#highly recommend checking them out

[egginfroggin]

Hmmmm.

Yet another meme redraw for you all this fine day

It hasn't been officiated by Nintendo yet, but frankly, I do subscribe to the theory that DMK corrupted Sectonia via the mirror; I also think that Taranza has every right to knock him out cold for it

Tell me, which bin do you think DMK belongs in, recycling or trash?

Also I did the perspective after one in the morning on this, don't mind how skrungled DMK is

Also if anyone knows the meme this is based off of and can give me its name or a link to it, please do so if you wouldn't mind, I couldn't find it and had to do this all from memory

Have a good day, everyone ^^

(Program: Krita; time: about 3 hours [same time half the effort as the last one. huh])

[minkyutie]

fuse challenge 8: favourite live stage ↳ bye my monster at the 2024 summer gayo daejeon

[maddymoreau]

Mr. House and Courier Six drawn by @zipperqwerty

[leapdayowo]

It’s finally finished!

Them!! My silly lil guys! The ones that make cartoon noises when they splat!!

Oh man, what a fun project :) I’ve been wanting to do a proper watercolor for one of my favorite current fanfics Redstone and Skulk by @silverskye13 and I have done it! I really love Tango and Tanguish’s dynamic and envisioning them working together on decked out. Putting the name tag on the warden is one of many scenes that sticks out to me :)

Since it’s one of my goals for this year, I tried to make the lighting more interesting and dynamic. Tango’s orange, fire hair was a wonderful contrast to the blue ice cavern! I did heavily debate putting my usual line art with a pen, but decided not to so as not to lose some of the details from my colored pencils. Unfortunately, I once again forgot to take a picture at the sketch phase to show the progress :P

Regardless, I hope I captured just how much these two are creatures in my mind :3

[thedarkjotun]

(source: kimama2_150 on Twitter)

[gingermintpepper]

hi, i haven't read the iliad and the odyssey but want to - do u have a specific translation you recommend? the emily wilson one has been going around bc, y'know, first female translator of the iliad and odyssey into english, but i was wondering on if you had Thoughts

Hi anon! Sorry for the somewhat late response and I'm glad you trust me with recommendations! Full, disclosure, I am somewhat of a traditionalist when it comes to translations of the source text of the Iliad + Odyssey combo wombo, which means I tend to prefer closeness in literal verbiage over interpretation of the poetic form of these epics - for that reason, my personal preferred versions of the Odyssey and Iliad both are Robert Fitzgerald's. Because both of these translations (and his Aeneid!) were done some 50+ years ago (63 for his original Odyssey tl, 50 flat for his Iliad and 40 for his Aeneid) the English itself can be a bit difficult to read and the syntax can get confusing in a lot of places, so despite my personal preferences, I wouldn't recommend it for someone who is looking to experience the Iliad + Odyssey for the very first time.

For an absolute beginner, someone who has tried to read one or both of these epics but couldn't get into it or someone who has a lot of difficulty with concentrating on poetry or long, winding bits of prose, I fully and wholeheartedly recommend Wilson's translation! See, the genius of Emily Wilson's Iliad + Odyssey isn't that she's a woman who's translated these classics, it's that she's a poet who's adapted the greek traditional poetic form of dactylic hexameter into the english traditional poetic form of iambic pentameter. That alone goes a very very long way to making these poems feel more digestible and approachable - iambic pentameter is simply extremely comfortable and natural for native english speakers' brains and the general briskness of her verbiage helps a lot in getting through a lot of the problem books that people usually drop the Iliad or Odyssey in like Book 2 of the Iliad or Book 4 of the Odyssey. I think it's a wonderful starting point that allows people to familiarise themselves with the source text before deciding if they want to dig deeper - personally, researching Wilson's translation choices alone is a massive rabbit hole that is worth getting into LOL.

