#my Thoughts posts keep getting way longer than originally intended...

[finalgirlminamurray]

religious horror is kind of having a moment, isn't it? last year we had a new exorcist film (it was not very good but we had it) with religion as an explicit theme, as well as another "based on a true story" exorcism movie with the pope's exorcist (i did not see this one). this year alone we've had two "novitiate nun births the antichrist" movies with the first omen and immaculate (i liked them both), as well as longlegs having a demonology-based twist (my feelings on this would be a separate post). there was a rosemary's baby prequel i'm not sure anyone saw. we had late night with the devil (which i really liked). even maxxxine had the satanic panic and religious hysteria as a central theme (it could have been done better). and now heretic.

i'm generally pretty over most religious horror as a subgenre, because a lot of it boils down to "demons and satan are 100% real and the catholic church is right", which is not a theme i'm too into for clear reasons. i am not religious myself in the slightest - i guess i'm more agnostic than anything because my belief is that if we literally have no way of knowing something like what happens to our consciousness after we die or if there is intelligent life outside of our planet, i can't have any strongly held beliefs about it. not being raised with any religion probably helps because i was never taught there was any one true interpretation.

to be clear i am grateful for this. i would never look down on anyone for being religious or being raised religious or even choosing to raise their own children in their religion. i understand why it is important to so many people and that it is often strongly tied to cultural identity. regardless of your own beliefs it's not generally good or progressive to be anti-religion.

but living in this us sure does give you some associations with christianity in particular. my family is basically culturally christian in that we celebrate christmas and easter in very secularized ways - we put up a tree and got presents on christmas, we painted eggs and got candy baskets on easter, we get together with the extended family on both holidays - but we never went to church or learned about the bible. i don't think i knew anything about what christians actually believed until i was like, eight. fortunately i never had any classmates who told me i was going to hell or otherwise harassed me for not being christian so i don't have any negative associations formed then, it's just that learning about how some people grew up later in life led me to think "yikes! glad that wasn't me."

so seeing all the myriad horror films out there where the main threat is The Devil is kind of a weird experience. i often feel like because i never grew up believing that hell and the devil were real and a threat to us in our daily lives that there's something in these films i'm not getting. the mere mention of the devil does not automatically evoke a reaction in me of "oh shit! bad news! we have to stop this!" this isn't a case of "i don't believe in ghosts so i can't take any movie seriously where ghosts are real" - i'm a skeptic on a lot of things but i'm able to suspend my disbelief for fiction. it's just that religious horror where christian demons are real is like...maybe it's the implied assumption that the audience shares the creators' cultural christianity and knows exactly what the deal is? maybe it's the possibility that the creator really does believe this stuff is real and wants us to agree? (maybe this is why i don't love the exorcist as much as so many other horror fans do. if a horror film or novel is "based on a true story" i'm already suspicious but if it's about demons specifically i do not trust it one bit.) maybe it's just the knowledge of real-life cases where this belief has harmed people - the satanic panic, any case of abuse by religious fundamentalists, the belief that a child behaving "badly" means they're possessed and/or a literal demon you have to hurt or outright kill to banish it... (the omen was scary to me for probably the wrong reasons.) i don't think all stories like this are bad but they have to work harder for me to appreciate them, is the thing.

so all that aside i really did like heretic. it's religious horror in the way the wicker man is religious horror - it's About religion instead of positing that one religion is true. it's about protagonists you probably wouldn't be inclined to sympathize with if you're like me, although the fact that they're vulnerable young women being sent out by a powerful institution into a situation where they're guaranteed to encounter hostility intended to further convince them that the outside world is against them and the church is the only safe place - that does a lot to get me on their side even if the concept of missionary work is fundamentally evil. (though again, it's a little less sinister to be asking around in your community and probably leaving people alone if they're not interested, instead of going to countries in the global south to offer "help" that's contingent on them converting to your faith.) i noticed right away in the trailers that the protagonists were almost certainly mormons but the trailer was trying to hide this for some reason, cutting off when they said "the church of jesus christ--" before they said "--of latter-day saints." don't know if this was to avoid protests by the mormon church or what but the movie itself makes it clear what they're affiliated with right off the bat so it doesn't even matter. i was interested anyway.

the film isn't about whether the main characters' beliefs are right or justified, or about proving them wrong. you could say it's about a man looking for an excuse to torment a couple of naive and vulnerable young women who turned up on his doorstep without question. you could say it's about asking the audience to sympathize with people in a religious cult who fervently believe its teachings. you could say it's about a crisis of faith. you could say it's about exactly what churches like this want their young followers to think will happen if they engage with a non-believer, taken to an extreme. you could say it's just an exploitation movie that asks some broad philosophical questions so it looks like it has themes, but i'd give it more credit than that.

i've seen some good posts on my dash analyzing it so i might reblog those later. i think i made the right choice in seeing this in the theater over smile 2.

[falseficus]

I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended

if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on

obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)

the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:

firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”

in the harpercollins version, the line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”

this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized

the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:

in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”

in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”

maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”

both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Why did they change Fellow’s and Gidel’s name for EN but not Rollo’s? So weird you’d think they’d at least be consistent and change all the names or none at all.

[Referencing this post!]

hchfxbjsbajCgwhq Deep breaths, everyone 😅 Deeeeeeep breaths…

I know a lot of us might be displeased with the name changes (moreso with Fellow’s than with Gidel’s) but let’s remember that, at the end of the day, they’re just names. They’re not erasing the original names, they’re not changing the context of the event story, and no one will force you to use the new names if you don’t want to. Your feelings are valid, but please be mindful about how you express them (because unfortunately I fear it can very easily veer into insulting or talking down to the localization/the localization team or fans who don’t mind/actually like the name changes 💦 It is partly for this reason that I did not include the other asks I received on this topic, as they could be needlessly inflammatory).

That being said, here are my thoughts on the matter: initially, I didn’t like the names. My automatic thought was that they sound like a corny 4Kids dub where they changed the Obviously Japanese Name (ex: Ichigo) to something Very Western (ex: Zoey). However, I’ll also be the first to admit that I also initially found the Japanese names odd because who names their kid FELLOW?? It’s like naming someone Person. I’m used to it now, but it definitely took me weeks and weeks to consider “Fellow Honest” a full name.

I’ve seen some people say that Fellow and Gidel’s names are meant to be silly sounding (and so the localized names are actually fitting), but I don’t agree with that sentiment. To my knowledge, no one in-universe ever laughs at their names or says they’re out of place. If the names were intended to be perceived as silly, there would be remarks indicating this. For example, “Tsunotaro”/“Hornton” IS silly because characters make explicit mention of how strange the nickname is. This is not true of Fellow and Gidel, so I don’t believe their names are supposed to be unserious.

I’ve also seen a lot of people poking fun at “Ernesto Foulworth” because “it sounds like such an obvious name for a scammer”. And yeah, maybe that’s true depending on who’s looking at it. I get where people are coming from. Buuut to play devil’s advocate, “Fellow Honest” invokes similar vibes. Both names have that element of honesty/earnest, but “Fellow” is more of a “John Doe” or generic name whereas “FOULworth” sounds bad since we associate the word foul with negativity. Essentially, both names are shady in their own ways but “Ernesto Foulworth” gets more flack because foul triggers an automatic negative association whereas fellow is more neutral.

So then I sat with the localized names for a little longer and the changes started to make a little more sense. To me, both sound very Italian, which fits given that Pinocchio has Italian origins. Additionally, “Ernesto” looks and sounds like “earnest”, which refers to being truthful. His surname, “Foulworth”, may be a reference to Honest John’s full name? Worthington Foulfellow. (I have no insights for Gino, unfortunately… other than making him “match” Fellow’s name better since they’re a pair?)

In all honesty (heh) though, I still don’t really like the new names even considering that context. I’ll probably keep calling them by their Japanese ones. I’ll never be a fan of any name changes because it means I have to go back and edit the tags on ALL my related posts, lol

Side note: shoutout to all the folks saying the names sound Ace Attorney-esque, how you think of Ernesto de la Cruz from Coco, and/or joking about how the EN names are Fellow and Gidel’s fake identities/aliases while they’re on the run from the cops 😭 I laughed too hard reading those comments cbwhebjzbwiwhwlek

Now, I’m not sure why the names were changed considering that names prior have largely been unchanged (Cheka, Marja, Najma, Rollo, etc.), save for maybe some spelling changes (Meleanor -> Maleanor, Baul -> Baur, Farena -> Falena, Leven -> Raverne, etc.). The only huge exception to this is Kifaji, who became Neji in EN. Here’s some theories and speculation going around in the fandom about Fellow and Gidel’s changes:

Copyright issues???? For example, you can’t really trademark “Fellow” and “Honest”, but you could maybe trademark “Ernesto Foulworth”. (This doesn’t explain Gino’s name or why they couldn’t trademark “Fellow Honest”.)

Another interpretation of copyright issues theory is that there’s weird legal stuff happening between Aniplex and Disney (international), which forced the name changes. (I think this one assumes a lot of tight regulations and hinges on how litigious big corpos and especially Disney are when it comes to “protecting” their brand and properties.)

Some have suggested that “Fellow Honest” is noun-adjective word order, which is uncommon in English. In “Ernesto Foulworth”, the first name looks and sounds like the adjective “earnest”, meaning the adjective(s) come first, which is more common in English. (This theory is a little incomplete though; there is no noun in the localized name to complete the thought. Additionally, Japanese also usually goes with the adjective-noun rule, so “Fellow Honest” would be an unusual name for JP too. And again, no explanation for Gino.)

… ITALIAn REP BABY 🇮🇹

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Eight)

Summary: His dove had hugged him. It had been more wonderful than he’d ever imagined. Her warmth and softness and sweet scent had surrounded him, finally chasing away the ever-present chill that lived deep in his bones. While he had been in her arms, he was at peace. No longer an undead monster, or even a tormented, damaged soldier, he’d simply been a man, seeking comfort and absolution in the light of an angel. Word Count: 2968 Warnings: still no smut, vaguely mentioned past abuse, animal death (a zombie's gotta eat), Johnny is STILL haunting the narrative Notes: We have new dividers for this fic! All were made by @/sweetmelodygraphics (original post here). The zombie divider indicates the text below is Ghost's POV, the dove divider inidcates Lelia's POV. The combined dove and zombie divider represents a time skip but not a POV change. I still have no beta for this fic so all SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! AO3, Masterlist

Ghost didn’t stay in the study long, ever worried about getting too hungry and doing something unforgivable, but he was in a daze as he left the house and headed for the woods. Lelia had hugged him.

His dove had hugged him.

It had been more wonderful than he’d ever imagined. Her warmth and softness and sweet scent had surrounded him, finally chasing away the ever-present chill that lived deep in his bones. While he had been in her arms, he was at peace. No longer an undead monster, or even a tormented, damaged soldier, he’d simply been a man, seeking comfort and absolution in the light of an angel.

Pulling away had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, in this life and the last, he was sure. Even if he couldn't really remember. The only way it could have possibly been harder was if he didn't intend to go back.

But he would. He would always return to his dove, his angel, his salvation.

His Lelia.

Hunting took longer than usual, on account of Ghost being distracted by the memory of Lelia's arms wrapped around him. Nonetheless, he still made sure to put his prey out of its misery quickly before eating it, for her sake. He didn't have to. He could lie to her without much effort, just nod his head if she asked him again—it was unlikely she'd be able to tell, and she certainly wasn't here to see if he’d done otherwise. But her sensitivity was infectious, it seemed, because he actually felt a bit bad when he feasted on a tawny owl not yet fully grown. Not bad enough to stop him, though. He would still choose to eat a fluffy baby creature over Lelia any day.

He carefully plucked a couple of its prettiest feathers after killing it, tucking them into his pocket before beginning to tear the bird apart to eat it. He figured his dove would like them. She enjoyed soft, beautiful things, he'd learned. It made sense, since she was one herself.

Manually stimulating his jaw in order to chew was always slow going, but tonight, it was especially annoying. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d rather be wrapped in Lelia’s arms right then. He even thought about ending his meal before he was finished, like a picky toddler, but he knew that was just asking for trouble. So he forced himself to keep going until the owl’s fragile little bones were picked clean. He had a moment of unpleasantness when he thought about how his dove was just as frail, and he picked up the pace on his way back to her, knowing he'd been gone for longer than usual.

