#I meant I gotta draw them more often

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Dumbasses got themselves arrested lmfao L

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Odysseus was afraid the entire year on Aeaea in the Odyssey.

Content warnings: Rape, Sexual Coercion, Sexual assault, Sex Work, power dynamics, this will also be long as fuck as I talk too much. This is NOT a "Circe the Goddess Hate Post". I call her out but that's it. I tried to keep this neutral but still making a point (Let me know if I gotta put more)

Lots of lovely folks on here have written great essays on what Calypso did to Odysseus as it's soooo blatantly obvious there. It literally states how he cried every day and how he flinched from Calypso, very straightforward on how he was explicitly raped.

But I've noticed that a lot of people are always iffy about Circe's situation (understandably so, it's not so in your face.) She's usually always mentioned in the "Odysseus never cheated! He was raped!" posts but then the evidence is only ever given against Calypso, and then mentioning how you can't say no or disobey the orders of an immortal and how it was in exchange for freeing his men.

WHICH IS ALL CORRECT!!! But!!!

There ARE immortal/mortal couples who genuinely love each other. Dionysus and Ariadne, and Eros and Psyche are examples. Apollo and Hyacinthus. Psyche indeed becomes immortal eventually and in some versions, both Hyacinthus and Ariadne do too. But even while mortal themselves, their immortal lovers still remained respectful and loving towards them and definitely doted on them. There are definitely power dynamics at play here but there's some nuance.

Odysseus and Circe's relationship, however, is very different. We all know he slept with her at the very least once. And that was in exchange for his men being returned to humans. That was the only time it was explicitly stated. With Calypso, it tells you every night he was enchanted and slept beside her. It was the narrator speaking but Odysseus is the narrator now and it's his story. If you think he lied, this probably won't change your mind anyway.

But even if it was a one-time thing, (which isn't the only interpretation and I will have points that talk about others) then why did he stay a year? What was he doing?

I'm doing a deep dive into the year he spent on Aeaea based on evidence in Book 10 and then the beginning of Book 12. Step by step, and honestly I'm writing this for Tumblr, not as a thesis so I will be a bit more casual but still using sources. To me, it's very obvious that he was uncomfortable throughout the text simply based on the language that is used. But it's very subtle and not an outright statement of "He's been crying every day."

BTW, just so we're clear, this is not a "Circe is the root of all evil, etc." type of post.

This isn't meant to villainize her. She's an immortal being and in mythology that changes things. Everybody is morally gray. I genuinely think if we were to ask her feelings on it, she'd probably be like "Oh, yeah! Turned his men into pigs! Strange little man he was." I don't think she gave a flying fuck.

I just simply get pissed tf off when people think Odysseus was fine. It honestly disturbs me how often I'll go on other websites YouTube and see everyone call him a whore and a womanizer. It's sexism at its finest because 1.) "MaN AlwAyS wAnTs sEx" and 2.) women can't rape/coerce. THIS IS SIMPLY TO LOOK INTO HIS FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

This is also only for Homer's Odyssey, using different translations. If you want to discuss this, (I'd be happy to! Just be nice!) DON'T BRING UP ANY OTHER WORKS.

With all that out of the way, come yell with me 🤗

I've read multiple translations, as I know there's going to be bias depending on who's translating. And having done so, each one has basically the same situations described the same so that's nice for consistency. Also, there are some parts in the story that are vague and that we'll never have answers to.

Odysseus first simply sees the smoke from her chimney and then sends his men in, after drawing lots Eurylochus leads half of the men to check out the house. I mentioned here vaguely how the 2 immortals he sleeps with are both introduced while singing and weaving, which could be seen as an enchantment (which to me is most likely. They both possess magic and are goddesses). So I'm just gonna move past that. Just take a peek and come back or just know that enchantment was likely.

Next, I'll see people often joke on Tumblr about how

"Odysseus says that Polites is his best friend yet only mentions him once!"

I think Odysseus mentions his best friend, the one to jubilantly go in first, to show WHY he would go through with this. How much these comrades mean to him. That's his best friend, and there are approximately 20 others who are now pigs as well. Could you knowingly leave one of your best friends to live a life like that knowing you could've done something?

[...]Circe—and deep inside they heard her singing, lifting her spellbinding voice as she glided back and forth at her great immortal loom, her enchanting web a shimmering glory only goddesses can weave. Polites, captain of armies, took command, the closest, most devoted man I had: ‘Friends, there’s someone inside, plying a great loom, and how she sings—enthralling! The whole house is echoing to her song. Goddess or woman—let’s call out to her now!’ So he urged and the men called out and hailed her. She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting them all in, and in they went, all innocence.

(Fagles, Book 10)

In the Odyssey, it's never mentioned why she turns people into animals. I think they were turned into pigs because, throughout the Iliad and Odyssey, Odysseus is often associated with boars. His men are associated with him, therefore: 🐖 Piggy. From what we know, the lads were just eating her food. With how much Xenia and hospitality are a large part of the story, they probably thought they were safe. They were GUESTS. This is especially welcome after the Cyclops and the Laestrygonians. And it literally says "All innocence". They were simply naive.

Then Eurylochus runs back, so terrified that he couldn't speak at first. He then begs Odysseus to just leave the men behind. Odysseus has shown that he does TRY to save his men when it is truly not reckless to do so.

But I shot back, ‘Eurylochus, stay right here, eating, drinking, safe by the black ship. I must be off. Necessity drives me on.’

(Fagles, Book 10)

Then the famous warning from Hermes. I've seen folks bring this up when talking about this. YES, he is literally commanded by Hermes to not refuse her if he wants his men back in basically every translation. It sounds like Circe was warned as well. When? We don't know, but it sounds like Hermes didn't pick "sides" here.

Strange that he was still like, "Sleep with each other" to both, because he could've been like, "Circe, there's this guy named Odysseus. When he comes to this island, change his men back." But who knows, maybe it was Circe's idea from the beginning and Hermes went along with it. Just food for thought.

Now here’s your plan of action, step by step. The moment Circe strikes with her long thin wand, you draw your sharp sword sheathed at your hip and rush her fast as if to run her through! She’ll cower in fear and coax you to her bed— but don’t refuse the goddess’ bed, not then, not if she’s to release your friends and treat you well yourself. But have her swear the binding oath of the blessed gods she’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm you, once you lie there naked— never unman you, strip away your courage!’

(Fagles, Book 10)

But that doesn't explain why he was there for a year afterward! Nor if he himself was okay with it, which is what I'm trying to delve into as he wasn't.

Also the knife thing? She's still immortal. It was meant to startle her. Her dad is Helios. Odysseus would've been toast, literally.

Also note this exchange wasn't a "Yippee! Hermes says I'm going to get laid!".

...just approaching the halls of Circe, my heart a heaving storm at every step, paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids— I stood and shouted to her there. She heard my voice, she opened the gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting me in, and in I went, all anguish now …

(Fagles, Book 10)

Another translation by Ian Johnston, (they all say the same thing essentially but trying to make a point.)

I continued on to Circe’s home. As I moved on, my heart was turning over many gloomy thoughts. After I had walked up to the gateway                                                of fair-haired Circe’s house, I just stood there and gave a shout. The goddess heard my voice.                      She came out at once, opened her bright doors, and invited me inside. I entered, heart full of misgivings.

HE👏WAS👏SCARED! The tone is solemn and suspenseful. He was just told that without Hermes' help with the root, he wouldn't be able to survive and bring back his men. Circe was dangerous.

He made her swear not to harm him.

Straightaway she began to swear the oath that I required—never, she’d never do me harm—and when she’d finished, then, at last, I mounted Circe’s gorgeous bed …

(Fagles, Book 10)

Please note that she NEVER promised that to his men. His comrades did NOT have moli in their systems. He had no way of truly ensuring their safety in any way from Circe.

He then refuses to eat or speak, literally "lost in grim forebodings". If he "just got laid", then why isn't he happy? Not many men can say that a goddess CHOSE to have sex with them. He did it to get his men turned back. It was an exchange. I don't think Circe is "Evil" so maybe it slipped her mind. Or yes, she could've thought, "Hey, I got what I wanted. He's handsome enough. Homer never shuts up about how hot this guy is He hasn't brought up the pigs yet. I'll just let this play out. Maybe HE forgot. I don't have to do anything." We don't know. But Odysseus probably felt like he got deceived.

"Hey, I did my part of the deal. I slept with you. Now do yours."

She pressed me to eat. I had no taste for food. I just sat there, mind wandering, far away … lost in grim forebodings. As soon as Circe saw me, huddled, not touching my food, immersed in sorrow, she sidled near with a coaxing, winged word: ‘Odysseus, why just sit there, struck dumb, eating your heart out, not touching food or drink? Suspect me of still more treachery? Nothing to fear. Haven’t I just sworn my solemn, binding oath?’

So she asked, but I protested, ‘Circe— how could any man in his right mind endure the taste of food and drink before he’d freed his comrades-in-arms and looked them in the eyes? If you, you really want me to eat and drink, set them free, all my beloved comrades— let me feast my eyes.’ So I demanded.

(Fagles, Book 10)

He doesn't trust her despite what she had told him that he should when they sleep together. He has figured out that while she will not hurt him, his men were not a part of that oath, the men he was trying to protect in the first place.

She is then moved by how they rejoice when they see one another again. While turning people into animals for funsies isn't cool and coercion is fucked up, I think she comes to see this group as not quite friends but I think she did find them entertaining in a way.

This is very strange but I've seen some folks say that since Odysseus was pissed at Eurylochus for still not believing him about Circe is proof that "Oh he was trying to defend her!". Which??? Uh, Eurylochus was literally questioning his leadership as a whole. Calling him reckless and shit. He is captain and he's the King, he can't let that shit slide. The text literally says "Mutinous". Also if I had to sleep with someone I did not want to especially if it was to save my friends and I got called names afterward I'd get fucking pissed too.

Only Eurylochus tried to hold my shipmates back, his mutinous outburst aimed at one and all: ‘Poor fools, where are we running now? Why are we tempting fate?— why stumble blindly down to Circe’s halls? She’ll turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions made to guard that palace of hers—by force, I tell you— just as the Cyclops trapped our comrades in his lair with hotheaded Odysseus right beside them all— thanks to this man’s rashness they died too!

They stay a year. Again it's never stated that Odysseus slept with her that whole time. You could interpret that. (Honestly, I feel Circe would get bored with him? She's a goddess, she's got more important matters than mortal men. And she definitely doesn't love him.)

His men DO have to bring it up that "Odysseus has forgotten his native land." Maybe they thought they could sneak out without her knowing??? I am fucking REACHING but hold on as Telemachus did because he knew Nestor would well, be Nestor and try to coax him with "Have a meal with us! Let me tell you about how badass I used to be in my youth." But to sneak away from a goddess? Without her permission? That won't end too well. Aeolus in the beginning kicked out Odysseus when he tried to ask for another bag of wind. If she didn't want him around, she could literally boot him out. While she didn't force him to stay like Calypso did, she didn't "release" him either.

We don't know if they've been asking for a long time. Odysseus does say to Circe that they have been begging him nonstop, but he could also be saying that to try and convince her. He's good at persuasion. I think while he knew he could rely on her for food, shelter, and good advice, he still didn't feel...SAFE with her. I think he was possibly avoiding her personally.

I think HOW he asks her to leave is important to know as well.

...but I went up to that luxurious bed of Circe’s, hugged her by the knees and the goddess heard my winging supplication: ‘Circe, now make good a promise you gave me once— it’s time to help me home. My heart longs to be home, my comrades’ hearts as well. They wear me down, pleading with me whenever you’re away.’

(Fagles, Book 10)

Throughout all of Homer's works, the characters grasp another's knees when they are desperate and are literally at the other person's mercy. Priam did when begging Achilles for Hector's body back. The man who literally killed his son and was defiling his body by dragging it around. Leodes grabs Odysseus' knees to beg for his life before Ody kills him. If he saw her as a friend, and not a captor, WHY DID HE FEEL THE NEED TO BEG IN ORDER TO LEAVE?! No one, who is in a healthy relationship, has to BEG for permission to leave. Or to "Break up", if you interpret them as still sleeping together.

