#however I draw the line at grafting

[elephantbitterhead]

I'm officially about to enter the Frankenstein stage of gardening.

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe I first encountered this supposed explanation in the comments section of a fanfiction, so it is to be taken with a grain of salt, but I read that Shiro's design was primarily based on what the showrunners thought "looked cool". This includes the prosthetic grafted onto his person by his captors, the scar across his face, and the shock of white fringe in his otherwise naturally dark hair. And, I won't lie, his design serves its purpose. Shiro immediately draws the eye, and not just because of his usual placement front and center in the standard team line up.

It's reasonable for the sort of space soldier, G.I. Joe type of character the staff intended Shiro to be to have these sorts of physical characteristics.

It's also completely reasonable in a Sci-Fi/Action show for a villain as menacing and ruthless as Sendak to have a similarly distinct, eye-catching design. Such features as a sinister, gleaming, red bionic eye, and massive prosthetic arm powered by a core of glowing, magical electric energy pulsing in a line from shoulder to forearm stand out, are easily memorable, and make him instantly recognizable as a really Bad Guy.

The idea of Shiro being a sort of "light, heroic mirror" to Sendak, which the show introduced and continued to attempt to enforce all the way up to Sendak's death, sits incredibly uneasily with me, however. As I've made explicit several times, before.

Content Warning for discussion of sexual assault/rape.

We're shown the recurrent imagery of Sendak looming over and behind an incapacitated Shiro.

Shiro's instinctive response to seeing Sendak heading toward him is to back away out of fear before steeling himself and resolving to fight, if only to protect the Castle and an unconscious Lance.

The very first thing that Shiro says to Sendak is, "You're not getting in", to which Sendak replies, "Yes. I am".

Coran suggests that the Galra might keep him and Hunk as, "some sort of creepy pet to play with how they please", in an appeal to Shay and Rax for assistance concealing their presence on the Balmera.

There's genuine contempt in Shiro's voice when he asks Sendak, "What do you want?", prior to his torture at Sendak's hands.

Sendak delivers a stomach-churning gloating little speech after torturing Shiro via electric shock.

And, Rolo refers to Sendak as a, "real nasty bugger", a term that has an exceptionally crude colloquial meaning.

Now, maybe I'm a cynical weirdo who is reading far too deeply into this, and connecting dots that aren't there. But...

Shiro bears a much stronger resemblance to Berserk's Guts than the Takashi Shirogane from the original Go Lion! that he's named after. Guts is a famous survivor of childhood sexual abuse, having been sold by his adoptive father and purchased for use as a sex slave by an ugly hulking pederast.

There were obvious Neon Genesis Evangelion fans working on this show, and Rei Ayanami, the character that Shiro's story seems to reference with the sheer excess of clones created using his DNA, is also a victim of sexual abuse.

(There's even, arguably, influence taken from The Legend of the Blue Wolves, a relatively obscure yaoi OVA largely set at a military facility which trains soldiers and pilots for combat missions in deep space. It features an extended scene with a virtual flight simulator, and one of the two male leads is-- wouldn't you know it? Raped by an ugly hulking monster.)

Correlation does not imply causation, and perhaps the similarities are entirely superficial, and we're not meant to think too hard about them.

Yet, with the amount of scrutiny that a series as utterly wholesome and innocuous as Bluey is constantly under, I cannot buy for a minute that a series Netflix gave a TV Y7 rating to didn't undergo some level of screening to ensure that its content was appropriate for the intended child audience. Someone had to have asked the staff if bugger was the term they meant to use, aware of the disturbing, far less than child-friendly implications, and was met with a resounding confirmation.

Beyond that, extended proximity to even an imprisoned and inanimate Sendak sends Shiro spiraling into a psychological break down.

Shiro's intensely traumatic experiences in captivity, which his brain seems to have largely repressed in order to protect him ("It's all a blur.") would, by themselves, be enough to convince him that he's been broken and reshaped into something monstrous. His bodily autonomy was, unquestionably, brutally violated, and his innately altruistic, self-sacrificing nature was violently challenged when he was forced to kill or be killed for his captors' entertainment. His right arm was taken from him and replaced with a weapon, and he has the blood of who knows just how many innocents on his hands. He was, indeed, broken down in an attempt to reform him into the Galra Empire's "greatest weapon", and likely very much wars with himself over what he had to do to ensure his own survival, believing himself to be a monster.

What really stands out to me, though, is that this intense, primal terror and the accompanying feelings of "brokenness" and "monstrousness" only surface around Sendak. Despite also being associated with and direct causes of his trauma, neither Haggar nor Zarkon rattle Shiro to his core the way Sendak does.

Neither of them are insistent on drilling into Shiro's head how "broken" he supposedly is, as Sendak is shown doing over and over again. Including taunting Shiro over the non-consensual modifications to his body.

Harboring a deep sense of shame, and viewing themselves as something dirty, ugly, disgusting, broken, or even monstrous is an experience common among survivors of sexual abuse.

Having Shiro's physical condition repeatedly mirror his personal tormentor's would be sick and twisted enough.

Adding the context of rape or sexual abuse to Shiro's torment makes the creative decision to intentionally model his arm after his abuser's outright sadistic.

No one deserves to have a constant physical reminder of their abuser and rapist permanently attached to their person. And, attempting to paint Shiro as a "heroic mirror" to Sendak fails entirely when Shiro doesn't so much as get to best Sendak in combat once.

