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yandere-wishes · 7 months

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𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.

Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see.

Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.

The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded.

Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back.

There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.

You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you

Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown.

You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual.

You stare frozen.

When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies?

When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat?

He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers.

There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.

It's two...

Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple."

Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.

"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll.

"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today.

Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked.

They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment.

the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine.

Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.

Allusions to the dark side.

A hidden reference that crawls inside you.

Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here.

The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll.

Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.

A Promise ring.

An augury.

There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered.

Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.

No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm.

Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn.

There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.

Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts.

"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.

"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her."

Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."

"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?"

You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to.

They never could truly see just how similar they were.

Two sides of the same coin.

One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.

Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage.

Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself.

"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?"

he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space."

"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".

"I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing.

"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.

You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin.

"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles.

You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre.

You do love them.

A rather arduous conclusion to reach.

Maul and Anakin.

Palpatine's apprentices.

Your lovers

Yeah, that sounds about right...

💜💜: @athanasia-day @hotpinkboots @jenn-patterson-69 @nickiiiixoxo-blog @the-chains-are-the-easy-part

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moodymisty · 7 months

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Hi love your fics. Would you be willing to do an angron x reader. He gets so little content

Part 2

Author's Note: You are my light, anon. Thank you for giving me the platform to go fucking apeshit about my favorite Traitor Primarch. Even if he's not a traitor (yet uwu) in this. It's not my best work, but I've been sitting on this idea for awhile now and decided to just write it before I lost it to time.

Summary: Angron takes interest in a poor young soul who's presence can soothe the nails, much to your own terror.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Uhhh it's fucking Angron?, It's pretty early so he's not as consumed by anger as he is later in the Crusade, Angron looks at another Primarch's serf and goes yoink I want that, He doesn't kidnap you yet but he wants to lmao, General 40kness so war death blood mentions etc etc (for those curious, this is vaguely based after canon, where it's said that the thought of Sanguinius could soothe Angron's Butcher's Nails)

Word Count: 2002

You have ten more minutes. You know once these men finish their set of training drills, you'll have to be back in the librarium. Your desk and it's piles of documents hails you like some sort of terrible beckoning call.

This has been your system for awhile now, as the frigid air blows through your clothing. The Astartes in training are entertaining during your rare moments of peace, as you lean against the railing to watch.

To think so few people will ever live to see an Astartes, and you watch them train so often. A luxury to be taken advantage of, you suppose.

You lean against the railing with more weight, your arms crossed over the ornate topping. They're so far away you can't quite tell what chapter they belong to, but you can see bits of white and red on the few men that are wearing pieces of their armor.

You wonder if they even know you're here, and if they did, if they'd even care. You're not of their chapter that much is for certain, as they lack the blue gold coloring and the stalwart regime that is signature of the Ultramarines. These warriors fight like it's a free for all, unlike the rigid one on one training the Astartes of Macragge are accustomed to.

You swear you feel the ground almost shake for a moment, but you just end up assuming that it's from the training down below. Or perhaps something elsewhere out of view. You pay it no mind, and continue enjoying your few minutes of respite.

Then there's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your lips purse, looking up at the sky. You can just barely see the legions of ships moored close enough to the planet. There's always so many, even more so when a chapter returns to Terra for brief periods of time.

You hear footsteps coming from behind you; Heavy and armored. More than likely an Astartes, if you had to take a guess. It's better for your own well being if you just make yourself small and don't catch their eye, hoping they don't even notice you.

The footfall continues closer, and closer, until it sounds like they're mere centimeters from you. They must be passing by, until they suddenly stop. There's a shadow overtaking your form from behind, And when you see it's outline, you freeze.

The shadow is massive. It swallows you up and the ornate edges of the armor cue you into the fact that this isn't just anyone. Unless they are of a high enough ranking to sport such unique armor. But you're gut says that this shadow is far too large to belong to an Astartes, and every other sense in your body agrees.

It has to be a Primarch. You can see the absolutely massive shadow, the booming footsteps from earlier, and the feeling. The feeling alone makes you know well this isn't a random Astartes who's becoming oddly interested in you.

The sons of the Emperor are known to have what can only be described as an aura around them, which seems to affect anyone in there vicinity. How they react to it depends on the person, but for most, it's usually fear hidden underneath a mask of stalwart servitude.