And even Circe acknowledges that he is there against his will!

‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner, stay on no more in my house against your will.

(Fagles, Book 10)

[...]Odysseus, man of many resources, scion of Zeus, son of Laertes, don’t stay here a moment longer against your will

(A.S. Kline, Book 10)

This is probably another reach that you can ignore but the whole "they wear me down", could be trying to appease her. "Look, you're REALLY cool, it's actually my crew that wants to leave hahahah please don't kill them"

I mentioned before how Telemachus snuck away from Nestor but that was simply out of necessity because he needed to go home now. Not rest for the night. NOW. Nestor is just everyone's grandpa. Menelaus kind of talked more but Telemachus is very straight up in "Please I have to go now" and Menelaus immediately got things ready for him. He never has to beg and clasp his knees. Telemachus was never afraid. Menelaus is a fun uncle and Helen is your cool auntie.

Back to Circe! She tells him instructions for the underworld, they were in her bedroom. But that might've been the only way to speak with her. As even Penelope is usually away from the suitors when they are in her halls, Circe may have done the same. The text never states she played hostess physically. If she was hosting in the halls during the day, why did Odysseus wait until night to talk to her? He could've just asked her while she was on her throne in front of everyone. (He did so with the Phaeacians)

Or maybe he went alone because she only swore an oath to not harm him and so he didn't want his men near if she decided she didn't want to let them go. I could be missing something here so feel free to say something. Idk if this was a pride thing on how "I don't want others to see me beg".

She has info he needs in order to go home as well. She tells him to go to the Underworld.

She gave him new fine clothes and put on pretty clothes herself but that doesn't mean they had sex. Nausicaa gave him nice clothes as well but he never slept with her.

Then he leaves. Immediately. Not even doing a headcount as he didn't realize one of his men had died. (That was negligence on his part but he wanted out) He booked it, to the UNDERWORLD BY THE WAY. Circe even had to sneak the animals he needed for the sacrifice. Odysseus even basically said "She's a goddess. She can do things mortals can't" at the end of the book. And it almost feels...Numb? Solemn? Neutral? Gives a "It is what it is" vibe.

But Circe got to the dark hull before us, tethered a ram and black ewe close by— slipping past unseen. Who can glimpse a god who wants to be invisible gliding here and there?

(Fagles, Book 10)

She’d slipped past us with ease, for who can see a god move back and forth, if she has no desire to be observed?

(Johnston, Book 10)

She's a goddess. She has magic. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.

NOW ON TO BOOK 12!!! That was long! GET A SNACK AND WATER! LUCKILY THIS'LL BE SHORTER!

In Book 11, Odysseus swears, upon all his loved ones in Ithaca, to Elpenor that he'd give him a proper burial as he's been "unwept, unburied". So in Book 12, he sails back to Aeaea to fulfill his promise.

But you know what's funny to me?

He didn't tell Circe he was there.

He didn't even go to greet Circe himself. He sent his men to go get Elpenor's body.

The biggest clue that he didn't love/trust her is that if she was his "Affair partner" then why not go see her for "one last night together"?

SHE came out herself and pulled him aside to know what happened and then gave more advice.

I dispatched some men to Circe’s halls to bring the dead Elpenor’s body. [...]

Nor did our coming back from Death escape Circe— she hurried toward us, decked in rich regalia, handmaids following close with trays of bread and meats galore and glinting ruddy wine. [...]

But Circe, taking me by the hand, drew me away from all my shipmates there and sat me down and lying beside me probed me for details

(Fagles, Book 12)

In every translation, it talks about how he sits, and she lounges/lies down. That's not sex 🙃 In some translations, it even says he tried to be with his shipmates but she pulled him away!

So we lay down and slept beside our ship’s stern cables. But Circe took me by the hand and led me away, some distance from the crew. She made me sit, while she stretched out beside me on the ground. 

(Johnston, Book 12)

Then, she gives advice about the sirens, Charybdis, Scylla, and her father's Cattle. He tries to ask if he could save all his men. She scolds him for even thinking he could try. He again books it out of there.

I think we all know it wasn't "love". But I think a lot of people think Odysseus was willing and happy with whatever this was. "Friends with Benefits", if you will. I guess you could see it that way but I will say that makes me feel itchy with the whole power dynamic and fear. I don't think folks who have that arrangement have to beg on their knees to ask if they can leave though.

I mean the entirety of Book 10 gives me the vibes of "Laughing uncomfortably because you don't want to upset the other person". To just grin and bear it.

A lot of this was just putting the text here and picking it apart step by step. What you do with this is up to you. It's rambling while banging pots and pans together.

Maybe you see him as drugged the entire year and still sleeping together, as the moli "wore off". Even then, just because her magic can't affect him, there are plenty of natural concoctions that can be created that can affect mortals.

Maybe you see the entire year as sex work in exchange for shelter and food.

Maybe he was just alongside his men the whole time under her roof and was avoiding her after the exchange. After he got asked by his men to finally leave, he would start to walk up to that room only to freeze and turn around, thinking "One more day won't hurt. Should wait until I know she's in a sympathetic mood".

I beg of you, however, PLEASE understand that there was fear and coercion throughout his entirety on Aeaea. He wasn't staying to get laid. While there is so much going on and too many things that are left vague to really know exactly what happened, it is consistent that he was scared/numb. Lots of people go through with things they don't really want to do just to appease others. There are plenty of situations of sexual trauma where one person goes through something and the other has no idea the other person isn't okay. ESPECIALLY WHEN SOMEONE CAN HARM THE PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT AT ANY MOMENT!

Sexual trauma is a very complicated thing and while he was scared, he definitely wasn't as traumatized by her as he was by Calypso. Calypso was a torturous hell while Circe was a year of walking on eggshells. Not comparable but I still think it should be acknowledged. It's wild because I read the Odyssey and kept thinking "Y'all are calling the sex slave a cheater? The guy who slept with a goddess to get his men back? The ultimate simp apparently doesn't love his wife??"

Things I'm adding that shouldn't affect the argument as it is not in the Odyssey but I want to mention as it's a "fun fact": Odysseus' dad was an Argonaut. Laertes probably met Circe as well, (or knew of her) with the whole purifying thing and maybe Odysseus heard his dad tell stories of her. Later myths also have Circe with the habit of turning her crushes (or their lovers) into something with Scylla and Picus.

In conclusion, Yeah, he was afraid of her. At least to an extent. And don't pull the whole "Ancient men didn't get raped". Male victims exist and deserve compassion for what was done to them and women are capable of sexual abuse. If you think otherwise, you are not a true feminist and Fuck you. I said in the beginning this'll be casual and I don't wanna write a fancy ending. You can still think Circe is neat but you have to know that this was fucked up.

If you think a lot of this is bullshit or wanna give more context or wish to yell with me but still know he wasn't alright on Aeaea, cool. If you want to point out mistakes or something I should keep in mind with interpretations then feel free to say so but give text evidence. If you try and bring up the Telegony and/or Madeline Miller's Circe, fuck clean off. This is Homer. If you call Odysseus a whore and not the malewife he canonically is I'll start biting. 😤

[l1v1ngd3dgrrl]

Returning the Favor [DaisukexReader]

an: This is a continuation of Talkin' in your sleep. Takes place a week after that. Minimal plot (if any) this time, Daisuke might be a little ooc this time, feeling a bit feral today. Not beta read at all

Word count: 1077

mdni divider by cafekitsune

CW(S): oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, spit as lube(kind of), kind of a quickie?

You really don't know how you got yourself into this situation. It all started innocently enough, You had to take something to Daisuke in the utility room. You couldn't even remember what it was. Some where in between the delivery and Daisuke showing off the most recent thing Swansea was making him do with the circuit board led you to this moment.

Next thing you knew Daisuke was peppering kisses along your neck. Thankfully Swansea was on his lunchbreak so you didn't have to worry about him coming back for at least 30 minutes or so. It was just the two of you in the room alone.

“I don’t mind this but just like last time we gotta be quiet.” You remind him between giggles. “I don’t want anyone catching us.”

He hums and presses more kisses to your neck, “I dunno why you’re telling me when you’re the one who really has to focus on being quiet.”

You scoff “whats that supposed to mean?”

Daisuke sucks harshly at your neck and draws a gasp from you.

“I mean I’m returning the favor from last time. You took care of me so it’s my turn to pay up.”

The change in his demeanor has your stomach doing flips. This side of him is one you wanna see more often.

He clears off the desk, setting aside his project and taps the top motioning you to sit down.

Once you're seated on the desk he resumes his kisses, rubbing his hands down your sides. You slide your hands across his chest and tangle one in his hair giving it a slight tug. He sucks your neck in a few spots, pink splotches slowly blossoming in his wake.

He pulls away and caresses your face in his palms. "You don't mind if I like, go down on you right?"

"I'd be a little sad if you didn't." you grin.

He snorts and presses a couple chaste kisses to your lips before making work of the buttons on your jumpsuit. You help him shimmy it down enough to where it's pooling at your ankles.

He takes a moment to take in your semi-clothed frame with a grin, sliding his hands up your thighs. He pays extra attention to your inner thighs closer to your core. His fingers ghost the edge of your underwear. The cold metal of his rings sending pleasant chills up your spine.

You watch him expectantly, body practically vibrating with anticipation. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of them and pulls them down sinking to his knees as he does so. You hold your breath and spread your legs more to give him access.

With minimal hesitation he moves forward, warm breath fanning over your center. He licks a stripe up your pussy, testing the water to see your reaction.

You release the breath you were holding and let out a soft moan. That's his go ahead, he makes quick work and maneuvers his tongue skillfully

Daisuke's eyes meet yours, chocolate brown eyes gazing up at you lovingly. You bite your lip as he continues and snake a hand into his hair.

Your knowledge of Daisuke's sexual past was unknown, but with how well he was doing he must have had at least a girlfriend or two. That or he had a pretty interesting search history.

Quiet gasps and words of encouragement fall from your lips, which seems to spur him on further. His face is no doubt a mess with a mixture of your slick and his saliva.

After a particularly harsh suck on your clit you let out a moan louder than you meant to and tug on his hair. He pulls back and stands up. "I hate to stop there but I really really wanna be inside you right now." he admits.

In wordless agreement you began to pull up your shirt exposing your midriff. He fumbles with his belt buckle, hands shaking with excitement. Once there are no restrictions in the way he pulls down his boxers enough to let his erection free.

"Let me know if it's t'much." he whispers after planting a kiss on your forehead. His cock lines up and slowly pushes in. The mixture of his saliva and your slick serve as a makeshift lube, not ideal but it'll do.

He gives you time to adjust, inching in slowly. Once he's fully bottomed out he stills. His eyes close and his brows knit together, breath coming out in small huffs. As per usual he looks picture perfect.

You're in a similar state he is, your arms drape themselves across his shoulders. The stretch wasn't terrible but it was something you had to adjust to.

"Ok-ok You can move now." You say.

He nods and begins to thrust at a slow but steady pace.

Both of you are huffing quietly, gazing at each other as if you two were the only things to exist. He presses kisses to your lips and he begins to pick up the pace, the desk starting to creak quietly.

"Oh god you feel so good." he murmurs. You move one of your hands to your mouth, moaning quietly into the palm of your hand.

You try and meet his thrusts the best you can. Daisuke's hands plant themselves firmly on the desk as he speeds up. Creaks and moans from the both of you fill the room.

"I'm almost there." you whine.

Daisuke laughs which fades into a whine of his own. His thrusts get harsher causing you to grasp tightly onto his shirt.

With a few more harsh thrusts of his you squeal as you hit your climax, eyes tightening shut.

Daisuke soon follows, pulling out and finishing with his hand. He comes with a choked groan and a couple of spurts of cum land on your exposed stomach.

Both of you sit in silence, panting to catch your breath. He reaches behind you and grabs a few paper towels. "How do you feel?" he asks as he begins to clean the two of you up.

"Amazing!" you say cheerfully.

