.”

The first exercise is easier; it’s one of the first things you’ve ever learned, the way to grab his wrist and pinch the flesh of his palm.  This is familiar, and you ease back into the confidence you’d had earlier.  After a few goes of it, Feyd-Rautha watching your form, decides to move on–you have no doubt that he’ll come back to this, go faster, go meaner.  This all seems to be a diagnostic, something he can use to gauge your potential.

“Alright, you get the concept,” he says.  “Let’s move on to disarming an opponent who’s behind you.”

Fine .  You assume nothing will phase you quite as much as sparring with Korvo earlier as you get back into a neutral stance, waiting for the tell-tale signs of moving feet, but instead you feel the long, chiseled lines of your husband’s chest and stomach against your back, his free arm wrapped around your ribcage, and your own dagger at your neck.  Or rather, you feel the hum of both of your shields vibrate at the contact.

Oh.   This kind of close range .  You inhale sharply.  You don’t need to see Feyd-Rautha’s face to see the unrestrained delight in his eyes.

“Nervous?” he asks.

Exposed .  Your pulse quickens.  He hasn’t done anything, he’s fully dressed.  His hand is on your ribcage, not your breasts or between your legs, but you feel like the two of you shouldn’t be doing this with other people around.  They have their own training to get through, of course, but they’re noticing.  Even as they keep their heads down and try not to stare, they’re paying attention.  They’re probably wondering how you take the Na-Baron's cock inside of you each night. 

The vibration of his shield merging with yours doesn’t help.

You take a breath and twist in his arms before he tightens his hold.

“Sloppy work,” he says.

You would argue in your defense that your previous instructors for this weren’t men who’ve been inside of you or licked your pussy until you screamed from the nerve-shattering pleasure of it.  It’s more distracting this way.

He starts the position again, his front against your back as he presses the dagger just up against your shield, the hum of it so close to your throat it gives off an almost-purring sound.

Do you like being pressed up against me? you want to ask.

He answers before you get the chance.  “I changed my mind.  I’ll instruct your close range fighting personally.” 

You could laugh, but instead you simply reach behind you, grabbing his crotch and twisting hard–with the shield it won’t hurt him in the slightest, but you were told it was one of the most effective ways to disarm a male opponent.

He snorts and presses the tip of your dagger further against your neck.  “Should’ve known you’d go there, pet,” he murmurs in your ear.  “It’s not always a reliable technique.”

He’s aroused.  You can feel the outline of his cock straining against his trousers as it presses against you.

“Try again,” he says.

*********

Two hours later you’re worn out and beset with what you’re sure will become bruises.  So, all in all a very typical two hours with your groom.

You part ways so you can each shower, change, and reconvene for breakfast.

“Unless you’re actually sick or he’s elsewhere, my uncle wants you to attend breakfast and dinner with him as a sign of respect,” Feyd-Rautha tells you.  “But you’re free to do as you wish and go where you like during the day.”

That freedom would sound more appealing if you enjoyed going outside, but you still get short of breath easily every time you go out under that black sun, so that means more research, more time listening to language recordings, and more time re-learning everything you forgot plus everything you hadn’t realized you didn’t learn about self-defense.

But today you end up re-reading from books you brought from your old home and writing letters to each of your family members.  You write to them about learning basic battle language, about how your husband has recently taken the liberty of teaching you what he knows about self-defense to build on what you’ve already learned.  You ask them about the weather, about your friends, about how their lives have changed since you last saw them.  It feels far longer than a week.  You ask about the stars, about the natural light displays.  Your planet has a beautiful night sky.  You have to keep reminding yourself that you’ll see it again one day, even if it’s not as soon as you’d like.

Feyd-Rautha’s as polite and restrained towards you at dinner as he always is in his uncle’s presence.  During your meals together he seems detached, almost indifferent to you when you’re pretty sure he’s not.  He doesn’t show an ounce of warmth but always pulls your chair out for you and waits until you’re seated to sit down himself. 

You find that you prefer it; you don’t want the Baron to get so much of a glimpse of the carnality of your marriage and the way his nephew takes you apart with enthusiasm that’s almost frightening.  

The only indication that Feyd gives of his interest in you is when you’re both leaving the Dining Hall and he stops to mutter in your ear, “Tonight I’ll come to your chambers instead.”

You think about how he’d gotten hard during practice.  When you’re getting ready for the night’s rendezvous you wonder if he took care of it himself in the bathroom later that morning or if he decided to hold off until he could unleash his pent-up lust on you.

You get your answer when you’re in only your robe.

“Your husband, the Na-Baron,” Idrisa says, eyes downcast, as she opens the door for him.  He’s barefoot, in just a pair of trousers he quickly undoes, and it’s clear both that he’s already hard and that he’s wearing nothing underneath.  Your eyes widen.  

Idrisa’s still in the room! you want to snap at him.  She doesn’t want to see you like this!

Instead you watch as he steps out of his trousers and hands them off to Idrisa without a word or a look back at her.  She inclines her head, accepts the garment, and turns to neatly fold it and place it on top of the dresser.

“Thank you, Idrisa, you are relieved,” you tell her, and she inclines her head and leaves after a soft, ‘ Thank you, Na-Baroness .’  You drop your robe, standing beside the bed as he comes closer.  You look at each other for a moment.  He raises his browline at your wide eyes.

“Is this another test?” you ask finally.

“Just something new,” he says.  He glances towards the bed and back at you.  Go on, get in , he seems to say.

You keep your eyes on him as you slide into bed, sitting up with your hands braced behind you as you wait for him to follow, unsure what position he’ll want you in.

As it turns out, you’re exactly where he wants you.  You feel the dip of the mattress as he gets in, planting one knee in between your legs, then the other, before descending upon you.  He leans in and you lean back, letting your head hit the pillows as he braces himself above you and latches his mouth to your neck, nipping and sucking what you’re sure will be little pink and red marks that his men will notice tomorrow when you train.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for hours,” he says.  “I was nearly about to fuck you in the Training Halls during our session.”

“There were other people there,” you tell him.

“I could’ve told them to leave,” he says, in a tone that suggests he wouldn’t have cared either way.  “Next time I might.  And then I’ll pull down your pants and claim you on the floor.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to give you a rebuttal before he kisses you fiercely and you can’t help but respond in kind, as spent as you feel.  

You cry out, back arching at the first full thrust of him inside of you, and he smiles.

Oh yeah , he seems to think.  I’d make sure everyone can hear the noises I draw out of you .  He braces one arm beside your head, holds your hip with his free hand as he normally does at first when he’s taking you in this position.  He watches your face, your breasts and the movement of them as he rocks into you, his mouth open as he slides his hand from his hip to the small of your back.  And then he sits up on his haunches, taking you with him.  You gasp, a high-pitched moan spilling out of you at the change of angles.  You scramble to get your knees under you in time as he continues thrusting upwards, one arm around your back and his other hand still clutching your hip.

“Ah!” you manage, sliding down onto him.  It’s the most leverage you’ve gotten with him, making you gasp and whine as you hold onto him; it’s the most he’s really let you move and it comes instinctively.  He lets you take over the rhythm that he started as you roll your hips on top of him and clutch at his back.  

In a sense it feels almost like you’re the one fucking him, him rocking up to meet your movements and his hands on your hips encouraging you.  The heat grows faster this way, with the angle and the friction and the way he eases up and follows your pace, his harsh breath against your ear as you keep thinking about how you want to kiss him but your gasps and moans against the open air are too much for you to collect yourself enough for that.  The desperate noises that he pulls out of you, that you pull out of yourself, spill from you without thought, louder than his own grunts and growls.  You just keep moving, faster and harder, your nipples stiff and your entire body flushed as your body chases after your release.

I’m close.  I’m so close , you want to tell him if only you could speak.  Instead you find a spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and lean down to bite down as you keep grinding down on him.  That’s the moment that does it for him, and you gasp, rocking down onto him one last time as he comes within you.  Your hips jerk and stutter as you feel him painting your insides and remove your mouth from his neck with a sloppy lick and try to find your bearings.  You’re still on top of him, he’s still inside of you, you’re both panting and you wonder if he feels as close to delirious as you do.  You’re still hot, still pulsing, and give a closed-mouth whine as you squirm on top of him.  C’mon, please , you want to tell him.  I was almost there .

He presses his forehead against yours, panting against your mouth, before with a snarl he grabs your hips to hold you still and brings his thumb down to where you’re joined.  It takes only a few passes, especially when he brings his mouth just under your ear.

You come around him, shutting your eyes around the intensity and digging your nails into his shoulders; you’re starting to grow them longer for this very purpose.

He holds onto you, his forehead resting against your shoulder.  He stays inside of you as he wraps one arm around your back, uses his free hand to clutch your hip as you readjust for the second time and he lowers you back down on the bed. 

You assume that once you hit the mattress again that he’ll pull out and pull away but he doesn’t; he pulls his hand out from under you but otherwise stays where he is, buried inside of you and draping over you to rest his head against your sweat-damp collarbone.  It’s like he’s sinking into you, laying on you, still inside of you even as he’s going soft.  It feels oddly nice.  Like he’s finding a home within you.  As if the two of you are actually coupled by choice rather than mandate.  Even the weight of him on top of you feels somehow reassuring.

You absently stroke his back and wonder what he’d look like with hair.  What color would it be?  What texture?  He has long eyelashes, but there’s little else to go off of.

“Is my hair going to fall out?” you wonder aloud after a moment.  It’s a reasonable question to have; none of your body hair has grown in again, not even a hint of stubble.  

Feyd-Rautha pauses and raises himself up on one forearm to look at you properly, perhaps trying to figure out if there’s an implied insult in your question.  

“I just wonder how all of that works here,” you tell him. 

“You can’t lose something that never grows in the first place,” he says.  “People born on Geidi Prime never grow any as long as they’re living here.”

You frown as you run your fingertips along the back of his head.  “But you weren’t born on Geidi Prime, either.  I looked it up; you were born on Lankiveil.” 

“When I came here I was ordered to have everything shaved off,” he says.  “None of it ever grew back.”