Thickly swallowing, you glance as far to the side as you can to see if you can figure out which one it is.

You can see, gold. brushed, but faded gold armor. Beaten and worn though still containing a particular luster about it. Higher up your eyes travel, and you see a faded outline of something around the kneeplate. It looks like, spikes, or a crude representation of teeth. Up a little farther, and you see something dangling from his hip; Cleaned bleached skulls and-

Oh god. Oh god.

You feel your heart slamming against your chest. It's going to break out, you just know it and you can't do anything to stop it.

It's not as if coming face to face with any Primarch is something to be taken lightly. But this isn't The Angel or The Raven. This isn't even your own Primarch Guilliman, who you've only seen a few times in your life.

This is Primarch Angron.

You can't run from him. He'd kill you within an instant if not for the sheer disrespect of it, but for triggering something in him that makes him think you're prey. You only hope that you can hold strong enough that he doesn't hear your heartbeat, or how your trying not to shake in your boots.

Slowly you turn your head more, eyes trailing up his legplate, then his chestplate, before finally reaching his face.

The metal cords coming from his head fall over his armored shoulders almost like chunks of hair, though distinctly old and worn. The metal is rugged; Beaten and warped. Underneath some of them you can see deep red tattoos, some of which trail onto his face. They're warped and shifted by his numerous scars, scattered across his face from forehead to neck. They're all old, long healed and forever telling a story that only he knows.

His eyes bear down on you, the deep red unreadable. He isn't reacting to you at all, but that angered expression is permanently spread across his face. The deep furrow in his brow, the look in his eyes. He's like a pot constantly on the edge of boiling over and scalding everything close.

He has to be toying with you. Like a Fenrisian wolf tossing it's broken, beaten prey up in the air like a game before finally taking the final bite. Is there any other reason why someone who dances along the line between man and god would look your way? Is he just waiting to see how long until you react?

But as quickly as he arrived, he leaves. Turns on one massive armored boot and begins walking down the gilded hallway.

You only have the will to turn your head and watch him move away when he's taken more than a dozen steps away, seeing the battered gold of his armor. His thick furred cape just barely brushes the ground- the frayed edge ripped from endless wear and tear flowing behind him . You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and look back down towards the training Astartes. You peel your hands away from the railing you didn't realize you'd been holding with a death grip, palms slick with sweat.

You hoped desperately that it would be the only time you'd see the Primarch of the World Eaters. To survive once you'd already consider a miracle.

But it wasn't. Maybe the gods that are whispered about in various tomes have something planned for you. Maybe it's some sort of sick joke.

You see him once more not long later, and the exact same interaction occurs. You don't say a word, he doesn't either, and you assume you either pass some sort of trial only he knows or he just grows bored of you, and leaves.

The third time however, you dare to speak.

"Lord Primarch, do you, require something of me?"

Your voice is so soft he barely hears it, over the sound of clashing weaponry and fists on flesh. You look up at him but hesitate to look him in the eyes, but his own look traps you none the less.

You're a librarian or historitor of some sort in allegiance to the Ultramarines. He recognizes the blue and gold symboling embroidered onto your clothing from the various Astartes that traipse around with it plastered all over their armor, and their fancy, hand woven capes.

Gawdy and pointless. You'd topple over your own robes if you tried to run.

But you aren't running, aren't you?

Other serfs he passes by crumple like paper and plastic flimsies, but you're holding strong; A steel box that might be crumpling and walls concaving but still held together.

Angron looks to his left and over the railing out onto the vast open area. Khârn is out there, training Neophytes and newly blooded World Eaters. The warrior has no need for the diplomacy that you're more than likely used to from the Ultramarines, as Gorechild smashes into a thick plating of ceramite with one heavy swing. It sends the Neophyte to the ground in a split second. He looks back towards you, and notices that while your eyes glanced for a moment to follow his own, they now look back at him.

"You enjoying watching them fight." It's what he's found you doing every time he's passed you.

But it takes you a moment until you look up and see that he's staring at you, and that he wants an answer from you.

"Yes. I do."

You see his hand reach out, massive- Your eyes blink closed for just a moment in preparation for whatever he was about to inflict on you.

But instead, he grabs your jaw.

It still hurts, squishing your skin upward and forcing you to look up at him from an awkward angle, but it's far better than dying. You notice the way he stares at you.