After you're all cleaned up you both get dressed, trying to make yourselves look as inconspicuous as possible. Swansea would be back any minute now.

"You should probably head back, I don't want either of us to get in trouble."

"Yeah-I'll see you later!"

You made your way out of the utility room with wobbly legs feeling content.

Bless that ray of sunshine.

[prokopetz]

The thing that annoys me about the received wisdom of "tabletop RPGs are descended from fantasy wargames, and that's why Dungeons & Dragons is Like That" is that most of the time, when people bring it out they're drawing conclusions by comparing D&D to modern fantasy wargames, and consequently getting cause and effect precisely backwards.

The fact of the matter is that tabletop RPGs aren't descended from fantasy wargames – at least, not in the way that this claim is usually meant. When D&D and its contemporaries came on the scene, fantasy and sci-fi elements were a relatively new (and often controversial) entry to the wargaming hobby; the 900-pound gorilla of the tabletop wargaming scene at the time wasn't fantasy wargaming, but historical wargaming; i.e., re-creations of historical campaigns and such.

Fantasy wargaming and tabletop RPGs are less a linear progression, and more two parallel branches of the same evolutionary tree; they both split off from historical wargaming at roughly the same time, and for much of their shared history there wasn't a bright line between them; many early titles that are classified as fantasy wargames due to their publication history would probably be considered tabletop RPGs by modern standards, and vice versa.

Bringing this back around to my grump about getting cause and effect backwards, one of the consequences of this shared history is that many of the features of contemporary tabletop roleplaying culture that are often cited as reactions against the hobby's wargaming roots are actually directly descended from those roots.

The frequent preoccupation with separating player knowledge from character knowledge, for example? That's straight up an historical wargaming thing. When you're gaming out an historical battle, it makes a big difference whether the players' tactics are informed by contemporary knowledge about the situation, or whether they restrict themselves to acting only upon information which the commander of the side they're playing could plausibly have possessed at the time. Whether there existed an obligation to remain "in character" as your side's commander – and exactly what constituted breaching this obligation – is something people literally got into fights over.

Or the whole "rules versus rulings" nonsense? Arguing about whether it's more appropriate to resolve uncertainty with recourse to game mechanics or by deferring to the judgment of subject matter experts is so deeply embedded in the DNA of historical wargaming that it goes all the way back to the Prussian Kriegsspiel.

Like, I'm not saying that these things aren't worth discussing, but I think we've gotta recognise that when we talk about player knowledge versus character knowledge or rulings versus rules, we're not "evolving beyond" the hobby's wargaming roots; we're rehashing arguments that tabletop wargame designers were having two hundred years ago, in some cases practically verbatim.

[distant--shadow]

The witch and the widow chapters 1-4 author’s notes

Ok, so first off I feel I gotta preface this by saying I am absolutely not a history buff. Kinda the opposite of one really. I was one of less than 10% of the kids in my year of 300 or so that didn’t take history at GCSEs, mostly caus a subject taught and based around names and dates etc is the definition of something not suited for my type of brain, also I hugely lost interest in it caus we moved past the fun trebuchet eras and all that real fast and it became of slog of me falling asleep in lessons caus I had a teacher whose method was putting on movies and shutting the blinds (I’d always fall asleep and he was later jailed for being a p*edophile, so that’s a thing.) Anyway, all that to say I’m not good at this shit, but as ive gotten older I have taken a bigger interest in queer history in particular, and that often if not always links into other areas such as fashion, women’s rights, religion,the arts, class, and race etc. (I’m still not good at names and dates though!)

They are outfitted and arsenalled - the stones of the wall - in a manner to rival any army; tapestries of red and gold perhaps once brandished on battlefield as banners promenading around death now retired and indoor-still-air-still as taxidermy giving colour between all of the shades of metal, burnished and polished and in some cases rusting, some still purposefully left blood-stained, swords and pikes and maces arranged in wallpaper patterns as though flowers or fans, sword-sheath beams spreading from chest-plate armour suns.

Let’s start with something easy and recent. The Baron’s armoury was inspired by a few castles I’ve visited, these rooms are always so bizarre to me. I don’t know if this is at all of the time/how they were decorated or a more recent thing, but either way it’s pretty wild but I do love the visual and metaphor of it. In this one castle I found out from talking about the carpentry to an attendant that the decorative ceiling work around the chandelier above the dining room table actually hid a trapdoor - and there was other hidden doorways for passages and to secret rooms in this castle, that’s not that unusual - but this particular trapdoor was to allow for the chandeliers to be switched out. Why? Caus they had them in multiple colours of glass, and the lady of the castle liked the chandelier to co-ordinate with her dress if they were having guests round. Aint that such a flex? Definitely some food for future thought.

Aight. Clothing. So anyone that chats fic/au to me or is in my server has probably heard me yell to go watch Kaz Rowe’s videos many times. As I’ve said this fic aint meant to be historically accurate but it does kinda straddle histories, one of which being our own; so women wearing trousers and the like at this time would still be a crime, and draw a lot of attention . Imogen in men’s clothing genuinely isn’t meant to be much of a gender thing but a thing of practicality, and she has mostly lived in the countryside or in the outskirts, so she does not get into the trouble she would should she go into the towns and cities (another reason to keep away past the potential noise, but this Imogen will happily don a dress or skirts if she needs to, she’s just usually working – and maybe it’s a bonus that dressing as a man acts as a sort of flagging for any women who might be interested lol.)

I guess here I should mention how I think this version of Imogen's powers and how they’ve manifested (along with everyone else being unaware of them) will have somewhat changed her disposition and personality, it is a lot more aligned with later campaign Imogen who has more confidence and empowerment, she hasn’t been ostracised for her abilities or particularly bombarded by them, think more like when she has her circlet on, she chooses to listen in (mostly), although of course she has still heard many terrible things (and her life has still been pretty brutal but that’s to be written still).

(it’ll be really fun in this regard getting to explore and explain this version of Laudna, but early days for giving much away on that yet!)

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

A little note as to say that Laudna’s appearance is heavily influenced by Victorian mourning wear, with some of the clothes cuts altered to be a little bit more regency and earlier in places. (her  attire is a little outdated, further suggesting her distancing from society and fashion)

A couple of days ago Imogen happened upon a bird with an injured wing, crying helplessly and rolling in circles, feathers taking flight away from the bird that could not, settling around it as it panicked itself bald-

The bird could not live without the use of its wing, and it didn’t, whether that was by Prosciutto or a fox, only its feathers were left in a pile.

Imogen had gathered them into an empty burlap sack; taken them to one of the maids downstairs to clean, repurpose them for filling pillows.

Here’s a silly little easter egg for my p(r)oof reader. Last time he visited we was enjoying a cinnamon roll from the local bakery by the city river (as you do) and a cyclist hit a seagull. It was real distressing, the seagull was distressed too. A handfull of middle aged women stood around it not wanting or knowing how to intervene as its wing was twisted at a crazy angle and it flapped about in a pile of its own feathers, there’s still bird flu about so it is wise to not touch wild birds, and as bleak as it is I was saying to freshy that a wild bird who’s wings broken like that is gonna die, and probably slowly and painfully. Some man came along and lifted up the bird to take the bird off the path and laid it to rest behind an old bridge building, I think he must have mercy killed it too as the bird was already dead when we walked past 10 or so minutes later after finishing our cinnamon roll and giving a cautious glance. So there’s a nice happy memory thrown in there for him.

what appears to be driftwood breaches the surface, then another point, then another

the water belches

Ceviche scares, whinnying as he rears onto his back legs, the Lady leaning forward and clinging to his harness. Imogen stands in her stirrups, leaning across the gap over to the black stallion, grasping his reins and cooing

“All good, boy, all good-”

What had appeared to be driftwood lands on the surface with a slap, looking like the carcass of an old boat left to rot in the muddy bed of a dock, timber ribcaged and leathered skin cladding.

A femur surfaces, followed by a jaw.

Second easter egg for the p(r)oof is a quick one (I’m such a considerate writer, I know.) On a train ride to a loch we went to for a day out there is a stop that is on another lake/body of water, and right by the train tracks (which are at water height) there are 4 or 5 old ships stuck in the mud, most of them just the frames/structures of the old boats, mostly wood and some bits of metal, but they’re pretty big boats! It really looks like whale carcasses. I’ve always wanted to get of there and check it out, and we were gonna stop by on the way back but my health being what it is was giving me some grief that day so we missed 2 trains and then soon the daylight, so hopefully next time buddy.

There’s alotta meat and gore talk and Imogen being a vegetarian without the label for such is just another way of me playing round with all of her complex feelings about what the Lady might be doing, her feelings towards Angharad butchering and nourishing the women with these communal stews and all of that. I’ve been vegetarian myself for 20 years now, and it was all triggered by an existential crisis in my mid teens (still a huge fan of leather and blood though) – Imogen greatly cares about animals, struggles with the thought of anything being slaughtered, she is in some ways more empathetic than most because she knows those she does on so much more of a personal level, really feels how someone is reacting to a situation they are in, but also because of this she knows humans are often corrupt and vile and she is spared such thoughts from animals, only knows their instincts and the love and comfort and service they bring – and yet she will obsess over the Lady’s (potential) tooling on that saddlework leather that’s really fucking brutal if she thinks about it one way and beautiful if she thinks about it another hmmm what if everything’s not black and white.

Oh, and the stew is a homage to @picturesofthegoneworlds’ pre-campaign fic Intertwined which I am lucky enough to co-parent and her writing is hugely influential on mine.

There’s a few things being bread crumb trailed here that I can’t explain in the author notes yet, but I’m looking forward to when I can. One small detail I will give away is just a silly thing about the chapter headings. They are something of significance from within the chapter, given in its ‘proper’ name – maybe someone gets access to some books to do research at some point?

anyways, thanks @astoriacolumnstaircase for enabling me. will do another post like this for future chapters if folks find it interesting.

[hybbart]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work, I was wondering if you have any advice on getting your ideas and au's out there? Sometimes it feels like no matter how much you post/try to connect with others it's impossible for any posts to break out of the little tumblr interaction bubble

Well, I'm not really the person to ask this, cause any popularity I have at any point is almost entirely dependant on my current hyperfixation, and I'm not one to care much about it.

Mostly I have a good enough appealing and safe art style and good enough sense of humour that's easy for people to like even if they don't especially care about the content, and draw often enough that I don't get forgotten.

My current stuff is fanworks, which have a built in audience, so you're always going to be seen as long as you tag it properly. Especially if you're actively participating in the fandom. I also have the benefit of being obsessed with a rather popular duo like ranchers.

Basically, the notes I get are very predictable and temporary, and not really based on any intentional work. I'm good enough for casual followers to pay attention to as long as it's stuff they recognize. I'd say like 80% of my notes are from casual engagement who aren't really going to do much besides a like and maybe reblog just because they were told they have to reblog artists or they're using the site wrong.

I guess what I mean to say is, having those notes is nice and appreciated but at the end of the day I also have a pretty small little bubble. There's just a wall of passers-by around it making it seem bigger than it actually is. It very quickly dissipates when I draw anything out of the ordinary that I can't put a bunch of popular tags on. So, I'm not really the person to ask about that sort of thing.

That said, I guess all that might sound a bit cynical to most people even though it isn't meant to be, so I guess some actual tips might be in order.

Skill. Art's about communication and expression, which like anything is better done with a larger toolkit and knowledge. And also especially casual engagement just enjoys things of higher quality. Raw ideas aren't usually enough to get people to understand or care unless they care about you. To be blunt, sometimes people just aren't good enough or are too niche for a general audience. That's nothing to be self-conscious or miserable about, it's just something you have to be self-aware about enough to accept that you're not gonna attract people who aren't invested in you. If that's something you want to change by becoming better then you have to intentionally do so, talent is a lie.

Passion. It's obvious when your heart isn't in it regardless of skill level because art is about communication. And passion's what drives us to do better, it's hard to develop and spend time on work you don't really want to do. If you're enthusiastic other people will be more likely to join you in your enthusiasm. If you don't care or are burnt out people will notice. If you're doing things just to get attention people will notice. You have to want to create what you're creating.