You consider this, enjoying the tenderness he’s letting you show him for now.  “Is that why you have eyelashes?” you ask, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.  There’s the faint memory of freckles on his cheeks; it makes you wonder what his pigment would be on a planet with a proper sun.

“Yes.  He didn’t think removing them was necessary,” he says, not needing to specify who ‘he’ is, and his tone is clear: I don’t want to talk about my uncle while I’m still inside of you .

Fair enough.  He sinks back down, content to forget the entire conversation, and you drop it, but because this is the first time since you’ve met that you truly feel comfortable with him, you keep talking.

“What was it like on Lankiveil?” you ask him.

He gives an irritated huff.  “Why,” he says.

“Just curious,” you say.  “The climate sounds a lot like my planet.  I grew up surrounded by water, too.”

He sighs, his chest expanding.  “Then there’s not much to tell you, now is there,” he says again, voice flat.  After a moment, “Even if you were blind and deaf you could smell that you were on an ocean planet just from the salty air.  It was cold, damp, dark.”

“ Hmmm .”  There are so many questions you want to ask.  Did you like it, though? What did you like about it?  Have you ever missed it?  Were you happy back then?  Did you love the family you’ve lost?  Have you ever tried going back?  You won’t ask them, not anytime soon and potentially not ever.  “It’s not a smell you ever think you’ll miss,” you say instead, both hands absently stroking his back and shoulders in no particular pattern.

“Didn’t say I missed it,” Feyd says immediately.

“I do, though.”   You already miss the sounds of the ocean crashing against the rocks and stormy sunsets over the rolling tide.  Geidi Prime has nothing.  It’s a wasteland devoid of life, devoid of seasons.  You try not to think about that, and instead the new information Feyd-Rautha’s given you.

Your children will be hairless .  You’d implicitly assumed, but it paints a more vivid picture of what to expect.

“You miss home already?” he asks.

Of course I do.  Geidi Prime's atmosphere is overwhelming and you're far away from your family.  Idrisa’s the only friend you've made and she's obligated to spend time with you.  Of course I'd rather be home than here.

But you're not about to tell him that right now, not while you’re the closest thing to content that you’ve felt since you landed.  “It’s just what I’m familiar with,” you tell him.  “I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

He finally slides out of you as he raises his head again, and you can’t place his expression, but you’re struck with a thought as you bring one hand to his face.

I really want to kiss you right now.

You almost do, and maybe he can see it in your face.  You’re not sure how you’re looking at him but he blinks, looking at first your eyes and then your lips, and before you can lean up he gets up, slides out of bed, and pads over to your bathroom.  You turn to your side to watch him go, to see his shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, the slope of his ass, and those long legs and how even when soft his cock hangs between them.  Tomorrow construction will be complete and your quarters will be connected to his.

Given his abrupt departure to the bathroom, when he returns you expect him to pull on his trousers and leave, but instead he slides back into bed alongside you without a word.

He settles for a moment, turning to face you.  He seems thoughtful for a moment.

“Even with the protections you have, it would reflect poorly on me and the Fortress if we had you training while you’re showing, if you’re not pregnant already,” he says.

“I’m no Bene Gesserit,” you tell him.  “I can’t tell if I’m pregnant yet, can’t control or predict the sex of the baby–”

“I wouldn’t want a Bene Gesserit wife,” he says.  “I can barely tolerate them as is.  That’s not the point.  We train you as well as we can for the limited time you have.

“But while we're talking about the Bene Gesserit, they will be visiting in three weeks for my birthday.  They'll be able to sniff out right away if you're pregnant or not.”

“Given the rate that we’ve been going, that won’t be an issue,” you tell him.

He looks down at your stomach, as if picturing how soon it’s going to swell with his progeny.  “Training to be a warrior starts early,” he says.  “I was seven when I began and that was later than normal, so I had to work harder than the others to make up for lost time.

“This is not an easy planet to grow up on, so the training is necessary.  Especially with Arrakis.  We’ve been in conflict for decades and it’s only gotten more severe.”

“Spice production isn’t your only means of industry,” you tell him.  What Geidi Prime lacks in vegetation it makes up for in fuel and minerals that get heavily mined.

“Maybe not, but it’s our most lucrative, and until we find a different planet with as much spice as Arrakis, we won’t end our occupation there.  In any case, we need to remind the Fremen of our might.  I want to build my troops to be the most powerful in the universe.  That’s what our children are meant to inherit.  That’s what I want to lead and for our son to take over after I’m gone.”

After I’m gone .  

 Within ten minutes he takes you again, against your headboard as he holds you up, hands under your ass and your legs wrapped around his hips.  He mounts you like you’re an animal he killed for sport and hung up on his wall as he murmurs something in Harkonnen battle language against your neck and all you can make out are my woman and something about his semen.  He controls the pace this time, fucking you up the length of the headboard as you hold onto him, moaning and panting.

Afterwards you lay side by side, and you look over at him as he starts to doze off, one arm across his ribcage, the other behind his head, one leg bent at the side.  His lashes flutter closed.  He looks peaceful.  He'd be blond, you realize.  His lashes are fair so his hair would be some shade of blond.  Or rather, he was blond, once.

Perhaps he’d be too beautiful with hair and a normal mouth, you think.  Maybe the strange appearance is another layer of armor.  The teeth certainly are; he must dye them with some kind of charcoal.  

“What,” he says again, his tone annoyed even as he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Nothing,” you say simply, and turn away.  When you’ve slept together it’s been with his chest against your back.  Neither of you have discussed it, but you both seem to prefer it.

As you drift off you picture a version of him with more pigmentation; sun-kissed skin sprinkled with more freckles; wavy blond hair and tawny eyebrows, a white-toothed smile.  A version of him almost too pretty to look at, in a life he was never going to have.

**********

You wake up as the early morning trickles in a sickly gray from the window.

Feyd’s turned away from you at some point during the night and it registers as odd, not having the already-familiar sensation of the warmth of his body against your back and his cock nestled against you.  You blink, turning around, and seeing that his back is turned towards you.  For some reason his scars look worse in the morning light.  Your pink little scratches and bite-marks will fade soon and be replaced by others; the lash-marks will probably never go away.

You reach out, fingertips skimming his back.  The unmarred skin is so soft, stretched over the sinewy muscle, that the raised skin of his scars feels like a road map of what he’s quick to endure.  You wonder about the scars along his inner thighs, if he’d let you touch them.  You think about how you’d like to, how you’d like to explore more of his body as you trail your fingertips along the deepest and ugliest of his lesions.

No sooner do you think that then you can sense Feyd waking and turning to face you in an instant.  It takes you by shock, barely able to comprehend what’s happening, as he grabs your wrist in a vice.

His pale eyes look silver; his nostrils flare, his jaw clenched.  For a moment it’s like he doesn’t see you.

You want to pull back but he holds onto your wrist–for a moment you worry that he’ll squeeze tighter and shatter the delicate bones.  The two of you stare, caught in silence.  Then he blinks and seems to take in the fear and confusion in your eyes, and whatever he saw wasn’t you, not with the recognition sinking in.  He releases your wrist, looks away, and rolls in the opposite direction of you.

“What are you–?” you start, stunned.  You feel utter whiplash from the difference a few seconds could make, unsure exactly what you did.

He gets up without a word.  He doesn’t look back at you as he pulls on his trousers. 

“What did I do?” you ask him.

He pauses, starts to look back, and turns his head back to the door and leaves.  You stare after the door once he’s shut it behind him, wondering what happened.

You don’t go back to sleep.  You lay in bed for the hours it takes for light to more prominently trickle in.

Not that he said it out loud, but you think you just got confirmation for how he got those scars.

Tags: @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai

[dravenscroft]

So I make a loooot of shitposts and jokes (mainly because my actual career is writing dark and serious novels and therefore I come to Tumblr to get away from that) but I FINALLY wanted to write a post that sums up my thoughts regarding the Hickey/Tozer dynamic because it fascinates me so much.

I'm putting it under a read more because I know I'm going to ramble.

Okay so first of all, as much as I may like to make jokes about the sex being so good it drove a guy to mutiny, I don't actually believe there was any sexual intimacy between Hickey and Tozer at all. This is mostly because I think post Carnival NOBODY was getting laid, everyone was far too sick and weak and tired for that - do I think in different circumstances it could have happened between them? Possibly, yeah. I definitely see the dynamic as romantic, but in a weird, unspoken, 'whatever the hell they have going on is also way more complicated than that' way.

The main thoughts I have about how and why Tozer ends up locked into in the Worst Situationship Of All Time are mainly due to three factors:

Heather's death and the breakdown of command.

The obvious Oh Shit moment of watching the Tuunbaq devour Collins' soul.

Physical touch.

The first one is the primer, as it were. It sets Tozer up as angry, desperate, and willing to mutiny. It's already become clear by Carnival that command is breaking down, they don't know what to do, and what a soldier needs more than anything is a CLEAR, DECISIVE CHAIN OF COMMAND. Without that, Tozer - who already has some Opinions about the way the marines are being put at additional risk (unionise, king) - has no one to keep him on a leash, for want of a better word. He's a dog trained to kill that suddenly doesn't have a master. He cannot be in command himself. He needs someone above him; he's not a leader.

This builds and builds, but then Heather's death - the loss of any vestige of something that would keep him loyal, since evidently Heather's care would continue under ordinary command - at the hands, essentially, of the very command he's started to doubt...well, that's it. Gun primed.

The discovery of Fairholme's group shatters any remaining hope he may have had, Crozier's reluctance to tell the men only further compounding the 'command is failing' mentality Tozer already has in spades. And there you go - the trigger is pulled.

BANG. Mutiny.

The second major factor comes after he's thrown in his lot with Hickey in a way he can't go back on. He sees Collins' soul sucked from his body by Tuunbaq before his very eyes. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew has been tipped on its head and an existential crisis he definitely didn't expect or need is thrust upon him, but now any decision he might have made to stay with Crozier and co based on this revelation is no longer open to him. The gun is still smoking, there's no way of putting the musket ball back, and now Hickey is his only option.