When he got back to the house, he quietly approached her door, able to hear from downstairs that her heartbeat was slow with sleep. He was disappointed, since she usually waited up for him so she could help clean him, but he knew that was on him for getting distracted. So he just settled into his usual spot outside her door, and whiled away the small hours thinking of her.

“Yer whipped, mate,” Johnny’s voice in his head said. It didn’t sound teasing like usual, though. Just sad. Once again, Ghost wondered exactly who Johnny was—and why he was the only person he remembered even a little bit. “Ye always did fall hard. Good luck tae the li’l lass in gettin’ rid o’ ye now.”

Never, Simon thought back, fists clenching just at the idea. Not even death can take me from the ones I love. I’ll always find my way back to them.

When Lelia woke, she realized two things. First: it was morning.

And second: Simon hadn’t come back last night.

She sat straight up, a gasp falling from her lips as she looked around wildly. She never went to bed before Simon came back—but she had been so exhausted yesterday, and he was taking far longer than usual. She must have fallen asleep without realizing.

“Simon!” She yelled, panicked. She jumped out of bed and stumbled over to the door, throwing it open. “Simon!”

There her zombie stood, looking concerned and bloodier than usual. Uncaring of the mess, Lelia launched herself at him with a sob of relief, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. She could tell that she’d shocked him, as he hesitated for a few seconds before hugging her back and holding her close, the same way she had held him yesterday.

“Oh my days,” she breathed, face pressed against his tactical vest as she studiously ignored the smell of death that clung to him, including the rusty metallic scent of blood from his last kill. “Don’t do that! I thought something had happened to you…”

Simon gurgled what she thought was supposed to be a soothing noise, and she pulled back enough to glare up at him, pointing a finger in his face.

“I’m serious, Mister! Don’t do that again. Just wake me up if you get back late—I'd rather lose a little sleep than wake in a panic like I did just now.”

Simon’s eyes were crinkled a little at the corners, and she could tell her attempt at being stern was amusing to him. She huffed, crossing her arms over chest and glaring.

“Toilet, now. We need to get you cleaned up. Oh, this is going to be so difficult now that the stains have had time to set in! This is why you should’ve woken me right away…”

Ghost followed after his dove a few paces behind as she continued to scold him like an overprotective mum. It was precious. She was precious. She was everything. God she made him soft.

When she’d woken up screaming his name, he'd startled from the almost meditative state he tended to fall into during long periods of inactivity. They used to last weeks, sometimes, but since meeting Lelia, they only ever lasted a few hours at most. Time passed differently, during them. So his first thought upon hearing her yell out for him, terror in her voice, was that he’d somehow gone dormant for far longer than he’d meant to.

Then she was there, and she was clinging onto him like a stubborn koala bear. He'd been so shocked he hadn’t known what to do for a moment, going still as a statue. But then her warmth had reached him, and he’d tugged her closer, savoring the feeling of her in his arms. She’d fit perfectly, like they were made for her.

He could’ve stayed like that forever, but letting her clean him was nice too—it meant he got to feel her hands on his ruin of a face. That she was willing to touch it at all, even with the mask hiding part of it, would never cease to amaze him.

He sat down on the toilet lid as his dove began to carefully wipe his face with a wet rag, holding his broken jaw with such gentleness he couldn’t stop the low, contented growl from escaping him. She just smiled, cupping his cheek in her hand for a brief moment before resuming her task.

He let his eyes fall shut as she brushed his teeth, and if he could fall asleep, he would have right then and there.

All too soon, she was finished, having done her best to work the stains out of his gear, grumbling good naturedly the whole while. He didn’t dare laugh, no matter how funny he found it.

With newly clean hands, he fished the feathers out of his pocket. One had broken, and he grunted in dismay, tossing it in the bin next to the toilet. The other was still in perfect condition, though, and he waited until his dove was finished brushing her own teeth before presenting it to her. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, suddenly sure she would find it stupid.

“Ooh, pretty! Is that a feather?”

He risked a glance up, grunting affirmatively and then holding his hand out a little further, close to her. She blinked, and then her eyes got big and round, her lips parting in shock.

“For me?” She whispered, voice tiny and shaking a little bit. Ghost grunted again, the feather fluttering as his own hand trembled slightly. Tears filled his dove’s eyes, and he let out a small gurgle of alarm, worried he’d fucked up—was she upset at the reminder he’d killed an animal? Shite, of bloody course she was, what had he been thinking?—but then she accepted the feather, holding it reverently as she examined it every which way.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, a wide smile spreading across her face. She brushed the soft edge of the feather over the inside of her wrist, giggling at the sensation. “Simon… thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

Simon stared at her, at her bright grin and the way she’d been moved to tears by such a simple gesture. It wasn’t a fancy piece of jewelry or new shoes, things she had undoubtedly been used to receiving as gifts, back before. It wasn't even something useful, like food or water. It was a damn feather. And yet she treated it like something precious. She thanked him like he’d just given her a diamond ring. Acted like it, too. And for a second, he could’ve sworn he felt his heart start beating again.

They managed to figure out how to read the map together—it involved a lot of frustrated pointing on Ghost’s part and reading things aloud on Lelia’s—and then they were off. They hadn’t been able to find a working car in all their searching, but they couldn't delay any longer. With a few days of hard walking, though, they should make it to the tiny, isolated village around 120 kilometers away. He only hoped that his dove would be up for the trip—and that they’d beat the first snow of the season.

The longer it took for them to find what they needed, the more he had begun to seriously reconsider staying in the town for the winter, or even going back to the cabin with the wood burning stove—but both locations were simply too close to the military base Lelia had escaped from. No matter the heat the cabin would offer, or the potential to find supplies that the town did, he couldn’t justify the risks.

So, with him toting the wagon along behind them, and his dove bundled up in several layers they'd accumulated over the last couple of weeks, they set out on their journey.

As always, it didn’t take long for her to fill the silence.

“How many people do you think are still alive?” She asked him before they'd even reached the woods again. “In Britain, I mean. We haven’t run into anyone in almost a month, and there were only a few hundred survivors on the base I came from. They started turning people away not long after we got there. The soldiers said there wasn’t enough supplies to go around.”

Ghost knew that she didn’t actually expect him to answer most of her questions. He couldn’t, not unless they were yes or no. But he always listened attentively, responding with a groan or a gesture to show that he was. She smiled at him every time he did, and he knew she appreciated it.

Right now, he growled at what she was saying, pissed. With everything he learned about the base she’d been on and the soldiers that ran it, the more he hated them. He knew he’d been far from a saint when he was alive, that he’d done some truly terrible things, even if he couldn’t remember all the details. But the cruelties his dove hinted at—never going into detail, always carefully vague—made his cold, stagnant blood boil.

“I know,” Lelia said quietly, sadly. “It was awful… but they were proud of it, of leaving people out here to die. They used to brag about it while they—”

She abruptly cut off, sucking in a sharp breath. Ghost looked at her worriedly. She’d stopped walking, going scarily still, and there was a distant look on her face—the same one she’d gotten the day they’d found the leather jacket.

He reached out with the hand not holding onto the wagon handle—his fingers were still stiff and clumsy, but with practice, he’d gotten better at gripping things—and brushed it against the back of her own. She jumped, looking startled and afraid—but then settled when she saw him, taking his hand in her own for a moment and squeezing gratefully before letting go.

“Anyway, I imagine there's not many people left,” she continued, beginning to walk again. Ghost followed her after a moment, wishing then more than ever that he could speak. “It makes me wonder if I’ll ever see any again.”

She looked back at him, giving him a sheepish, slightly apologetic smile.

“Living people, I mean,” she clarified unnecessarily. Ghost wasn’t really a person anymore, was he? Even he still felt like one, now that she’d come into his life-after-death and replaced all the greys with vibrant colors. “I… I don’t think I’m disappointed about that, though. Never seeing anyone else again. Is that bad?”

Ghost was caught off guard by her words. Surely, she would prefer to be with people like her. Warm blooded, living people. People who didn't constantly smell of death. Why wouldn't she?

Because they hurt her, and I don’t, Simon thought.

Ghost shook his head, a delayed response to her question. It was horrid, that people had hurt her so bad she felt safer with a fucking zombie. It made him want to kill someone.

It also made him relieved.

She didn't want to leave him. She wanted to stay with him, would choose him over other humans. The weight of his worry abruptly lifted off his shoulders. The only person who he would let take his little dove from him didn't want to.

She smiled at him, and Simon stared unabashedly. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold, eyes bright and happy. Beautiful. She smiled wider, but her brows furrowed as she gave him a quizzical look.

“What?” She asked, adjusting her knit hat, patting the pom-pom on top with mitten-covered hands. “Don’t tell me I’ve got a cone head again? I swear, that’s why I hate these hats, fashion disasters, the lot of them…”

As much as his dove complained about his terrible taste in fashion, she always wore what he told her to, knowing he had a much better idea of what would keep her alive. Sometimes, he thought that she started complaining more when she realized it amused him. The little side eye she shot him to see if he was still watching her confirmed it, and a rumbling chuckle escaped him, deep and genuine.

They both froze.

“Did you— did you just laugh?” His dove asked, awed. Ghost, just as shocked, couldn’t bring himself to answer.

It wasn't that he never laughed—in fact, he was pretty sure he’d laughed more in these last weeks with his dove than he had in his entire life. But they were huffs or harsh exhales, maybe a groan if something she did or said was particularly funny, a gurgle if he wasn’t expecting it. The sound he’d just made wasn’t any of those. It was an honest to God chuckle, and somehow, he just knew it was the exact way he’d laughed before. Before he’d been bit. Before he’d died. And before he’d come back wrong.

“Always did love tha’ laugh, LT,” Johnny’s voice in his head said fondly. “Feckin’ hard as Hell tae get it outta ye, though. Props tae the li’l lass fer managin’.”

(Ghost knew he should probably worry about the voice in his head that wasn’t his own—but so far, it hadn't impeded his ability to keep his dove safe, so he didn’t.

Besides. He liked this Johnny fellow, whoever he was.)

“Simon,” Lelia spoke again, sounding both disbelieving and excited. She bounced towards him, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. He let go of the wagon immediately to hug her back. “You laughed! You actually laughed! Oh my Days!

“What does this mean?” Lelia continued, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Do you think— do you think you’d be able to speak? If your jaw weren’t…”

She gestured at his broken face, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. He shrugged at her question, the movement stiff. He had no idea what it meant—and what did it matter, really? His jaw was fucked, so even if his vocal chords were somehow healing, he still couldn’t talk. He still couldn’t give her everything she deserved. Couldn't give her everything he wanted to, not in this decayed body that didn't even have lips to kiss her with. And he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to love on her in every possible way. How could he not, when she’d freed him from his cursed, lonely existence?

But she would never want him back, not in a million years. Not in this life, and not in the last. But maybe… Maybe he’d be luckier in the next one. Maybe he’d be a better man. Maybe she would want him, and maybe he’d deserve her.

Ghost still didn't know if he believed in all that. But it was nice to hope.

And in the meantime, he’d keep her safe in this life. He’d play the role of protector, friend, anything and everything she wanted from him. And he’d consider himself the luckiest undead bastard in the world, just because he got to be around her. Got to see her smile and make her laugh. That was enough.

It would have to be.

[nomsfaultau]

Make origins smp fic now🫵

Welp I found this in my notes and expanded it. Think I sent chunks of it to sharada once? Idk.

Techno, having nowhere else to go, tries to sneak into a hybrid community. He knows he'll get kicked out at best if they know he's human. So, he disguises himself as a hybrid that's rare and not super known about and prays it lasts long enough that he can get into a better position and escape before they figure out (or at least with minimal damage). Say a...bunny? Sure, sure, that sounds safe and not dangerous, so he can probably pass off his lack of abilities super easy. Where are his ears and tail? Uhhhh. Humans cut 'em off, yeah, don't worry about it stop asking questions. (Why are they asking questions? Can’t they mind their business?  Are they suspicious of him? What’s with that horror on their faces?)

Small problem: he intended to keep his head down the whole time, but actually a lot of them are super friendly and curious (and worried, what the hell? He must be so traumatized) about the new comer. Techno is a little startled, because getting attached to the residents hadn't crossed his mind even once. And while logically he knows it's a really bad idea...Techno is starved for connection with people. Uh. I mean, he can probably use their trust to get stuff from them. Yeah. That sounds good. The closer he gets to them the more complicated and convoluted the lie becomes, because suddenly he cares less about avoiding notice and more about them liking him.