Good ideas. To be blunt a good idea that interests people is just going to be more popular than a bad one that doesn't. Sometimes something that interests you doesn't interest a lot of other people, that's why you gotta make peace with caring more about quality interaction over quantity, and being more self-aware.

Making friends. Finding people who are as enthusiastic as you about something is going to go a long way, and people who aren't as enthusiastic are more likely to become enthusiastic or support you if you're friends and you can annoy them in their DMs with 3 hour tangents about your favourite thing. Honestly once you have someone you can do this to you stop caring about the other stuff. Art's about communication, like I said. Participating in events is a great way to make friends, but so is just reaching out to people you like.

Being friendly. This one's pretty simple. If you're a dick people aren't going to take the time to get invested in your project even if it interests them.

Being accessible. This covers anything from literal accessibility to having clean directories and tags, to anchoring/themed extra engagement. 'Do you have any questions about [character]' is going to get more engagement than 'feel free to ask me anything about my au' even if there's less questions to ask because it's less broad and puts less of a burden on the asker to come up with a prompt. It's easier to be broader later on when you have already put out a lot of information and people are more invested.

Being concise: Basically very few people are going to read this goliath of a post compared to a short, information dense, clear post. When I post art I try to avoid too much text, because I want the art to be the focus of the post. When I post writing I put it under a cut so it doesn't consume someone's dash and write something clearer above. The reason writing is going to get less engagement is because it takes more time and effort to engage with than a picture. People who aren't already invested aren't going to sift through 10 paragraphs of loose info. This goes for art, too. One piece is going to catch the eye easier than 10 unrelated sketches or a long form comic. This doesn't mean don't make this content, but be smarter about how you present it to take into account how it engages people.

Tagging things. Don't abuse tags or put irrelevant tags, but finding out what tags are frequented that apply to your art helps. There is definitely still an inconsistent limit of tags that tumblr's search actually pays attention to, so put the most important ones first. I usually put warnings first and foremost and put personal categorization tags last. Being consistent with tags lets people find stuff on your blog easier and makes you show up in a search more frequently, so you're easier to find for people who use tumblr in different ways.

Time of day. This one's finicky to figure out and can change but if you post when there's more people online... well, more people are likely to see it. Apparently other people follow like hundreds or even thousands of blogs and don't even look at everything on their dash, so for those types of people posts might as well not exist unless it's at the top of their dash. This also helps when popping up in more popular tags' most recent when people are actually looking them up. This doesn't affect posts as much as people think but it does enough to be visible. I frequently post things at like 1 am when no one's on so it doesn't get notes until later on and through notifications.

anyways, i hope something in there helps. If not, well... crap.

[fanaticsnail]

Perfection

Tobiuo Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,200+

Synopsis: Several members of the Heart, Kid, and Straw Hat pirates engage in a game of Poker. When Shachi runs out of Berry, he decides to bet something a little more interesting: Tobiuo's kiss.

Themes: Heat x Tobiuo, Canon x OC, gambling, drinking, kissing, yearning, unrequited love, infatuation, fascination, supernova trio crews, first kiss, they're so sheepish, fluff, swearing.

Notes: I am learning how to draw on my phone because I want to do some digital art. Always starting with a kiss, I just wanted to know more about why they were kissing like that. Calls back to this comic I did a while ago. 3rd person POV.

“Alright, which one of your crewmates has the weirdest mouth?” Shachi’s nasally crackle shot through the air, his drunken stupor propelling those around to laugh with him, “I'm outta Berry, so I gotta bet somethin’.” Penguin clapped a hand over Shachi's shoulder, leaning his forehead against his upper arm and hissing out a snort of laughter into it.

Killer was contemplative, leaning back in his seat and thinking on it. Going through a list of names of his crewmen, he finally settled on, “Heat. I think Heat has the weirdest mouth. Guy breathes fire, and he's got the ridges from the scar marks. Robin?”

“I'd say Brook, just because he has no flesh, nor tongue, but can still taste and consume food,” she hums in deep thought, meandering through her cards and sorting them from weakest to strongest suit. Shachi stifled his laughter, using his hands in a rough flurry to call to his crewmate from across the bay.

“Ours is Tobiuo. You gotta see her tongue and teeth, man,” Shachi admitted to the table, all ignoring the shouts and petulant competitions going on between Law, Luffy and Kid. Tobiuo released several soft huffs of laughter, soundlessly expressing her glee while nodding in confirmation with her red-headed crewmate. Killer tilted his head, narrowing his eyes beneath the mask to get a better glimpse of the inside of the fishwoman's mouth.

Arching her brows at his inquisition, she slunk back in her seat, lazily hooking her right thigh over her left knee and slinging her arm around the back of Penguin’s chair. Eyeing the mask-wearing man cautiously, she drew her tankard up to her lips and took a large sip of the amber liquid within.

“Why all the curiosity about mouths and Berry, Shachi?” Robin asked, regaining the tables attention and peeling their eyes away from Tobiuo's lips.

“I'm gonna bet Tobiuo’s lips for my wager. You up for it, Iyo?” he slurred his speech, lulling his head to the side and looking over his pointed sunglasses at her, “Gonna kiss the winner?” Tobiuo moved her hands in a rushed flurry, her lips pulling back into a tight-lipped snarl.

“Am I meant to be offended, or-…?”

“-No, no! Of course not,” Shachi interrupted the gestures, “Look, we all know what your lips feel like. You're an excellent kisser. I'd say they're worth…” he trailed off, creating an opening for another voice to air their thoughts.

“...Three Million Berry.”

Tobiuo choked on her drink, snapping her head over to the quieter voice at the end of the table.

Hiding behind a hand of cards, the slouched and bashful shoulders of the Kid-Pirate Fire-Breather softly shot his sunken eyes over the margin of the stack of cards. Tobiuo tilted her head to the side, fluttering her webbed hands hastily before tapping Penguin's arm with the heel of her palm.

“She's wondering why so much,” Penguin raised his arms defeatedly before translating properly, “Her exact phrase: ‘for that price, you could hire an escort to mess around with. Why her’?” Tobiuo nodded, waiting for his reply. Killer sat back in his seat, smugly looking between Heat and the Heart Pirates’ chief of security.

Killer had been the target to Heat’s confessions regarding his attraction to the fishwoman, often the source of many a migraine. Finally having an opening for conversation, he felt a weight leave him as Heat continued.

“I-... I, uh-…” Heat fumbled, his fluster rising in his cheeks and blooming the warmth in his chest. Killer’s migraine returned, prompting him to take action and rearrange his cards.

“That settles it, then,” Shachi confessed, looking between his pile of Berry, Nami, Robin, Killer, Penguin, Tobiuo, Wire, and Heat, “Opening bid, three million Berry. Anyone gonna call?” Tobiuo moved her hands and furrowed her brows, her two crewmates ignoring her protests and chastising words.

Before Heat had the ability to test his hand against Shachi's, to win the opportunity of a kiss from the Fishwoman, the blonde Kid-Pirate spoke up.

“I'll call you on your bullshit, Shachi,” Killer spoke up with his warm tone full of playfulness and jest.

“Jokes on you, blondie,” Shachi’s nasally crackle cut through the air, “I got 3 pretty ladies in my hand. Got something better than a three of a kind?” Shachi’s cocky grin looked greedily down at the pile of Berry on the table and back up to Killer.

“Actually I do,” his grin widened beneath his mask, his smile heard in his soothing baritone, “I've got a straight flush.”

“No,” Shachi whined, chucking his cards on the table in defeat, “And it was all going so well! I actually had a good hand this time!” Rather than consoling her crewmates of his loss, Tobiuo narrowed her milky-gaze at the mask-wearing man and tilted her chin up to assess him.

“Bets a bet. Pay up, Buttercup,” Killer rose to his feet, prompting Tobiuo to do the same. In two broad strides, she stood in front of him and folder her arms into one another. Killer snuck a look at his crewmate, Heat, who placed his cards face up on the lengthy table in front of him. A royal flush, a hand that would've landed him in Killer’s place if he spoke up.

“Don't be shy,” Killer uttered, elevating his right hand up and returning his attention to the seven foot Fishwoman. “Let me see,” he extended up his fingers towards her chin. Tobiuo narrowed her eyes, at him and released a puff of air from her lips before pouting them.

“Don't get all huffy with me, Missy,” he giggled, his shrill laugh causing her to become more at ease. Unlacing her arms, she allowed him to place his thumb and index finger on her chin and draw himself into her space. Offering a small hum of approval, he gently coaxed her face towards him.

Killer took a moment to appreciate being dwarfed by her great height, sparing another glance at his fire-breathing crewmates before directing her closer to his mask.

“Now say ‘ah’ for me, Tobiuo,” Killer moved his thumb up and gingerly toyed with Tobiuo’s bottom lip. Rolling her eyes, she parted her lips and revealed a sharp set of teeth. Each tooth was whittled naturally down into a sharp peak, her stalactite-shaped canines protruding from her upper and lower lips.

“Ohh… Pretty,” Killer hummed in thought, examining how interesting her uniqueness was in comparison to human anatomy while drawing his thumb away from her lip and down to her chin once more, “Now the tongue?” Tobiuo’s smirk rose up on the left hand side of her darker lips, lulling her tongue over and revealing the organ to him.

“Bloody hell-!” Killer exclaimed, pulling his hand away in shock at the length of the morsel. Divots, ridges, and pliant barbs were elevated over her palate. The tip of her tongue tapered off in a pointed end, extending far further than regular capacity.

Heat sat quietly by, his eyes widening and heart beating rapidly against the shell of his ribcage. Just when he thought he couldn't get more enamored with Trafalgar Law’s barbaric fighter, he swoons at the new light being shone on her otherworldly anatomy.

“Gonna show me what a three million Berry kiss is?” Killer goaded, prompting Tobiuo to retract her tongue back into her mouth and lean in closer to Killer. Reaching her webbed hand up to his mask, he shook his head and recoiled against her touch.

“Not on your life, Missy,” he shook his head and stepped fully away from her, “I don't take this off for just anyone. Not even for such a pretty reward as your lips, honey.” Tobiuo tilted her head to the side, furrowing her brows while fluttering her hands. Killer watched the motions, not truly understanding and looking over to Shachi or Penguin for translation.

“She's asking where you want her to kiss you, in not very appropriate language, I might add,” Penguin chuckled, prompting Shachi to wheeze. Killer shot his attention past the two Heart-Pirates towards the fire-breathing commander and curled his finger twice towards him.

“We were talking about Heat earlier,” Killer informed the gathering of allied troops at the poker table, “Can’t kiss me, but you can kiss one of the other commanders on my behalf.” The corset-wearing commander stepped closer to both Killer and Tobiuo, his eyes avoiding the milky-gaze of the security officer as she assessed his form.

She hadn't really thought much about the blue-haired Kid-Pirate, not truly experiencing a closeness like this with him to truly admire his features. Heat trailed his eyes up to her chin, hovering briefly on her lips before meeting her gaze with his own.

Fluttering her hands at him, Shachi, Penguin and, surprisingly, Wire, all released a cackle at her flurry. Heat shook his head, his lips parting as he tilted his chin towards the gathering without departing his eyes from hers.

“What are you-?” Heat asked his hairless eyebrows knitting together curiously, “Are you making fun of me?” Tobiuo slunk away, smiling with her lips tightly shut and a deep, purple blush rising to flood her cheeks and webbed ears. Heat chuckled, stepping forward more boldly now.

“Oh, I think you are making fun of me, Tobiuo,” Heat uttered in a deep rumble, causing her to take a step back and buckle her knees on the back of the bar island to the side of the poker table, “And what are you saying, hm? What's got them all giggly?” Weaving his legs within hers, he rose his right hand to cup her neck and tilted her head back. Hovering his lips over hers, he whispered gently over her sensitive skin.

Tobiuo’s brows rose, her gaze darting down to his lips and back up to his eyes in shock. Heat's thumb gently caressed the dips and elevations of scales against her skin, prompting Tobiuo’s breath to hitch and shudder. Heat made to tease the security officer a little more, but his over-eagerness to brush his lips with hers stilled that thought in a heartbeat.