All of the points you've raised about the function and structure of prosthetics are amazing, informative, and highly appreciated. (The comment about Shiro's abominable floating arm looking like it wouldn't be able to support the weight of a grocery bag makes me laugh.) Sadly, there's a faction of the fanbase who are all too quick to fetishize that arm, like everything else surface-level about Shiro. I've seen a number of fics where its ability to be propelled a great distance with a single thought is used to pleasure a partner while Shiro, himself, is in a different room, where the arm is equipped with a vibrating function for use as a sex toy, and, of course, where the thickness of its fingers is sexualized for... the same reason the bulge in the crotch of Shiro's pants is.

(I beg this fandom to stop reducing this man to a seme stereotype because of his physical build and height. Nothing in his personality suggests that he would be anything even approximating that cursed archetype. Let him be a pillow princess, for God's sake, like he deserves.)

This reply took me forever, and I am sincerely sorry about that. I hope you find something worthwhile in this haphazard collection of thoughts.

And, "Sendick" is how I'm going to be mentally referring to that creep from now on.

[dustedmagazine]

William Tyler & The Impossible Truth — Secret Stratosphere (Merge)

Secret Stratosphere by William Tyler & The Impossible Truth

It’s been a while since William Tyler released a full-length album of his own music, the most recent being Goes West, his 2019 foray into soft rock. A movie soundtrack, an ep , and a fantastic collaboration with Marisa Anderson have followed, all brimming with interesting ideas, and he’s presumably been in the studio cooking up something new. In the meantime, he has released a live recording from 2021. With Secret Stratosphere, Tyler returns to the classic rock sound of 2014’s Lost Colony ep — two of the three songs on which appear here — with a line-up that includes a conventional rhythm section and Luke Schneider on pedal steel.

There is a dad rock vibe to the proceedings (Tyler even name-checks Blue Oyster Cult and Rusted Root), from the accomplished soloing to the power chord crunch. Generally, the versions of Tyler’s compositions here don’t vary a whole lot from the studio versions apart from being fully electric and stripped down, though the lead-off track trades the AOR stylings of one of the better tunes on Goes West (the only one in the present set) for a proggy veneer. A stylistic pillar of post-rock, the slowdown before the big climax, is especially well-represented. 

Secret Stratosphere doesn’t overlap with previous live sets Elvis Was a Capricorn (2012) or Live at Third Man Records (2016) but does draw on most of Tyler’s releases. It also includes one new tune (apart from a new ending grafted onto “Highway Anxiety” dubbed “Radioactivity”), “Area Code 601,” which Tyler introduces as a “Hawkwind Meets Charlie Daniels band number.” However, nothing quite so interesting develops; instead, heavy generic riffs create the impression that Dave Grohl may be waiting in the wings to launch into an anthemic chorus. 

The recording has a definite live feel; Tyler talks up the crowd, which, though sounding a bit thin, responds enthusiastically, and the drums are way up front in the mix while the bass is more felt than heard. Schneider’s steel occasionally shines, as on the slowdowns before the big climaxes of “Whole New Dude” and “Gone Clear,” but more often it is in the background, filling the space often covered by keyboards. 

Perhaps it is best to view Secret Stratosphere through the lens of the pandemic. Recorded in May 2021 (in Huntsville, Alabama), amid the first wave of vaccinations and the relaxing of many public health restrictions, the audience must have been thrilled to be back in a brew pub listening to live music, and Tyler sounds happy to be back in front of a crowd. In that context, the bar-band ethos makes perfect sense; this is music that would sound best after the third beer. I hope, though, that Tyler is preparing to offer up some fresh, forward-looking music soon. 

Jim Marks

[thinktankwithhan]

cags diep

The importance of being multi-skilled

Founded in Charlottesville in 1991, Red Light Management has since developed into the largest independent music management company in the world(Red Light Management 2024). Cags explained that music management is essentially project management and that there are a lot of separate roles to this. I could tell straight away that one of Cags’ strong points was her flexibility to do different jobs. Her background reflected this, and her experience ranged from managing orchestras to an internship as Brighton Fringe Festival to private teaching. Music was always at the forefront of Cags’ mind, studying a classical Music BA at Bristol University. However, she admits she didn’t do much research into the course - but felt Bristol University was appealing. Cags herself mainly deals with travel, logistics and sourcing the people required to make up a team that could manage an artist. Her main roles are finance and budgeting,   Cags’ emphasised the importance of having the people you work with trust you - as you will be living closely with everyone.

 To me, Cags’ role as a music manager seems extremely diverse in how she has to go about things. To Manage finance and budgeting is a huge responsibility and one could argue is a one of those jobs where you must remain highly organised and professional as money is such a powerful device. However, on the other hand, she must remain trusted amongst her colleagues and is expected to make friends as part of her job. During the Think Tank talk she was asked ‘where’s the line between being a friend and being a manager?’. Cags describes how she often has to put aside her emotions and be ‘straight to the point’ when it comes to business decisions. This really shows how diverse Cags’ role is and, if I was a music manager, I would have trouble drawing that line. After finishing uni, Cags had multiple jobs, including bar work - which she said well equipped her for a career in music management - as you are faced with lots of different types of personalties and are expected to work with that. Cags also said that bar work helped her learn to cope with stress and unpredictability whilst working. Cags’ talk seemed to focus around one thing - getting to know the industry and combating her own disadvantages by gaining multiple skills to back up her right to a role.

One article from The Musician’s Union in which R&B singer songwriter Rebecca Garton writes ‘having a female black manager, I have seen the constant struggle/she has had to go through to be heard or viewed as an equal in the room’.(Garton, 2022) It’s both interesting and disheartening to realise that women and women of colour specifically have to put so much more effort to be respected in their careers - and this is no different for the music industry. Cag’s commitment to her job is impressive, but perhaps if she was granted different privileges by what is still a racist and patriarchal society - she would not have to graft so hard to feel confident in her management skills. However, I think her adversities have made her extremely strong professionally and, listening to experience and successes, it was clear to see that her dedication to her job has paid off.  