So he scrapes by trying to explain away all his lack of abilities, slowly realizing that leaving is going to be a lot harder than he thought, and is cursing some of his earlier, not thought through lies, such as only being able to eat carrots or having to hide his human ears or constantly re-dye his hair. But it works. It works, he has a home in a way he’s never had before. He has people who like him, who care, and ask about how he’s doing. And maybe somewhere in there when creating lies about his Tragic Hybrid backstory, the truth bleeds in. And maybe the only way Techno can be emotional vulnerable is if he filters it through the lens of a lie in his head. Tells himself he’s just saying stuff to survive. Accepting help because to resist would blow his cover. It’s just for the lie, just for a little while. He planned to bounce the moment he got back on his feet, but thanks to the hybrid community his standard for doing okay isn’t barely swaying on his feet anymore. And as Techno really learns what being okay looks like, that goal post moves further and further back. Excuses, maybe, so he can stay a little longer. But it works, so what does it matter?

Or it does, until one day, when Philza slams down an old tome he found. Because he was worried about his friend, and wanted to know more about his species' needs to help him have an easier time in the community. Only to find out there was no possible way for Techno to be mistaken for a bunny born. Techno scrambles for a lie, desperate to keep his friends, but can't think of one, falling silent as Philza lays out all the lies, all the impossibilities. 

“So what are you?” Philza hisses, like he doesn’t already know. His dark wings flare out, imposing for all the times Techno tucked into them to avoid the rain or cold. And all Techno can look at is the old scars carved into him from the monsters after an elytrian trophy 

“….I’m your friend, Phil,” he offers weakly. 

“You’re a human.” 

Maybe it should surprise him, the depths of seething hatred and betrayal in his once friend’s eyes. But at heart, Techno’s a pessimist. More than that, he’s a prepper. And he’s done this a dozen times, ingrained instinct. So the sword is already in Techno’s hand before he’s thinking of it, lunging across the table and forcing Philza back. Pressing relentlessly, driving him back until suddenly slamming a hidden button and causing a weighted net to ensnare the elytrian. It dug into old scars. Don’t think about it. 

Even as Philza’s eyes dilate and he shrinks back, cornered in his own memories of hunters, Techno immediately flips and echoes his own. But his house has never been so full before, belongings scattered. Relaxed he never should have gotten so relaxed. Why had he ever let himself grow out of what he could grab from a stache and run? Because now he was panicking about what he’d leave behind. The cloak of feathers Phil gave him to keep warm in the heights of the Pube. His friends. The strange glass contraption Niki made so he could breathe under water, and all the memories he spent with his breath still hitched in awe at her underwater buildings. His friends. A pen of chickens Tommy had rounded up, each with the most ridiculous name he could come up since he’d only accept the ones that made Techno laugh until he was wheezing. His friends. His friends. His friends. 

“You’re a human spy, aren’t you? Infiltrating our community to tear it down from the inside,” Philza accuses. And that’s what grinds his preparations to a halt, even when each second is critical. Because what can he do? Deny it? Why would Philza believe him now? Ever again?

Techno doesn’t have time to cry. And that wouldn’t have been a thought he had before, because as many times as Techno’s been sent running from the ruins of an ephemeral refuge, it’s never hurt this much. Before the hybrids he wouldn’t have even allowed himself that grief, but with his emotional walls slowly and lovingly lowered it suddenly hits just how much he hates never having a home for long. Never having a community. And maybe, just maybe, Techno had thought the hybrids would understand. They’re shoved out of society and reviled. Isn’t he just like them? 

But he doesn’t have time to cry. None of it matters. Once again, all Techno has on his back is a bag of essentials. He has no need for cloaks and diving helmets and pets where he’s going. (Where is he going? Where is there left? This was his last chance.)

Panicking, Techno bolts, and suddenly all of his friends are hunting him down. No where is safe, not the air or water or nether. All of them are desperate to capture him, some furious for his deception, others terrified he's going to destroy their community.

And Techno...wasn't he already planning to ditch this place from day one? It's fine, right, this was part of the plan. For months he'd been fighting the impulse to show them his real self, and now he knows that instinct is correct. They didn't like Techno, only the guy he pretended to be. So why does it still hurt so much to leave? They despise him, don't they? And don't they have every right to?

[crispyanonartnsfw]

sorry, still no new art, work has me tired af and I can't keep posting rushed sketches that I'm gonna end up hating (I'm SSSO tempted to delete some stuff lmao) but I have lots of wips and I'll be patient with myself and concentrate on those !! anyway-

Today I'm here to blabber about one thing that I've basically already storyboarded but Idk if it will ever see the light of day: a Sambastian coming of age(?) comic. I'm just going to put this idea into the world..

Mind you, it's really nothing crazy, but it's long enough to require a lot of commitment - that would mean not drawing anything else for a while, and idk if I'm able to do that while having the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to drawing only one thing at a time.

I could post page by page as I finish them, but my original (maybe too ambitious) idea was to make a Sambastian-centric fanzine to publish all at once, with the various chapters interspersed by some miscellaneous content. I looove the idea of creating an old-style printable zine, I'm just a big nerd for these things and I like printed paper. Realistically thought, the single-page posts are more accessible.

Technically it's an AU because it diverges slightly from the canon SDV universe, mostly in the timeline of the various families moving to Pelican Town. Also it adds to the relationships that all characters have with each other, to what school/uni they attended and stuff like that - which aren't as in-depth within the game.

The story per se is very simple: it follows Sebastian and Sam going from teenagers to adults, their struggles, the ups and downs in their friendship and eventually their romantic relationship. Basically it's the lead-up to Older!Sambastian. It also features other SDV characters such as Alex and Abigail (I would love to have them all if I ever expand on it). It's obviously SFW until they are adults, even if their experiences get mentioned and questioned...just know there is some Seb/Alex and Sam/Penny action lol. It's also quite different from what I've done up until now because this story it's angsty, like, very much so. TW worthy. Uncharted territory fr.

By the way I know I said it's long but it's not actually THAT long for now (15 pages?). The story is made up of snippets from different moments, like little windows in their life (for example there are a couple of scenes set in their first year of high school, but the following one it's set in their third year - some jumps are longer than others). At the same time this type of narration allows me to go back and add missing moments very easily if I ever actually finish this comic and wish to further expand on it.

I don't even know if anyone would be interested in this - except for me and like three darling mutuals who tolerate my ideas - but it would be such a cool thing to dooo ughh 😩😩😩 anyone who volunteers to be my benefactor so I can focus on fictional characters like god intended?? Maybe on a beach with a Campari?? I don't ask of much tbh

[dreaming-marchling]

2024 Fic Round Up

Tagged by @princessfbi (thank you! so thrilled to have discovered your work this year!)

2024 Word Count: 661,417

JANUARY

FEBRUARY

Safe In Certainty Started in 2023, Completed in Feb 2024 | Fast & Furious | Marked in Trust Series | 223,657k

Part four finished! Still stunned to be here story after story with the most amazing commenters I could have ever asked for. Not bad for a story I had never intended to share!

MARCH

Marked in Faith 10 chapters posted in 2024 | Fast & Furious | Marked in Trust Series | Roughly 60k posted in 2024

I'm putting this in for March because this is the month I began posting one story a month until Reckless in Devotion started. Some of those babies are longer than my oneshots, lol. Forever love exploring other POVs in the Marked in Trust world!

APRIL

MAY

The Ex 911 | Bucktommy | 17.5k

My first 911 story! My first Bucktommy story! Buck as a character totally captured me this year. I haven't been taken by a new fandom in so long so this was so exciting! Of course I beat the crap out of Buck right in my first fic for him :)

JUNE

Eyes On Me 911 | Bucktommy | 18k

Post lightning strike cataracts, I had so much fun with this one. I constantly think about extending it or maybe doing a Buddie version of it, I just loved the storyline so much and other scenes popped into my head after I posted

Doctor/Warlock Confidentiality Shadowhunters | Magnus-Centric | 17k

My first Shadowhunters of the year! Magnus Bane gets therapy against his wishes. I felt very clever for the title, lol

Heart & Universe 911 | Buddie | 6.8k

My first Buddie story! Why be stuck in a ship war when you can have BOTH?? I love writing them realizing they're in love :)

JULY

The King of the Dark Storm Shadowhunters | Malec & Chairman Meow | 5.8k

I've had this stray headcanon about Chairman being an old god trapped as a cat floating around in my head for fun for so long and finally I wrote it!

Not Sexy 911 | Bucktommy | 7k

Listen, I need more fics about Buck using sex in unhealthy ways. It's catnip for me. Tommy got a glimpse behind that particularly miserable door in this one

Invasion 911 | Buddie | 10k

Nakedperil!Buck and protective!Eddie - a match made in heaven, in my opinion

AUGUST

SEPTEMBER

Over the Cliff 911 | Gen 118 Fam | 6k

This was originally supposed to be how Buck got injured in Not Sexy but I was having way too much fun with the cliff rescue which wasn't even the point of Not Sexy so I chopped them in half to make a gen 118 family/Buck whump story and gave a much more to the point explanation for Buck's injuries in Not Sexy

Away From Us 911 | Buddie | 76k

My first 911 multichapter story! A presumed dead lawsuit era story full of angst. I fully anticipate more lawsuit era angst in my future, lol

OCTOBER

Art Class and Earthquakes 911 | HenRen/Gen Buck & Karen | 5.5k

Karen Wilson is awesome and needs more stories

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

Reckless in Devotion Fast & Furious | Brian/Dom | 33k posted in 2024

The 5th installment in Marked in Trust series!! This took me so much longer than I thought it would but it's finally up and running and I am so excited for everyone to see what's to come :)

To Be Bonded Shadowhunters | Malec & Parabatai | 30k posted in 2024

I still literally cannot believe that this is finally being shared. I started this story in 2019 - I know I keep saying that but like this thing took me 5 years. It is my nemesis, finally vanquished. And people are enjoying it??? What? I've been cursing its name and people are now enjoying it. Wild. Wonderful

2024 has been kind of a crappy year for me irl but in fic it as been wonderful. A new fandom, so many words shared and, best of all, such amazing support and kindness from readers. You're all so wonderful and you have truly been one of the brightest pieces of my year. I cannot thank you all enough.

Tagging: You know the drill, if you saw this and thought "I wanna do that" then you're tagged. Literally @ me so I can read yours, that's how tagged you are.

[charlottesbookclub]

time after time – chapter six (part one) (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: Hux's plans go utterly awry, but the result is far better than he could have hoped

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; time loop; brief description of a medical appointment; description of feeling faint; descriptions of food preparation, food, and eating; body image issues; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 6947

Author’s Note: hell yeah chapter six let's fucking gooooooo!!!! despite the already relatively higher word count on this section, there actually is a part two to this as well that will go up as its own post tomorrow, even though it still takes place in the same scene as this one. it was just getting long and I felt like I needed to cut it somewhere lol 😅 anyway, this is the chapter that took this story in a new direction than what I had originally intended. I was initially planning to do much more with the time loop, but it was while writing this section that the characters were telling me that the story needed to go somewhere else, so I listened! ☺️ I really hope you enjoy! 🥰

Hux blinked his eyes open to the cursed ceiling of the med bay. More quickly than ever before, Hux was up and off the cot, speeding away from medical without so much as a thought to the words of the medics. Maybe he should have listened though, he thought as he realized that his rapid movements hadn’t allowed him to fully recover from his faint. The floor beneath him seemed a little shaky. But as long as he kept moving and fixed his eyes on the hallway ahead of him, he could remain steady. He had to do this now – if he dared to wait even a moment longer than necessary, his resolve would crumble. He called Mitaka over coms.

“I need you to move up my meeting with the captain,” he explained.

“Yes, sir. To when?” Mitaka dutifully responded.

“Now.”

“Now? But what about—”

“Now,” Hux reaffirmed, cutting off Mitaka’s objection, “whatever you need to do to make that happen, you have my authority to do so.” He clicked off the call before Mitaka could voice another protestation. Hux had never been more aware of his own limits than in this moment. He had to keep moving and remain set in his intentions, that was the only way he would be able to do what needed to be done. 