Surging forward on his toes, he dwarfed the Fishwoman by looming his frame over hers, immediately meeting his lips with hers in a soft kiss. Closing his eyes, the tattooed Fire-Breather hummed into her lips in a soft moan, enjoying the warmth of her lips on his. Tobiuo's eyes remained open, examining the commander as he pressed his lips on hers with more intent and meaning.

Tobiuo was not unaccustomed to kissing for fun, many of her crew often got a peck on the forehead, a raspberry blown in their necks from behind, or a platonic oscillation if she was feeling exceptionally generous. But this? This was something entirely different.

Heat's lips ignited something in her that she hadn't felt before. Heart fluttering in her chest, she finally closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss. Webbed hands finding his hips, she drew him further into her lap and tilted her chin up to brush with his. Changing the angle, she parted her lips and prompted him to do the same. Just as her thumbs brushed against his dermal tri-hip piercings, Heat’s fingertips raked and carded through her hair to add depth to the kiss.

As his tongue finally met with hers, a small whimper caught itself in his throat at the ridges and flexible barbs coarsely grinding against his. Drunk on the feeling, his boldness halts as his bottom lip gets nicked on her sharp teeth.

“Ow-! Ouch-!” Heat hisses, tugging his body away from her and drawing his hand up to his bleeding lip. Tobiuo’s eyes widened in horror, her hand raised in a c-shaped cup and waving it in front of her lips. Her lip quivered, sharp lips chattering as she truly depicted her apologies for the bite.

“She's sorry, she's sorry,” Penguin translated for her, watching the flurry manically fluttering from her hands with her lips moving soundlessly, “‘It was a mistake. I'm so sorry, pretty boy. So much for a three million Berry kiss’.” Heat’s eyes widened, shaking his head and releasing his lip from his fingers. The softest trickle of red dribbled down his chin, doing nothing to calm Tobiuo’s hasty apologies from flying from her hands.

“...Pretty boy?” Heat blushed, his cheeks tinting with the softest shade of pink. Tobiuo stilled her hands, the same purple hue dusting her scaled features. “Is… Is that what you called me? ‘Pretty boy’?” Tobiuo sucked her lips into her mouth to halt her rising smile, prompting Heat to step towards her once more.

“I-... I think you're really pretty too, love,” he confessed in a barely audible whisper.

Killer hummed, slouching in his seat and offering his clenched fist towards Wire. The taller man clenched his own fist and tapped it against the balled fist of the first mate. The blonde was feeling rather pleased with himself, finally having Heat’s longing and infatuation momentarily satiated by a soft kiss from the security officer of his dreams.

Tobiuo felt her heart soar at his confession. Although, compared to the women present on the three vessels, she didn't feel she was all that much to look at. When her eyes met with Heat’s once more, she felt like the most beautiful creature that had ever lived. Offering him a little more of a grin, Heat released a whimsy sigh.

“Perfection.”

[raisedbythetv89]

Ok ooooook OK SO.

Spike was literally made for Buffy because he was made for and by Drusilla, and Buffy and Dru are the same person:

Innocent, kind-hearted young girls, with special gifts that cause them to carry more guilt/burden than others and they are used/abused/traumatized by angelus/angel, then neglected and abandoned, with Spike being there to pick up the pieces and nurture, care for, and love them the best he can to help them move past their angel trauma (which is actually an impossible task with Drusilla because of the sire aspect but isn’t with Buffy)

WHICH is why I believe William’s first act as a vampire was to try and save his mother. He was literally created to be Dru’s knight. Not only her protector but her healer. Which is why his first instinct when it should be all about blood lust is instead, to heal his mother who he still loves even as a vampire. I mean even Dru, a certified nutcase, is like you wanna do WHAT?!?! When Spike tells her his plan to save his mom😹

This is also why I believe angel trying to mold Spike into his image never really took or rather Spike was able to break free from it. Angel was created by darla for the intent of death, torment and destruction.

Spike was created to care for and love Dru. Which required an OBSCENE amount of patience, determination, humility, and love of a challenge. Which is why he was so intrigued by slayers, another seemingly impossible task - but the joy/fun was in the TRYING, the thrill of the unknown and the unpredictability of it all. Which are all the traits he needed to be there for both Dru and Buffy while also ensuring he never gives up on them as long as they want him there, and then some lol.

IM FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS

Because also this is soooooo not where I planned on going with this but “I was made to love you” episode title is now drawing in the connection of, is this why Spike didn’t initially see the problem with the Buffy-Bot until he saw the reaction of Buffy herself who often acts as his moral compass as he relearns what is “good” after 100+ years living by vamp code because him AS A HUMAN, in his vulnerable, dejected and devastated state was killed and made into a vampire for the sole purpose of loving and caring for Drusilla selflessly, without regard for himself, much like the bots were!! So why would he see the harm in creating something like that for himself when no one was going to die in the process and it meant he could stop fixating in the real buffy? Both of which to a vamp who’s only been trying to live by human morals again for like 14 episodes vs 120 years with NO help just trial and erroring his way through becoming a white hat which his starting point is “I would like credit for not taking advantage of bleeding disaster victims” and “what do you mean building a shrine to show how deep my devotion is and chaining you up, offering to kill my ex, and forcing you to talk to me and admit your feelings aren’t the way to do this??” 😹😹😹 like he gets it so wrong, it’s comical in season 5 because he truly is so earnest about all of it because while yes it is all for a chance with Buffy, he genuinely wants to be better for her so he can earn that chance. As he says to Riley “a fellas gotta try” after saying he doesn’t think he has a chance with her.

He was an Eleanore who desperately needed his Chidi. Which Buffy is his moral compass but she ends up being a “let them fail/push them into the deep end” kind of guide. So he makes A LOT of mistakes along the way as many of us often do in general but especially those of us who were raised by abusive parents; who in our adulthood, have to learn to discern what is healthy vs abusive to be a good person to both yourself and others and be in actual healthy relationships with boundaries and respect with zero practical experience or good instincts to go on.

NONE of this excuses any harm that Spike causes at all. That is not the point of this to say “oh he didn’t really do bad”, no he did. Spike caused a lot of harm but this perspective that I’ve finally been able to put into words is why none of the harm ends up being a deal breaker for me and many spuffys because it puts his choices in the right perspective which is not that of a human even though he looks like one a lot of the time.

Spike pre-soul, making the mistakes he makes isn’t the same as a human or a vamp with a human soul making the mistakes because he doesn’t have his human soul motivating and informing the decisions he makes. It really mimics different cultures in a lot of ways as anya really demonstrates during her wedding with all her talk of demon culture and tradition (and her own struggles to assimilate into the human world again and she HAS a human soul and xander to help her) and the initiative being VERY n*zi coded and Riley being called a bigot because he is ignorant to much of demonology. So un-souled spike has a more potential for forgiveness of his mistakes than human soul havers because he is always genuinely TRYING to do right by Buffy even when he gets it horribly wrong. And the characters in the show always hold him accountable and make him feel TERRIBLE for the mistakes he makes.

Why does he have such potential for forgiveness you ask? The best example is to think of the concept of someone trying to assimilate themselves into a new culture. We can’t expect them to blend right in perfectly and get all the culture norms right, right away (again -anya-but also a real life example - when I travel in Italy and catch up with friends there I STILL always stumble and forget they’re always gonna go in for a double cheek kiss greeting - pre covid anyway - and I KNOW it’s a thing but if I’m out of practice it takes me a while to start greeting people that way again and it makes for some AWKWARD ENCOUNTERS until I get it down😹). It takes time, and normally guidance and patience from others that spike honestly doesn’t often have except in the form of being yelled at or beat up until he gets his soul. But his willingness to TRY anyways despite failure, rejection, ridicule and cruelty. How can I not love him?? He is me, I am him!! I was also met with so much unhelpful criticism and cruelty when I was just trying to learn and do a good job.

Both as someone who is autistic and didn’t know it for a lot of life; I too felt like I was blundering through without a guide or a rule book and I was sure I was making mistakes because people would get upset but I had NO help identifying what exactly I did wrong or what to do instead. So I knew I was messing up but had to keep guessing and trying anyway and getting it wrong again and again!

And as someone raised by an emotionally distant/abusive narcissist, navigating healthy relationships became even MORE difficult and I made a lot of bad choices along the way that landed me in some awful relationships much like what spike and Buffy devolve into towards the end of season 6 because both of them are up stream without a paddle when it comes to healthy relationships, healthy coping mechanisms, and communication. They know pain, avoidance, fighting, torment, and ecstasy from always living in extremes and life or death situations (notice Buffy struggles the most in the season with no threat of the apocalypse until the last two episodes - season 6 - which is SO common for people with trauma, you really fall apart when things are low stakes)

It’s why the tenderness and gentleness of season 7 means SO MUCH. Both of them experiencing these tiny pockets of true peace with each other after everything they’ve been through individually and together. Experiencing true peace like we see from them is one of the hardest things to accomplish if you have severe trauma.

I’m always really happy when I can digest these complex themes enough to communicate why I love them so much and why they’re so important to me. The fact that this show had so much in-fighting amongst the writers and misogynists trying to make spike pathetic and accidentally making him one of the most complex characters, plus episodes based specifically on neurodivergent/queer peoples’ traumatic coming of age experiences because the parallels are SO strong there no way they’re not lol. This all means I can probably spend the rest of my life dissecting the layers of this show and learning about myself in the process and always find something new 🙃🙃🙃 and clearly I love all aspects of spuffy so god damn much as they each embody a big part of my life experiences in so many beautiful yet tragic ways.

[royal-chandler]

@caressthosecheekbones is made of magic ✨

she and i spent a little time imagining a missing scene after the boys get caught by zahra and thus a little ficlet was born.

thanks for always being willing to toss prompts at me, brainstorm and gleefully coo over firstprince with me, caress! 🥰

—

“So, I did not have that on my bingo card for this morning,” Alex comments awkwardly, seconds into the stunned silence that Zahra’s left behind. “Shit, Henry, that’s on me. I completely forgot to set my alarm last night.”

“I’d say we’re both to blame for that,” Henry replies. Low and bluntly, he adds, “You and I did a remarkable job of distracting one another.”

Alex shakes his head, increasingly fond of the man beside him. “Happy to hear that Zahra didn’t scare the humor out of you.”

“Not so much, no,” Henry says. His somewhat self-deprecating smile fades and concern moves into its place, his gaze scanning and surveying. “I’m more concerned with you. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says, scratching his stubble as he heads back into the bedroom. Picking through the wardrobe, he chooses a crisp white shirt, finds a fresh pair of slate-blue slacks hung with its matching jacket. He flings it all on the bed and lies, his hands flexing over and over, “Yeah, I’m good. Good as gravy.”

Henry has followed him and, of course, he’s got a look like he sees right through Alex—all the way to the anxiety that slides through Alex’s guts and rabbits under his skin. Henry’s concern has now manifested into a frown, an all-too-cute and familiar dip between his brows. He says, “No, you’re not. I—maybe my coming here wasn’t the smartest decision. It was irresponsible and careless and I shouldn’t have—”

“What? Oh my God. Can it,” Alex interrupts hurriedly, skidding Henry’s words to a stop. He closes the distance between them and his hands appreciatively slide along the length of Henry’s arms before drawing him in so their fronts fit together. He doesn’t know exactly where the next thing out of his mouth was previously lodged but Henry’s self-criticism wrenches it free. The taste and shape of the endearment feel absolutely right as it leaves him. “Baby, you walking into the bar last night was a sight for sore eyes. Seeing you isn’t ever a mistake in my book. Texas was amazing and I always love being there and I’m proud of the hard work but I really fucking missed this. I missed you.”

Henry visibly softens and soon he’s kissing Alex’s nose with his own, nuzzling near the side of it before his lush mouth touches to Alex’s briefly, a warm and sleep-sweet curl. His hazel eyes gleam with tenderness and Alex melts, dissolved into a loose-limbed form and his worries eclipsed by the closeness of Henry.