[samanthaares]

I wish I could draw well because I've got a full collection of skins idea: Twisted Tales, 2 Legendaries, a Very Rare Set and a Very Rare cosmetic. All pieces are named after their personal perks

1. Shattered Shield. Aforementioned Sable Skin. Her head comes with a unique voice line calling out for Mikaela and when it's released a undistorted version is added to Sable herself.

Head: "She invoked weaving spiders but It came far too late to save her"

Body: "She sought strength in the shadows without paying her dues"

Weapon: "She found a wicked lead pipe to defend herself from the unknown."

2. Cocooned Creation: a set for Singularity where the Huxley corporation decided it would be more time and cost effective to just coat smaller hux units in a synthetic skin and download false memories into them instead of full clones. Gabriel's body is integrated into the design, an extended arm and a melted face. The clothes are the same.

Description: The 13th Android for the Dvarkan colony, Gabriel Soma was set to investigate an anomaly the autonomous drones were prohibited from destroying. He was unprepared for a cosmic awakening.

Head: "He was sent into the temple as a troubleshooter. The issue was contagious."

Body: "through the upgrades he did in the dark of night he knew his body wasn't made for this"

Weapon: "He had to be a scavenger, both of weaponry and of biologics" (the weapon is a broken electric rifle)

3. Vengeful Sacrifice. Legendary skin for Dredge. Lore: It's Dredge organized around the Haddie that was sacrificed in the Dredge's add-ons lore. The cultists's limbs are grafted onto her's, and recording equipment is sewn through the body. She is a mess of wires and tape reels from many decades.

Description: Otto Stamper sliced the journalist's throat before the crowd. The act severed the last thread holding the community together. She was merged with the darkness that was unleashed as its first vessel.

Arm: "She used all her inner focus to plan an escape. She failed"

Body: "colleagues called her devotion to the unnatural 'overzealous'. She finally knew how right they truly were"

Weapon: "However in control she was is still debated among those that knew of the slaughter, however the residual manifest left behind means that nobody who goes looking comes back"

4. John Doe. A legendary skin for Sable Ward. It's simply an undistorted version of The Unknown's base skin.

Description: It shed its skin for new and beautiful forms. Who he was was peeled away decades ago, but what is left behind knows enough to be afraid.

Head: Unbound "His legs burn running from what once was his face.

Torso: Unforseen: "He remembers remembering what he did those long years, but he doesn't know if he really remembers anything."

Legs: Undone "someone called out for help in the early hours of the morning. He was a big man, he could help. Or was he the one calling out for help?"

[starshipsofstarlord]

Okay rockstars, settle down

rockstar!bucky barnes x assistant!reader x rockstar!loki laufeyson / masterlist

summary; having previously worked for loki, it causes a heat to burn within bucky’s already accumulated hate towards the musician / warnings; threesome, smut, mxf and mxm sex, mentions of sex with other characters, oral sex (male and female receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, double penetration, degradation, swearing, orgasm denial, cum eating

“Can’t believe you worked for that wanker.” Snarked Bucky as an image of the well known, musically spread, and acoustically acclaimed, Loki Laufeyson was shown on the screen of the dressing room television, as the other artist stretched his clothing bare arms across the back of the couch. “Come here sweet cheeks.”

At his command, you dismissed the paper work for a moment, trailing over and straddling the inked hunk’s chain belted lap, digging your manicured set of nails into his shoulders, as you seated yourself over his crotch. “I’m happy I work for you now Buck, you treat me so good.”

Punctuating your words, you pressed your teeth into your bottom lip, giving it the appearance of being more plump, as you batted your dark eyelashes up at your employer. “I do, don’t I?” He rhetorically asked, skimming his fingers across the length of your arms, before moving them to sloppily cup your jaw, ensuring that you would not look away from his wild and dilated pupils. “Tell me what I do better than the lead singer of the god of mischief.”

At his words, a small yet peaceful contortion of uncomfortableness split a skin grafted line through the centre of your forehead, stating that you had no wish to do so. And thus, as punishment for your self aversive silence, Barnes braced his knuckles into your skin, causing you to keen out, and tap his shoulders in verification for surrender.

In turn, you lowered your hands, dragging the tips of your nails, absentmindedly running them down the expanse of his waxed chest, conveniently passing the silver hoops that were attached to his nipples on the trail to a less dominant ground. “I prefer the way that your songs have a heavier bass and-“

“Uh uh uh, not the music. Think of something that has you, let’s say, screaming, but definitely not in a crowd. Though, we may have to try that one sometime; show the world how hungry you are to assist me.”

“You, James Bucky Barnes,” he loosened his grip to your relief, which lead to you hugging in spite, “are the best fuck I have ever endured. Loki has nothing on you, he deems himself a god of the arts, but he doesn’t see how you paint me so perfectly with your cum, nor how you bend my body to your whim, as though I am a tool in the midst of your creations, useful, but disposable.”

“I like the sound of that doll. Disposable, now that really does you make you sound like my personal cum dump.”

“That’s was certainly interesting to listen to...”that voice had your body jolting in shock, and it appeared that Bucky too was surprised by the presence, though, he steadied his well versed hands on your hips, claiming you to the intimate spot.

“What the fuck are you doing in my dressing room you greasy haired weasel?” Bucky sneered, his nose turning up at the sight alone of his competition in the lyrical world. Loki, he had graced you with his presence, and you had to look away; he admittedly looked good.

His shirt was open chested, leaving you with the memorable impression of all the times that you had left crescent marks upon that particular surface, a few times you had even drawn blood, but that had only fuelled his mission to fuck you into a propeller of urgency.