When he swept into the dining hall, he saw that you were already there, lingering awkwardly near the back, standing by the table where he would have met you later. This was better. Then he didn’t have to wait. He strode up to you, only stopping when he was a respectable distance away. The words he had rehearsed in his mind were about to spill from his opened lips when everything went wrong. 

The sudden cessation of movement had brought back the full effects of his faintness that he had tried to resist. Without warning, black encroached on the edges of his vision and he lurched forward, his stomach twisting as he did. He only barely caught himself on the edge of the table. But so had you. Kriff. So had you.

One of your hands was clasped over his shoulder, halfway between catching him as he fell and guiding him into a seat. Hux’s full attention turned to the image of your hand gripping at the gaberwool of his greatcoat, fractions of an inch from the skin beneath. The feeling of it burned with a glowing warmth that made Hux feel equal parts sick and giddy. He needed you to let go immediately but he never wanted you to stop touching him. He heaved a few ragged breaths in a futile attempt to get his words out.

“Captain, I—” 

“General, please,” you entreated him, voice quiet but insistent. Hux despised the thought of it, knew it was what his father and all his father’s fellow officers had thought of him, but in that moment, he knew it was true: he was so weak. He barely even tried to stop himself from looking at your face. Your features were pulled into a look of genuine concern, eyes wide with worry. Whatever words he had been trying to say fell from his mind. “You aren’t well. You need to sit down.”

“Not here,” was all he was able to force out in a hoarse whisper. “I—I can stand.” He pushed himself upward to prove the point, but you were right: he still didn’t feel well. You tentatively released your grip on his shoulder. Equal waves of relief and devastation crashed through him. Your worried eyes flicked over him, assessing his condition for a moment before you spoke again:

“My quarters aren’t far – would it be better to go there?” 

Hux could only muster a nod of agreement. He barely registered what that would mean. His focus was divided between not wanting to collapse in front of the other officers and wanting you to reach out and touch him again. In service of both of these ends, he let you guide him out of the dining hall. 

There was less traffic in the hallways at this time in the cycle – both a blessing and a curse since it allowed him to divert most of his attention to the way you walked next to him. Your hands fluttered slightly at first, ghosting over him but not quite touching, as though you weren’t sure if you were allowed. You were so much more than allowed. Hux was practically aching for your hand on his arm, but he had no words to give voice to the feeling. He spent most of the short walk at war with himself. The stronger part of his resolve demanded that he stand as upright as his present condition would permit while you simply walked beside him. But the weaker part urged him to give into the feeling of faintness that still lingered in his body like a fog. If he collapsed just a little, maybe you would catch him. Kriff, maybe you would even let him lean against you – just slightly – as you closed the distance to your quarters. Your quarters. Kriff kriff kriff that’s where he was headed? How could he have let this happen? 

Before he could even begin to contemplate making a move to turn and leave, you had reached the door and were entering your credentials. Eyes still wide with concern, you invited him inside with another fluttering motion of your hands, once again seeming as though you wanted to reach out and touch him, but thinking better of it. Kriff, how he wished you would. The little entrance area was bathed in darkness, but you hurried into the main space and raised the lights to a faint glow. No doubt you left them dim so as not to shock him with the brightness in his weakened state. The thought of you wanting him to care for him made his chest feel like it was full of static. Or maybe that was just the lingering effects of the faint. He really needed to sit down. 

As though thinking the very same thing, you returned to usher him toward your standard-issue black couch. Again, your hands were just inches from him, and he began to fear he had unknowingly activated a deflector shield around himself. Why wouldn’t you touch him? The logical answer was obvious of course: you barely knew him, and he was General Hux, after all. But the ache in his body for your hands against him was not interested in listening to logic. Mercifully, he made it to the couch. 

He collapsed onto it, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. He needed to think, but he couldn’t quite get his mind to cooperate. The room smelled nice… clean but not sterile, and maybe faintly floral? Herbal? It had been so long since he had been planetside long enough to be able to identify scents that were rare on First Order ships. It seemed to suit you though. He could imagine that’s what you would smell like, if he ever got close enough to pick it up on your hair, your skin. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him, but he was certain it had very little to do with his faintness. A small, pitiful noise just escaped his lips, even though he tried his best to repress it. He hoped you hadn’t heard.

“General?” Of course you had. Your voice was soft and laced with worry, but also very close. Hux made the mistake of removing his hands from his face, only to see you crouching in front of him. Your widened eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, not even attempting to hide the concern for him that was written all over your face. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be sick or start crying. Perhaps he would do both at the same time. Not a single thought remained to him as he watched you study him, each glance soft enough to be a caress. He thought he might black out. Then you spoke again:

“I think you should lay down,” the words were quiet, but had an undertone of authority that told Hux he wasn’t going to win this battle. Not that he could refuse you anything anyway.

“But I’ll get my boots on your—” was the only pathetic excuse he was able to force through his lips. You just shook your head and shushed him.

“I don’t care about that.” You watched him as he awkwardly began to adjust himself into a reclining position on the couch. When you seemed satisfied that he would do as you asked, you stood and vanished somewhere behind Hux’s head. Stretched out on your couch, surrounded by the scent of you, your soft voice still playing in his head, Hux’s weakened faculties did not even put up the slightest resistance to a fantasy in which this was his life. He wouldn’t go back to his quarters alone, he would stay there, basking in the warmth of you. Lying there, trying to steady his breathing, he mused that he could happily wake up to this every day. 

His reveries were interrupted when you reentered the main space. Hux kept his eyes closed even as every part of him was straining to see you again. He had already given in far too much to his foolish desires – he needed to try and keep his composure. Even though he couldn’t see you, he could imagine your movements as you stood in front of the couch, eyes full of concern, one hand rubbing nervously along the uniform sleeve of your other arm as you shifted your weight on the floor, debating what to do.

“General?” you asked so quietly that he almost wouldn’t have heard if every part of him hadn’t been straining toward you, desperate for your presence. He hummed in response, hoping you would forgive him for his lack of communication with the assumption that he was still recovering from his near-faint. 

“Have you eaten this cycle?” Had he eaten? He had to think back. With the confused state of his thoughts and the blasted repetitions of cycles, he truly couldn’t remember. He shook his head in the negative. Still refusing to give into the urge to look at you, he instead imagined your little nod of confirmation at his nonverbal statement. You left again then, vanishing once again somewhere behind his head. Hux slowly exhaled the air out of his lungs. He expected you to be back in a moment and offer him a nutrition bar, but you didn’t return. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

As he adjusted to the low lighting, he scanned the room, consumed with curiosity. What struck him first were the pops of color set off against the dark interior of the standard officer’s quarters. A decorative rug woven in bright reds and yellows shot through with blue designs covered the floor next to the couch. A low, regulation-issued table sat on top of it, but its matte black surface was dotted with an artful arrangement of objects, including little animal figures painted with colorful floral designs and a cluster of unused candles. On the wall directly opposite the couch were a few small hangings affixed to the wall, but he couldn’t make out what was depicted on them. On a far shelf stood more small objects whose shape he could not quite determine. Where had you gotten all these things? 

The difference between his austere quarters and the inviting nature of yours was stark. He had always thought that collecting purposeless things was frivolous, but here in your rooms they felt… right. In fact, the idea of you living in a space as ascetic as his saddened him. Feeling his senses begin to return to him as he took stock of the room, he propped himself up, trying to get a better view of some of the objects. That was when he noticed intermittent noises from the direction where you had disappeared. And another scent – but not the welcoming smell that had pervaded your quarters since he entered. This was something almost… appetizing. He suddenly realized that he was hungry. Wait – no – kriff! Were you cooking for him? After all you had already done for him, he couldn’t allow you to waste more of your time, energy, and resources on him like this. Kriff he should have just said he had already eaten. 

He was trying to maneuver himself off the couch without letting his boots touch the black fabric when you suddenly reappeared, catching him awkwardly half-sprawled over it. He couldn’t help but instantly turn his gaze to you, since he had denied himself last time. The look of surprise on your face faded into one of relief.

“General, are you feeling better?” He could just manage a nod of affirmation, transfixed by the sight of you as you hesitantly stepped closer. “Here, let me help you.”

As before, your hands stuttered for a moment as you approached him, but then you seemed to push past whatever reservations you had, and your warm grasp found his forearm and upper arm as you helped guide him back into a sitting position. Each point of contact felt like a sunbeam – or at least the memory of a sunbeam, it had been so long since he had felt one. But no, this was even better than that: warm, comforting, steady, glowing. Maybe sitting up again had been a mistake. He lost consciousness of any other sensation except the feeling of you touching him. Each place where your hands met his arm seemed to radiate warmth until Hux’s whole body felt alight with the golden glow of it. He couldn’t dare to look at you. If he did, he might melt entirely and never recover. Instead, he watched your hands gently release the fabric of his greatcoat and slowly pull away, almost as though you missed the contact as much as he did. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe. The heady warmth of your touch faded slightly, but he could still feel the two contact points under the fabric of his uniform, the bright sensation of you lingering on his skin. He forced himself to breathe.

“Do you, um…” your faltering words brought his attention back to you, standing in front of him again, hands clasped behind your back as though at attention, but he could tell you were fidgeting, entwining and unentwining your fingers, pulling at the cuffs of your uniform. He allowed himself to imagine that you also missed the warmth of your hands against him. You seemed to collect yourself then and remember your question: “do you drink tea?”

“Yes,” Hux cleared his throat slightly, “tarine tea usually.” You hummed a little, thinking to yourself.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any tarine, General.” Your face puckered into a slight frown. “It’s um… it’s too bitter for me.” You accented the last statement with just a breath of a laugh and little lopsided smile. If not for his hands planted firmly on either side of him, Hux no doubt would have ended up horizontal again, his mind buzzing with dizziness at your unguarded expression. “But I’ll see what I have that’s similar.” With that, you began to exit again.

“Captain, wait,” his words pulled you back into the room, a question written on your face. “You don’t need to make something for me – it’s not necessary.”

“Oh, no need to worry about that, General. It’s just something quick – actually I think it’s almost done. It would do you good to have something in your system.” With another small smile that left Hux breathless, you departed. But before he could even collect his thoughts, you were back, balancing two steaming plates of food. Depositing them on the table in front of the couch, you returned for the tea. 

Hux investigated the food. How long had it been since he had eaten something other than nutrition bars? He couldn’t even remember. The dish was some sort of a thick, orangish sauce dotted with vegetables and spread over a bed of cooked grains. The warm, spiced scent of it alone was enough to make his mouth water. You returned with two mugs of tea and set one carefully in front of him before circling around to the opposite side. He expected you to pull up a chair, but instead you settled yourself on the floor. On another officer, such a move would have seemed ungainly, improper. But somehow it felt natural for you as you folded yourself up next to the short table.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Hux whispered, not even sure his words were loud enough for you to hear. He was certain that his cheeks were a humiliating shade of pink. Maybe you wouldn’t notice in the low light. You shrugged lightly.

“On the contrary – it was the least I could do.” You flashed him another smile that knocked the air from his lungs. Then you reached down to take a bite of the dish, and he followed your lead, discarding his gloves on the table before picking up his fork. Compared to the dry density of a nutrition bar, the foreign textures of the food were almost overwhelming. The sauce melted into the cooked grains and the vegetables offered a slight but satisfying resistance as he bit into him. Then the flavor hit him. It was creamy and inviting with a swirl of spices that warmed the back of his throat. It was like nothing that he had ever tasted – not that he had tasted much in his life with the First Order. Only after he swallowed that first bite did he suddenly become aware that you were watching him closely, already wincing a little.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have eat it – it’s certainly not to everyone’s taste and if you’re used to nutrition bars or—or if you would prefer one, I have those too and I would be happy to—” 

Hux silenced your rush of apologetic words with a wave of his hand, his fork still held in his fingers, and a shake of his head.

“No, please – it’s delicious. Thank you.” He tried to put all the weight of his genuine gratitude behind those words, hoping you would hear it. You ducked your head as though you were suddenly embarrassed, but he could see a smile playing around the corners of your lips. He was desperate to have you look up at him. He wanted to see you smile even more than he wanted another taste of the meal. “Where did you…” he fumbled for the question he wanted to ask, “how did you…” when his words failed him, he simply indicated to the food, hoping you would understand.