He stares back, watching as your wide eyes dart around his face looking for answers.

Then he feels it.

He feels the stabbing, shrieking, aching pain of his nails dull ever so slightly as he watches. Glances over your soft skin. Meets your eyes. So the first time hadn't just been a trick of the light.

Your hands are frozen hovering at waist height, trying to figure out what you should do. Should you put them down, hold completely frozen until he finds or doesn't find whatever he's looking for in you? Or should you reach up and dare to touch the tarnished golden armor that has such a hold of you?

"Lord Primarch?" You mutter, hoping for an answer he doesn't seem keen on giving.

If anyone has passed by this scene they've not so much as uttered a word. None of them would, you'd have to be insane to interrupt a Primarch doings. You wonder for a moment if this scene would look comical from another's point of view.

One of your hands reaches up, shaking as you place it on the armor of his forearm. It's almost hilariously tiny- but much to your surprise the armor feels less cold that you would've thought. You place it there in the rough area of his wrist and try gently hold on and support yourself.

You're still petrified; Angron can see that emotion no matter how deep it's layered beneath other emotions on someone's face. When young men were thrown at him to die in those sandy pits, and he'd see the fear hidden underneath their anger. But as it fades and you become more confused by him than frightened, he feels yet another soothing wave go over his Butcher's Nails.

It's nowhere near enough- they still rip through his brain demanding him to kill to main to scream and bellow, but to edge that away just slightly is to give him relief he hasn't felt since before they dug this hideous tech deep into the recesses of his skull.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's doing it, but he knows he wants it. He wants you.

"Your name. What is it."

You stutter for a moment before speaking. The name is foreign; But given you more than likely hail from one of the many planets under Guilliman's rule, it makes sense.

His fingers shift over your face, and your jaw aches. He notices your hand on his arm and when he lets go, you use that same hand to rub your face.

He'll have to be careful. You're more breakable than him. But if you can dull the pain that sears through his head at every aching moment, then perhaps he'll have enough room in his head to spare the thought to be.

#i love a man that would literally just kill me. rip my head right off.#Angron x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #Angron/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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ponysongbracket · 10 months

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MLP Song Tournament

Please listen to both songs before voting.

youtube

Apples To The Core

We'll Make Our Mark

#mlp #my little pony #my little pony friendship is magic #mlp fim #mlp g4 #polls #polls on tumblr #tournament polls #mlp music #MLP Song Tournament Round 2 #MLP Song Tournament #Pinkie Apple Pie #Crusaders of the Lost Mark #Apples To The Core #We'll Make Our Mark #0x6v0x39 #Youtube

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jamesshawgames · 1 year

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Relics 3 Release Announcement!

Relics 3: Ashes for Gold has been released!

In Europe’s darkest hour, an even deeper darkness is stirring. One hero stands against the triumph of absolute evil. You.

It’s 1940, and the long-feared war has broken out in Europe. Our intrepid archaeologist is working as a spy for the British, undertaking daring operations to strike at Nazi interests across Europe. But soon a new threat emerges. The Nazis have obtained a stockpile of a devastating ancient weapon, and in order to activate it they are scouring the world in pursuit of long-lost Archives which can teach them how to use it. You must get there first, overcoming the odds to beat the forces of evil and prevent them from unlocking powers with which they can sweep aside any opposition and conquer the world. Can you beat the odds stacked so heavily against you, or will you fail and plunge the world into a thousand years of darkness?

Relics 3: Ashes for Gold is the epic final instalment in the Relics Trilogy, and the sequel to Relics of the Lost Age and Relics 2: The Crusader’s Tomb. It is an exhilarating 580,000 word interactive adventure novel by James Shaw, where your choices control the story.

Step into the weathered boots of a swashbuckling 1940s archaeologist-turned-spy and travel widely in a painstakingly-reconstructed vision of the world at war, facing overwhelming odds at every turn, armed only with your fists, your wits and your motley collective of memorable friends and allies. Do you have what it takes to save the world again, one last time?

Play as male, female, or non-binary; gay, straight, bi, poly, asexual, or aromantic.

Continue to develop your romance from Relics of the Lost Age or Relics 2: The Crusader’s Tomb, or embark on a new relationship with any of the seven ROs in the series.