“I missed you, too. I only wish that you weren’t in this position. You should be free to come out to your mother on your own timeline—if you ever even chose to.” Henry continues, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be,” Alex says. His hand climbs to the column of Henry’s throat en route to Henry’s jaw and there he holds Henry in place, meets his doubt with unflinching conviction. “Don’t take that on okay? I told Zahra I don’t want to drop this, that I won’t drop this. I meant that. So, yeah, I’ll take everything that comes with it.”

“It seems a steep and disproportionate price, Alex.”

“You’re not often wrong, Henry, but when you are, it’s all the way left, I gotta say.”

“Are you—?”

“Sure? Yes, a hundred percent. I’m nervous as fuck but I know what I’m doing. Plus, Zahra’s right. It’s political malpractice to keep this from my mom. She can’t afford getting caught flat-footed during this campaign.”

“Right. Speaking of which,” Henry starts after a parting kiss that Alex unabashedly chases after, “You have two minutes at most to finish putting yourself together. The Brexit threat was aimed toward me but I have a vested interest in you staying in one piece.”

“You’re the stud standing in my shirt,” Alex says, reveling in Henry, from his mussed hair that hangs over his forehead and down to the peek of his tiny striped shorts, his thick thighs and miles of leg. He catches Henry’s blush on the way back up. “And the nerve of you to look that fine in it.”

“You have one strewn across the bed,” Henry reminds him. “Unless you want this specific one back?”

“Keep it. We’ll get you fashion-forward, yet.” Alex smirks and laughs with startled delight when Henry pushes him away. “Do you know how much I love it when you do that? Like that’s not gonna get me out of here any faster.”

In a rewind of the previous night, they dress with immediacy. Henry unbuttons Alex’s shirt and stows it in his suitcase while Alex shimmies out of one pair of pants and hops into another. Alex takes up seconds to gawk and joke that outfit is eleven steps back when Henry pulls on an oatmeal colored crew neck after earthy brown bottoms, has to duck a rolled up ball of used socks that Henry pitches at his head. A ball that Henry ends up having to retrieve from the sheets they land in in order to complete his packing.

Suddenly mack-trucked by affection and crushed doubly with need, Alex takes advantage as Henry leans over the bed, molding himself to Henry’s back and wrapping him up. To Henry’s noise of question and surprise, Alex answers quietly at the nape of his neck and short, soft hairs there, “Ten seconds. Ten more seconds.”

“Zahra—”

“—is fucking brilliant at what she does and has bailed me out so many times that I’m hundreds of gift baskets in debt. She’ll come up with something. I’m on an urgent phone call, I’m finishing up a breakfast meeting with a news correspondent for a quote. I’m tied up in business that’s incredibly important.”

“That’s me then?” Henry jokes.

“Yeah, baby,” Alex admits, the truth punching out of him and his voice terrible. His heart shivers at the soon to be loss of the man in his arms, his insides re-tangling into a knot of misery. There never seems to be enough time.

After an inaudible beat, Henry asks, “Alex, darling, can I look at you?”

“I’ll allow it,” Alex replies, a stutter in his breath. He places a series of kisses to the back of Henry’s neck and down to his spine. Then, Alex lets him go.

Henry turns around and with wonder written in face, the first thing he does is catch his finger around Alex’s silk tie, tugging it lightly. He informs Alex, “This is crooked.”

“You can straighten the tie but you can’t straighten the man, Fox,” Alex says, a little clumsily, his bravado unsteady.

“Fucking menace,” Henry murmurs, sounding endeared. He unfastens the tie and then proceeds to slip and fold the ends into a Windsor knot. When he’s done, he flattens his palm to the center of Alex’s chest. Henry looks up and it may be precarious, Alex’s thought that those bright hazel eyes are romance-rimmed, colored with an emotion deeper than casual. “We’ll meet again soon, yeah? This is simply a bookmark, Alex. That’s all.”

Alex enjoys the imagery of it, a temporary maker in their pages with more chapters to pen. That there will be more of last night—scattering laughter into and against the edges of each other’s mouths, tucked safely away from the world as they share stories and become well-versed in one another.

For now, Alex scripts in another kiss. He captures the give of Henry’s lips with deliberate care and reverence, plying them open with his tongue and swallowing Henry’s little exhales. Thumbs pressed against the hinges of jaws, the gentle coaxing seamlessly sinks into insistence, the two of them greedy to make it count—like they can leave behind and take away traces of each other. Time slurs immeasurably before he and Henry are content, their foreheads meeting softly over a tide of quick, breathy sighs.

“You’d better get going,” Henry says in a hush. “Before they put out a search party or unleash a battalion. Whatever it is you Americans do.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, roughly. He walks away with the awful, lead-heavy knowledge that he’ll come back and Henry won’t be there. At the open door, he says, “Have a safe flight and let me know when you land.”

“I’ll be sure to. And you’ll tell me how things go, after you’ve done it?” Henry asks. He’s heartbreakingly beautiful and kind, a vanishing dream. “I want to be there for you, no matter what the outcome is.”

“I’ll be all up in your inbox,” Alex promises, throwing up a peace sign and then slipping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

[drill-teeth-art]

A late night, slight retrospective on the tiny amount of Tumblr fame I've gathered that also might be slightly annoying for my audience to read so feel free to skip it if you want.

I started sharing Transformers fanart on here back in 2022, around October. I had been posting art on here for a while before actually but people really started following me and asking about my work and actually reblogging my stuff when I started posting Transformers fanart in 2022. I was in a really low place then, and I really welcomed the attention. My art was and still is something I take a lot of pride in. It's my own. There's quite a few years of my life where the fact I could still draw was the only thing stopping me from attempting suicide. It's something that has always meant a lot to me, so the attention on one of the only things I really liked about myself was nice. It was nice for a while.

But I've gotta say the slight Tumblr fame (and I do mean slight, I've only got around 3k followers which is a lot of people and more than I ever thought I'd have following me and more than a lot of folks will ever have but not like A Ton Of Fame) has wreaked havoc on my mental health. Which is already pretty rough as is. Suddenly I wasn't just some guy making Transformers fanart while desperately saving up to get out of my parents' house. Suddenly I was some people's FAVORITE Transformers artist. Suddenly I was a role model to people and I had people in my DMs clambering for my attention and I had an audience that would cheer or boo or go awkwardly silent at my every post depending on how much they liked it. And it was Not Good For Me. I had and still do have people all over my inbox, excited about how I drew fat and disabled and trans characters asking me over and over to draw some specific representation that I don't want to draw right away. I had and still have people begging me to draw their favorite Transformers character who I happen to not really care about and not want to draw at all. And I am painfully aware how often people take personal offense to my polite "no I'm not drawing that unless it's a commission" and my not answering their ask because I'm not in the mood. I've had people send in asks asking for a specific drawing and then follow up asks when I don't answer in a timely manner. And it's really uncomfortable! And it's almost more uncomfortable that it feels like a lot of people don't even notice that they're making me uncomfortable.

And I like learning how to draw bodies I've never drawn before. I like looking at a character who I think is meh and being like "well actually how can I make them interesting to me...". But it really felt and still feels like my art was getting away from me, like I was drawing more what people were asking me to make instead of what I wanted to because people would take it so badly when I'd say no. I was getting commissions though and I was saving up money to move out so I ignored that bad feeling of getting distanced from my own craft because I was trying so hard to save money and I was actually making some. And I still wanted the attention. Plenty of people were still kind to me despite everything.

Things got weirder for me after I released my Good Bi Gender comic. Which I do still recommend people read I think it's some of my best work. But that comic became a huge hit. And it made things really complicated for a while. I got anon hate. I was told to kill myself by strangers online more than once while I was already deeply suicidal. Something I thought I stated very clearly in the comic itself, that I didn't want strangers calling me "she" though I did and do let my close trusted people call me "she", was immediately ignored by my regular audience and people reading the comic. I got a lot of "you go girl!" kind of messages in response to my comic, and I didn't say anything at the time but it made me deeply uncomfortable. The comic was partly about how the she/her part of my identity is off limits to strangers. How I don't let just anyone she/her me because I work so hard to have the he/him aspect identity acknowledged at all. And it was like what Tumblr decided for me was to go against my wishes. Was to be like "we'll accept your identity for you!" when that's not what I wanted. I did NOT want to be she/her'd by thousands of strangers at the time. And though I'm grateful to have heard the understanding stories of other folks with nonbinary gender identities in the notes, it was deeply humiliating and invalidating to watch as others decided for me to accept the Girl part of my identity. The opening lines of the comic are explicitly a plea to the reader to listen and understand why they're not allowed to use she/her for me even though I'm opening up about the complexities of my identity.

And like. I don't care anymore if people online she/her me. At least I don't care right now that's why she/her is in my bio right now maybe I'll change that. But at the time it was awful. It was something I asked people not to do. And between that and the constant clambering for my attention from people I didn't want to talk to (because I was severely depressed and wasn't looking to make a ton of new friends) and the alienation from my own work I felt like shit. I felt like garbage. I still do. I hate my art sometimes. I really hate it. And for a while, I considered breaking my own fingers just so people would stop acting so entitled to my art and I would have a reason not to post. And honestly the only thing that stopped me was just trying to get by financially. Just watching my follower count and regular notes steadily trend upward so I could do more commissions so I could move out.

And doing things for the numbers, even for a relatively short time, only made things worse. It sounds a little silly even to me, but I get so stressed out when my posts flop, especially if it's art I was really proud of. I'm struggling to detangle my sense of worth in my art from the online numbers game. And I'm proud of the progress I'm making, but it does really suck and it's really hard. And I really wish I was still the same person back in early 2022 who could say "I don't care about the numbers!" and actually mean it because god I WISH I didn't care about the numbers now. Especially now. I dunno if it's me posting more art people don't wanna see or people leaving Tumblr or a shift in the culture of Tumblr but fewer and fewer people interact with my posts despite my follower count ticking up slowly but surely and it kind of bums me the fuck out. But. I am very proud of myself for still drawing the ocs that I want to draw even if they get less notes every time. And even if I'm slightly frustrated they get less notes every time.

I don't really have a neat bow to tie on my personal story right now. I'm still healing and sometimes I backslide and it's hard and it sucks. I don't want to sound ungrateful or to sound like I'm trying to shoo people off my blog because I'm not. I'm really grateful for the attention and interest and I'm not trying to turn people off my art blog. But it's been a rough few years on here. And don't be surprised if you see me take more and more breaks from this website. I do sincerely hope y'all will stick around and watch me continue to post whatever art and say kind things because I do appreciate that a lot. I'm trying really hard to mend my relationship with my own art. To not be so hard on myself. And for the record I don't want any asks telling me to take breaks when necessary or reminding me to draw for me. I appreciate the sentiment, but I already know all that and I personally don't find it helpful to be reminded of things I already know. But anyway. I hope that I will draw more and more of whatever I want to, even if that means I fade back into obscurity.

If you stuck around to read me reflect on the stresses and occasional humiliation of my small amount of online notoriety, then thank you. I appreciate that. And really I do like people looking at my art on here and sharing it and sending asks about my work. And the person I expect to be responsible for my mental health and how much social media is impacting it is Me first and foremost. But sometimes I think that it's important to remember there's a person behind your favorite art blog. And sometimes when you get swept up in parasocial attachment and hype, you kind of treat that person really fucking weirdly. And no that doesn't make you a bad person or a monster. But it does mean you have to learn to deal with it when someone who you might even idolize is like "back off me you're making me uncomfortable".

Anyway. I shouldn't be up as late as I am. A headache has been keeping me up all night. I'm gonna try to rest though. Goodnight.

[talaok]

Okay I have another request lmao but Spencer and reader playing one of those couples card games? Could be a cute Valentine’s Day fic. And the questions are all varied like for example ‘how do I show you I love you without telling you’ ‘how would you describe me to a stranger’ ‘what’s the sexiest thing about me’ ‘are you lying to yourself about anything’ ‘what non sexual part of me turns you on’ etc which means you can make it as fluffy, angsty or smutty as you want to or all 3 lmao and gives you a lot of creative freedom <3

God I'm so single this made me feel lonely thank you tho, amazing request as always❤️

Time to play

"what is that?" he laughed, his eyes following you as you entered the living room.