But maybe that isn't so bad? Because Hickey is providing something command didn't. He seems in control. He seems to know what he's about, what he's doing, and what to do next. He gives clear concise orders. He's taken up the leash command dropped, and Tozer has a master again. He feels like a marine again, like some of his identity has returned to him in a weird, perverse way (and we know Tozer is incredibly proud of being a Royal Marine from his earlier conversations)(not to mention Crozier's remark to Fitzjames about not asking the men to leave bits of themselves behind straight away when leaving the ships; Tozer has already lost bits of himself, when Heather died, and he lost faith in command).

Tozer is NOT willing to do a second mutiny because that would put HIM in charge, stripping him of that identity all over again, and he cannot handle that.

And finally, physical touch - physical touch is one of the things that keeps him chained to Hickey (quite literally by the end). It's perhaps not nearly as much of a factor as the other two, or perhaps an enormous factor, but definitely there. Throughout the earlier episodes we see that Tozer is a pretty tactile guy. Playfully wrestling at the birthday party. Caring for Heather, squeezing his hand to try and get signs of life. This is a man who isn't afraid to touch other men. When Hickey holds his face in That scene, he doesn't appear surprised - a little spooked by the way he leans in suddenly, and Hickey's intensity, but not shocked. Not like it's the first time Hickey has ever touched him. I generally imagine there's a lot of physical intimacy Hickey offers him during the scenes we don't see, because Hickey IS good at recognising things in people most of the time, and I can see him honing in on that need for touch immediately.

I imagine him touching him a lot, sleeping unusually close to him, soothing him, everything to make Tozer feel safe and secure and remind him WHO is meeting those specific needs. He's providing certainty, command, and comfort, three things Tozer desperately needs.

If there WAS any sexual intimacy between the two, I believe it would build off this even further - confuse Tozer about his feelings, make him feel uniquely bonded to Hickey in a way he can't easily undo. Especially as a Royal Marine, essentially a symbol of the warlike 'noble' Empire, with all the corresponding Victorian hangups and ideals, which would no doubt feel incredibly threatened by any attraction to Hickey. Hickey, who, as we know, WANTS to erase this sense of Empire as identity, not because he understands the evils of Empire but because he wants to replace it with his own where he is at the top.

Hickey both offers Tozer his identity back while at the same time trying to reshape it to fit his own empire. And for Tozer that's confusing and conflicting - but it's better than what he had before. Because Tozer, too, cannot see the world through any lens but that of Empire and hierarchy and command - that's the fatal flaw of all these men.

By the end, it seems he's starting to see what a horrible mistake he made - but by then it's far, far too late.

And a dog NEEDS a master.

Tldr; I think Tozer's bond with Hickey stems from both very human needs such as touch and closeness and certainty, but also from a very thematic need to have a place and easily understood identity within the structure of Empire. And there's almost no real way for those two different sorts of needs to coexist without disaster.

(One day I'll go into how I think Hickey gets more from this relationship than a mere henchman, but this isn't the post for it! This is about Solomon)

[lutawolf]

The Sign Commentary Review Ep 5

I'm going to link to my episode 3 commentary because I gave a lot of Thailand mythology information. While I will be watching the show for the first time now and giving you my commentary. I've been Ask a question that gave me heads up that a lot of mythology will show up in this episode. So let's go!

We start the series off with this guy who has a Naga back tat. Then we see the front with him dripping water down himself. I got to hand it to Saint, he really knows how to visually stimulate. Is he the killer?

Are we really gonna ignore that Tharn sees visions? 2. Phaya has gotten his period. I mean, I get it. Nobody wants the love of their life thinking they're crazy, but this has the hallmark of hormonal rage versus righteous anger. Maybe the lack of sleep is starting to get to him. 3. Where do we stand with the physical assault? Do we label this domestic or everyone else feeling that maybe something is off here? Like when a werewolf gets all testosterone before their first change. I mean, you can literally see the freak-out in his face after he realized he has hit Tharn. Which honestly makes me feel better.

Oh, so we now understand why Tharn saw the female and how she relates. And Yai proves once again just how special he is. He really put on that clown mask. That's just wrong.

There are two! Honestly, didn't see that coming. Ahh, well now it's more understandable why they were getting their ass kicked. It's Wit.

I mean, I'm having a hard time caring that he might be killed. Just go ahead and let him go. Tharn sees him getting hit by a truck. I'm so okay with that.

I mean, I get the logic of no vigilante justice. But... People who sexually assault rarely deal with serious consequences. Only about 6% of Sexual Offenders ever serve a day in jail. If an assault is reported (this is rare due to fear factors), there is a 50% chance of an arrest. If an arrest is made, there is an 80% chance of prosecution. If there is a prosecution, there is only a 58% chance of conviction. If convicted, there is only a 16% chance that they will go to prison.

Well, that was therapeutic. The parental guidance warning made me chuckle.

They found him! Now I'm nervous! Ahhh, don't save him Tharn, go save Phaya. Don't judge me, people. I'm a little blood thirty when it comes to this.

A Naga. Not good. He is using his power for the fight, and it looks like it's overpowering Tharn's. Surprisingly, Phaya is keeping pace though, despite the break out of power. Well, until he gets a rope wrapped around him, that is. I was in full support of you dude until you started hurting Phaya and Tharn. Now ya gotta go.

Shit! A lot happened fast!

Tharn steps in front of Phaya and gets stabbed. You can tell from home dudes face that he had never meant to actually hurt Tharn. Which means he knows he is a fellow Naga. Then why is he okay with hurting Phaya? Then we see combined powers. Both Phaya's and Tharn, with Tharn's being green, which is Naga colors. Golden red is a distinct color clue.

Garuda: Is a mythical bird-man creature that is the half sibling to the nage, but they are sworn enemies. The feud started when both he Garuda's mother and Nagas' mother married the same husband. The husband gave each wife one wish. The Nagas' mother asked for a thousand children, while Garuda's mother wished for two children superior to the Naga. The feud grew until Garuda's mother lost a bet ad became the servant of the Nagas' mother. Eventually she was freed, but her children swore vengeance.

The Garuda represents royalty, strength, and divine knowledge. With its fierce loyalty and warrior nature, the Garuda serves a protective function. It adorns shields, swords, and armor as a guardian symbol. The Garuda’s golden wings are believed to shine light on the darkness of evil and ignorance.

Soooo, right now I'm thinking our Phaya is a Garuda. It also explains why in their past life he rejected Tharn for being a Naga. There are some stories of Naga and Garuda that aren't enemy, though. These few stories are about devote Buddhist Nagas and as protectors of the faith, Garudas are unable to kill these particular Nagas.

Poor Phaya is flipping out while Tharn is very calm. You can literally watch Phaya's brain go into a "does not compute point." All because Tharn is glad his is safe and gently wipes his face. It's a stark contrast to the violence that Phaya has been giving him. This whole thing cools him down in the same way that a bucket of cold water would. Despite others showing up, they cling to each other.

Tharn is now cleaned up and very calm. Meanwhile, his other half is losing his shit. Dragging him away to try and get some answers. Finally, some much-needed communication and touchy-feely. I love the way Tharn looks at Phaya when he asks him not to leave him.

Look, he is all soft and gooey like a chocolate chip cookie. He might be talking about work, but his body language is saying something else. This boy is clearly touched, starved. Ahhh, I'm getting all the feels with this scene.

The nurses pausing and kind of turning back to them and then them breaking apart. Hahahaha!

This cute little micro smile. It means everything to have cleared things up with Phaya.

Guys... Someone on this show is an actual survivor. Cause this shit is too accurate. Yeah, they could have talked to a survivor but add it with other things, it's there. This is someone's therapeutic art. The writer? The scriptwriter? I haven't read the book, so I don't know.

Ohhhh, we're digging into his parent's case now.

Phaya staying the night with Tharn again. Slumber party! Yes, you absolutely should play a game of Doctor. Silly boy, he is cute though.

Oh! Another dream. Damn it! I want the real deal but... I mean, at least they are feeding us something. At least the dreams tell us that these boys clearly want each other. Oh, a daydream. Damn boy. Keep it together 🤣🤣🤣 He's trying so hard. I'm dead. I love these two. He is planning ahead, telling Yai to bring him lots of clothes. He'll probably have to crash there more in the future.

But nope, it's the stupid doctor. Who is clearly some kind of naga since Phaya's touch bothers him. He gives a strong kickback. So as I mentioned earlier, Garuda can't harm followers of Buddhism, but they can and will harm those that worship the serpent.

Nobody is buying your shit Phaya, but I'm with you on saying what ever you got to. This dude is creepy. He feels like he owns Tharn and I wanna know why. And we're playing doctor again! Which ends in cuddle time. OMG, I love Phaya so much. That is the fastest count to three that I've ever heard. Love it! Touch starved, Tharn is very handsy when he is sleeping. Phaya does not appear to mind.

Too cute!!!

Apparently, all that love goes out the window when he wakes up. 🤣🤣🤣

Ummm, home dude might be your adoptive dad, but he isn't a cop. Stop talking shop!

The precepts are rules or guidelines to develop mind and character to make progress on the path to enlightenment… The first precept consists of a prohibition of killing, both humans and all animals. The second precept prohibits theft and related activities such as fraud and forgery. The third precept refers to sexual misconduct, and has been defined with terms such as sexual responsibility and long-term commitment. The fourth precept involves falsehood spoken or committed to by action, as well as malicious speech, harsh speech and gossip. The fifth precept prohibits intoxication through alcohol, drugs, or other means.

Damn, Phaya over here tattling. Oh, no! Grandma is sick! Ha, he was tricked.

He is a cop. Of course, it's dangerous. This is why I'm oh so excited that two of my kids want to go into law enforcement. (said in complete sarcasm.) We do a tight focus of the eagle, he has wings on his back. I'm really thinking I'm right here. Damn, he is obsessed.