The happy medium between Fitzgerald's somewhat archaic but precise syntax and Wilson's comfortable meter but occasionally less detailled account is Robert Fagles' Iliad + Odyssey. Now, full disclosure, I detest how Fagles handles epithets in both of his versions, I think they're far too subtle which is something he himself has talked at length about in his translation notes, but for everything else - I'd consider his translations the most well rounded of english adaptations of this text in recent memory. They're accurate but written in plain English, they're descriptive and detailled without sacrificing a comfortable meter and, perhaps most importantly, they're very accessible for native english speaking audiences to approach and interact with. I've annotated my Fagles' volumes of these books to heaven and back because I'm deeply interested in a lot of the translation decisions made, but I also have to specifically compliment his ability to capture nuance in the characters' of these poems in a way I don't often see. He managed to adapt the ambivalence of ancient greek morality in a way I scarcely see and that probably has a hand in why I keep coming back to his translations.

Now, I know this wasn't much of a direct recommendation but as I do not know you personally, dear anon, I can't much make a direct recommendation to a version that would best appeal to your style of reading. Ideally, I'd recommend that you read and enjoy all three! But, presuming that you are a normal person, I suggest picking which one is most applicable for you. I hope this helps! 🥰

[federfleisch]

Enki Ankarian commission by @lavendelleaf

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #27

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: oral dub-con, implied non-con, starvation, violence

Master and his friends had passed out, finally. After hours and hours of drinking and sex and entertainment, they had fallen asleep. 

It was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to rest. He lay on the floor, naked and cold, dried cum sticky on his sore thighs.

He stared up at the ceiling. His throat hurt, angry bruises blossoming over his skin. One of Master’s friends, Mr. Horneswood, had slammed his head against the floor, and it was only now that his vision had quit fading in and out and his nosebleed had stopped.

Master had never let them be so violent with him before. Beatings and getting choked was nothing new, and Master had chastised them for going too far several times. But not today.

He really thought they were going to kill him this time. He’d never passed out from being strangled before, and they had never hit his head until now, much less slamming it into the hard marble floor. Twice.

Hunger rumbled in his stomach.

He turned his head to see the table. It was half covered in near empty bottles and glasses, but there was food at the end.

He licked his lips. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and if everyone was asleep…

He slowly got up, wincing as he went. Master wouldn’t notice if a few rolls went missing. 

Master had put out so much food, and his friends were more interested in getting drunk, so nearly all of of it was untouched.

He ate cheeses and fruit, pastries and rolls, and even dared to sneak some of the delicious roasted duck.

It wasn’t until he was full, sitting next to the table, that he realized.

Master had forgotten his chains.

Usually Master made sure he was in shackles when his friends came to visit, just to be certain he couldn’t get away from their lust.

Not tonight. Tonight he was unrestrained. He hadn’t even noticed until now.

He looked back at Master and his friends. They were still completely passed out, sprawled out on couches and slumped in armchairs.

He could run. There was nothing stopping him.

Nothing, except… what if Master caught him? He would be so angry. Master would beat him to death if he left.

They’ll kill you if you stay, said a tiny part of him. You know they will. You can’t keep doing this.

He bit his lip. Master was all he knew, his everything. It was the only thing he was good at; serving as his slave was his entire purpose. It was what he was made for.

What else could there possibly be?

You are going to die here.

The tiny part was right.

He grabbed his discarded clothes, tugging on the threadbare shirt, boxers, and pants Master had allowed him. 

He stole a cloak off the coat rack and ran out the front door, pulling the hood over his hair.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and his legs hurt and his head pounded but it was better than death and blood and Master.

___________________

He should have stolen some shoes. He limped along, blood from the pads of his feet staining his trail. 

Dawn had come and gone, but he didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop moving.

He avoided the roads, instead sticking to the woods. He couldn’t risk being seen yet. Master had horses, and money, and might pay someone to look for him.

It was a hot day. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked his clothes, the salt stinging the cuts on his legs courtesy of the wilderness.

He tripped over a stone early in the night, and torn a toenail clean off, which hurt like hell.

His legs were sore too, knees on fire and thighs chafing from the dried cum and fabric rubbing the skin. 

Maybe it would be worth it to find some water and rest.

___________________

After hours of trekking through the woods, he heard running water. He picked up the pace, jogging towards the sound.

It was a small creek, secluded and quiet. Good.