Fight memorable villains in a race against time to prevent the forces of evil from conquering the world, against the terrifying backdrop of world war.

Ride out into the Nevada desert in the footsteps of a legendary Old West outlaw, scour the sands of Egypt for the secrets of the pharaohs, investigate occult mysteries and Nazi traitors amid the dreaming spires of Oxford, search for sunken pirate treasure in the Caribbean Sea, unearth Inca enigmas in the wild Andes, and go deep into enemy territory in wartime Japan.

Experience epic gunfights, visceral brawls, and wild stunts in vintage vehicles.

Make choices that will determine the future of the world as you close in on an ancient weapon of unimaginable power.

The game is FREELY AVAILABLE on Itch.io, at the following link: https://jamesshawgames.itch.io/relics-3-ashes-for-gold

If you want to play Relics 1 and 2 to get up to speed, they are currently available through Hosted Games.

#relics 3 #release announcement #itch.io #interactive fiction #hosted games #choice of games #relics series #relics of the lost age #indiana jones #uncharted #tomb raider #the mummy

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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months

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re: Jim Butcher post and tags — Ye e e eah h h… I wanted to think it was just the character and that the narrative didn’t support it, because there were just enough times that other characters called the main character out on his b.s. that I thought: maybe? maybe there’s some self awareness?

Then a few things happened:

I stumbled across this post (and some related discussions that are forever lost to Xitter by this point):

luciazephyr dreamwidth 548703 (in case it removes the link due to anonymity)

I ended up interacting with Butcher on social media due to some closely overlapping/intersecting social circles (long story).

anyway, after watching him only interact with a couple mutual friends whenever they posted anything social justice related, and only to whitesplain and mansplain and cissplain (etc) all over the place, repeatedly, despite very gentle and patient attempts at education and calling in…

……yeah I think the only reason the narrative seemed at times to not entirely support the misogyny was due to the (rather cool in many cases) women in his life* possibly giving feedback, and maybe due to sensitivity readers, rather than because of any awareness the author has internalized. *At the time. I don’t know how many of those women are still in his life at this point, but that’s unrelated gossip/speculation.

(I really hope this only sends once, because it’s given me 2 error messages now)

Yeah, I know that for my male friend recommending the books to me the in text call outs definitely made him be like, “See? The author is aware!” So I had to write a fuckin essay of bullet points to get him to understand and acknowledge the textual misogyny that was just baked in. The nail in the coffin is Murphy the “straight” woman checking out a naked werewolf lady and having no reaction to a jacked naked dude.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve read them but I remember literally every woman is introduced on a fuckability scale- including his kids teenage daughter. There’s no plot relevant older women or anyone who’s not bangable hanging around the narrative. Lots of older dudes and mentors as long as they’re male.

He digs into native shit that tribes have asked white authors to never touch, turns a Jewish man into a crusader for Christ, and just generally doesn’t listen if any fans took issue with portrayals.

The bummer is that he is a skilled writer in terms of plot and pacing which is why I read several of them teeth gritted hoping things would improve.

When they didn’t I found the Harrietta Lee books which are a fun lesbian spoof on the Dresden Files that I quite enjoyed, and of course October Daye.

#ask ffs

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butchbattlesister · 10 days

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I want to start uploading battle reports for a crusade I’m playing at my local game store! Partially to keep my momentum up and to get more into the 40K community here!! …. I’m tired of reddit.

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Game 1 - 750 pts - Mission: Scattered Supplies

Adepta Sororitas vs Death Guard

20 - 30

Unfortunately starting out with a loss but it was an overall fun game! I pushed hard in the first half but my experienced partner was helping my new opponent to beat my ass. >:(

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Game 2 - 750 pts - Mission: Secure the Tunnels

Adepta Sororitas vs Tau

50 - 50

A very, very fun tie where both of us left happy and satisfied!! My opponent was very nice, he had a background in the tournament scene but was looking for some more casual play. This mission would have been a great one for sisters if I had a higher point count. We are playing two games at 750, four at 1000, four at 1500, and four at 2000. I know it’s not how the official crusade rules but I’ve been really liking the weekly matched games.

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Game 3 - 1000 pts - Mission: Deference Nexus

Adepta Sororitas vs Tyranids

30 - 45

Bruh I lost so BAD. I really learned a lot about hoard armies in this game and I over prepared for psychic push back. I still felt like it was worthwhile but I was not proud of how I played.