There is past life Tharn. Water and sky, the places where their other half reside. And there he is. Ahh, I get more and more excited with each one. I can't wait. 💜💜💜

[brenshor]

Tyler is an interesting villain imo (especially the way he is written in the book) and I hate how much w*lers reduce and downplay that because all they care about is that "romance"

Yes, thank you for saying that, I love to rant about this sort of characterization stuff. You are so right, too. As a stand-alone character, Tyler has the potential to be a wonderfully complex villain. There are many factors to take into account about him, not just his trickery of Wednesday or whatever romance they want to assign to that. I mean, Laurel clearly grooms him, who knows how sexual that actually was. It gave me such chills in the flashbacks every time she would stroke his neck and arm.

And then there's the nuance of how much agency he actually has through their master/Hyde bond. How much is really him? How much is the Hyde? How much of regular Tyler is a psychopath is what I want to know, he says he grew to enjoy it, but how much is the Hydes mind influencing him? Is his Hyde like a werewolf? How much is Gates actually influencing his mind and decisions? Did he take on some of her personality and hated of outcasts? Or was he already like that before when he and the pilgrim squad assaulted Xavier. I'm fascinated to find out next season.

The way Hunter plays the switch between the persona Tyler puts on and the real Tyler is the real Jekyll and Hyde, and it's just amazing. He does such a good job the way you can actually see the shift. I too loved in the novel the way they expanded on it, I had been going crazy from the first watch through on how I missed what kind of artist Tyler was since they said Hydes were artistic types and then boom the book said it "In that moment I forgive myself for being fooled. I remember Faulkner's words in his journal: the Hyde is an artist by nature."

Tyler is an actor, and in my opinion, his greatest performance was the scene in the police station when he reveals to Wednesday that she was right. The way he easily slips back into the mask that he puts on to fool everyone. He is so good at making himself look like he is the victim of Wednesday's crazy paranoia, not that he's the actual monster.

Yeah, I know what you mean about some of the w*lers, I don't think they really understand his or Wednesday's character that well. She is absolutely revolted by him now, not only because he tricked her but because he hurt Eugene, not to mention the murders as well, and I just really don't think they see that.

Like Wednesday talks a big game, but she tells Thing in episode 2 her worst fear is that she'll be responsible for something terrible. She compared herself to Ivan the Terrible, saying she wanted to be good terrible like him, I'm assuming this philosophy is why she protected pugsley by putting piranha in the pool. Ivan, the Terribles' name was in its original translation meant inspiring of awe or fear, like what Wednesday did with the piranhas. Which does not fit with Tyler's apparent urge to kill, Wednesday is and has been violent to protect her family and friends from people who want to hurt them, and it seems like Tyler has been increasingly more violent because he's begun to enjoy it.

Then there's some of the w*lers who get mad when I say that he clearly doesn't actually have feelings for Wednesday. In the show, he just called her a cockroach, but in the book, it expanded more to say how he wanted to kill Wednesday from the start, but Gates wouldn't let him. Like this is not the enemies to lovers they seem to think it is.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

https://www.tumblr.com/gardensofivy/760120697566707712/where-is-the-fluff-i-am-sick-of-the-smut-what

i feel like i remember you talking about posts like this before.

it kinda irritates me that everyone on that post are so harsh about how they REALLY WANT FLUFF and are SICK OF SMUT

all my dash has been lately is fluff and i’m not complaining, i like every genre. maybe it’s their dash.

fanfic writers are writing what they want and i’m sorry that you don’t like it, but again, it’s out there, you just have to look. maybe they should look harder. do they know that there are tagging systems on this app + ao3 where they can search for fluff specifically?

i know first hand that it’s hard to write fanfic but can’t they at least try it out for themselves if they are really wanting fluff instead of complaining about it and how writers won’t give them exactly what they crave?

sorry for bringing this to you i just have no one to talk about this with 😭

don't apologize for bringing stuff like this to me. my inbox is always open as a rant space

I went to look up the post and it said that it was deleted (I was very curious to see the comments, but rip lmao) - but even just from that blurb of the url, I can definitely get a sense of the aggression against smut in the post

as far as the 'I hate smut, I want fluff' crowd - it feels like people who don't know how to navigate fandom spaces, but also people who are sexually repressed.

BECAUSE

from all my experience, especially recent experiences - smut fics will always be more popular. if people actually wanted fluff fics, or fics without smut, then my non-smut fics would be more popular. every single time one of my fics has smut, it will always be more popular.

a lot of the time, I regret not putting a smut scene a fic (especially toward the end) because I know that people will read through the actually interesting well-thought out hard work 'plot' part of a fic that I wrote in order to get to a pointless smut scene that I never intended to have there in the first place (as of right now, one of my biggest regrets is not putting a smut scene in Heaven's Gate to get more eyes on it)

it is my opinion that people are lying when they say they don't want smut fics. just straight up fucking lying. (or very few people are telling the truth when they say it, and then they don't seek out the fics they truly want)

Heaven's Gate - which is clearly tagged as having fluff got 11 notes in its first 24 hours

Need - which is tagged as smut/pwp got over 100 notes in its first 24 hours of being posted

yes, there are other factors to take into account, like the length, the gender of the reader character (which, don't even get me started on the 'GN afab' reader character thing - which is so fucking transphobic and misogynistic and rigid to the fucking gender binary it makes me wanna die), and the fact that Heaven's Gate is also marked as Hurt/Comfort and a lot of people in fandom these days seem to hate basic conflict in stories??? - but they are for the same love interest and they are posted for the same fandom

so to me, this is solid, concrete proof that smut will always attract a larger audience. every single one of my smut fics that exists in the same genre as a fic without smut has a larger audience

(unless it's a wlw fic, but again - that's a whole different story. cause don't get me started on the whole 'we need more sapphic stories' crowd who never fucking read wlw fics when they are posted)

I feel like this is really a two pronged problem

one: the recent Catholic sexual repression in fandoms (and in queer spaces/the internet in general)

two: people who love to complain but make zero effort to change the things that they complain about in fandoms (hecklers, in a sense)

the first one is something me and @nctzenkane have talked about at large. it's the "sex scenes are so unnecessary in movies" thing and people directly relating the things you ship to your morals - the idea that the kind of fanfiction you write and read is directly in line with your moral fiber as a person. these are known as thought crimes. which is a highly Catholic sensation

in Catholicism, it's the idea that God can see all and knows all, and therefore, thinking bad things is on the same level of sin as performing a bad act - so thinking about sex too frequently or thinking about harming someone is on the same level as physically committing a murder, and both of these things equally make you a bad person. (and so you need to keep your mind 'pure' for God.)

in modern times, it's the idea that associating with certain topics of fanfiction makes you 'sus' and an untrustworthy person, and that you are more likely to follow through with the bad acts that you read about - like rape, pedophilia, unhealthy age gape relationships, violent crimes, ect. - if you read about those things frequently. (which is untrue, for the fucking record.)

and for the hecklers... god.

someone talked about the sensation of how the pandemic caused this huge shift in fandom, and yeah - I felt it happen in real time.

people who formerly were never in fandom or saw it as a 'nerdy' hobby (people whose hobbies were based around socialization - like drinking and going to bars, etc. or younger people who were allowed unsupervised internet access for the first time) all flooded fandom spaces with 0 sense of fandom etiquette. those are the 'writing fanfiction is too hard so I'm going to harass experienced fanfiction writers' people.

they love to complain about things they don't like in fandom without doing anything to change those things - even if it's something as simple as blocking and following the right people to curate their feed or curating their AO3 tags. the other day I saw dozens of people on tiktok saying that they don't know what the 4 symbols in the corner of the fics on AO3 mean. A lot of people assumed that they were there FOR NO REASON. it made me want to start chewing on glass, no lie

anyway. the landscape of fandom right now is so... (sigh.)

[kochi999]

I always draw only Arcade porn, but today I really thought about "why I like Arcade" and drew it seriously.

Below is the monstrosity I drew on pixiv. I haven't scrutinized the document after the English translation, so it's probably weird.

　My shit-decker feelings (mainly inferiority complex) for Dr. Arcade have finally calmed down after about 10 months of falling for him, so here's one thing I'd like to summarize (give birth to) why I can't help but have such a fussy heart for this guy. I guess the screen turns red when I put my feelings into it. I know it's not popular to capture long sentences nowadays, but it's the last time I'm drawing, so forgive me, I don't have anywhere else to put it.

　I've tried to put all the elements of why I like this guy so much into this one picture, but the part that people who don't know me won't get from the picture and the part that made me fall for that point in the first place is that this guy is officially gay. The other deciding factor that drove me crazy was the fact that there is an ending where he commits suicide by circumcision for the sake of his own pride.

　This guy, who had been running away from the secret of his origins, who was worried and lost, who couldn't tell anyone about the secret of his life, who couldn't make up his mind in that ephemeral world, who had been moping and sulking until he was 35 years old, makes a decision based on the words of a random courier (the main character) and chooses to live while helping others with his special skills, He can either choose to live for his father's redemption, or he can choose neither and be enslaved until he commits suicide. How can you come up with such a setting? The game is so full of elements that mess with our emotions that I can't help but project myself onto the brain-destroyed (physical) courier and the brain-destroyed (metaphorical) me.

↓I can't help but project myself onto him. 　Why is Arcades set up as gay? It's just a setting that has nothing to do with the story. It is really a mystery. Why did they set him up that way? Is it because he doesn't know his father's face and is a fatherfucker? It's a wise decision. Thanks to you, a lot of nerdy women have been swamped. The fact that a man of such a serious character and nature was naturally homosex active drives me crazy again. There is also the mysterious statement that he had a few boyfriends in the past, but that doesn't play into the main story at all. Are you saying that I couldn't even confide my origins to my boyfriends? I wouldn't mind having a boyfriend who confided in a past man about his origins…and then they finally broke up because they couldn't share their life together, but he never revealed the secret of his origins to anyone…that would be fine. I'm a big fan.