He stripped off his clothes and waded in. It was freezing cold, goosebumps forming on his skin. He crouched down and drank some of the water, soothing his dusty throat.

He splashed some of the water on his face, wiping away the sweat. He washed off the best he could, and crawled out of the creek. There was a flat rock nearby, and he laid the cloak down on top of it. 

A few hours of rest couldn’t hurt.

___________________

He followed the creek after his nap. It would get to a river eventually, and maybe lead to a town where he could beg for some scraps.

He should have stolen the rest of the food at Master’s house. Idiot.

The creek did get bigger, but instead of bringing him to a river, it ran by a traveler’s campsite. The road must be close.

The campsite had just been used, fresh but cold ashes in the firepit, and fresh horse manure still buzzing with flies.

There were berry bushes nearby (unfortunately inedible ones), and he was struck with a thought.

His white hair was identifiable. No one had white hair, Master said so. Master said he was so pretty with white hair. It was why he was allowed to exist; it made him good enough to live despite being a stupid slave who couldn’t do things right.

Master could find him if his hair was still white.

He pulled off the berries, crushing them in his hands. He slathered his hair with them, staining the white to brown. Much better. He pulled his hood back up and followed the horse tracks to the road.

___________________

The road led to a city, and he kept his head down passing through the gates. The guards didn’t even look at him.

There was a tavern just next to the gates, and the smell of food made him hesitate. It was a busy place, even had some stables attached.

He bit his lip.

He didn’t have any money. He went around the stables, and there was a dumpster out back. He peered into the trash, but he couldn’t see anything he could eat. Damn.

The back door to the tavern opened, and he backed away. Not fast enough, because the tavern owner spotted him immediately.

He scrambled away, but she grabbed him by the arm.

“What’re you doing?” She growled. “You a nasty little thief?” She shook his arm, and he whimpered, shaking his head.

“I- I was just hungry-”

She let go of him and he stumbled backwards into the ground. “‘M sorry! I just wanted to look in your trash!” He started to cry.

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms, staring him down.

“Please don’t call the guard,” he begged, sobbing. “I’ll go away, I swear.”

“I don’t like beggars,” she said. “So come here.”

She was going to hit him, and he deserved it for bothering her. He shakily got to his feet, and limped forward.

“There’s a pile of dishes in the sink. Scrub ‘em.”

“W-what?”

“You scrub the plates,” she pointed at him, “and you get food. That way you ain’t beggin’.”

“Thank you! Tha-”

“Shut up.” She turned and walked inside, and he followed.

There was in fact a sink piled full of dishes, and he got to work scrubbing them clean. The kitchen was hot, but he didn’t dare take off his cloak. He was so hungry he was lightheaded, and the smell of food was torture to the gnawing ache in his belly.

The dishes kept coming, and he ignored the strange looks from the wait staff.

After a few hours, the tavern owner handed him a package wrapped with paper.

“Get out.”

He left without argument, opening the package and eating as he walked.

The sandwich was the best thing he ever tasted.

___________________

The second town he came across, the innkeeper let him sleep in the stables in exchange for scrubbing stains out of sheets. 

The third city tossed him out before he could offer anything, and he stole some apples from an orchard by the road before getting scared off by barking dogs.

He had a bad feeling about this next town. 

The innkeeper was at the counter, and it was not busy at all. It creeped him out. “How many nights?” asked the keeper, a flat tone to his voice as he scribbled in his ledger.

“I, um. I don’t have any money,” he admitted, “but um, is there anything I can do for you?”

The innkeeper slammed the book shut, and he jumped. The innkeeper looked him up and down, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m just hungry,” he said weakly, “do you have any scraps?”

“Nope. Get out.” 

“Please,” he tried again. “I’ll do anything.”

The innkeeper stood up. “I said leave.” He began to shove him outside, and he stumbled, bare heels digging into the wood.

“I’ll blow you,” he blurted, and the innkeeper paused. He held his breath. Why did he offer that?

The innkeeper grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the back.