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Game 4 - 1000 pts - Mission: I don’t remember but it was a weird diagonal corner deployment

Adepta Sororitas vs ORKZ

80 - 15

First sisters win!! FOR THE EMPEROR! This was such a fun game not because I won, I promise it felt much closer than the score my reflect. My opponent was so nice, every orkz player is so kind and just there to have a good time and he was no exception! He told me he had some old metal sisters from 2nd edition he might finally go back to working on after learning how cool they are in 10th edition! I even bought a Kommandos kill team off of him!

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Game 5 - 1000 pts - Mission: Polarizing Energies

Adepta Sororitas vs Dark Angels

55 - 25

Little winning streak? This week we were doing in-fighting matches! There are sooo many Dark Angels in this crusade because of the new supplement but it’s not aiding them too much. Oh dude bros, they will never cease underestimating femme players and sisters as an army then be salty!!

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NEXT WEEK….. more nids!

#warhammercommunity #warhammer miniatures #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #adepta sororitas #sisters of battle #battle sister #wargaming

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goodqueenaly · 4 months

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I just finished The Black Rose, a 1945 historical fiction novel (though I’m using the term somewhat loosely) written by Thomas Costain. GRRM has openly described his fondness for Costain (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) - not the least example of which is in his creation of House Costayne, whose sigil references both this novel and another, The Silver Chalice - and I thought it would be fun to read more GRRM inspiration books in the new year (although that’s not a demand for anyone to stop asking me about The Accursed Kings and ASOIAF, of course). As a story set in the 13th century across both England and the Mongol Empire, starring a young aristocratic would-be knight, this novel seemed like much more obvious grounds for comparison to ASOIAF than, say, The Silver Chalice (a Holy Grail origin story set in first-century Judea) or one of Costain’s (ostensibly) nonfiction Plantagenet histories, like The Conquering Family. (You might say I should have started with GRRM’s own Costain favorite, The Moneyman, but I didn’t, oh well.)

Now, do I think The Black Rose is on the same level as, well, The Accursed Kings in terms of specific influence on ASOIAF? Probably not. While there were definitely elements to this book that I could reasonably believe were in GRRM’s mind while he was writing ASOIAF, these parallels remained largely surface-level, and in some ways indistinguishable from familiar tropes of romanticized medievalism.

For one, the novel’s hero, Walter of Gurnie, is a little bit of a Jon Snow figure. Like Jon, he is an aristocratic bastard openly recognized by his father (ostensible father, in Jon’s case), and perhaps like Jon, his (biological) father and mother had some secret pledge to marry prior to his birth (though unlike Jon, Walter’s father broke that pledge to marry another woman, the daughter of the Norman family that paid his Crusader ransom). The “Saxon” ancestry of Walter, derived from his mother’s family, compared to the “Norman” ancestry of his father, may likewise parallel the First Men ancestry of the Starks, and specifically Lyanna, versus the Valyrian ancestry of the Targaryens who had conquered Westeros in the same fashion as the Norman William the Conqueror. Too, each bastard son physically closely resembles his father (or, again, ostensible father for Jon): Walter shares the blue eyes, blond curling hair, and “Norman” nose of Earl Rauf, much as Jon shared the long face, dark hair, and gray eyes of the Starks. As with Jon, there is no love lost between the bastard son and his father’s wife, with “the Norman woman” (othered by her foreignness, very loosely akin to Catelyn and her southron origins) denouncing Walter as a “Saxon cur” (though the dowager Countess of Lessford is a tyrannical and openly villainous woman, in all other respects totally different from Catelyn). This is about where any real, even if minor, parallels to Jon end, to the extent they existed in the first place, but they’re worth noting as possible ideas for GRRM when the latter was first dreaming up Jon.