　Please, give me an Arcadian ex-career selection setting. What kind of guy she was dating and at what age, and if possible, her favorite position, etc. No, that's too much to ask. I'll have dinner with that. I'm ready to eat. I'll cook a pot of rice for now. Give me that. Give me a piece of Arcadian life. I don't care if it's too late. Give it to me. Hey. If, at the height of the drama, there are now statements like, "Actually, Nate, the fourth master, was in that movie," then why not have a leak that says, "Actually, that was Arcade's ex-boyfriend," or "Actually, that man at Navarro base is Arcade's father. Give it to me. I'm sure you have some secret settings that you can't reveal to the public anyway. Give it to me. Give it to me in a fanzine. Please. I don't care if it's a fabrication by a fan, please give me a doujinshi of Arcades' ex-boyfriend…someone please draw me a doujinshi…I'll do anything…tumbler prohibits sexually explicit pictures, so if you can, please draw me a sexually explicit picture on pixiv. I don't care if it's a cartoon. I have two new friends on pixiv recently. Thank you I love you and I won't miss you.

[piowasthere]

Ok, I'll say this for the first and hopefully only time.

(I know it's long, but it's quite important, so please read.)

If you ask me to draw anything in a form of a request (but also applies to trades or even commissions in a way)

I am not obligated to do it. If I do decide to do so, it's because I have the time, strengths, and will I am kind enough to do it for you. I do not. Owe you. Shit.

If I say I'll be willing to do something before discussing the details, I am 100% free to just say no if the thing you want is not something I am comfortable with.

And I do not need to give an explanation why. Most of the time I'll just go silent about it. Because I am not good with serious talk, I don't like it, I am awkward, social anxiety etc. And because I also want to try and be kind.

So if I ghost you after such a thing. You may text me again. Once. To make sure I didn't just forget, it happens. If I still go silent, that means it's not happening. Give up.

Weird shit includes oversexualizing characters or putting them in weird scenarios.

Sure, I do some questionable shit, but I don't usually go outside of suggestive or just thirst traps if I feel like it. I don't do explicit NSFW. (in a sexual sense, I use curse words and enjoy some heavy gore quite often, but those are not the focus of this.)

Or weird kinks or somethin'. No kink shaming. Just don't ask me to make shit I don't like. I think it's that simple. If You're aware, what you are going to ask for is questionable - make sure the artist you're asking is ok with that - and if you won't find anything about it - don't. At the very least, ask about their boundaries. Don't just slap them with that.

I legit am traumatized by some shit some people asked me to do. And I am not easy to get a reaction from.

It's ok to ask me for stuff I've done already - take for the example the 'Solar's hips' joke I have going on. Some people would probably consider it weird in some way, but it's just harmless simping and poking fun at a character that canonically has been called out for being a twink

It's a small gag I have going on with some people I know on Tumblr

if I was uncomfortable with it, I would not take it as far as I did. I think it's funny, and I do enjoy drawing that candy corn, so it's win-win for everyone.

This also comes down to me drawing characters suggestively only if I myself find them attractive in some shape, way or form. I find it funny or there's other context behind it.

Even if it's a character I like, not always will I do that to them.

I can draw shit out of Shadow, but I will not touch Tails with that. I love both of these characters, but I see them very differently. Also, Tails is literally like 8yo, but that's a completely different discussion.

When it comes to commissions - yes. You pay me to do something for you. But because of that factor - I am willing to do more and get more out of my comfort zone than if I was doing it for no profit. (still not NSFW. I mean, more character design or somethin') And the thing is discussed before payment. I will not agree to it if it makes me feel in any way I do not enjoy.

This issue appeared only on DeviantArt, thus far, and I am really happy Tumblr doesn't put me though that too. (update: I actually got one kinda weird ask there once, but it was more of a cursed thought, a laugh and that's about it)

if I ever get anything like that again and don't break my arm while trying to break the monitor, I'll just be deleting everything that person said and if they keep on pushing, I'll just block. I don't usually block people, but I am kinda tired at this point.

Apologies if it's a very long, aggressive rant but-- idfk I'm fed up with that bs.

TL;DR

don't ask any artist to draw you weird shit that might make them uncomfortable, don't act/sound demanding and behave like they owe you their work for any reason, bc in this situation you're the one begging somebody else to do work for you for free. Basically.

I had to rant.

This post goes onto both Tumblr and DA btw. DA to hopefully stop that bs and Tumblr to hopefully prevent it from happening.

[quartings]

A little story about how I became me:

In the most supportive way I can say it, my thoughts on what people need to hear to become better, and why it's not always obvious.

Like pretty much everyone, I was a dumb teenager many years ago. I grew up in a very conservative environment, without many chances to really hang out with people who weren't also teenage guys either. I was surrounded by a lot of homophobia, sexism, and a lot of people telling jokes that weren't just horribly offensive, but even worse- they were honestly really generic and unfunny. And that's a small part of why I'm here to talk about.

For anyone who followed my blog in its earliest years, you might know I was a huge fan of the Yogscast YouTube group as a teenager. I loved Simon, and Lewis, and Duncan, and Kim, and so many of its members. But there was one member who was quite different from the others- a woman named Zoey.

Zoey Proasheck was one of the first big openly gay YouTubers I think ever. But what made me gravitate to her so much was that while she never downplayed that part of her identity, she promoted the positive stereotype-breaking parts of her personality even more. She's honestly not just one of the nicest content creators I've ever seen, but maybe even the nicest person I've ever seen. (And I know she doesn't like being put on a pedastal because celebrity worship is bad and all people have flaws, but I think her positive actions and impacts should at least speak for themselves) As a dumb teenage guy who at the time had never even met an LGBT person, it was eye-opening experience watching Zoey RP as characters who liked guys, and play kiddie games like Scribblenauts, Pokémon, and Puyo Puyo.

Dumb teenage me would have been under the impression that lesbian YouTubers would only promote queer content. Disclaimer that I'm not promoting the "model minority" argument, minorities are not obligated to act a certain way in order to earn respect or not be bullied. This is just a story about what it took to change me as an individual in a way that may not apply to everyone.

But yeah, just as her straight coworkers played games and expressed their interests that didn't telegraph their sexuality, most of Zoey's content wasn't either. It was nice seeing such an eternally kind, funny, and creative person just enjoy sharing her happiness and creativity with others, and her liking girls was just an added detail. Some highlights include her just joking about wanting to meet pretty girls in Scribblenauts, expressing her love of rainbows, and just saying 'boobs' because it's a funny-sounding word. And those bits while funny, were only a fraction of the overall funny and creative content she made that was for all audiences! Zoey was never a person who was there to lecture others on her identity, or to create content only for people like her. Just because she was queer, it didn't mean she marketed her content only or even mainly for queers- she made it for everyone- I'm happy so many LGBT youth found solace with her, too. But if she did try and make content solely or mainly for queer audiences, myself and others like me would probably have been dissuaded from watching her channel and having our worldview expanded.

But yeah, after watching Zoey for so long, slightly-jerky teenage me had a small space in his heart open up for accepting queer people. Because no matter what harmful stereotypes I saw on TV, no matter how many actual people fit those stereotypes in online spaces or irl, I would always know that if a real queer person as eternally kind and funny as Zoey could exist, being LGBT couldn't possibly be the factor that makes people "bad" as all the fearmongers say.

This next part will probably be tough to hear for a lot of people, but I don't think representation in media matters the way many people think it does- at least, not in the realm of animation and acting.

What I mean by that is, I was raised on well-written and amazing female protagonists as a kid- Kim Possible, Lilo and Stitch, My Life as a Teenage Robot, The Proud Family, Totally Spies, ATLA, and especially the girls of the Teen Titans. But because I was raised in an environment that was very oppressive towards girls and one that deliberately isolated guys from them, I had no good female presences in my day-to-day life. No amount of strong female characters in media could change the fact that my irl view of girls was shaped by the very conservative and honestly disappointing ideals of the girls around me. It took moving to a vastly different environment where I could interact with less conservative girls for me to start unlearning the misogyny instilled in me during my early teens.

And in the same vein, no amount of fictional LGBT characters would have undone any homophobic beliefs I used to have back then. Because I know such characters aren't real and don't reflect the values of real people around me. What actually contributed a lot to me becoming less homophobic was Neil Patrick Harris as Barney Stinson in How I Met Your Mother. If I only grew up on gay actors being allowed to play gay characters, my mind would never have been allowed to separate them from the shallow stereotypes I was taught as a teen. Neil Patrick doing such a great job of playing a caricature of a hilariously cartoonish straight guy allowed me to see that gay people aren't bound to always acting "gay". Their sexuality doesn't control their day-to-day behaviour. While such things are obviously clear to people who are also LGBT, I think we easily forget how straight people with literally zero experience talking to LGBT folks don't know these things by heart. Barney Stinson being straight was better LGBT representation to me than all other queer characters thanks to Neil Patrick Harris.

I think a lot of today's dumb teenagers are immediately put off listening to minority voices because they oftentimes come across as a "lecturer" or an "enemy". Someone who isn't necessarily evil, but still a person who views them as a "thing to change" or "person to yell at". And it's hard to give a mean person yelling at you the satisfaction of being right, even if they are right. If someone came up to teen me and started exasperatedly telling me how being homophobic made me a bad person (even though that's obviously true), not even yelling at me, teen me would have been off-put by being antagonised and would probably not listen to them. Heck, teen me may have even become more homophobic since this hypothetical irl LGBT supporter was so antagonistic to me, and the idea of being like them would seem off-putting.

EDIT: And I know certain celebrities have recently come under fire for not openly stating their political leanings. And sure, it's probably because they don't wanna get cancelled, or because they have the privilege to be impartial in situations that impact a lot of innocent people, but there's another detail I want to note. At this stage in the game, I wonder if a celebrity coming out as liberal would instantly turn their entire conservative fanbase against them before listening to what they had to say. Sure, it's probably just the celeb covering their ass, but I can't help but think about the silver lining of a conservative viewer hearing their favourite celebrity saying "hey, most people on the other side are chill to talk to, don't be mean to them even if you think they're really annoying" maybe being more impactful if the celeb claimed to be apolitical rather than openly liberal. You can absolutely chew me out for being wrong on this one if you think I am, I'm just speculating.

I don't at all mean to victim-blame anyone here for not being nice enough to bigoted people. Sometimes people are so hateful that no amount of kindness can change them, and you are well within your right to distance yourself from them or fact check them when they spread hate. What I am saying is that nobody likes being lectured. Not on big things like human rights, not on medium things like airplane safety instructions, not even on small things like promotional giveaways sometimes. I think a majority of people who don't support minorities aren't hateful bigots who constantly rant and rave about getting rid of other people. Maybe 10% of them are like that. But the rest of them are just poor isolated folks like teen me was, who just need that one cool person to show, not tell them that kinds of people they've never met can be cool too.