“Oh!” You seemed to intuit what he was asking. “It was something I ate in the field a lot on one of my assignments. It was a popular dish there. You could buy preparation packs for it pretty easily, so I uh… I just stocked up before I was transferred here. It doesn’t take much to reconstitute them – I promise I’m no great chef.” You smiled widely at him then, his faltering questions rewarded a hundredfold with the gleaming light of you. He wanted to bask in it forever.

“And the, um… décor,” Hux gestured lamely to the beautiful collection of objects that filled the room. He wanted to keep you talking, to soak in every ounce of you. “Are those from the field too?”

“What? Oh, my things?” you swiveled your head to indicate the diverse assortment of pieces that livened the room with their color. Your smile turned sheepish then, and you looked down, reaching out to run your fingers over one of the little animal figures in the center of the table. “Yes, they’re from my various assignments. A lot of them were gifts. But I— well, I try to collect something from everywhere I go. To remember.” You met his eyes then, and he returned his fork to the bowl and his hand to his lap so that you wouldn’t see that it was shaking. Your grin was almost mischievous then, a kind of sweet mirth lighting up your eyes. “I’m just glad officers don’t have room inspection like we did at the academy. I’m not sure I’m fully in cooperation with regulations. Unless, of course, you were going to report me?”

Were you… teasing him? His thoughts faltered for a moment at the hidden laughter gleaming just behind your eyes. But maybe also the slightest hint of fear. You had no reason to believe he wouldn’t report you, but you trusted him somehow? His chest felt so light he feared he might need to hold onto the table to keep from floating away.

“No, of course not – never.” Good humor and laughter were not something that came easily to Hux, so he was certain the smile he attempted to return was stilted, but you didn’t seem to care. You just shot him one last gleaming glance before returning to your food. He took this as a queue to do the same. 

In between bites of the meal, he sipped on the tea. It was different than his usual fare, minty and smooth with just the slightest hint of something sweetly acidic, perhaps citrus. He couldn’t believe that things could taste like this. He was certain whatever food they served in the dining hall wasn’t this good. But then maybe anything he ate with you would be delicious. 

When you were both done, you stood to collect the dishes. After all you had already done for him, Hux couldn’t abide the thought of you doing anything else.

“Please, let me help,” he insisted, rising slowly from the couch. He tried to make sure his movements were slow, not wanting to bring on another faint. You apprised him for a moment, seemingly also assessing his steadiness, before nodding and allowing him to take the dishes from your hands. The slight brush of your fingers against the bare skin of his hand was enough to send shockwaves through his body, and he had to turn quickly to hide the blush that was blooming on his face. Luckily, Hux was familiar with the standardized layout of the officer’s quarters, so he had no problem finding the small food storage and preparation area. He deposited the dishes in the automatic receptacle that would ferry them to the central kitchens to be sanitized and put back into service.

In those small moments alone though, Hux’s mind harshly reminded him of his purpose in meeting you today. The thought of needing to let you go after this punched a hole in his chest so forcefully that he needed to lean against the wall temporarily. He stood at the precipice again, ragged and desperate with the enormity of his want. How could he do this to you? To himself? But you had smiled at him, touched him, even. Maybe you could be happy with him, want him, lov— no. No no no no no. He had to stop – he needed to stop. 

You stepped into the tiny kitchen then, as though wondering what had kept him. Finding him leaning against the wall, heaving labored breaths, your brows instantly furrowed with worry again.

“General?” you voice was all softness. Hux swallowed thickly but couldn’t respond. Uttering any words in that moment might have been enough to break him. He tried to step back from the precipice in his mind, gathering every last reserve of strength to wave you away. To tell you he needed to leave. 

But then you caught his hand in yours and he was plummeting. Momentarily losing his ability to breathe, all he was able to do was look at you. He found you looking back, eyes concerned and gentle. Your hand was so warm in his. You offered him a small smile. Maybe the freefall wasn’t so terrifying after all. Not if you were there to catch him in the end.

“Are you okay?” The words were so quiet, so suffused with care that Hux nearly ached with it. He could barely manage a small nod as he struggled to breathe again, but that was enough to reassure you. “I think you should go sit down.” Hux just nodded again, letting you lead him back to the main room. His eyes were locked on where your hand clasped his, staring in disbelief. He couldn’t possibly imagine what he could have ever done that would cause the universe to grant him this small mercy. You didn’t let go of his hand.

Back on your couch, his breaths came out shakily, eyes focusing and unfocusing as they traced the complex patterns on your carpet. He felt the weight of you, the warmth of you, next to him. He could feel you breathing. He braced himself for the moment when you pulled your hand from his, but it never came. You sat quietly beside him, your fingers curled against his own. Finally, he spoke, though his words came out rubbed raw:

“Captain, I apologize. I fear I have made an utter fool of myself.” He couldn’t look at you.

“That’s not true,” you responded, accenting your words with a squeeze of his hand. Hux’s breath stuttered in his lungs. A long moment passed before you spoke again: “Can I tell you something? A secret?”

“Of course,” his voice came out thinly the first time, so he cleared his throat and repeated the sentiment: “of course.” He turned to glance at you, but this time your gaze was fixed in front of you, seemingly viewing something visible to you alone.

“I cried on my first day here. On the bridge no less.” You huffed out a small, self-depreciating chuckle. Hux felt sick. He could imagine the scene so clearly. He squeezed your hand slightly in an echo of your earlier gesture, the only pathetic attempt at comfort he was able to offer. You flicked a small, grateful glance toward him before returning your focus to some spot in the center of the room. It was more thanks than he deserved. “Captain Earls—?” you fumbled for the name.

“Ernstead,” Hux filled in through gritted teeth. Maybe he and Opan would need to have a conversation about possible assassinations after all.

“Oh yes – Captain Ernstead said something. Well actually he sort of set me up I think. It doesn’t matter – I’m sure he didn’t mean to.” ‘I’m sure he did,’ Hux thought furiously, but did not interrupt. “But anyway I ended up crying in front of everyone. Just a little. But still. I knew it wasn’t proper, that I should have kept myself more in control. But I—well, I was just so…” You heaved out a shaky sigh. “Anyway, I guess my point is that if anyone has made a fool of themselves on this ship, it’s me.” You let out a hollow, watery laugh. Hux looked over to find tears trickling down your cheeks. You seemed to notice at the same time.

“Oh and now I’m doing it again.” The sad little laugh was still in your voice as you slipped your hand from his as though on an instant instinct to clear your face of any sign of tears. As you scrubbed at your cheeks with the backs of your sleeves, Hux’s fingers tingled, burned with the desire to reach out and run his thumb along the tender skin under your eye, gently wiping the sadness from your face. Instead, he froze in place, petrified by the very thought of it. He had known you for days, but you had just met him earlier that cycle when he practically fainted into your arms. He had spent the time that followed that unfortunate incident being utterly useless and completely unprofessional as you showed him more kindness than he could hope to earn in a hundred lifetimes. There was no way you would want him to touch you. 

“I don’t think that’s foolish,” he whispered. It was not what he would have said six cycles ago, and it wasn’t even really wanted to say then either. There were a thousand other things he could have said that would have been better, that could have conveyed the depth of what he was feeling. But Hux was cut out for grand, pre-written speeches, not… this. He was an utter failure at whatever this was, but kriff he wanted to be good at it. The hand that was still humming faintly with the remembrance of your skin against it clenched into a tight fist, nails biting into his palm – a punishment for his failings.

“You’d be the first then,” you looked at him with a small, melancholy smile on your face, eyes still glittering with unshed tears. “Everyone else, they— well��� hmmm. I’m no good at this.” Another tiny laugh trickled from your lips. How could you say that? Hux thought you were wonderful. He was making the enormous effort to put that thought into words when you continued: “I mean, you ate my non-standard food and at least pretended to like it, and you saw all my weird stuff and didn’t report me. And you didn’t act like I was totally crazy or laugh at me even one time or—or leave. So, thank you.”

Hux’s mind went completely blank. You were thanking him? You were thanking him? As that one inconceivable thought repeated itself in his mind, he was suddenly seized with panic. How was he supposed to respond? He needed to respond. He could thank you back, but now that would seem hollow. How could he make it seem genuine? Think, think! How could he work out complex engineering designs in his head but not be able to utter a single coherent thought to you? What a kriffing idiot! If he sat here one second longer just looking at you with a blank face you would be convinced that this was all some sort of joke and that he hated you or that he really was laughing at you and then you would never speak to him again and maybe you would even cry and it would all be his fault—

The water that still lingered in your eyes had coalesced into a single shining tear that slipped from the corner of your eye without you seeming to realize it. Against all the better judgement in him, Hux gave into the stinging urge in his fingers and reached up toward you. Bracing his fingers lightly against the side of your face, he dragged the pad of his thumb across the top of your cheek and caught the tear, whisking it away. Your skin was so soft he was almost afraid he would melt it, and it was burning him, each one of his fingers set alight at just the faintest touch of you. He was sure he would pass out again, and half wished that he would. He had not thought this through – he had no plan for what came after. 

As he finally removed his hand, your head tilted and leaned toward it just slightly, as though you missed the contact. Hux felt like he was drunk, a warm sensation bubbling up into his chest and spreading throughout his body. Your eyes met his then, and he was terrified that he would see disgust or displeasure twisting your features, but instead you looked… happy? Was that possible? Had he made you happy? The desperately hopeful thought only intoxicated him further. You laughed quietly, fingers brushing lightly over the spot that Hux’s hand had just vacated. The sound was so sweet that Hux was certain that no music in the galaxy could compare.

“I guess I missed that one,” you commented lightly, gracing Hux with a beaming smile. Kriff, you were incandescent. He could have stared at you forever. 

He had to think of something to say. He couldn’t just gaze at you wordlessly – you’d think he was deranged. Kriff, he was awful at this.

“For the record, I did like it – the food that is,” he finally said. It sounded pathetic as it was leaving his mouth, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say despite the millions of things he might have said. You tilted your head slightly, the charming gesture asking a wordless question. You didn’t know what he was talking about. He was so utterly inept it was almost laughable. “You said before that I at least pretended to like the food – I, well… I wasn’t pretending – I really did like it.”

“Oh! I’m very glad to hear that!” Your smile was undimmable. “Actually, it’s probably time for me to prep my late cycle meal. You unfolded yourself from the couch and extended a hand to him. “Would you like to help?”

Your hand hung empty in the air for only a moment before Hux grasped it like a lifeline. Sparks sizzled across his skin as he let his fingers slide along your palm. Exerting just the slightest force, you pulled him from the couch. 

“Oh – let me…” Agonizingly, he had to break contact to shrug the greatcoat from his shoulders.

“Of course – I’ll just be in here.” You tossed him a bright smile as you disappeared behind the partition wall that marked off the kitchen. He let the heavy fabric slip from his arms, leaving him in just his uniform. A prick of queasiness roiled to life in his stomach as he draped the greatcoat over the arm of the couch. His father had always called him thin, scrawny. In his adolescence, he could barely fill out even the smallest uniforms. He had gained in height since then, but not… elsewhere. Would you notice? Would you care? Would you think he didn’t look…good? The thought made his nausea intensify. He swallowed, trying to swallow his fears as well. He couldn’t leave you alone when he had agreed to help. He combed his fingers through his hair, trying to reestablish as much order as he could amongst his disheveled locks. Then he straightened his posture – one thing he could be proud of – and entered the food preparation area. 

You turned around when he entered and offered him another one of your sunny smiles. Either you didn’t notice his appearance or you didn’t care. He breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

“I had planned to just do something quick,” you told him as you collected ingredients, “but seeing as I have company…” you gestured to him, your smile seeming to intensify as you did so, “I thought I’d maybe do something special.”

“Oh, please – not on account of me,” he insisted, feeling a blush begin to heat his cheeks. You’d make something special – for him?

“I fear it’s not that special,” you offered an apologetic laugh, “I’m a bit limited in what I can achieve here. And um… my skills are not – well, let’s just say I’m passable, shall we?”

Hux thought you were lightyears beyond passable, and he was about to say as much when it suddenly hit him just how small the cooking area was. It was really just a sectioned-off bit of the main space, with one partition wall hosting a tiny counter and a single heating plate and the other offering a short shelving unit and a temperature-controllable food containment pod. Most officers either opted for the fare in the dining hall or subsisted off nutrition bars. Hux’s ‘kitchen’ – if it could even hold that designation – had long ago been given over to other purposes. He only used the shelves to stack his supply of nutrition bars and packets of tarine tea. Standing just at the edge of yours, he realized how close you were to him as you pulled items from the shelves. Hux felt his heart rate increase slightly.