“Our new album Laufey has just been released, I can confirm my dear, you shoulda stayed around and knelt in our success. The records are certainly going to have more sales than what was it called again? Ah yes, the red star. I could tell it was about this one, so much passion, a sultry tune, that did little to justify what it means to be with her.”

Loki’s hands waved around as he spoke, and you could only picture the past whence he penetrated your with those long and talented fingers of his. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you, resulting you to be nothing more than a withering mess, as he digressed the option to simply stop. There was nothing simple about him, nor the time that he demanded that he shared you with his brother.

That thought alone had you mindlessly grinding upon Bucky’s covered cock, plucking at your lip with the keys of your teeth, though Bucky’s voice brought you back to reality, causing you to pause your movements embarrassingly, venting a clear out of your head to process the situation that was before you. The two were bickering like two teenage girls, and it was quite exhausting to listen to.

“Answer the question trickster, else I’ll have you fed to the infamous black panther, and let’s just say that he is the best bodyguard I have ever hired. So, are you going to speak, or will I have you dragged out of here like a damned serpent with a noose around its neck?” Bucky threatened, gritting his teeth together, his nose straining in frustration, drawing more attention to the small stud on the right side of his nose.

“Looks like she needs me Barnes, perhaps your reputation does not proceed you. But to answer in full, my band have made quite the rise, and I thought it would be... fitting to pay you a visit. Though I had no idea that this wonderful woman would be here, pining on your lap like some feline in heat. I see she’s fucking you now, after all my suspicions are never wrong. Or we’ll, Heimdall’s train of thought always ends up at the right station.”

“Can the pair of you stop, for one goddamn minute!” Your hands obscured a path into your hair, as you glared back and forth between the pair of rival rockstars. “I am here, dammit! Stop talking about me as though I am not here, a part of me wishes that I wasn’t so I didn’t have to listen to your bitching.”

Without any thought, you clambered from your perch on Bucky’s lap, walking towards the raven haired gentleman, pointing your finger in his face as you accused him. “You’ve got your point across, but I’ll tell you something. If you don’t leave, Heimdall will see me putting my foot up your ass.”

“Does she speak to you like this Barnes? I thought she had loosened up in more ways than one when I allowed Thor to stretch her cunt, but it appears that that mouth of hers has gotten a little out of hand also. You should do something about that, or else you’ll lose her to someone else like a did. Who knows, could be Romanoff, heard she has a thing for brats.”

Natasha Romanoff, a diverse woman in her ways and songs. She was the queen of the rock culture, tormenting her workers with her verbal abuse and it would undoubtedly be no different for her assistant. If you were to be under her employment, it was certain that you would not get out alive, nor work for another talented person for the rest of your life. To cross her, was a vow to sign your own death certificate, it was plain stupidity, yet people still hustled with her and her limits, resulting in their chances of ever getting hired for any job, vastly slim to none.

At the lack of defence that Bucky provided you, you felt small, your shoulders slacked as you were tortured with Loki’s cold and silky gaze, more so when the man stood up, pressing his bare chest against your back. You could feel the rings that hung off the buds that adorned his chest coil and dig into your back, shrouding your demeanour substantially.

A part of you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to abuse Loki’s face with his fist, specifically the right, since it was the bearer to a chunky silver ring. It’d leave quite the print, however, the unexpected unravelled as his enquiring tone was aimed not at you, but Loki instead.

“You let your brother fuck her, hmm. Maybe she should learn her manners by being shared, that way her retrospective spattering of bullshit may be contained, to a limit of course.” It was unbelievably, you could not believe that Bucky was conferring with the enemy! And not only that, they were talking about experiences of having you literally become speechless from their unprofessional administrations upon your body. “I’d get T’Challa in here, but I know she’s already fucked him. Can’t quite fire him for it though, because who could ever say no to those pretty eyes, and that mouth, god, it is definitely one of her most persuasive attributes.”

“Bu-“ you didn’t even get to finish imploring his name off your lips, about to defend yourself and your previous actions, though, you were interrupted, starved from the opportunity of coming up with an explanation.

“No.” Loki told you, the roles now reversed as he was the one with his index finger aimed at you. He tapped your nose with it, as he began to pace in the room, his wild locks remaining in their place as he spun, before facing Bucky, a sly tranquility of a truce veining out from the pools of his evergreen orbs. “You don’t speak a word to me y/n, not whilst I’m having a conversation with James here.”

James. It was too far a polite way for him to address your boss. They were all hot and ready to tear out each other’s throats a moment ago, and now here they were, having a silent conversation without your inclusion. It had you reeling your mind as to why, until Bucky gathered your hair in his hand to the side, sliding you y/h/c locks over your shoulder, and finally deemed it acceptable for you to hear his voice.

Though, he still was not directing his tensive words in your direction. “Since you had dealt with this subordinate behaviour from her, perhaps you’d like to join us; help me train her to become more...” His breath fanned your the top of your ear, making your skin crawl by not only his warm and inviting breath, but also the offer that he had supposed to the other man.

“Obedient?” Loki asked in turn of his wispy ended offer of optimism, his leather, sharp tipped boots taking a prominent, heart clenching step towards you. He reached his finger out, grasping a loose strand that had fallen out of Bucky’s grip and before your face, tugging lightly on it, as his lips came dangerously close to your own. “Rules aren’t your forfeit, are they my dear? The best assistant I ever hired, with all those unique ideas floating around in that independent head of yours, but you’ve always been troublesome. I remember the time that you bit my cock that day you had attitude. I reckon Bucky here could do a better job.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” You hissed as said man tugged on his handful of your hair, instantly making you regret your phrase in the moment. To a halting surprise however, Bucky released you, lightly shoving you to cause you to fumble forwards, and away from him.