Additionally, Walter’s love interest, Maryam, has her share of parallels to Daenerys, though I think this comparison is even more limited than that between Walter and Jon. Maryam enters the story as the beautiful teenage sister (or, rather, ostensible half-sister) of the rich and thoroughly unlikeable Greek merchant Anthemus, who wishes to sell Maryam to Kublai Khan to be part of his harem - a plot point recalling Viserys’ willingness to sell his sister to Khal Drogo, into a position not too dissimilar from what Costain envisions for Kublai Khan’s harem slaves. It is worth noting, in exploring this parallels, that Maryam is revealed to be the biological daughter not of her and Anthemus’ Greek father Alexander, but of an English soldier-turned-slave in Alexander’s household, insofar as this ancestry marks Maryam (in the opinion of herself and the two main protagonists, at least) as “English” rather than foreign (much as Daenerys, though raised almost entirely in Essos, is still Westerosi in her birth and (recent, for the Targaryens) ancestry). Indeed, Maryam and Walter’s pseudo-familial connection - Walter believes that Maryam’s biological father was his own father’s faithful squire, captured during the Crusades - may link them to Jon and Daenerys, themselves related much more directly by their shared Targaryen bloodline. Again, these comparisons are pretty thin - Maryam certainly never comes into power in her own right as Daenerys does, and most of the novel consists of her either being rescued and/or protected and hidden by Walter or her attempting to reunite with him after being separated in China - but there may have been some limited inspiration here.

There are, moreover, some other minor points of potential inspiration in the novel. Costain’s version of the medieval Oxford University, where Walter begins the novel as a student, might have resonated in GRRM’s mind when the latter was creating the Citadel (especially the divisions of learning among the students - Walter’s program of study focuses on languages, for example, while his comrade and secondary protagonist Tristram Gruffen studies math and science with Roger Bacon), though Costain hardly invented either Oxford University itself or the general idea of a medieval institution of learning. Bacon himself might have figured, or will go on to figure, into GRRM’s development of Archmaester Marwyn - an intelligent but controversial scholar, rumored to dabble in magic, fascinated with the technological innovations and learning of the east - although again, the smart, unorthodox teacher who Doesn’t Play By The Rules TM is not a trope unique to either Costain or GRRM. Overall, I think, this novel belongs to that same class of what I’ll call midcentury medievalism that seems to have had quite the impact on GRRM, without necessarily being foremost in the author’s mind.

(Also, a friendly word of warning for anyone else who wants to delve into The Black Rose. If you thought ASOIAF occasionally falls into bad old orientalist tropes - and it does, no question - these tropes are magnified to the eleventh degree in The Black Rose. Maryam, for example, is initially introduced by Costain as having “skin of a slightly olive tint”, but consistently thereafter is referred to, and indeed defended as, “white” or “English”, specifically to negatively charged accusations of being “Greek” or “dusky”. The cruelty and barbarism depicted as normal for Mongol warriors make GRRM’s descriptions of the Dothraki appear subtle and nuanced by comparison: Costain spends several paragraphs in one chapter detailing the gruesome Crusade souvenirs carried by Mongolians (including “skin (flayed, presumably, from the hides of Western soldiers) … as saddle-cloths” and “a human skull … which had been converted into a drinking cup”) and the child-murdering game supposedly practiced by Mongolian riders, ending with the conclusion by the main character that “[t]hese Mongols are not human — [sic] not as we understand human nature”. Even Costain’s attempts to portray one (real-life) Mongol, Bayan of the Hundred Eyes, in a relatively more positive light reflect the author’s general antagonism toward the Mongolians: Bayan is distinguished initially by Walter because his “eyes … lacked the cruel slant at the corners” and were instead “full and large … and warmly brown, glowing with a pleasant intelligence”, while Walter later informs Maryam (convinced that Bayan “must be as cruel as all the other Mongol leaders”) that Bayan “has been criticized for his leniency many times”. What’s more, when Bayan confronts Walter on the seeming hypocrisy of the Christian crusaders, who profess monogamous love while raping women in their campaigns, Walter never actually provides a defense; Walter’s later criticisms of the English feudal structure do not extend to either a repudiation of the sexual crimes associated with Western chivalry or a reconsideration of Mongolian society as anything other than terrifying and brutal.)