So what does that mean for me? Well, despite the massive amount of rambling I just went on here, I also don't want to be a "lecturer" in the content I make and how I conduct myself in daily life. I know it's difficult, and I've faltered before, and maybe will in the future. But if by some miracle you're a person who dislikes "wokeness" or "things being shoehorned into media" and you've read this far, thanks! I'm not here to tell you you're a bad person, I'm not here to tell you to change, and I'm not going to say any of my content is "not for you". I'm here to make art and comics and animation for everyone to enjoy. If you're feeling down or even just bored, I hope the things I make can make your day even a little better. I'm not a lecturer, and I hope I'm not an enemy - I'm just here to be a friend. I also have some of my biggest animation and comic projects EVER coming soon, and I really hope you like them!

And to people of all demographics, I want to add that if someone ever makes an offensive joke, there's no point yelling at them that it's "offensive" or "bigoted" or "whatever-ist". What's more important is letting that person know that, honestly? That joke ain't it, chief. It's worse than being offensive- it's honestly kind of boring and predictable, dude. Teenage me probably made that joke 10 times over a decade ago, and my classmates probably made that same joke 1000 times. Don't worry though - I've told lame jokes before too, but thankfully I took the L and my jokes now are honestly getting way better!

Stay safe out there, okay? I hope your tomorrow is happier than your today!

[taffywabbit]

im also anti proship but calling rugrats porn drawings "child porn" really dilutes the severity of actual child porn. we shouldnt be confusing actual cp that hurts real children with just weirdos drawing porn of cartoon characters that happen to be kids, the two things are not at all on the same level

ok i suppose this was inevitable, i may as well get into it.

(CW for some discussion of CSA and child pornography, obviously)

first off, "i'm also anti proship but" is a terrifying way to start your message, and to go and follow it up with some extremely common proship copypasta i've heard a million times about "taking attention/resources/severity/etc away from real CSA victims" or whatever kinda makes me wonder how "anti proship" you actually are...?

kind of the point of this whole debate is typically that "proship" folks insist that fiction, or in this case "porn of cartoon characters that happen to be kids" as you put it, has no effect on reality or people's mindsets. and so-called "antis" like myself generally respond to this idea with something along the lines of "well it sure seems to affect the reality of your cock and balls", and point out how repeatedly consuming media with a particular focus or message has been shown time and time again to quantifiably influence the way people view the world around them, in ways that subsequently affect how they act, or desensitize them to things that might otherwise upset/offend them. y'know, like political propaganda! or blockbuster movies about killer sharks! obviously some people are going to be more resilient against that sort of influence when the real-world equivalent of "porn of cartoon characters that happen to be kids" is something so blatantly unacceptable, and nobody is really claiming that the impact of fictional CP is "on the same level" as its IRL counterpart.

but at the very least, most people who would be considered "anti proship" WILL tell you "hey, i'm not trying to say that you jerking it to twitter porn of Gwen Tennyson or Tails or whatever is LITERALLY THE SAME as committing CSA, but it's still really fucking concerning and creepy that the majority of your sexual fixations are all specifically cutesy vulnerable cartoon characters under the age of 12, many of whom also have canonical adult designs that you conveniently avoid in favor of sexualizing the ones that are barely old enough to learn long division. you should maybe do some introspection and figure out why that is and whether or not you're really comfortable with what it implies about you. personally i know I'M not comfortable with that shit and i'm not going to keep hanging around you unless you make some serious changes." except usually in my experience the conversation ends up being a lot shorter and ends in a block pretty quickly. like i'm not a psychologist and i don't keep a bunch of studies on hand to throw at you about how fictional CP is often a factor in grooming, but i DO have a brain and can pretty clearly see when someone is rationalizing behavior that will lead them to places i'm not willing to follow.

ANYWAYS to focus more specifically on the actual reason we're talking about this (which was, to be clear, a mobile ad Tumblr served me that depicted one of the dads from Rugrats having sex with his 3yo daughter): yes, actually, that shit IS illegal to create or distribute. it's not the SAME as literal photographs of real children, OBVIOUSLY, but it's still also extremely fucked up in its own right, and any reasonable person in your life would probably stop talking to you if you told them you got off to it.

don't believe me about the legality part? check this out:

so like, I GUESS you might get some legal leeway with cub furry art or sonic porn or stuff that isn't always obvious in how much it's intended to parallel real children? if you really care? but this ad was literally multiple illustrations of a human adult man having intercourse with a human toddler. it's pornography centered around openly fetishizing the sexual assault of a child by a parent. i fail to see how referring to that in shorthand as "child porn" is inaccurate in any way that matters.

and Tumblr is a US-based company, beholden to the laws shown above, so they are at least somewhat responsible when illustrated pedophilic incest porn gets shown to thousands of their mobile app users in an ad they got paid to display. THAT was the original point i was making in my post. but thank you for trying to derail it to interrogate my "anti proship" views or whatever, i have had multiple people send me fairly nasty asks about it in the past year and you finally caught me in a moment when i was already pissed enough about something else that i felt like going off about this stuff. sorry if you actually agreed with most of this and i came off as overly rude/harsh, but if that's the case then this response is for all the other anon asks and replies i've gotten too, i guess.

now we're all clear about where i stand and i hopefully don't need to talk about this again - it's kind of a fucking bummer to think about this stuff and i've been avoiding the subject intentionally. you are always welcome to just block me if you have a problem

[rageprufrock]

am i going to watch a whole show (mysterious lotus casebook) just so i can read your fic about it? yes. Am I also indefinitely suspended in a state of melancholy yearning for your vaguely-promised addition to Whittled Down by Another War? also yes. May sleep continue to elude you.

You know what? Ask and ye shall receive at least some of it, which I have written so far. Happy reading.

The first guy Porsche ever fools around with is a Korean tourist on vacation who shoots his shot in broken Thai. He's all smooth skin and silver-blond hair, wearing skintight jeans and a billowy pearl shirt; Porsche thinks he looks iridescent in the pink light of Hum Bar, between his light hair and light contacts, and he knows, objectively, that the guy is prettier than half the girls in the room tonight.

Because Porsche is sort of an asshole, he doesn't really catch the guy's name—Taemin? Jimin? something like that?—but he does remember thinking that it might be worth figuring out what the big deal was, and holding up his cigarettes, saying, "My break's in 15 minutes." It's a decision he makes out of pure curiosity without any influence from recent social factors, new acquaintances, members of the Bangkok underworld, or their specific tendencies to walk around with their tits hanging out of their designer shirts.

It's nice, because it's almost never not nice when someone is nice enough to put their mouth on your dick, but Porsche thinks—vague with formless disappointment—that it's only nice. Out of good hookup etiquette, Porsche offers and performs what he hopes is an acceptable handjob before giving his partner some alleyway wet wipes and a cigarette. It's a solid 6/10 experience, and he ends up dropping a few Google Maps pins for the kid for good restaurant recommendations and tells him which tourist traps to avoid if at all possible. It is the most ambivalent he has ever felt about a sexual experience, and it leaves him annoyed in a way Porsche decides not to think about.

"Are you serious?" Tem demands, when Porsche comes back from the alley. "It's not enough for you to Bogart all the hot chicks in his bar, you have to start poaching guys?"

"I'm allowed to try new things," Porsche whines.

Tem narrows his eyes. "Is this about your crush on the mafia guy?"

"This is homophobic," Porsche says, feeling a rising sense of dread, because Tem is one of his best friends, and the worst part of intimacy is being known. "And anyway it was—fine. It was extremely okay. It was no big deal. Turns out I'm still just straight."

"You are a complete fucking clown is what you are," Tem says to him, which turns out to be only the third-meanest thing Tem calls him that night.

The second time Porsche hooks up with a guy, he's actually Thai, which allows for improved communication but provides stunningly little benefit otherwise. King is a solid six inches shorter than Porsche, with glossy black hair and beestung lips, wearing a mesh shirt and cut up shorts. He leans over the bar with a flattering interest and the type of confidence that looks sexy on anybody, hooks one finger into the place where Porsche's shirt button is fighting for its life, and asks if he's interested in going somewhere private after his shift.

Porsche means to say, "Oh, no, thank you, but I'm not interested."

What Porsche actually says is, "Okay. Do you have a place?" and feels Tem's glare searing into his organs from a distance of 10 meters.

The situation isn't improved when, as he's begging off closing, Yok glowers at him like a disapproving parent and asks, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't know," Porsche says, honest. "I mean—what the hell am I ever doing?"

"Oh my God," Yok mutters. "Just—don't get pregnant."

Porsche doesn't get pregnant, but he does get pushed backward onto the creaky mattress of a dingy little apartment so that King can mouth at his dick until he's all the way hard and roll on a condom. Porsche likes to think he's polite in bed, so he tries to like, help, or whatever, but King seems to take Porsche's attempts to participate as adorable but misguided, even if he does say, "sure, if you want to try," when Porsche asks to help finger him open. It's shockingly different and shockingly the same, dipping his fingers into the hot clutch of someone's body, so weird if you think about it too much, but so immediate and close in the moment. The warm weight of another person, the smell of King's hair, the little huffs and noises he makes—those are all so good—and Porsche likes making people feel good, likes when he does something right and King says, "oh, yes, there, there." It takes him out of his own head and plunges him back into the moment, back into a stranger's apartment and a stranger's bed, back to the moment at hand where King is perched in his lap, notching the head of Porsche's cock into the slick, hot furl of his hole and sliding down, down, down.

It's good, in a way that's nothing like it's been with all the women he's fucked against alley walls, and Porsche feels sparks behind the eyes when King holds him down, takes what he needs. It's rough and a little raw, and King leaves a mean little brand of dull fingernail bruises on Porsche's thigh, from where he leaned back to get the angle how he liked and rode Porsche into the sunset.