“Maybe I will.” He dared, earning a nod from Loki, whom seductively began to unzip his loose trousers, as Bucky descended to the ground, his hands running up his rival’s thighs, as the material dropped around Loki’s ankles. It would seem, that he had gone commando, and as Bucky grasped Loki’s shaft, you felt a pull in your chest inherently demanding that you play some part in this fornication.

“Wait.” Your hand shot out, as though you had some force to stop them from continuing with their war path to exact all of their developed spit onto you. “What about me?” You were ss

“Oh no doll, you are not pulling any strings here, if you wanna do something useful, come here and warm my cock, you can watch me blow your old associate.” A slither of a whimper fell from your lips, it wasn’t exactly what you were prying towards, but you sure as hell were not going to refuse the contact that Bucky was obliged to give you.

Thus you wandered towards him, your pinkies curling around one another, as you sashayed to the ground beside him, watching as he paid Loki no mind for a moment, ruthlessly in a desperation fuelled motion, unbuckled his thick belt, and shoved the material of his leather trousers to be held accountable against his lower thighs, just above his tense knees.

He too, as their exteriors supposed, had forgone the extra layer that kept his cock tucked away, though it was exposed as he tugged those tight trousers down, and the sight of both his and Loki’s cocks bobbing in the same vicinity had you close to quivering.

It was somewhat of a dream portrayed in the viscous space of reality, the two men half undressed in then proximity of yourself, it was something that you had always imagined, even before you had left Loki’s side, and opted to work for Bucky, but the idea was definitely short lived. They hated each other, but apparently they were willing to put all their issues aside to prohibit you from freely running your mouth.

Bucky’s cock twitched as he patted his own thigh, ordering you without the aid of his voice to commence it as a servant’s throne, or in your case, a stool for you to rest on as he tended to intimate needs of the man that you had once worked for. Finally, with the decision of better judgement, you allowed your grey jumper dress to slide down your body, leaving you nude, and the aspect of the two men’s unforgiving and locked gazes.

“No underwear, and you wonder why your men have no difficulty in her allowing them to fuck her.” Bucky took ahold of his cock, squeezing his cock with one hand, whilst his other aided you in sitting on his muscular legs, as he lightly growled up at the opposing rockstar.

From the stiff grip that Bucky affirmed around his sceptre, Loki gasped, his pale lips instantly shutting once the sound wantonly abandoned him. The last thing that he wanted was for Bucky to see him in vulnerable poise, though with that said, it’d be rather difficult considering the smutty circumstances.

Bucky took Loki’s long, alabaster prick into his mouth, starting from the primrose tip and descending down, reciprocating the action that you did yourself as you sheathed yourself onto his cock, but instead with his lips. A grunt rendered along Loki’s length as the man bit back a whimper, the vibrations running through his veins like a transpiring pulse of sorcery.

Bucky opted for bobbing his head, as you endured the liberation of his very slightly gyrating movement inside of you. Though, despite him being almost completely still and leaving you full to the brim with his thick length, his balls resting against the partition where he was delved into you, you remained transfixed.

The motion image, recording first hand through your own eyes, of him blowing Loki was sinful, but you were drawn to it. If that made you a sinner, one endorsed by the graphic scene, licking your lips from the sight of Bucky running his studded tongue up the length of Loki, dipping the ball of silver metal into his slit, then so be it.

Your heart raced as you were met with an opportunity. A globe of saliva, strung by the lapping muscle of Bucky’s tongue dropped down; you practically saw its fall in slow motion. It was done before you could register your actions, you had leant forwards, catching the trickle of spit in your mouth, thinking not for a moment as you gulped the subjective liquid down.

Bucky’s pace increased, he gagged lightly as he jolted him further down his throat. Loki hummed, harshly grabbing Bucky’s dark brunette locks, biting his lip as he reimagined your little catch. It had him feeling close, and just as he was about to finish, precum furiously pooling out of his tip, Bucky pulled back, a smirk marking his features.

“You’re not cumming in my mouth, I don’t mind sucking dick, nor swallowing, but I have to practically listen to you jizz over your own talent, and prowl over my girl.” The name he labelled you with had your heart fluttering, but not nearly as much as when he lightly pulled out of you, infuriating you with the lack of any pleasurable esteem. “Don’t you worry babes, you can finish with me inside of you, like always.”

That used to be him, Loki thought with a brewing rage in his chest. Though he instead shrugged out of his dull patterned striped shirt that was already loose on his shoulders. The fabric hit the floor, leaving all of you barren to the subject of nudity.

“Always doesn’t suppose the past Barnes.” Loki stated, referring to all the various times that he had found refuge in your spongey walls, you willingly clenching around him, and pleading for him to hit a deeper spot within you. “And I do not prowl, I don’t need to. The evidence is there between her legs, coiling in juices surrounding her ever so willing folds, that are prepared to endure the harshest of penetrations.”

“What are you trying to do, write a fucking song about this?” Scoffed Bucky, rolling his crystallised orbs at the guts that this man had. If he so much as wanted to, he could stop this passage into a three way all together, but he did not, at least he had yet to. He was enjoying the way that you were squirming to yourself, thinking that he didn’t notice, squeezing the sides of your thighs together in an aroused matrimony.

“A fucking song would’ve the correct term - literally.” Was the affirmed words of Loki, as he shoved Bucky to be sat beside you, tilting his messy brush of crazed hair, his untrustworthy eyes drifting to you. “Who’d you want to fuck you, you fangirling slut?”