The innkeeper tossed him across the room. He swallowed, his mouth going dry. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The innkeeper stalked forward, and he dropped to his knees, tongue lolling out. The innkeeper unbuckled his belt and he knew what to do.

The innkeeper was rough and impatient, and he let the innkeeper fuck into his throat. He just wanted it over. The man grunted, finishing into his mouth, and he was hungry enough to swallow the cum without hesitation.

“Good enough,” said the man, tucking himself back into his pants, and relief flooded him. “Wait here.”

He got a hunk of cheese and a loaf of bread for the trouble.

“Next time offer your ass,” said the innkeeper with a nasty grin, “and maybe I’ll let you sleep the night.”

He scrambled for the door, laughter trailing behind him. There wasn’t going to be a next time.

___________________

There was a next time.

There were several next times, all of which he tried to avoid but couldn’t if he wanted to eat.

He didn’t sleep in the cities anymore, too scared after someone forced themselves on him while he slept exposed in the stables.

That time, the innkeeper was even angry to find him still in the hay the next morning, and had used a horsewhip to punish and chase him out.

He trudged along the road.

Gods, he was so hungry. He felt faint, a chill to his bones despite the sun beating down on him.

He’d been heading north the whole time, and now the cities and towns were few and far between.

The last stop was pleasant, the woman who owned the lodge only asking him to sweep the floor in exchange for a bowl of chicken and rice.

That was a week ago.

The berry bushes along the road were bare now, the birds plucking them empty. He chewed on tree leaves and ate dandelions when he could, but it did little for his stomach.

Please, he prayed to the gods, I know none of you care, but please.

Maybe he should have stayed with Master.

He shook the thought from his head. Anything was better than Master.

Even if it was starving to death in the wilderness.

___________________

The road became thin and rough. It narrowed down to a single cart wide and he wondered if he had walked to the end. But over the horizon was a blurry shape beneath the setting sun, and he dared to hope it was either a village or that he was finally dying and was hallucinating.

He kept walking.

It was a village, with an inn.

He stumbled through the door as nightfall fell.

The tavernkeeper was at the counter, and there was a small crowd in the dining room.

“Please,” he slurred, ready to offer whatever was left of him.

But the tavernkeeper held up a hand to stop him.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said, and his heart sank. Did Master know too? “You’ll do anything for a meal and a bed for the night, right?”

Not necessarily a bed, but he nodded, the effort making his head pound. 

“I want a private conversation with you in the morning,” said the keeper, his expression hard to read. “That’s all. I'll even throw in breakfast afterwards.”

He stared at the tavern keeper.

“Yes, sir,” he rasped. No one had ever offered him breakfast. Was it a trick? Too keep him here longer, so that Master would come and drag him away?

The keeper gestured for him to sit at the bar, and disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned quickly with a bowl of stew and a crust of bread, and, of all things, a mug of warm cider. 

He never had cider before. Master never allowed him to drink.

The tavern keeper told him where his room (a whole room? with a bed? and a lock?) was, and left him alone to eat.

The food was amazing, and he had to stop himself from scarfing it down and making himself sick. He’d made that mistake before, and completely lost his meal. He remembered crying over the vomit.

The bed was just as good as the food, but he couldn’t close his eyes.

What if the innkeeper told Master where he was? How long would it take Master to come for him?

He rolled over in the bed.

Surely the tavernkeeper wanted more than just talking.

If he were smart, he’d sneak out before dawn. But the keeper promised breakfast, and he wasn’t smart.

He couldn’t pass up two meals in a row. It was too tempting.

He thought about the mysterious generosity of the cider, and the sweet taste of the apples used to make it.

This could be his last night alive before he died by his Master’s hands.

He cried himself into a fitful sleep.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

[mitchmotch]

day 3 of 30 minute sketch mondays with @revalito! this time with jack zimmermann ^^ (he's 100% looking at bitty)

[jules-makes-stuff]

My piece of the Abbot for Memento Mori, a free curse of Strahd zine. check it out here: @mementomoristrahdzine

[bisexualenbyblueberry]

Crowley giving this pin to Jim/Gabriel purely out of spite after the events of 2x06

[blue-lollipops-and-ice-clouds]

Vessel and his new mic stand.