"Not bad for your first time," King says after, just wandering around scrubbing between his legs with a towel in a way Porsche is certain no woman would be caught dead doing. "You want anything? Water? I have some watermelon?"

"Uh," Porsche says, still wearing a t-shirt, no pants and the used condom, lying on top of King's sheets like a fucking idiot. "No, I'm good?"

"Great, well, it was great hanging out tonight," King says, all business, hands Porsche his jeans and tosses him out on his freshly fucked ass.

"What the fuck," Porsche hisses, to himself, to the unfeeling universe, into the visor of his motorcycle helmet as he steers himself home, feeling knock-kneed and akimbo, run through with so much weirdness it's like he's 13 all over again.

"Well you can stop worrying, I'm definitely straight," Porsche reports the next day, when Tem traps him in the newly installed walk-in fridge and threatens him with a muddler.

Tem looks like he's in physical pain. "Please explain."

"Well I had actual butt sex with a guy—"

"Holy shit," Tem whispers.

"—and it was, I mean. It was whatever? It was good, I guess?" Porsche says, struggling, because it was good and bad and weird and near what he wanted but so far away he'd been angry showering that night, scrubbing under his pits and around his groin. It's like biting into a strawberry to find it tasteless after he's wondered for decades, saved for years, and now he feels embarrassed and pissed about it, still hungry.

"You guess?" Tem asks, sounding increasingly hysterical.

"It was just okay!" Porsche yells. "Like extremely, totally just okay! Like what is even the big deal if that's all it was? It was fine! He was super pretty and I couldn't even get into it so what's the point?"

Tem puts down the muddler but only so he can cover his face with both hands. It leaves Porsche standing there feeling humiliated and getting colder and colder for a long time before Tem says through his fingers, "Porsche, do you want me to tell you what I think?"

Porsche met Tem back in kindergarten, because when all their classmates had been comparing who had the fewest teeth, he and Tem had tied. When Porsche was too scared to go to the boy's bathroom because Jom started a rumor that it was haunted, Tem had kept watch when Porsche had gone to go take a shit in the bushes behind the gym. Tem helps Porsche sweep up his parents' graves, helps Chay with his homework; he knows where the junk drawer in Porsche's house is, where to find the extra toilet paper, the batteries, all of Porsche's hidden hopes.

Porsche absolutely does not want to know what Tem thinks.

"No, I'm good," Porsche babbles, shoulderchecks Tem out of the way, and flees into the front of house before throwing himself at every ravening group of drunk women available for the rest of the night, terrified Tem's going to reveal some truth of the universe Porsche isn't ready to hear yet.



The problem—well, one of the problems—is that Porsche still wants to talk about it. It keeps bubbling up under his skin like an itch, always on the tip of his tongue, but Tem's moved on from trying to give him tough love to giving Porsche tender looks, like Porsche has a terminal case of being a fucking moron and only six months to live. So the point is Porsche has this weird impulse, this jitter, and he can't talk to Tem about it, which means he can't talk to Jom about it, because Jom will just text Tem and Tem will come after Porsche like a surface to air missile. There are no circumstances under which Porsche could talk to Chay about it. Porsche briefly hallucinates talking to Kinn about it, the next time Kinn comes to the bar in his tailored trousers to drink too many Old Fashioneds, and it feels like someone threw a molotov cocktail into Porsche's stomach, so that's right out. Anyway, the point is, for lots of reasons, most of them bad, Porsche's go-to friend for questions about gay sex ends up being Big.

"Hey, we're friends," Porsche says. "Can I ask you about doing it with guys?"

"We're not friends," Big says with absolute conviction and a look on his face like he just watched Porsche murder a basket of kittens.

"So like—how did you know?" Porsche goes on, ignoring him. "That you were into dudes?"

Big stares over Porsche's shoulder, at the wall of liquor behind him, and appears to be suffering the worst possible torment and extremis.

"I'm just asking because like, sex feels good in general right?" Porsche barrels on, because Big can't ignore him forever. Kinn had banished him to the bar so that he could have what looks like the most classic I Hate Being Your Older Brother phone call of all time in a booth four feet away, so there's nowhere Big can go and nothing he can do. "Like how do you know if it's good because you're into dudes, or just friction?"

"You're how old?" Big snaps, breaking. "How can you not know this? Also—how do you know I'm even into men?"

"I have eyes," Porsche says. "I use them to watch you staring at Kinn."

"I'm a bodyguard," Big says. "It's literally my job to stare at Khun Kinn."

"You better hang onto that bodyguard job, because you're a shit actor," Porsche says. "Come on, seriously. I need help. Like gay help."

Big turns away from the wall of liquor so that he can stare at Kinn some more. "I wish I could drink on the job," he says, like Porsche is slowly killing him, and then before Porsche can argue his point anymore, Kinn ends his call and ambles back over.

"That was my cue," Kinn says, indicating his phone and glancing at Big.

"I'll call for the car immediately," Big says, and fucking disappears, dust clouds in his wake, as far away from Porsche and his unanswered question as possible, the dick.

Even worse, it leaves Porsche in the harrowing position of being unsupervised and subjected to all of Kinn's concentrated attention: those dark eyes huge and hungry and thoughtful, staring and staring. It makes Porsche's heart hurt; it makes him shy; it makes him duck his head, nervous, and to scrub at the spotless counter with a rag and ask, "Do you have time for one more? For the road?" too softly, too—everything.

"Not tonight," Kinn tells him. His smile looks a little glassy, too brittle and polished and polite; this isn't the Kinn that Porsche likes best, where he's wrinkled and bitchy and rude, entirely present. "But thank you."

"Of course," Porsche says, feeling hot, feeling lost. "Have a good night."

Kinn leaves Porsche a 500% tip. "You too, Porsche."

It's a lot later, and only into the forgiving dark of his bedroom, that Porsche curls up on his side and stares out his window and whispers, "Be safe." Worse than any secret Tem knows, worse than anything Big could say, that he has to grit his teeth against the words every time Kinn walks away is the worst, most exposing truth of all.

Porsche figures that now that he's ticked those two homosexual boxes, he's done with this weird little experiment. This assumption holds true until he finds himself in the alleyway behind Hum Bar again, only this time his knees hurt, bone grinding against the wet cement paving through his polyester work pants as he stares up at some guy who'd followed Porsche out during his break. Kinn's been a no-show at the bar for more than a month: there hasn't been anything in the newspapers, there hasn't been anything in the society pages, there hasn't been anything on the police scanners. Porsche blames this radio silence for the series of poor decisions he makes that night, beginning with taking two fortifying shots three-quarters of the way through his shift, and concluding with getting facefucked less than 10 meters away from a bunch of trash cans.

Long after tonight's random gay interlude disappears, Tem finds Porsche sitting on a stack of palettes in the back, letting his cigarette burn down to the filter.

"What the fuck," Tem says. "What happened to you? Are you okay? Are you crying?"

Porsche scrubs at his face. "No," he lies, because he'd definitely been crying earlier, choking on dick, and his mouth feels bruised, swollen. He's afraid to see what he looks like right now, if he would look as obvious as he feels: used up, if just anybody could see him and know immediately how much he likes how his throat hurts, the way he keeps sweeping his tongue over his teeth, chasing the bitter salt taste of cum in his mouth.

Tem's face goes through all five stages of grief before he swings back to anger, shoves at Porsche until there's enough room on the palette to sit on his right, and steals his cigarette.

[latenightswaudiobooks]

The Never King

What it’s about: A Dark Retelling of Peter Pan where when the girl descendants of Wendy Darling all disappear on their 18th birthday. They always reappear but all are turned mad on their return. Winnie Darling is determined to not let it happen to her.

Pages or RunTime: 4 Hours 35 Minutes

⭐ Overall Rating: 6/10

🌶️ Spice Rating: 9/10 (First Smut Book I ever read/listened to and I was hooked but also shocked because I did not expect it)

Key Factors: Storybook retelling, dark romance, fantasy, morally grey characters/love interests, Polyamory, Smut, Swinging, Fairy Tale, Suspense, Big Plot Twists, fairies,fairies

Trigger Warning for this one!

‼️ Beyond Here Contains Spoilers ‼️

Favorite Character: The Dark One (I know his name but can't remember how to spell it but don't have the book with me and the internet is no help)

Least Favorite Character: Weirdly enough Winnie there were times I liked her but she also stressed me out so much.

Favorite Part: When TD1 is the one to save Winnie! It was such a big plot twist I was beyond shocked! He had been my favorite character all along the grumpy brooding character that you never thought would become a love interest. Then bam out of nowhere he is who I wanted with Winnie! I love the idea of them all just sharing her but the shadow is possessive and I think it actually stems from TD1 himself.

Least Favorite Part: The only part that actually triggered me and I completely hated because of it was the 🍇 I blocked out most of it. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of Winnie liking it. (I understand and support any and all mutually consensual kinks and sexual experiences.) I couldn't get behind it myself simply because I put myself or at least try to relate to the characters in my books and I couldn't ever see myself getting behind that. So it's just a personal preference.

Favorite Quote: “Most men don’t realize this,” she said once, “but us girls, we have toolboxes too. Ours aren’t stuffed with hammers and wrenches and screwdrivers. We have these.” She gave her boobs a squeeze. “And this.” Then tapped at her temple. “And there’s no greater power than tits and brains, baby girl.”

I will read/listen to more in the series! I listened to the second one, but it was passive listening so I can't recall it all and need to listen to it again. I just have to be in the right head space and mood for it first.

[agent-cupcake]

*read horrorshow the nth time*

do you have any fav horror movies to recommend?

I've probably recommended all of these before but here we go again with the bad takes! Wahoo! OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD

The Exorcist - my most favorite horror movie ever. I don't think a lot of people find the actual spooky ghosty stuff scary (unsettling for sure) but the characters are next level and the production and acting are unmatched. Ellen Burstyn's performance as a mother losing her mind trying, and failing, to save her daughter is haunting. It also lead to me doing my best Greek grandmother impression whenever I say Dimi, so there is that.