It was truthfully a difficult decision. “Both.” You admitted, your bones jumping as Bucky pinched one of your erect nipples, continuing to hold a sturdy clasp of his pads around the sensitive flesh; you couldn’t jut choose one of them. Not when they were both in such close range, bore in nothing more than their birthdays suits, talking about your quivering and diversely accepting cunt.

They knew that you couldn’t possibly refuse one or the other. You were vastly too hungry to be filled like you had never been before, shagged by two of three most well known artists in the industry, earnestly and mindlessly earning yourself a title within the circle of uptight yet simultaneously chill performers.

Perhaps, if Bucky we to ever potentially fire you, there would be another pursuer for your articulating talents on standby, awaiting for the moment that you walked out of his complex door to swoop you up as though they were a predatory falcon, flying off into a stationed sunset, those around seeing you as nothing more than a shadow of the ambient orb, but the one who had employed you finding you to be a sufficing inspiration.

Large hands swallows your hips, firmly controlling their angle as they grasped you in their strong, almost super human hold, lifting you so that you were tentatively tucked in a reverse cowgirl position on Bucky’s lap. It was the third time that you had been this close to him, it would almost be intimate, if your legs weren’t strewn in an open, all revealing splay, so that Loki could see your boss tease his tip around your entrance before sliding you down his length, extracting a strong wail from your churning throat.

Your own hand resented down, applying swirls of pressure down on your clit; it appeared that they were willing you to continue without interruption. Bucky lightly, despite the power that he was promoted to in this position, began to bounce you on his shaft, spewing small mewls out from your agape mouth.

Fisting his cock, Loki approached, Bucky reachin this seen hands down to spread te lips of your pussy, so that the other man was guaranteed a crude glimpse of you being stufffed. Though, you weren’t quite filled enough, for Bucky raised a brow and prompted Loki to allow himself to be pulled closer by your axed and whining aura.

He brushed his tip languidly against your buzzing clit, dragging through your slick and jab i at your delicate fingers before probing at the base of Bucky’s cock, and pushing inside, right along his rival’s length, the pair moaning out in a pleasured union. On the other and, you had tears falling from the crescents of your eyes, the stretch so much that it was a blistering pain to your cunt.

“Don’t go all meek dear, you and i both know this is far from the first instance where you’ve had more than one cock in this nasty, betraying cunt of yours.” Loki taunted, gripping the vulnerable expanse of your throat from behind, his icy glazed skin sending provocative shivers down your spine, making your pussy pulse from the chill that ran through your body.

And then, i a split instant, both cocks began to piston into your walls, as though you were nothing more than a rag doll, meant o be thrown around and handled in a disorderly fashion. They ere ruthless, groaning out symphonies in the cursive air around you, as your walls engulfed their pricks more than snugly.

You felt so wide down there, they were taking a pirating toll on your body stealing every breath that dared wither from your lips, tweezing their nimble fingered around various parts of your body, all in due retrospect or coerce you into fucking them back, making all actions in the mass of bodies a mutual effort.

Loki lowered his head down meeting Bucky for a sloppy, brash kiss. It was clear they were simply doing that part to fulfil a greedy desire in your stomach, but you were not one that minded. It was, like the rest of their frenzy of collaborations, a competitive mess. They nipped harshly at each other’s lips, ravenously all in the meanwhile ploughing your body with their har girths.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Your tongue dribbled, earning satisfied, lust induced smirks from both parties that were currently penetrating you, making you writhe harder against their lengths a new flow of moisture weeping out from your hole, lubricating their movements further, it encouraging them to do nothing more than continue what they were doing, despite their better judgements.

The truth was, they were rockstars. They had no better judgement, which is why everyone like them needed someone like you. Their thought were clouded with one mission, and for once in their spent lifetimes, it was not to beat the others, at least not to a certain extent anyways. It was their assignment, delivered by their own hands, to bring you to the edge, and that’s physically what they reformed to do.

One of them were groping your nipples, whilst the other confined the same treatment to your ass cheeks. Loki found your Rocky enables of positive feedback to be icicles and they were beautiful, he stared at them, as though they were divine ploys extracted from the mythical kingdom of Jotunheim, their residence in the realm to be the peacemakers of all bountiful creatures, much like himself and Barnes.

A rich euphoric groan exuberated from Bucky as he allowed himself to spoil, but he tutted whence he watched Loki’s features suppose that he was to follow shortly behind. “Not inside of her.” Bucky growled, sufficing Loki to roll his eyes, and pull out, the man behind you furiously replacing your hand, rolling our clit in his grasp until a sinful scream enveloped the air, commencing them all to the fact that you had just came.

Loki found the show to be unfair, and instead, spilled his priceless seed onto the huffing skin of your stomach, you eyes fluttered shut at the warm feeling pooling onto you. You leant back, drawing your neck into a crooked angle as you swiped your tongue wordlessly over the piercing on Bucky’s right nipple, metal providing a relief to the heat that your body was and had been swarmed with. “ Last chance you’re gonna have t taste her sweet cunt.”

“You do certainly have some faith in this one Barnes, but I do doubt that it will be the last instance in which i am todo so.” His silver tongue pried at your cum soaked flesh, drinking up all the essence that you had to offer, onshore the flavour that Bucky had brought to the table, i the form of a succulent drizzling of Snow White cum.

As Loki finishes swabbing his tongue over your cunt, Bucky adoringly kisses you, much sweeter than he has before. It was sort, and almost chaste, but his blue eyes roamed your face, delicately observing the high points of your face, that were covered with a sheen of great force making you as he would put it, glow.

The pair of you weer exhausted, there was still some swollen was to his lips from where he had sucked off Loki. His hands cradled you around your waist, his feet kicking Loki back as you whimpered from opaque sensitivity. “I guess that was you bidding me a dew.” Sneered the trickster, fishing for his clothes, as he spared you a spark filled glare, to which you ignored.