“How can I help?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray any of the trepidation he felt. He abhorred the idea of you doing all this work alone, but he was far too aware of his own non-existent skills to think that he would be a help rather than a hindrance.

“Do you chop?” You offered him a knife and a strange, warty vegetable.

“Certainly.” Hux certainly did not chop. He knew his way around a knife, but not this kind. The vegetable felt strange in his hand, knobby and stiff. He was just about to inquire how you had gotten produce when you seemed to anticipate his question.

“These keep for months if you don’t cut them,” you explained as he eyed the vegetable suspiciously. You were about to turn back to your tasks when you seemed to realize something. “You don’t chop, do you?” Despite the nature of the question, there was no accusation in your tone, only a kind understanding. Why were you so considerate of him even when he was being completely useless? Hux’s cheeks burned, and he knew you could see the pink flush on his pale skin. His mouth was dry, so he just shook his head.

“To be honest,” he had to clear his throat a little, “I only eat nutrition bars. The meal from earlier today was the first time I’ve eaten real food in… well, I’m not sure how long. I can’t remember.” He chanced a glance at you, and your radiant smile had dimmed to a small frown laced with what Hux thought might be sadness.

“I’m so sorry,” you said then, seemingly truly unhappy to hear about Hux’s dietary habits. He couldn’t bear for you to be sad on his account.

“No, don’t be – it’s my choice.” Your face pricked with worry at his words.

“Oh, I don’t need to make this – I’m so sorry, you know you didn’t need to eat what I gave you before – I have nutrition bars too, I—I can go get one for you now.” You moved to replace the things you had been preparing. Could he say even one thing right? What a kriffing idiot – now he had made you ashamed for doing the nicest thing anyone had ever thought to do for him.

“No, please – that’s not what I meant.” You stilled your movements as he spoke. “I choose to eat them because I never have time for anything else. And I don’t really… enjoy… the experience of the officer’s dining hall.” A private almost-smile tugged at the edges of your lips.

“I can understand that.” You looked at him, the ghost of some lingering hurt floating just beneath your expression. He tightened the grip on the vegetable in his hand, a pain slicing through his chest. “The dining hall is not the most enjoyable of places.” You didn’t have to say anything further for Hux to know that what he had witnessed while observing you in the dining hall were not isolated incidents. Then you seemed to shake off the memory and your expression reignited into its usual brightness. “I can take those from you!”

Hux handed over the vegetable and the knife with another flash of embarrassment at his own incompetence. It was a feeling that he normally tried to avoid at all costs, but somehow you made it easier to carry. He watched with interest as you cut the knobby shape into neat cubes, trying to commit your movements to memory. Next time, he wanted to be able to actually help. Next time. Panic surged through his body. What if this was all erased for you next cycle? He would wake up in the med bay as he had so many times now and you would never have met him. A fist clenched around his heart and squeezed until he was almost gasping for air. But maybe that would be better, he reasoned with himself. Next time he would know what to do, what to say – he would have practiced. He would be better at everything. He hated the idea that you wouldn’t remember, but took comfort in the knowledge that he would have a chance to do things right. Next time, he would be perfect.

When he came back to the present, the vegetable cubes were sizzling in a pan before you transferred them to another dish. Into the pan you added a few liquids from the containment pod and generous dashes from various seasoning containers and pre-made preparation packets. Seemingly satisfied, you returned the cubes to the pan and swirled them in with the pale green sauce. You had pulled a package of grains from the shelving unit when Hux stepped forward. Finally he could be of use.

“I can do that,” he offered, eliciting a look of surprise from you that melted into a smile. “I do know how to reconstitute prep packs.” 

“Brilliant – thank you!” You handed him the package and two dishes. Brilliant. Brilliant. Brilliant. His mind replayed your words in giddy spirals as he divided the dried contents between the two plates and retrieved a cup of water from the faucet. He slowly stirred the water in, watching as the grains reconstituted themselves. When he presented you with the completed dishes, he felt a little foolish for being proud of his achievement. It was almost nothing really, and yet he had done something for you, a thought that made his chest hum. You received his meager offering with far more gratitude and enthusiasm than he deserved, but he was not going to miss the chance to bask in your smile.

[auroraescritora]

SITTER'S LOVE - Nico!Babysitter, Percy!Teacher-father - Masterpost

Hi, how are you? As I promised, I'm here with a new story. I mean, it's not new, but I've never posted it here. However, I already have some chapters posted elsewhere, on Tapas and Patreon in portuguese, in their original versions. They're going to be short chapters, but I still wanted to share them with you, especially in case plagiarism shows up. (Someone came along with a sad story trying to use my story and my words, you know? So I'll bring other stories here too, for documentation purposes)

We have a portuguese verson too. Right here.

This story started because I wanted to tackle something different, something very cliché, something quick that turned out to be longer and more in-depth than I wanted (I was trying to overcome the blockage of another story). Sometimes the life story of the characters speaks louder, and so the story was born. A father who's trying his best and a boy who's scraping together money to get into a top college.

As always, the characters are very OOC, quite out of character with the canon, although I've tried to keep their essence. So, consider the story more of an original than a fanfic. I decided to focus on character and world building that sounded realistic. I thought about how Percy would act and what his personality would be if he was raised in a strict and demanding way, among incredibly wealthy people and educated to be the CEO of one of the most important companies in one of the most important metropolises in the world. Nico, on the other hand, comes from a humble background, his father being involved with political figures in a small town just a few hours from the big city, raised to conform to whatever his father decided was right, but wanting more of life than to marry whoever his father told him, more than to conform to a small town life.

Basically, that's the premise of this story. Now, how these two people meet is the mystery that will soon turn into something more than pure attraction. So far I have two narrative arcs ready, the story currently at 95,000 words. There is no sex in the first 40,000 words, although there is some innuendo that sounded more interesting to me than the sex itself.

The first chapter is slightly slow, but I promise that from the second onwards things will get more interesting. The chapters are short because the monetization platform requires the chapters to be short, so I strutured the chapters this way. So every three parts would be what I usually put in a chapter. If you could read it and give me some honest feedback, I'd appreciate it. I'm thinking of deleting the entire first chapter, so your opinion might help me decide that.

Now, on to the official information:

I have two covers for this story, although I usually use the second one.

Synopsis: Okay, he told himself. Nothing personal. Sure. No big deal, just another job where Nico would stay for a few months, make some money and move on to the next job until he had enough for college. He took a few steps towards the door and climbed the few steps, these made of white and gray marble. Soon after, he rang the doorbell before his nerves got the better of him. Impatient and overcome by anxiety, Nico rang the doorbell again, pressing the button harder than he intended at the exact moment the door opened, revealing a tall man, almost seven feet tall, with messy black hair and intense green eyes that stared at him with disinterest. Okay, nothing personal.

Nico!Babysitter, Percy!Teacher-father

This is a story about a student who, in order to have money for college, becomes a babysitter, meets the children's father and develops feelings/lust for him. From then on, fantasies begin to emerge and everything becomes complicated between them.

Summary: Nico, a twenty-year-old boy, works to pay for college when he is fired from his current job. In search of another, he meets Percy Jackson, a businessman and university professor, the father of the children he will be taking care of for the next few months. From then on, Nico becomes more involved with the Jackson family than he expected.

Fandom Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan

Ship Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson past Will Solace/Nico di Angelo

Personagens Percy Jackson Nico di Angelo Annabeth Chase Jason Grace Hazel Levesque Will Solace Hades Alice Jackson Logan Jackson

Tags Friendship Love Anguish Alternative universe Nico!Babysitter Percy!Teacher Original characters D/s elements Age difference

The first chapter will be out in a few minutes.

[squishymochithethird]

You know what, fuck it. It's 4am and I have to work tomorrow but I won't be able to sleep until I rant about this anyway so whatever

The quality of the games hosted on Azaleas Dolls has drastically gone downhill after flash died. Then it got worse.

On a whim a while back I decided to compare and contrast some of the old versions of her games with the new html formatted ones. Essentially I would make a doll in the original version of the game, then attempt to recreate it in the updated version. I did my best to keep the designs simple, but also include some unique features here and there.

I quickly noticed the limitations brought on by the change in format, but mostly didn't feel too egregious, especially since the original games were still being hosted on the site for those who chose to use a flash emulator. Example:

The old version of the wedding dress maker is on the left, the new version is on the right. Fairly innocuous, right? I understand removing the colorful hair and dress options that were available in the original game, the newer format is much more limiting and cutting things is unfortunately a natural side-effect. Once again, the original game is still hosted on the site and can still be played with a flash emulator.

Once again, old on the left new on the right, this one being from Pinup Jessica. The remake was actually made with meiker, which was made by Ola, the same person behind dolldivine.com. The clothing options were a bit limited (I'm shocked that I managed to get so close!) but the skin tones, hair, and eyes were mostly all there.

This however, is where things start to slip...

The hair and coloring on the dress is a bummer, yes, but that's not what caught my eye with this one. did you notice it? I purposefully screenshotted these images this way for a reason.

Here's a hint:

Excluding the stark white and fantasy skin tones, the OG game had eight different natural skin tones, all actually quite varied. The new game has FOUR, and the darkest shade is a far cry from the OG game. Again, I understand needing to cut back on some options, but this is so disappointing. It's also unfortunately not the most upsetting.

What actually prompted this impromptu screenshot fest of mine was when I went to play the viking woman maker again. It was one of my favorites, it was absolutely gorgeous and I loved playing around with all the different jewelry and armor options.

It turns out this game is actually no longer hosted on the Azaleas Dolls site. The only way I could find this game was through the internet archive (god bless.)

But guess what!

The new version of the game has ONE SKIN TONE! ONE! FUCKING! DEFAULT! SKIN TONE!

I truly don't want to get into viking discourse here, the rampant white supremacy embedded within certain Norse pagan groups is a can of worms that someone far more knowledgeable than me can speak on. But I can point out bullshit when I see it. Again, the main game is no longer hosted on her website, I had to dig up a snapshot from the internet archive to play the og game.

I initially intended to leave it there, but then it somehow still got worse.

Azaleasdolls dot com is filled with ads. Actually that's an understatement. You know how many websites are so bogged down with ads that they're borderline unusable? Well I normally use an adblock so I can. y'know. use them, so I didn't initially notice it. However, after browsing a couple of reddit posts I noticed people complaining about ads and:

With vs without adblock. The site loves to reload and erase all of your progress because it's so bogged down with ads.

Also yes that is a Kate Middleton dressup game. I don't have the time.

Because this is what really sent me over the edge:

The King's Promise.

The site has always had a handful of fairytale stories featuring Azalea's illustrations. I never payed them much mind, I thought it was a cute addition and seemed to me like a fun passion project of hers. There's Rapunzel, The Little Mermaid, and oh! Here's one I don't recognize!

CW for uhh, Hyper-religious proselytizing? Evangelical Christian BS? Idk whatever you wanna call it. I'll just post it here:

"The storm raged on, and the trusting were saved, while the proud perished in the bitter cold."

Hey Azalea :D What the fuck?

Now I don't have a problem with Christianity in general, the whole big-brained atheist BS is annoying and unnecessary imo. I don't even have an issue with Azalea rebranding into a Christian dressup site, so long as it's kept family friendly since kids make up a not insignificant amount of it's userbase.

But this is... concerning. I admit I myself am not Christian so I'm unsure if this is based off of a particular story, however I feel like it's safe to assume that this is an allegory for Jesus leading his followers into heaven while all the non-believers are left to die in the apocalyptic winter or whatever the rapture entails.

Idk I don't have a conclusion here, it is now 5am and I really need to get to bed, but I'm truly worried about what's becoming of what was once a beloved staple of my childhood. Maybe I'll polish this up tomorrow I just had to get this out of my system. I can't in good faith just let this lie.

[crying-over-cartoons]

College Blues

@basicallyjaywalker WOE! FANFIC BE UPON YE!

Prompts: Man-Made Object by Lemon Demon, bring, college, suite, sandwich, opposed, 98 (with a little inspo from The Machine by Lemon Demon)

post-Crystalized, pre-Dragons Rising

Jay leaned back and wiped his arm across his forehead, inspecting his work.

He'd been working on this project for weeks now, but he was nowhere near done. He just had to finish this, and then he'd start writing those letters.

Wait- what was this, 1998? He'd do it online.