Jacob's Ladder - an inspiration for the first Silent Hill, this movie portrays unreality as well as Perfect Blue. It's super disorienting and impactful, I watched it coming out of a project focusing on the Vietnam War and... yeah, it's pretty miserable. Although there is a lot of horrific imagery, t's a genuinely heart-breaking film in some places. The core of horror is trauma, right?

Hereditary - the ending is pretty scary, but the thing that stands out in this movie is how miserable it is. Like with the previous two I wouldn't recommend it on the fear factor, it's more of a character deconstruction through the lens of a horrifying situation. Alex Wolff's character is masterfully written and executed. Obviously I've never dealt with such severe trauma, but his response and mental decline is very relatable.

Midsommar - It's the cult movie. People say it's boring, I disagree, but it's not really scary either. More... uncomfortable. I love that the protagonist is already in such a vulnerable and destructive state. Like she's just not doing well. It's been a huge inspiration in my own writing, and Florence Pugh is lovely. Like with Anya Taylor-Joy, it was interesting to see her get so popular after being a contentiously reviewed horror movie.

Blair Witch Project - who hasn't seen this? It remains at the very top of the found footage genre for a reason, the entire thing is amazing. People say it's lost its luster with the oversaturation, but I disagree, the acting and style of the OG sets it apart.

The Witch - the first thing I ever saw Anya Taylor-Joy in before she was everywhere. Solid movie, it uses all period accurate dialogue. It's not my favorite from a horror standpoint, but the scenario alone is sickening enough to be a selling point. The dad character's actor has a nice voice, don't @ me.

Perfect Blue - there is nothing I could say about Perfect Blue that hasn't been said before, but it is a masterpiece. Watch it. If you like animation, if you like psychological studies, if you like feeling real icky, watch it. Just do it.

Se7en - more of a thriller I suppose, but it definitely works as a horror. It's up there with my faves and is another movie that's been an inspiration in my writing.

It Follows - I mention this because I was listening to the soundtrack, but its a beautifully shot film with a very strong aesthetic vision. It's the "demon STD" movie, which is dumb and imo pushes some really harmful narratives about STD's and I'd say that the far more impactful reading is sexual trauma.

Suspiria (2018) - I'm not one for body horror but there's a scene in this that just... woah. I've never seen the original but I know the new one is very different, and it's amazing. I might be alone in this but it's a shame Dakota Johnson is in such trash movies because I think she's so cute.

The Shining - another classic that must go on this list because it is, unironically, just that good. Shelley Duvall deserved better, that's a fact. That her performance was so fantastic is astounding to me. It's funny that people say that her reaction is unrealistic when that was her genuine reaction to being put in a traumatic situation. Amazing film, she is a star.

I'm definitely missing some movies but such is the way my brain doesn't work. Thank you for your time <3

[bisolationist]

Ooookay I finally found out why I've gotten like 50 fucking messages telling me to kms since new years, and

A) Hey please don't send messages to people on my behalf, especially to wedge it into a completely unrelated argument, and double especially not to support some guy saying "misandry" is just as bad as misogyny. I think it should be pretty clear from my years around here that I do not believe or support that. If there's anything that makes me fucking angry it's my experiences with a female rapist being used as a gotcha against feminists. I'm not a fucking MRA or anti-feminist puppet and my experiences are not yours to use for your weird agendas. Also all sending weird messages about me does is encourage more deranged people to come out of the woodwork and harass me. I don't care if people talk shit about me that's their problem. At most maybe you can let ME know and see if I wanna say anything, but honestly even that gets tiresome because there's blooms where I'm apparently radblr's #1 Worst Man That Ever Lived for things I didn't even say.

B) That said, I have absolutely no idea why that person talking shit about me suddenly made it about pregnancy. *I* was the one from my very first reply to say that it's important to acknowledge physiological differences between men and women, and that things like pregnancy are HUGE factors in how traumatic an assault can be. So IDK why people are putting in words in my mouth about supposedly saying the opposite of what I've actually said? The discussion was about how OP was categorizing rape in a binary of "truly horrific, degrading, and traumatic" vs "bad but not Bad Bad, certainly NOT horrific and it's fucked up that people think it's horrific" and people jumped on to agree and add things like "rape is something that doesn't ruin a boy's life" or "I think most like it actually we need to acknowledge this <3" and increasingly vile shit like that. That goes way beyond acknowledging physiology and misogyny and steps directly into mocking rape victims and minimizing the impact of sexual assault. If me saying "actually all rape is horrific, degrading, and traumatic" and this makes you fucking livid, that's more about why YOU think raping certain people is "not that bad".

C) Super cool how people in comments in her shit are making excuses about how I'm a "Brain dead moid" and all the shit radfems have been saying to me isn't real harassment or is justified lol. I want any of these people talking shit about me to explain to me off anon why comments like this or this are so based. And that's not even the worst of it by far, there's people openly saying I'm probably the rapist, that they wish my rapist had killed me, that I'm an antifeminist for speaking about my experiences at all, and all sorts of shit. There were weeks where I had to mass delete my inbox every morning because it's just full of people telling me how I'm morally repugnant for not agreeing my rape was No Big Deal (TM). Also, all of this is frankly humiliating. You think I want to talk or think about this all the fucking time? That I want my friends on here to start thinking about me as that guy that was raped? I absolutely hate this more than I can possibly explain for that reason a lone. I also know that I'm one of the few people in a position to speak up about this and I don't think I have to let it slide as no big deal either, but it SUCKS for me.

D) On the whole I agree on a lot of radical feminist's view and am eager to stand up for them and women in general in the capacity that I can, but I'm not a fucking radfem puppet either, sorry. I don't have to pretend it isn't obvious most of the harassment is coming from radfems, and that there isn't a completely deranged rf faction that are ardent rape apologists (both against boys/men but also against girls/women - I spend 85% of my time in GC spaces speaking out against people calling bi women pornographic language when discussing them!). I don't think they're rape apologists *because* they're radfems, but rather rape apologism is something ingrained into just about every culture and people often twist ideologies to make their biases sound moral and upright. Every single ideology has this problem. Still doesn't excuse the fact that the rape apologists within radblr are coddled and defended even by people that claim not to agree with them because people view this as a sports match or something.

[sentientgopro]

I've already thought about how labels are tools, and are still useful even if it doesn't 100% fit, but now I'm questioning the inverse. Do you continue using a label if it only feels like it fits on a technicality?

Gonna tread lightly with this one, as its the first time I'm writing with focus on questioning my asexuality, and will get close to things more personal than I'd like to talk about ESPECIALLY still being a year and a half away from being 18. So there's more thoughts I have on this than I'm going to put out onto the internet. Plus, alot of these posts I'm making are just me guessing how I feel about what my future could be like post transition, there's no real way of actually knowing how I will feel, I've been crawling in the dark. Anyway, on with what I'm actually trying to say.

I've already talked about Aromanticism in a different post, and how I can happily see myself in a relationship post transition, and I find it hard to tell what romantic attraction is, but it is very possible that I do/ will feel it. Knowing this, I concluded that no matter my thoughts on it, the label fits for now, I'll keep using it, even if I doubt how strictly true it is.

And the same goes for asexuality, but I hadn't really questioned it until now. So, if I picture myself in the future, as a woman, am I asexual?

Well yeah. I don't feel sexual attraction, thats very unlikely to change, I'm asexual by definition. But I do have desires. If I had a romantic partner as a girl, I would want to do things with them. So the proper terminology would be Sex favourable Ace, alloromantic? But at a certain point, if I feel romantic attraction, and want to have sex with someone Im in a romantic relationship with, why bother with the Ace label? It feels more like being Ace on a technicality.

Why does this idea bother me so much? I am what I am, that's all there is to it, I shouldn't be getting attatched to a preference like this when any preference is okay. why am I so attatched to asexuality as a part of my identity?

Another aspect most people would consider is bottom dysphoria, which I very much have, but for reasons I understand that I'm not sharing, I dont think bottom dysphoria is a factor in this.

Well, going back to the first point, Don't fight the name if the name fits. For the time being, Aroace absolutely fits me, and I will only truly know if """Samantha""" (subject to change) is Aro or ace when I get to know who I am behind that door.

[helloitshaley]

Listen Up!!!!!!

I realize my platform is more like a 2x4 but I'm going to stand on that 2x4 and make myself heard!

YOU HAVE TO VOTE FOR THE DEMOCRATIC NOMINEE you cannot sit this one out, you cannot vote 3rd party. You may as well go vote for Cheeto Blasted Hitler if you're going to do that! Any vote not specifically for Harris may as well be a vote for that goon.

I understand Palestine being a major factor in this situation, but I really cannot take anyone seriously if they say that is why they will not vote for Harris when the alternative is so much fucking worse. WE CANNOT HELP PALESTINE WITHOUT HELPING OURSELVES FIRST. Trump actually said 'Israel should just finish the job.' Harris has called for a ceasefire and is currently refusing to attend the speech the Israeli leader is doing before congress. WHICH ONE DO YOU THINK WILL ACTUALLY HELP PALESTINE???????? Which one do you think has more empathy????? Or empathy at all for that matter.

Trump has stated numerous times that he wants to be a dictator. Project 2025 wants to plunge us into a nightmare world of Christian dominance. When in history has a country like that ever helped or given aid to another country? Never. We cannot help Palestine if we have no rights ourselves.

"but Kamala is a cop" literally stfu. There is a lot wrong with the prison system in America, but we shouldn't turn our back on Harris for being an attorney simply because there is a lot that needs to be worked out in that system. Her main goal was putting sexual offenders behind bars. She is against assault weapons. I don't know about you guys, but I firmly believe rapists belong in prison. Donald Trump is a rapist who belongs in prison.

DONALD TRUMP WAS ON EPSTEIN'S LOGS COUNTLESS TIMES.

Do you honestly think that guy is the better solution here? For real.

Harris isn't perfect. You cannot be perfect and be a politician, that just does not exist. But here is the thing, if you vote for Harris this election, you can vote for someone else in four years! You will not get that luxury with the kid diddler.

THIS IS NOT THE ELECTION TO TRY TO PROVE TO EVERYONE THAT YOU'RE MORALLY SUPERIOR FOR VOTING THIRD PARTY.

Do that in four years when our country literally isn't on the line.