Once he was situated back into his attire, he left the sex scented room,a hollow smirk chapping his lips as he strutted th a purpose out into the hallway, taking a left instead of a right, and creeping into barnes’ studio to see what the man was working on in the midst of his enduring tour/ He was always the trickster, and nothing different was to ever be expected out of him.

“That was good.” You mumbled, rubbing your ode lovingly across the scruff that coated his jaw. His fingers made small circles upon your tummy, humming contently as he remained sheathed inside of you. He had to admit, he preferred it when it was just him, but his lonesome, sheathed within your walls, feeling the small trembles of your walls around him. It was practically heaven, and he would say so if he believed in such a place.

A deliberate knock ruined the moment, as the man entered,he quarrelled with himself where her to casually look in the direction of the pair of you or to avert his sight around, and blankly at the all. “What is it T’Challa?” Grumbled the man inside of you, quirking a thin brow at the timing of his presence.

“Loki; he managed to get into ur data, and he’s leaked a whole bunch of your music.” Of course, Loki would not come here to simply gloat, there was alas something extra up his green sleeve, and now it was revealed.

“Son of a bitch!” Bucky made a move to stand, but instead prohibited a whimper out of you as hi ships jutted angrily tip on instinct. “Get Odin on the phone, we’re going to have a little chat about his slippery hands son!” Barked Bucky, prepared t do anything to bring his greatest threat down, compiling him into the put of hate industry, until he was forgotten about, unable to ever produce new music again.

“Talk to Sif.” You whispered, becoming the image of his assistant once more, even if his cum lathered cock was prevailing within a rut of required stress relief, growing in the conjunction of your wall with his body guard there. “She loathes him, and rightfully so. He got her kicked out and she has dirt on him that nobody else has ever heard. If you want to take I’m down, she is your in.”

The strict tone grammatically supported by your logical information was definitely turning Bucky on again. He could handle you more than fine without Loki’s aid, he was just a means to an end, as it was clearly shown in his priorities.

[josefavomjaaga]

These are excerpts from »Mein Verhältnis zum Herzog von Reichstadt« by Ritter Anton Prokesch von Osten. This gentleman, fifteen years older than Franz von Reichstadt and apparently a bit of an adventurer but with excellent diplomatic skills, had made a name for himself in fighting for the unification of Greece and in the Levante, services for which he had recently been knighted. He had also, already in his youth, written several books full of appraisal for Napoleon, one about the battle of Waterloo. Recently returned to Austria, he was staying in Graz in June 1830, when he first made the acquaintance of the Duke of Reichstadt:

At that time the court also went there and on the 22nd I had the honour of being called to the imperial table. I sat opposite the Empress and had the Duke of Reichstadt, who sat opposite the Emperor, at my side. […]

Okay, let’s just stop here already for a second. So, at this official court event Franz sits

at the family table

and vis-à-vis his grandfather the Emperor (a place of honour).

This does not sound like isolation or mistreatment to me. In a letter to Austrian politician Gentz Prokesch even mentions that the evening before, when the emperor and his family appeared at the theater, the Duke of Reichstadt had been greeted by some with shouts of »Vivat Napoleon«. And this, as Prokesch states, »quite innocently«, i.e., without giving it much thought. Apparently nobody bothered about political implications.

During the imperial dinner that Prokesch was invited to, he did not have much occasion to chat with Franz, for once because arch-duke Johann talked too much, but also because Franz definitely held back at this public occasion and was not very approachable. He did shake Prokesch’s hand however, when Prokesch took his leave, and told him that he had known him for a long time already (i.e., that he had read his books).

On the morning after this day, Count Moritz Dietrichstein, who had been entrusted with the Duke's education, and a man who had been well-disposed towards me from the time when I had been carried by the favour of the House of Prince Schwarzenberg, came to me in order to renew the complaint he had already levelled at me yesterday, namely that, although I had been in the same city with the Duke for a week, I had neglected him. He invited me to go straight to him.

So, let’s recapitulate: The evil obusive reactionary instructor himself calls upon a known admirer of Napoleon in order to get him to make the acquaintance of his student.

I followed him with pleasure. When I entered, the Duke, a different man in his bearing from the day before, met me with all the swiftness of youth and with an expression full of confidence and warmth. Repeating the words of yesterday, he said: "I have known you and loved you for a long time. You have defended my father's honour at a time when all was racing to scorn him. I have read your Battle of Waterloo and, in order to absorb every line in it, I have translated it twice into other languages, into French and Italian." I answered what the desire to captivate the handsome young man, so unique in the world, made me say. Count Dietrichstein first brought the conversation to Greece. Full of best wishes for this country now called to its own life, I had already expressed the opinion yesterday, after the imperial dinner, that despite the evils arising from war, lawlessness, factionalism and misgovernment, Greece would quickly blossom into a happy future if a European prince was given to it as king and if it were not governed with diplomatic half-measures. To the Archduke Johann, to Count Moritz [i.e. Dietrichstein], to the principal of the Archduchess Marie Luise, to Colonel von Werklein, I had, at a moment when the Duke was otherwise engaged, suggested that the Greek throne, which had lacked a claimant since the rejection of the Prince of Coburg, could be given to no one more worthy than the son of Napoleon, and to my surprise this suggestion had met with applause. Even the Empress, who had come to us during this conversation, did not seem averse to it. [...]

Now Count Dietrichstein turned the conversation onto Napoleon.