But he'd do it after this. It's not like he was avoiding doing it, just... prioritizing.

He got back to work.

-=-

He wasn't sure how long it had been before someone knocked on the door to the makeshift workshop- with the Monastery's basement destroyed, they'd had to set up a temporary workspace while it was being rebuilt.

"Come in!"

Nya walked over to put a plate with a sandwich on it on the table. "I came here to bring you some lunch."

Jay barely glanced up when he said, "Thanks, Nya, I'll get to it in a bit."

Nya sighed. "You've been working on that almost nonstop for ages now. You need to take a break. Do you even know what it is at this point?"

Jay opened his mouth to explain, before closing it. He'd been working on it for so long that he'd kind of lost sight of whatever his original goal had been.

"No."

"Then I think it's time for a break. C'mon."

Nya led him away from the worktable to sit on the floor with her. She offered up the sandwich again, and this time, he took it.

"So, what's bothering you?"

"Noffimg," Jay said through a mouthful of peanut butter.

"Yeah, right. Whenever something's bothering you, you avoid it by throwing yourself into a project. Y'know, like a machine that you can't remember the purpose of."

Jay chewed in silence for a moment, trying to figure out how to put his thoughts together. He swallowed.

"Well, there's no end-of-the-world situation going on right now. Wu said the Overlord isn't gone for good, 'cause he's like, a law of nature or something, but hopefully he'll be gone longer than he was last time... And Kai, Zane, Cole and I don't have our powers anymore."

"You're more than your powers, Jay. You're creative, and smart, and funny. You're my Yin."

Jay put his plate down. "That's- that's not what I meant. I meant- we're kind of, normal, now- and there's no big villain to worry about, and... I've been thinking, about...

"I wanna go to college."

He picked at his jeans where the fabric had worn thin over the knees. "I guess... I was working on this to avoid making applications. It just- feels like too big of a change, y'know? I'm not opposed to it, obviously, but... And- I'd have to move. Making the commute from here to even the closest college every day isn't really feasible."

Nya put her hand on Jay's back. "I think I get what you mean. We've been doing... this for so long that anything else feels wrong, huh?"

"Yeah."

Nya leaned in front of him so he could see her smile. "Well, I say, if you want to, then go for it! We've all worked hard to keep Ninjago safe, I think it's fair for you to do something for you." She punched his shoulder playfully. "Just make sure to invite me over every now and then when you move into the penthouse suite!"

Jay laughed, "I will, I will, don't worry!"

After a moment, Jay's smile softened. "Thanks, Nya."

"No problem. I love you, Jay."

"I love you too."

i hope it was everything you ever dreamed of, Rook! it came out shorter than i intended, but I'm not one to try and force a story to be longer than feels natural. either way, this was fun!

[heyclickadee]

A quick (it was going to be quick, but this turned out to be a lie) “Tech Lives” thought:

This is something I already covered in this post, but the placement of and the way Tech’s sacrifice works in the structure of “The Summit” and “Plan 99” is really weird if it’s intended as a genuine character death. Basically, tl;dr for the original post: it functions as a plot point/catalyst to get the rest of the episode moving, not as a send off/death for a major character, which is a large part of why it doesn’t read as a character death at all to more casual viewers (and why I kind of suspect the writers/showrunners didn’t intend it to be read that way).

I just finished summarizing “Truth and Consequences” and “The Crossing,” to my (still long-suffering) little brother, and they way those two episodes work together has kind of hammered home the point about Tech’s sacrifice not functioning in episode as a character death even more for me. Echo leaves—just leaves! He doesn’t even die, and he says it’s not forever and that he’s coming back—at the end of “Truth and Consequences,” and then that’s followed up with an entire episode about the other characters dealing with his absence. We get a character departure and then a whole episode about the aftermath of that loss. And that’s important, not just for the characters, but also for the audience, especially if you keep in mind that as dark as The Bad Batch gets, the target audience is kids around Omega’s age—ten to thirteen(1).

And, if we look at Rebels(2), which is the closest of the animated shows to The Bad Batch in terms of the kind of story it’s telling, it’s pretty consistent with the way that show handled the send off of a character the protagonist saw as a parent/older sibling. Kanan dies at the end of “Jedi Knight,” and then the follow up episode—“Dume”—is just about everyone else coming to terms with their grief.

Tech’s “death,” though? Six-minutes, forty-odd seconds into a twenty-something minute episode PACKED with other big plot points, leaving the other characters in shock and giving all of them—especially Omega—about ten seconds to sit with that shock before things keep happening, and then another thirty or so seconds later on to acknowledge their grief and shock again before the plot comes at them all like a freight train through the crystal palace. They’re not allowed to process it, and because they’re not, neither are we.

Which is all the more striking because there was absolutely a way to give Tech a definitive death and give the characters (and us) time to deal with it. Make “The Summit” three minutes longer. Maybe even two. Cut out the rigamarole with Tech running back to the cable car, the cable car getting shot, and Tech dangling at the end of the line. Have him call “Plan 99” choose to stay behind at the control panel because that’s the only way to get the cable car moving again. Have him send a signal to the car sends it hurtling away while the others are screaming at him to stop and get back on board and Echo is trying to get it to stop but can’t, because Tech’s overridden the signal. Show Tech getting shot down by one of the stormtroopers or a v-wing if you have to as he’s holding his place at the panel. You can keep Omega yelling at everyone to go back, keep Wrecker telling Tech not to do it, keep Tech’s last line as is. End “The Summit” with the cable car crash and then begin the next episode with the sequence of the rest of the batch running for the Marauder as Omega drifts in an out of consciousness.

Doing this, killing Tech off in a slightly different way at the end of “The Summit” rather than a quarter of the way through “Plan 99,” would have kept Tech sacrificing himself, but would have also (potentially) shown us a body and given the other characters (and the audience) time to process his death in the next episode before the other plot points started happening. It would have read as a definitive character death. Instead, the writers/showrunners decided to have Tech “die” in an incredibly non-definitive way in a situation that directly parallels what happened in “Faster” and allows for the appearance of that ice-vulture/survivor imagery we already saw with Crosshair, and which leaves everyone with no body AND absolutely no time to process it as a death.

So, anyway, Tech’s extremely alive.

1. I know people get kind of defensive when people say that The Bad Batch is a kids’ show, but I think that’s because we tend to use “kids’ show” as a pejorative. I’m not. When I say that The Bad Batch is for kids first and foremost, I don’t mean that it’s simple or bad or not worthwhile—I mean it as a point of high praise. It’s a kids show that goes some heavy places and refuses to speak down to kids, which is great. Kids ought to have good tv, too, and it ought to come in a variety of flavors.

2: I know we tend to like to compare The Bad Batch to The Clone Wars, but Rebels really is the closest parallel. Rebels was another linear story with a limited focus on one group of characters and definite start and end points. The Clone Wars was a sweeping anthology series both produced and aired in a non-chronological order, and which, as far as I can tell, was basically designed to go on ad infinitum until it either got cancelled (which is what happened) or they ran out of ideas, at which point they would do the Revenge of the Sith overlap stuff (what they did once they were allowed to bring it back and finish it off).

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I remember you mentioning A court of Thorns and roses in your posts once when talking about malleus character archetype. Have you read acotar series? If so I really want to know what you think about it. Your post is how I found out this series. It's pretty meh 😕 to me but I would really like to read your thoughts on it 😊. Also are non twst related ask allowed? If not I'm truly sorry😥. You can just ignore this ask

Oh god 😅 That was such a long time ago that I can’t even locate the original post where I made that comment…

To summarize what I said then, I had expressed that the way Malleus is presented to us reminds me of the bad boy supernatural love interests in romantasy novels. I believe the online book community colloquially refers to these characters as “Shadow Daddies” and I find that hilarious. To clarify, I do NOT mean to say that Malleus is Yuu’s “canon” love interest or anything like that. When I say that Malleus is “like” a Shadow Daddy, it’s just in the tropes they share. (For example, being overpowered, brooding, and misunderstood as a “bad guy” when, in actuality, he has a heart of gold and is just lonely.)

… I’ve actually seen multiple posts comparing Malleus and Rhysand, if you can believe that 💀

The rest of my response isn’t really TWST related, so I’ll put it under the cut for ya ^^ I tried to keep my thoughts concise and free of spoilers.

But to your question! Yes, I actually have read the first three books of ACOTAR but not the novella (A Court of Frost and Starlight) or the sequel, A Court of Silver Flames. I got into the series because it was highly recommended within its genre, but I came out of it really disappointed. I continued reading hoping that it would get better, but it really did not.

Maas has this really melodramatic and yet simultaneously juvenile way of writing dialogue that does not mesh well with what I’m looking for in a romantasy read. She’ll have characters give exposition or speeches that go on for like 10 pages straight and also have supposedly wise ancient fae cracking potty jokes like a middle schooler trying to impress their friends. It makes the books a lot longer than they have to be. In actuality, the plot involves a lot of running around and having all the right questions answered by conveniently placed chess pieces. I also did not enjoy the vague world building (like several side characters are never given proper names and instead are always referred to by title) and the near-constant mention of mating bonds. What I did like was how Maas wrote action scenes and descriptions (even if they often veer into purple prose). She also comes up with some unique concepts—but the execution of those concepts isn’t great, so the ideas are left sort of shallow and floating there waiting to be fully realized.

Romantasy and fairy tale retellings are some of my favorite things to read, so I was sad that I didn’t think that highly of this beloved series. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book I’ve been able to seriously get immersed in 😔 ACOTAR’s explosive popularity has led to many other authors trying to replicate Maas’s success, which has flooded the market with horni fae books and even similar titles (“A [noun] of [nouns] and [nouns]”). (And as someone who does NOT find Malleus attractive at all, you can imagine I’m not thrilled.) I have really mixed feelings about that… While of course I don’t mind if people enjoy ACOTAR or ACOTAR-adjacent books, I dislike that it makes up the bulk of what is marketed to me. It makes it a lot harder to find something that’s more suited to my tastes.

If anyone seeing this post is interested in trying out ACOTAR, I caution you that it is a “new adult” book, meaning it is intended for older teens (I would recommend 18+, honestly). There is a lot of violence and… explicit intimate scenes… in the series.

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes-Chapter 7

Note:  Note: First off, thank you for your likes and comments. This is a lot later post than I intended it to be. I’m working really hard on Chapter 9 and it’s taking me longer than I thought. That chapter is when Pheonyx and Daryl officially start the search for Sophia.  So, they’re alone and there isn’t a lot of show dialogue for me to bounce off of. I had a couple days of writer's block and I’ve been working slowly on it. I keep rearranging how I want their conversation to go and also rewatching the season over and over to make sure I’m characterizing Daryl correctly. I want it to be believable. Long story short, I don’t want to post chapter 8 until I have 9 done, so it might be a bit until I’ve posted it. I think once I get over this hump, since it’s the first one on one scene with Daryl and Pheonyx(with Kismet as his wingman) that I’ll be able to write faster. Hopefully. Also sorry for how short this is. The last chapter and this one was originally one chapter but I want to keep my chapters around the same length(3-4k) and it ended up over 6k. So I split it up. 

Chapter TW/CW: internal homophobia, transphobia, descriptions of past abuse, denial of sexuality?(Not sure how to describe it), self-deprecating thoughts, parental death.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @omiyours

Banner by: @liminal-creations​ 

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DARYL'S POV

As Daryl was making his way away from the service, fully intending to head straight into the woods to continue the search for Sophia, Rick caught up to his long strides and cut him off. The cop stood in front of him and Daryl narrowed his eyes at the man. 

“Before you head out, I want to get the group together to make a plan for the search.”, Rick said. 

“Ain’t got time for that, man. Shoulda been out at first light lookin’ for the girl.”, Daryl snapped, annoyed at being held up. 

Rick placed his hands on his hips, one hand hovering on the grip of his Colt Python. “Just listen, please. Hershel’s stepson has offered his help for the search. And I’d like you to partner up with him.” Daryl was about to cut in, but Rick continued,  “He’s an experienced tracker and hunter, and he knows these woods better than any of us do. He says he’s been working with his dog on scent tracking, too. With both of you, and the dog, looking for Sophia, I think we have a better chance of finding her.” 