(Source - the amazing math_sari)

[maddymoreau]

💋 Banban drawn by @frozenhi-chews

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

when the. when the story has a main four

[ego-sandwich]

OKAY SO, with the new Soulsucker lyrics "out" (from what can be figured out from videos and things people have posted), I think the idea I had of Soulsucker was kind of wrong. But now I have more theories for St*rfucker!!! So I'll share some of them here, but feel free to contribute because sometimes this gets hella confusing!!

--------------------------------------------------

THE PROPERTY is the safe space Awsten built to protect himself from his fears or insecurities, as known as the demons.

THE SOULSUCKER comes from the part of Awsten that doesn’t want to leave his safe space. In order to protect the Property, he will destroy everything that tries to enter it (like in self sabotage when he ends a relationship before it can hurt him). However, that overprotection is also harmful, because that means Awsten won’t try to step out of his comfort zone and confront his demons. Because of that, the Soulsucker is also a demon, something Awsten needs to get rid off in order to leave the Property.

It's been a pleasure (So destroy my world, I'll tape the cracks) – you can try to ruin the property, but he'll protect it

It's nice to meet you ('Cause what you give out's what you get back) – he will destroy whatever tries to harm the property

THE ST*RFUCKER, as mentioned in the song of same title, is the only way out of the Property. If leaving a comfort zone means facing what you’re hiding yourself from, then the St*rfucker is Awsten’s alter that has learned how to face the demons, or is trying to (ex: the lusty lyrics that reject religious guilt).

To be honest, I'm still trying to figure him out, but that's what makes sense in my head for now. We mostly got Soulsucker content, such as Intellectual Property, but the next album/thing will be St*r's perspective supposedly so there's that. Just have to wait a little!

The St*rfucker and Soulsucker hate each other, but it hasn’t always been that way. They were once one, Awsten, but grew apart due to inner his conflicts. Now while Soulsucker wants Awsten safe inside the property, St*r believes he’s better off out of it.

--------------------------------------------------

STORYLINE

We can't really pin point where exactly the story starts, but it was surely presented for us in Greatest Hits. Throughout the dreamy section of the album, we see Awsten talking about the demons and how they haunt him, as well as the presence of another character and the need of being somewhere safe.

I see his fucking face but he's not me - MAGNETIC (hinting Soulsucker)

Driving where no one can catch me Need a place to breathe and the sun is setting - Ice Bath (hinting the property)

Enough time to right my wrongs because I've wronged a lot - Ice Bath, hinting the religious guilt, another reason why he'll be hiding himself in the Property.

I won't quote the whole album, but every song show one of his fears or insecurities if you get deep into the lyrics.

What I think that happened: by the end of Greatest Hits, Awsten builds the Property (and I suppose he built it because all of the worker outfits he's been wearing to shows). The need to keep himself safe originates the Soulsucker, the protector of his safe space. Intellectual Property shows his ways of protecting the Property with destructive behaviours, such as self sabotaging (take a wild guess) or distancing himself from things that could possible hurt him (Closer). His strong prensence, especially on stage, means that he has taken over while Awsten is still inside the property, unable to leave.

St*rfucker originates from the needs of confrontation, facing what it takes to get the things he craves for. Overcoming the demons, facing his religious guilt in order to be able to love, to be loved and enjoy things that his demons wouldn't allow him to. He is the only one who can get Awsten out of the Property, and I believe the next releases from the band will show him trying to do so.

[passionfruitmango]

Look who's here!!! My first working Furby Baby, haven't decided on a name yet but I have a good list of ideas that keeps growing!

Popped some mixed batteries in since I needed to hear them!!! My partner and I were both SO enthused by this lil thing!! Also I did not realize how SMALL furby babies are??? I had the 2005s growing up so this was a size shock, and I love that they fit so nice in my hand!!!

I'm going to have my partner bring home a fresh pack of batteries after he gets done with work tonight, in the meantime I've found the furby babies manual on the internet archive and I'm going to properly prepare on understanding my new child 🥹