You had just finished eating the surprise dinner he had spent weeks planning, and you had disappeared into the bedroom just to come back with a little pink cardboard box.

"a game" you explained with a grin

Spencer knew that smile,

something was up.

he raised an eyebrow questioningly as you sat down close to him.

"ok it's a couples game"

"ah" he hummed amusedly

"c'mon it's fun"

He looked at you,

How could he ever say no to that face?

Spencer often thought of how dangerous the effect you had on him was, about how you could literally ask him to do anything and he would do it without missing a beat if it meant making you happy.

"does it involve taking your clothes off?"

You giggled "would you want it to?"

He bit down a smirk, already more interested "yes" he said like it was the most obvious thing on this earth

You smiled "too bad it doesn't"

"ugh," he huffed, disappointed "you're cruel"

"you still love me though" you leaned closer, kissing him briefly

Too briefly according to Spencer,

"I do" he nodded, smiling hazily as he kissed you once more.

"Alright, then pretty boy, time to play"

He sighed “fine, how does it work?”

“You just answer the questions when it’s your turn and ask them when it’s mine”

“Seems easy enough” he nodded

“I certainly hope so, Mr. Genius”

He laughed softly “you’ve gotta stop calling me that”

“When you’ll stop being a genius”

“That’s not really in my control”

“Well then I guess you’re doomed”

“When was I ever not with you?”

You smiled wide at that, hiding your reddening cheeks as opened the box.

You placed the cards on the table and looked up at him

“Ladies first” he gestured

“What a gentleman” you snickered, drawing a card.

“Ok this is nice” you cleared your throat “how would you describe me to a stranger?”

“Uhh-“ he thought, creasing his forehead “why would I need to-“

“Just answer the question babe” you laughed

“Ok. Well I guess I would say you’re really smart” he started “and stunning, of course” he paused to think “ and funny, talented, and kind” he listed “and well- the love of my life”

You rolled your eyes, your mouth betraying you as it twitched into a smile.

“You’re so cheesy” you leaned closer to him

“And you like it” he kissed you

“I do” you scrunched your nose “your turn”

“Alright,” he took a card “this is interesting- who was your first crush?”

You smiled, settling some hair behind your ear” Jhon Malley, he was a senior when I was a freshman, and he used to tutor me”

“Tutor you?”

Spencer knew you never needed tutoring

“What? I needed an excuse to be with him”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Well he was pretty jacked...” you giggled

“Noted, I’ll start training with Derek"

"no please don't " you waved your hands desperately "I don't wanna have to take care of you for a week because you can't move last time "

"fine I won't" he agreed "did anything ever happen?"

"nope" you tsked "he started dating a cheerleader"

"well he missed out"

"agreed," you said, drawing a card

"Oh I like this one" you bit your bottom lip "what is the sexiest thing about me?"

he smiled, wide "everything"

You hit his chest with the card playfully "no, give me a real answer"

"ok, well your... personality then"

"spencer..." you glared

"oh c'mon, you know"

"I do" you smirked "but I wanna hear you say it"

he sighed "your boobs" he confessed with a thin voice

"I knew it"

"well it's not really a secret" he laughed "what about me? what's the sexiest thing about me?"

"your butt definitely" you joked, making him snort as he took another card

"mh, I wanna know this- Is there something you've lied to your partner about in the past week?"

you smiled guiltily

"spill it"

"ok you know the other day when you asked me where your jumper went and I told you I didn't know" you shrugged "I had kinda stolen it"

He grinned "Oh I knew that"

"what?"

"do you think I haven't noticed how my part of the wardrobe is getting emptier and yours magically growing?"

"and plus, you don't know how to lie"

"That's not true"

He tilted his head, clearly mocking you

"you smile when you lie, and you can't look me in the eyes"

you gasped feigning offense "maybe you just have an advantage because your job is literally to read people, mr. profiler"

"maybe" he agreed "but you're still an awful liar"

"shut up" you stole the card from his hand, and drew a new one.

"What's the first thing you noticed about me when you first met me?"

he didn't even have to think about it "your smile, the moment I saw it I knew I was done for"

You felt your cheeks warm "that's sweet"

he raised an eyebrow "it's the truth" he said, drawing a card.

Oh, he liked this one.

"what would you say is my hidden talent?"

You smirked, only dirty dirty thoughts passing through your mind, and from the look of it, his too.

"I think you know"

"oh I do" he rested his elbows on his legs, leaning closer "But I wanna hear you say it" he gave you a taste of your own medicine.

"Well Doctor-" you bit your lip, leaning so your face was just before his, as your finger traced mindless patterns on his shoulder and chest "you do have a very talented mouth" you murmured "and tongue" you added, kissing his cheek, as you noticed his breathing quicken "and well-" you kissed his neck now "other things too" you suggested.

"mmm" he hummed, his hand reaching for your thigh "how about I use some of those talents right now?"

You laughed softly, "sure thing baby," you agreed "right after we finish playing"

[llyfrenfys]

Sooner or later I've gotta make a better post regarding the appropriation of indigenous terminology by proponents of (certain kinds of) Welsh nationalism. But for now here's a very whistle-stop version of that post. I have a degree in Celtic Studies so these topics are very near and dear to my heart.

[Note: I wrote this post originally during a migraine. I'm revisiting the draft while I'm ill but hopefully can fix this up into something somewhat understandable. As always, this is only a very brief description of the history and I strongly reccomend reading about these topics in your own time to develop a deeper understanding of them. These are topics not even well known in Britain, but if you can spend a short time just to read this, you can help to combat misinformation about British (particularly Welsh) history - and that could aid in preventing the misappropriation of history in the long run. Diolch eto for reading!]

Very often, (certain) Welsh nationalists use terminology that positions the Welsh as if they are an 'indigenous' population who have been 'colonised'. They use language (which in this climate) heavily draws upon the language typically used for peoples who are the victims of British colonialism (of which Wales was an active participant). There's multiple issues with this and many of them lie in whether its appropriate to use this language (regardless of its accuracy or not) as a country which was actively involved in the colonisation of much of the world. What I mean in short is that additional language is needed which doesn't step on the toes of endangered cultures and groups directly affected by British colonialism.

Wales not only participated in British colonialism as a whole (alongside Scotland, Ireland* and England) but itself colonised parts of patagonia in Argentina.

I can't think of any similar terminology to 'indigenous' or 'colonised' which would also get the idea which is meant across. 'Native' in certain contexts is permissible, e.g. 'native speaker' in the context of a Welsh speaker. But in other contexts other than langauge, things get tricky when you argue 'nativeness' (this is a topic I will come back to - especially re. Celtic as a language descriptor vs Celtic as a so-called ethnicity). When (certain) Welsh nationalists talk about being 'indigenous' , being 'native' or 'colonised' what is meant by that?

(Map of the expansion of the Bronze Age Bell Beaker culture circa 2400 BC in Britain and Ireland) - from this map

What makes a Welsh person 'indigenous' to this island that doesn't immediately disqualify other peoples who also have a deep history here? Historically, the island of Britain has been lived on by many, many peoples.

In the Bronze Age you had the arrival of the Bell Beaker people. Then in the Iron-Age, you had tribes speaking (mostly) Brittonic. I say mostly, because we have direct evidence that in the Iron Age Gaulish speaking tribes also moved to parts of Britain but later became integrated with the rest of the population (which, I will add, were not a united peoples but a scattering of different groups who often went to war against each other). Then the Romans invaded Britain (and much of Western Europe) and over time integrated into the local population. So now Britain is Romano-British. Eventually the Western Roman Empire collapses and Britain enters into the sub-Roman Britain phase of its existence. Kingdoms begin to form, with the population speaking Brittonic and British-Latin. So you have different kingdoms in (what would become Wales) and in (what would become Northern England and Southern Scotland) you have more Brittonic-speaking kingdoms.

These kingdoms were also not a united peoples. They shared a language - but it's like claiming that Ancient Greeks were a united people simply because they all spoke Greek. Sparta, Athens, Cornith etc. were independent of each other and the same is true of the kingdoms of the Hen Ogledd (the Old North) and the kingdoms of Wales. They all had a common language but also went to war with each other sometimes. Eventually, the Brittonic language began to diverge into different languages. Namely, Old Welsh and Cumbric (the language spoken in what is today Cumbria, Lancashire, Northumberland and Southern Scotland). The two languages were still very closely related but had diverged by a certain point.

At the same time this is happening, Anglo-Saxons begin to arrive in what is now Kent. They form kingdoms and the Britons living there are either displaced or become absorbed into the Anglo-Saxon populace. Then the Norse rock up and conduct viking raids around the coast before finally settling in parts of the country and forming their own territories.

So now Britain has several groups living on the island (keeping in mind even before settlement from the Anglo-Saxons and the Norse that the British kingdoms were already composed of different groups themselves). Northern Scotland was also having a time re: Picts, Gaels and Britons - but we'll gloss over that for brevity. Also, Ireland was also raiding the Welsh coast at this time too.

Then the Normans rock up and in 1066 William the Conqueror, well, conquers. More history happens after this point but I will try and keep this as brief and as non-messy as I can.

So, to recap:

One of the earliest cultures in Britain was the Bell Beaker people in the Bronze Age. They had their lands settled by the Iron Age Britons ('Celts'). Then the Romans came and the 'Celts' became Romano-Britons. After the Western Roman Empire collapses the remaining population forms kingdoms with distinct political identities. These kingdoms eventually find themselves fighting the Anglo-Saxons and the Norse. Then the Normans turn up and so on and so forth.

So- which group is the original native group to Britain? (Trick question - this question cannot be satisfactorily answered in favour of one group without leaning into claims of historicity which the other groups can also claim).

Which brings me to modern Welsh identity and those who came before.

Something I see in Welsh nationalist groups is a claim to the legacy (or even claims of direct descendance from) the Iron Age Britons (commonly called Celts for shorthand, but as I said before I'm gonna get back to that point). And this narrative is what the "Welsh people are native to Britain" argument is based off of.

It may seem like #praxis to argue the Welsh people are the true inhabitants of Britain and the English are evil invaders. But you have to make *several* logical leaps to get to that point if you're genuinely arguing that point.

For starters, many more people than just the Britons (read: Romano Britons/early Brittonic kingdoms) have called Britain home since the Early Middle Ages. For example, there's the settlement of Scotland by the Gaels, the Irish settlement of certain parts of costal Wales. You have (much later) Roma and traveller groups, Jewish diaspora and many more diverse cultures and peoples existing in Britain at this time. The Romano-British population, which developed into the Early Middle Ages kingdoms of Wales and the Hen Ogledd, was also multicultural. Many black Romans started families with white Britons. By the sub-Roman period, Britain was ethnically and culturally diverse.

But those who argue in favour of a such thing as 'Celtic ethnicity' in order to support the idea Britons (and only Britons) were native to these islands typically imagine that history as white. White Brits, white Romans, white Gaels. When we know this isn't true. Did you know that the Northernmost Ancient Egyptian temple in the world is in Yorkshire because Roman Egyptians in the military brought their religion with them? Mary Beard did a fantastic documentary about a Roman Soldier from modern day Syria who was stationed at Hadrian's Wall who started a family with a British woman. Point is, that some people like to imagine a purely white Britain that they can pine for. And I'm afraid it simply isn't true. The version of history many white supremacists look to simply didn't exist.