Daryl shook his head, irritated. He worked better alone. His focus needed to be on finding the girl and he couldn’t do that with someone else following him around. Having the group with him yesterday was bad enough. The woods were his domain, his comfort zone. Some stranger on his coattails, mucking up the trails, and making noise while he was trying to concentrate, wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. Not when a little girl’s life was on the line. 

As if reading his mind, Rick said, “Just talk to him. That’s all I ask. If you don’t want to work with him after that, then fine.” 

Daryl wanted to tell him off, or to just walk away. Before he could, Rick was turning and waving a hand to call over Pheonyx, who had been walking back towards the house from Otis’s tribute. Daryl noticed a slight hesitation and stiffening of the man’s body as he looked between Rick and himself. But it was gone in a blink of an eye. The hound dog followed behind Pheonyx and they both stopped in front of the two men. 

Rick smiled at the younger man. Daryl felt his ears warm as Pheonyx lifted the corners of his mouth in return. The heat spread to his face as the other man’s green eyes met his own. The light shade of green reminded him of the pair of fern plants his momma planted in front of their trailer when he was 7 years old. The old mobile home had been extremely run down. Paint was peeling off the walls and several windows had cracks or were missing from his Pa’s violent outbursts. The small grass patch in front of the trailer was often overgrown and full of weeds. But his momma wanted to fix the place up. Unfortunately they didn’t have a lot of money for paint, or pretty flowers to plant. They didn’t have a lot of money for anything really. Momma worked as a waitress at the local diner but most of the money she made, his Pa stole to use for drugs or alcohol. He remembered the day she brought home those little ferns though. His Pa had been off on a bender for a week, like usual. She carried the tiny plants in with a huge smile on her face. They'd been on clearance at the local hardware store because some of the leaves were dried out but his momma was convinced it just needed a little love and care. That afternoon, Daryl and Merle helped her clean up the yard. Merle borrowed the neighbor’s push mower to mow the small yard and Daryl helped Momma weed the area around the front door. He and Merle dug the small holes on either side of the door for the plants, stopping to throw dirt at each other occasionally. When the ferns were planted, the trio stood, Momma’s arms wrapped around both boys’ shoulders, and looked at the trailer. It was still shitty. The paint was still falling off and there was still cardboard on the windows. But the little plants with dried leaves made it look like home. Over the next couple of years, as his mother’s depression and alcohol problems grew, so did the plants. They grew so big that his Pa forced him to cut part of them down because he kept tripping on the long leaves when he would stumble home at night. Despite that, the plants thrived and every time Daryl saw them, he was reminded of that day with Merle and momma. The look of joy on her face. It was one of the few happy memories he had with her. And it was all destroyed the day the trailer caught fire.

The ferns burned away. Right along with his momma. 

Daryl felt his heart ache at the reminder of his mother. But the green of Pheonyx’s eyes still reminded him of that happy day and he was almost entranced. He barely even registered Rick standing next to him. 

“Pheonyx, this is Daryl Dixon. He’s the tracker I mentioned yesterday. He’s been headin’ up the search for Sophia. Daryl, this is Hershel’s stepson. Both Maggie and Hershel say he is an expert on the property and woods surrounding it. He’s offered his services-”, a loud bark from the mutt sitting at Pheonyx’s side had Rick pausing for a moment. “And his dog, to help find Sophia. I’d appreciate it if you two would work together to head up the search for her.”

The arms he had crossed over his chest tensed. As entranced as he was by the man across from him, he couldn’t work with him. In all honesty, he was slightly scared of the emotions he was feeling. They were unraveling the identity that he had clung to for so long. He hadn’t even spoken to Pheonyx yet and his stomach was already in knots. He had to stay far away from him. Maybe then, the feelings would go away. He wanted to lash out at Rick, at Pheonyx, the emotional turmoil raging in his head. But that wouldn’t do anything besides alienate himself further from this group. It might even put them in jeopardy of being kicked off the farm. And he couldn’t do that to them. 

“Work better alone”, he grunted at the man, not even looking at Rick. 

Pheonyx gave a nod, not taking offense to what he said. “So do I. But I spent last night creating a plan for the search. We can split up tomorrow but I need your help at least for today. I’ve been working with Kismet,” he tilted his head towards the dog at his side, some of his brown hair falling over his forehead. Daryl fought the urge to reach out and brush it back. “, on scent tracking for the last month. I need you to take me to exactly where she and Rick split up. He can follow her trail from there. It hasn’t rained so he shouldn’t have too much trouble.”

The sound of the younger man’s voice was like a soft blanket draping over his sweaty shoulders, it eased the tension in his muscles on contact. The sound wasn’t deep but husky and light. Creeping around his head like smoke from a campfire and easing the ever-present vigilance that Daryl had grown accustomed to. Almost losing his train of thought over the drug-like effect of Pheonyx’s voice, Daryl looked towards the sheriff, wondering why he couldn’t be the one to show the other man where Sophia went missing. As if reading his mind, Pheonyx continued, “Rick needs to stay here for Carl and Lori. And Shane fucked up his ankle at the high school. Or else one of them would take me.”

Pheonyx was right about Rick. Daryl couldn’t, in good conscience, ask the man to leave his son, who had just been at death’s door the day prior. And his stomach clenched at the idea of sending Pheonyx off with Shane. Daryl wasn’t entirely certain about Pheonyx’s gender identity. He could just be a biological male with more feminine features. But he suspected the man was transgender. It was no issue to him, but he had a fair idea that it would be an issue to Deputy Douchebag. Shane wasn’t as openly hateful as Merle was, but he was judgmental and sexist. Merle was a loud hateful person. He screamed and hurled slurs, made threats but he rarely ever reached the point of violence, unless he was high. But Shane, his hate was a simmering cauldron, just on the cusp of boiling. Quiet little bubbles that could easily lead to an exploding pot.   At the Quarry, the man kept camp duties fairly segregated in regards to gender. Women weren’t ever allowed on watch or runs, and were mostly kept to cleaning and cooking duties. Shane made the argument every time that the women weren’t trained and therefore would be liabilities. But he also refused to do gun training for anyone, citing lack of ammo as the reasoning. He didn’t go on long winded rants like Merle did. He chose sly comments and verbal digs as his weapons of choice. Offhand comments about “women’s work” and snorts when Andrea offered help with watches or runs. While Shane had never specifically said anything about LGBT people, Daryl just had a feeling that the man’s views would not be friendly. And with his suspicions regarding Otis’s untimely death, Daryl refused to put Pheonyx in the possible firing lane. Why he cared so much about a man he just met was something he was trying to avoid thinking about. 

Despite his personal preferences of working alone, and avoiding any more contact with Pheonyx to quell the feelings building in his chest, Daryl had to admit that having a scent tracking dog would give them a leg up in finding Sophia. Looking down at the dog, he had to contain a snort. The pup was on his back, body curled around, chewing on his back leg like it was a rawhide. He met Pheonyx’s gaze. 

“That mutt is a tracker? He don’t look like he’s got much goin’ on behind those eyes.” 

Pheonyx’s eyes drew together in confusion and he looked down at Kismet. Daryl noted a blush spreading across his tan cheeks when he realized what the dog was doing. At the sheepish look, he couldn’t contain his snort, and he heard Rick chuckle along beside him. 

The younger man nudged the dog with his boot, causing him to roll over into a regular down position. Daryl heard him mutter something unintelligible. Pheonyx stood firm though, the conviction in his expression settling in Daryl’s chest. 

“Okay, Kismet may not be the brightest crayon in the box, I’ll admit. But when he’s got a job he works hard. Unfortunately, you guys don’t have the luxury of shopping for a certified dog. I stand by him though. We’ve only tracked wildlife so far, but I would bet my life on this ‘mutt’”

Despite the voice in his brain telling him it was a bad idea, Daryl nodded his agreement to work with him and the dog. His heart sped up a bit at the thought of working closely with Pheonyx, but he brushed it off. He’d work with him to find Sophia. Then that was it. He’d back off and these intense feelings would fade. 

He hoped.

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Taglist: @yoongibaybee, @edgyboi10000

[aerkame]

Sorry for the short spam of posts recently, I'm close to finishing some longer requests. :)

Anyways, I just wanted to leave this here because I know there will be a few people PMing or sending asks (I love asks, it gets my brain thinking) about this.

In the Finfolk AU I fully intend on making Home a straight up reference to Lovecraftian gods or one of the princes of hell, Leviathan. Why? Because a pattern I see in Finfolk lore (Orkney) is that crosses tend to keep them away or cause harm. I notice there's often a religious influence in some books and folklore in general (an exmaple being unicorns, dragons, fae, and those similar) and I wanted to give the AU a bit of some religion or a very big reason as to why Home is more dangerous than thought to be. I'm not making him an outright prince of hell, but I'm defiantly making him a pretty big threat to anything of angelic or holy in origin. (Again, inspired, not making him one)

Kind of think of it like the games Diablo. Diablo has demons and angels but they're in their own kind of universe. This can be applied to the Finfolk AU. It's a lot of Lovecraftian inspiration and just about every monster or myth exists in it.

Home could be a prince of sorts. A prince of what? No one knows or may never know. Maybe he just wants to protect what he has left, start a new life with subjects that he loves. Or maybe he wants them for something else.

I kind of just imagine him either being so powerful that not even the fae or angels know where he is or that he's doing the whole "You leave me alone and I leave you alone don't tear you limb from limb and consume your souls bit"

Personally, I think this is a good way to do world building in general. It's always good to take multiple inspirations!

You know what? I feel like making a moodboard for Finfolk AU Home. I'm gonna do that in the morning.

Also the ending for Diablo 4 just came out you guys seriously need to give it a watch, the cinematics were AMAZING.

[licncourt]

pls elaborate on your latest post??? it's so interesting

Of course!! I think about it a normal amount. For sure.

Basically I just think that's it's very interesting how both Louis and Lestat get the Bad Woman/slutTM treatment in regards to their turnings throughout the books, especially as AR starts to get Weirder about things. We all know that blood drinking = sex, and in context that translates to Lestat’s turning being a sexual assault and Louis' turning being kind of an impulsive, drunken hook-up.

In TotBT, that's a very gross and Bad scene where Lestat and David make pointed comments about how Good, Strong Vampires are made by force (raped) and how that builds character basically. The only other vampire who's involved in all this is Louis, so obviously the implication is that he's morally and mentally weak for asking for and consenting to turning (sex).

With the turning = sex comparison and how weird AR is about being misogynistic (????) towards Louis at every opportunity anyway (my complaints about that here), you get a very distinct image of Louis as the stereotype of the slut who didn't keep her legs, a loose woman basically, which is especially interesting given his background as a Catholic. In this scene he's disparaged but later on, he kind of receives a "punishment" for it.

I think his mind controlled turning of Merrick and romantic relationship with her (both things he's very upset by to the point of contributing to his suicide attempt) mirror the societal idea that "a whore gets what she has coming" eventually and, like in the book Merrick, those voyeurs (AR) sort of revel in it. At the very least it's seen as expected or fair. Even if it wasn't intended this way, I can't help linking the two.

As for Lestat, you get a different story that takes a little longer to come to fruition. The initial "rape" by Magnus is handled in a very sympathetic manner. Magnus is a predator who seeks out beautiful blonde boys and attacks them, and Lestat was innocent in this, stolen from his bed by a monster and violated.

This changes later though, the narrative shifting in Magnus' favor with Lestat saying things like his turning was a "gift" before things come to a head in RoA. In this book, AR actually says through Lestat that he was "asking for it" and that he "seduced Magnus", ostensibly by flaunting his looks and talent on stage and seeking attention. Essentially, it's framed as if he was tempting fate somehow, and Magnus' abduction was the natural result, something he secretly wanted even.

Later in the book, he goes so far as to kiss Magnus, lauding him as an almost divine creature rather than the monster he'd always been described as. That kiss between them feels reminiscent of a hypersexual trauma response, a victim coping by idealizing their abuser, but AR frames it as Lestat’s realization that he was indeed "asking for it" and could accept that now and be grateful. Gross.

As awful and the implications of these things are because of the lack of irony and self awareness (thanks Anne), it really adds to the richness of Louis and Lestat as narrative foils, really two sides of the same coin in so many ways. Like I said in my original post, Louis the Whore Opened Her Legs and Lestat the Slut Who Was Asking For It. Neither of them can win in the world AR created that mirrors our own.

Louis and Lestat both have very prominent aspects of female coding (my thoughts on Louis' here, but this one is maybe the most interesting to me.