#asoiaf meta #the black rose #thomas costain #jon snow #daenerys targaryen

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xenonmoon · 10 months

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I accidentally stumbled upon some Spider-man 2099 comics and since I can't watch across the spiderverse in theatres (photosensitivity sucks) and Miguel O'Hara has become a constant presence on my dash/home in almost literally every social I have I decided to give it a go and see who this guy is and why is the internet so obsessed with him all of a sudden I wrote down some notes while I was reading so here we go. Xenon reacts to Spider-man 2099

It's giving me a loooot of cyberpunk and blade runner vibes from here and ngl I dig it

I already notice the suit is a little different but not too much? The spikes in the forearms here are less noticeable at least. And I didn't remember ever seeing the webbing

I love this pose

Oh my god this is so me fr fr

PFFTDHFS I MADE A LOUD SNORT ok I like this guy

He seems like that type of 90s savage-edgy-I-hate-everyone guy, so far considering the context he's kinda funny

I don't know how much they've changed about his backstory in atsv so I'm writing it all down as it's told in the comics

So his father was a scientist working for this Alchemax and the corporation kinda groomed both since they were children to become their top tier geneticists and work for them. They've invested a lot on Miguel and they use it to have a hold on him, since he's the only guy not addicted to the Rapture which is a very nasty and genetically bound (?) drug only Alchemax is allowed to distribute.

The corporations is running genetic experiments to enhance human abilities and all of that using animals as source, the latest project was an attempt to replicate what happened to Spider-Man in ma marketable way

Except they've become pretty savage with it and started doing experiments on humans (starting with criminals) BEFORE it's confirmed to be safe. And the last one miserably failed (or grandiosely succeeded, depending on the point of view - the guy actually came back with super strength and all of that but he was a heavily disfigured mutant who tired to strangle O'Hara and died short after).

So Miguel said fuck this shit I'm out

(cw: drugs from there on)

... Except they poisoned his drink with a dose of Rapture and how he's screwed. "oh no worries Miguel we're not forcing you to stay" my ass.

fucking bastardssssssssss

FUCKING BASTARDSSSS

honestly though "rapture" as a name choice is sooooo 90s. I remember reading Infinity Crusade (1993) a few months ago and there too they made a big deal about something they called "the rapture". And goddess and holiness and penitence and sinners and REPENTTTT and other overly Christian stuff like demons that was littering everything I've read from that time (which is just all the Moon Knight stuff that got out in that period but-)

the satanic panic hit hard huh

So anyway if Miguel doesn't do anything to fight this rapture thing he's royally screwed and forced to keep working on them

So he remembers that for lab tests he was using his own genetic material so he's got a full backup of it pre-rapture and he's planning to use the machines at the lab to overwrite the changes the drug made

sound good to me, quite a solid plan

Except this guy, who Miguel insults regularly on daily basis, decides to take his petty vengeance switching the "clean" O'Hara backup with the one they're experimenting with for the spider project.

Well this is fine

AND ON TOP OF THAT HE'S TRYING TO SHIFT THE BLAME ON HIM

also naked Miguel O'Hara gents, you're welcome

Uh-oh

IT'S MORBING TIME

honestly I know vampires were massively popular in the 90s and it's kinda obvious they wanted to ride that wave and use the aesthetics to appeal to vampire fans and-

works for me

also how do those claws work? It feels a bit weird to see both nails AND claws, sort of like when you realise centaurs have 2 ribcages. Bit more redundant though, would've made more sense if he'd lost his original nails. Oh well.

He's me when I'm at my parents' house and my mother throws me out of my bed on Sunday morning at 8ish because THE EARLY BIRD CATCHES THE WORM DON'T YOU THINK YOU'VE SLEPT ENOUGH and I'm just left there confused af trying to figure out where I am, when I am, what day and year this is and what's exactly happening in my life

MOOD

big eh for the sexualised hologram house assistant, ok it's the 90s and it's a thing of the genre and all of that but I've read too many papers about sociological consequences of female-coded robots or assistants (in short: encourages closely associating the slave/servant role to women and it ends up affecting real women too. it's bad bad) to not be judging this very hard

His first thoughts about them claws was going to the bathroom and picking his nose, so valid of him

honest to god if I had claws I'd be constantly fidgeting with them pressing the fingertip to make them come out like you do with cats.

That's it for part 1, I will probably make a part 2 when I continue reading them

Honestly they suffer a bit from being born in the 90s but I'm enjoying them so far and I like the character. If he hasn't changed too much in the movie then ok I get it now

#spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 comics #miguel o'hara #xenon reacts #partially described #I started full of good intentions but some panels were Too Much to describe #I might get back at it later / at stages #cw: drugs

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