I'll quickly bring up one last point before I draw this to a close. And it's about Celtic as a linguistic term vs Celtic as a so-called ethnicity. You see, any first year Celtic Student would tell you that there is no such thing as 'Celts'. Crazy, I know from people studying *Celtic* studies. But hear me out - there is good reasoning why (beyond language groups) Celtic is not a good term for describing an ethnic group. Much of it relates to what I've already mentioned, but we categorise Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Mann, Cornwall and Brittany as Celtic not because of the ethnicity of the people living there (which I've mentioned is pretty diverse) but because they are all places where Celtic languages are spoken. It wasn't until Edward Llwyd (d. 1709) that the term Celtic was coined to describe these languages. Up until that point, nobody was thinking of Irish and Welsh as related because the languages do not sound like they have a common origin. By extension, people didn't think of the Welsh and Irish as being the same peoples (or Celtic) either. Its only in the modern day there is a sense of Celtic identity. The Iron Age Britons were not going around calling themselves Celts. There was no common Celtic identity. But very often people argue Celticness based on a pseudohistory which insists on a false and misleading interpretation of history. Whether or not Celticness exists now is a different matter entirely. But it sure does not rest upon race or ethnicity as a qualifier. This is quite foundational stuff to first year and above Celtic Scholars, but is not generally well known outside of academia because the misinformation is quite strong. So if you read is far, diolch mawr and please share this with anyone you think might be interested in it. Any amount of knowledge of these things would greatly improve understanding of what it means to be Welsh and what it means to speak a Celtic language.

Lastly,

all of that begs us to ask the question:

What does it mean to claim nativeness in a Western European context?

More under the cut

What does it mean to claim nativeness in a Western European context? Especially in a Western Europe post-colonialism.

It means, to me, to claim what isn't our right to claim. To argue and make our points with language that isn't ours and isn't designed to be ours. That this language of indigeneity may sound appealing, but is it improper to use this terminology when our country was directly responsible for the atrocities in which this very language became relevant?

What do we do in response to the misinterpretation of our culture instead of relying on language of indigeneity? These are the questions I want to leave you with and invite you to share your thoughts on. How do we build a Wales which advocates for itself without relying upon inaccurate language which betrays a reliance upon the ahistorical to make its point?

What kind of Wales do we want to live in?

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Charlie Morningstar Redesign! (4/7)

It’s the girl herself!!!

I could NOT stand the red in her suit so i made it a much nicer soft cream colour! I think red is a lovely colour but in the case of someone like Charlie who wants to brand herself as approachable and welcoming, a strong harsh red all over is not the way to go. The red of her horns and lower hooves and vest is already more than enough red and it pairs very nicely with the yellows and gold accents in the rest of her design in my opinion!

I always tend to draw her with this big hopeful eyes to contrast the kind of scary look that rectangle pupils give and I think it reflects her character pretty well. Charlie is absolutely a sweetheart but when angry her eyes become flatter and more threatening. She’s literally offered to kill a guy for Angel once so she has to have some kick in her, plus horns are good for stabbing! And accessories!! Like cute chains!!!!! My original Charlie redesign had her with a little apple cuff on her horn and I do miss it a little, but I think she looks alright without it too :3 she keeps it in a dresser somewhere

I’ve never drawn or designed a character with cloven hoof hands but I think I might do it more often after this. Thinking about her writing or typing with the little clicky sounds makes my brain happy and honestly walking with hooves has that special flair that heels just cannot achieve. Since she’s the hotel owner/staff she also gets her own custom little nametag like Niffty (the rest if the staff have them as well but not all of them wear them all the time like Husk, Van/Vaggie, or Alastor) I personally think Charlie made them all herself and let everyone write their own names, but she enjoyed picking colours and all that :)

Her red cheek things were a bit strange to me and I gotta be honest I didn’t like them very much so I replaced them with a softer peach gradient on her cheeks and hips to give an extra warmness to her. I want her to seem like the kind of person that can give a REALLY firm handshake and also a very good hug and talk about anything. Oh her little wave is supposed to look kind of like that weird royal wave I see those royal people do sometimes. I thought it’d be a cute little thing to add slightly-off regal mannerisms where I could.

I hope the goat motifs came through well enough, I really like abnormal legs (you will begin to notice this soon) and they really just add so much personality to me I love working with them. I wanted Charlie to be kind of chubby and soft looking hence the colour choice leaning more towards warm rather than hot and trying to use less pointed shapes with her like the little gold ball tassels on her bolo-tie. About the bolo-tie! The little gem on the inside is purple to symbolise the pride ring, but it also allows direct transport to other layers of hell. Sinners cannot use this even if they get their hands on it, but it’s still incredibly rare and valuable because of materials and such. It’s like an eco friendly private jet. Maybe Taylor Swift should get her hands on one of these! :)

And if anyone was wondering yes I did want the purple to also look a bit like a nether portal.. it was a good opportunity.

The last little details I want to note are the faint heart motifs on her ear and hooves. For the hooves it’s really cheesy but I think the metaphorical idea of leaving a tiny bit of love wherever she goes is cute and I like being sappy. The ear heart being a tear has always meant some kind of “hurt to get what you love” thing to me. I don’t fully know how to describe it but it’s not in a toxic mentality, she just does a lot of stressful stuff to get her dreams and passions going and I think shes great for that.

I plan on drawing her true form eventually and maybe showing a little animation of transformation (I just want an excuse to draw her tail again)

Overall Charlie is one of my favourites to draw and write for, shes just such a sweetie and I love her to death 🩷 she is quite literally the heart of the hotel and she is doing her best! Excited to post again later today :3 📻

[sgstories123]

It all started with a pack of Marlboro

It was almost midnight when Ryan walked out of the MRT station. There were so many overtime work this month. He was tired but happy that he is going to get some extra cash. Maybe he will take a short trip to Bangkok. He missed the girls there. The last time he went there was almost 3 years ago before the COVID pandemic.

As he walked towards his HDB flat, he went inside a 7-11 to buy a can of beer and some snacks to reward himself for his hard work. He spotted a young Malay couple outside the store through the glass panels. He had seen both of them several times this last couple of weeks. Both of them were young, in their early twenties at most. The man was tall and thin, often wearing black t-shirts with loud, garish pictures of metal bands.

Ryan was more interested in the woman though. She was slightly rounded but considering the size of her breasts and ass, she was well-proportioned. Like most of the times that he had seen her, today, she was wearing another tight tube top, her cleavage showing clearly. She had on a short, black skirt today, with black stockings and red heels. It reminded Ryan of street walkers often depicted on old Hollywood movies.

As he paid for his food, he started whistling “Pretty woman, walking down the street…”

He pushed open the door to the convenience store and was about to walk off when he heard someone calling out to him.

“Abang! Can help?” The Malay man asked.

“What is it?” Ryan turned to him. The Malay man had a cute, boyish type of face. This type of boyband material breaks many hearts, Ryan thought to himself.

The Malay man looked around furtively before pushing two ten-dollar bills into Ryan’s hands. “Help me buy a pack of Marlboro, can?”

Ryan looked around. There was no one to be seen. He sighed. It was much easier during his time when he wanted a smoke. Now the laws are so strict that he pitied the young man. He took the money and went into the 7-11 again. The cashier looked at him suspiciously, obviously aware of what was happening. Ryan simply ignored him.

Walking out of the 7-11 a second time, he passed the cigarettes and change to the Malay man.

“Thanks, Abang.” The Malay man started tapping the cigarettes pack hard onto his palm, before opening up the pack. He lit a cigarette, and sucked on it slowly, enjoying himself.

Ryan was watching the Malay woman instead. She had thick luscious lips and smooth, dark skin. An image of those thick lips on his cock sprang to his mind, his cock suddenly hard and uncomfortable in his jeans.

“She quite pretty, right?” The Malay man grinned when he caught Ryan staring at his girlfriend.

“Yeah. You are such a lucky guy.” Ryan tried to be nonchalant.

“Look at those lips. She is a damn good kisser.” The Malay man continued, drawing another round of air through his cigarettes. “She is even better with her blowjob. Cannot tahan. You want to cum immediately inside her mouth.”

Ryan cursed the man inwardly. This dirty talk is only fuelling all sorts of images in his mind and his cock was hurting, begging for release from his jeans.

“Yeah. Good for you then.” Ryan muttered. “Have fun. I gotta go.” He needed to reach his home quickly.

“Abang. You help me, I help you. How about $50 for a blow job? Discount for you because you nice guy.” The Malay man pulled Ryan back.

“Thanks. I not gay. I don’t need blowjobs from you.”

The Malay man laughed. “Sorry. I meant she gives you the blowjob.” The man shoved a thumb in the woman’s direction.

Ryan’s interest was piqued. “$50? You sure?”

The Malay man looked around and pointed to the staircase in a nearby block of flats. “Follow me.”

Ryan followed the Malay man with the woman walking slowly behind. Throughout, the woman did not say a word, seemingly oblivious to the whole discussion.

They walked up a flight of stairs, at the landing between the ground and second floors. Ryan fished out a $50 bill to the man and without another word, the woman knelt in front of Ryan, slowly stroking his hard cock through his jeans. It seems that this is not the first time that she is doing this.

Ryan’s cock was hurting so much that he did not really care for foreplay. He unzipped his jeans and pulled down his briefs. His hard cock sprang up, finally released from its prison. The woman took in his whole length in a practiced move, twitching her head slightly to align with the angle of his cock. Ryan sighed in pleasure. The thick lips enveloped his cock warmly. As her lips moved along the length of his cock, they left a trail of warm saliva, like footprints in the sand. She was not shy, like some of the other women who had given Ryan’s blowjobs, taking bits of his cock at a time. She simply swallowed it whole, his cock hitting the back of her throat on its first entry. Ryan held on to her head as she sucked on his cock expertly. The boyfriend was right. She was really good. His cock was begging for release, his muscles in his ass clenching tightly, trying desperately to last longer and prolong his pleasure.

“Stop for a while. I need to sit down.” Ryan pushed the woman off his hard cock. Her saliva was glistening on his cock, dripping down and darkening the cement floor. He sat down on the stairs, two steps up from the landing, catching his breath. His cock was quivering in anger. It wanted to be back in the warm mouth. Perhaps the woman understood his cock better than he did. She crawled over on her hands and knees. Holding his waist for support with one hand, she leaned forwards. With her other hand, she grabbed Ryan’s hard cock and guided into her mouth again. Ryan surrendered to the pleasure. He could not fight it any more. His $50 is going way too fast.

The Malay man grinned and walked behind the woman. He lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties. He licked his fingers and pushed it into her pussy. The woman flinched momentarily but continued sucking on Ryan’s cock. Man, this is one professional cock sucker, Ryan thought to himself. He patted the woman’s head, giving his approval to her professionalism.

The man then dropped his pants and revealed his erect cock. It was long and thick. As the man was rather skinny and with a boyish face, his large cock seemed to be disproportionally large. God was unfair, Ryan thought. Good looks and large cock. Everyone’s wet dream.

The man spit on his cock, lubricating it quickly before pushing it into the woman’s pussy. This time, the woman could not remain passive. She paused, moaning softly as the man’s large cock entered her. Ryan could feel her arms hugging him even more tightly for support as she arched upwards to allow the man to enter her even more deeply. But she only took a moment for her own enjoyment. She returned quickly to her task, sucking Ryan’s cock even more deeply. She seemed to be enjoying herself even more now. Her breath was interspersed with grunts of pleasure.

Above the soft groans of pleasure emanating from the three of them, Ryan heard several loud voices. It was coming from a group of people walking along the void deck below them. Ryan heaved a sigh of relief when the group walked away. There was a small chance that this was their block of flats and they have decided to use the stairs. Be healthy, take the stairs. That was one of the government’s latest campaign.

The danger passed and he relaxed. Without focusing on holding back, the floodgates opened and he released everything that he had been holding back into the woman’s mouth. He jerked forward uncontrollably, holding onto the woman’s head to prolong his pleasure. The man was ejaculating too. He gave several hard thrusts, squeezing the woman between the two of them. Ryan laid back on the hard stairs, exhausted but plainly satisfied. The woman was must have swallowed his cum because she was now licking his cock clean. Gosh, she was really professional. The man sat next to the woman, smiling at Ryan.

“Wah, not bad. You last quite long leh.” He pulled the woman upwards, giving her a kiss on her cum-drenched lips. Looking at Ryan again, he commented “And your cock also quite nice.” Without another word, he leaned downwards, licking Ryan’s cock, taking over from the woman.

Ryan’s cock sprang alive, harder than ever before. He knew he was not gay but the man was even a better than the woman. A moan escaped from him.

“Round 2? I won’t charge you for it.” The man winked at Ryan.