Again: It is Dietrichstein himself who brings in the alleged hot potato. And apparently, Franz has no fear to talk about the topic in his governor’s presence:

The Duke spoke in great excitement. - The warmest admiration for his father, the most passionate attachment was in the Duke's every word. But he dwelt chiefly on the latter's military talents. To train himself as a general according to this pattern was something he was passionate about down to his fingertips. We discussed several of his manoeuvres, for example that of Austerlitz. I was amazed at the Prince's strategic judgement and the firmness of his expression. Among all the officers and generals present in Graz at that time, there was certainly not one with such a sharp military eye and so resolute a disposition towards the commander. He came back to my Battle of Waterloo, but also to my "Memories from the Life of Field Marshal Prince Karl zu Schwarzenberg". The Duke discussed these with a tact that surprised me. He then complained about his loneliness and burst into the words: "Stay with me! Make the sacrifice of your future, stay with me! We, we would understand each other!" He spoke this with a warmth that penetrated my heart. Then he continued: "If it is my destiny to become a Prince Eugene for Austria, I ask myself how to train myself for this role? I have to choose a man who can introduce me to the higher demands and tasks of war; I have and see no such man in my surroundings." Count Dietrichstein witnessed this statement and seemed to find it natural and approve of it.

Dietrichstein then leaves the two to themselves for a while, and Franz noticeably opens up even more and talks about his present situation at court and his plans for the future.

"[...] If it is my doom never to return to France, I am serious about my desire to become another Prince Eugene for Austria. I love my grandfather - I am a piece of his house and will gladly draw the sword for Austria against anyone but France." He laid down these words like a confession in my soul, and so I took them.

A bit later, Prokesch repeats how close the relationship between Reichstadt and his grandfather was:

[...] He loved his grandfather with the love of a child, for from the day he was brought to Vienna he had found in him the tenderness of a father. At that time he was given a playground in the emperor's rooms - did not leave his side for half a day, ate with him when the emperor ate alone, shared his stays in the country with him and grew up with him like a branch grafted onto a foreign trunk. He told me this, but added: that he would not forget for a moment who he was born and where his father was decaying. […]

Again – this does not sound like »isolation« to me.

Out of interest to those who are familiar with the books by Aubry and Castelot: How do they treat these informations? I understand Prokesch is generally accepted as one of Reichstadt's true friends? Or is there reason to question the truth of his statements?

I guess what I'm trying to say is: Let's be fair and hear both sides before jumping to conclusions. Just because Dietrichstein was – by modern standards – a horrible pedagogue does not mean he was automatically wrong in his assessment of Franz’s character traits. Proksch actually seems to confirm some of it. Just because »l’Aiglon« had a tragic fate does not mean he was automatically a saint.

[perlen-gold]

Twenty-Four Hours

@14daysdalovers

Prompt: Day 9 - Breathless Kisses

Pairing: M!Hawke x Fenris

Fenris bristled at the hunt, then slew the creature with accurate efficiency. As Hawke approaches him his viridian eyes detach themselves from the shadows like pair of bright emeralds, even before the sheen of silver of his man-high greatsword reveals him in a deluge of darkness as a stranger and not just another shadow, no, less than a shadow and so much more than one.

“I am unable to fathom why we, you agreed to this.”

Hawke knows, of course.

He feels his vibrating self gravitating towards those eyes, hypnotized by their intensity, a fleck of dark color within a mass of charcoal blackness.

Under the shade of the hedgerow – trimmed with a masterful and punctilious, hence preposterous hand – Hawke joins him. The chateau courtyard is lit by a handful of adroit golden lamps. The warm spring air filled and skittered with the sprinkling of a white marble fountain in the center, light bathing every lane in the Orlesian garden. But this corner is swathed in utter darkness. Fenris has chosen wisely; his grafted spirit hide melts into the shadows, obsidian scales blending with the gloom.

A wild smile, a grin, Hawke feels it lifting the edges of his mouth, stretching his lips, causing his beard to prickle pleasantly.

“I do love to dress up,” Hawke tugs at the Orlesian silk stretching down his chest, light lilacs and an inkling of pink and folds of fabric billowing around his thighs, his arms swollen by creases like puffed up clouds, “Why, you cannot deny Orlesians their sense of style. I have always wanted to look like an immensely important fool.”

Fenris retorts with a grind of his teeth, however, Hawke can sense it like a sunbaked fragrance in the very air, he is also trying to hide something beyond the gentler corner of his lip.

“It takes a fool to trust this elf woman.”

Fenris averts his gaze, lours at the rarefied conglomeration of Orlesian and Ferelden nobles the Duke has wheedled into clustering in the outskirts of his pompous chateau. Fenris’ eyes are alert. Unlike Hawke he has assumed a watchful stance, that habit of his to peer around while looking behind his back repeatedly even more pronounced than usual.

“Why steal a jewel?” The dun hedge swallows Fenris’ deep voice that is fretting from his lips and askant head, roughing out the edges, the low, rich, rasping sound seeping away in the blackness until no more than a deep rich rumble remains. Of course, Hawke knows.

Then Fenris voices it. “You flirted with her.”

Neither offended nor thunderous. A statement. Fenris’ words pause over the blackness of his armor, void of allegation. A mere statement of the facts. The obvious. An question and none.

Everything in him floating and excited, on his lips Hawke’s smile has settled into a more arch and softer one. Eventually, when Fenris tears his eyes away from the festivities it is to see that, on silent feet, Hawke has stepped closer in a way that, indubitably, could never fool Fenris and his straight and frank eyes in the perseverant mass of blackness. Indelible. Indissoluble.

“Just a bit of teasing,” there is an amber laugh in Hawke’s eyes along with a wink on his lips.

A softer spark ignites within the darkness.   “I wonder who it is you tease.” The crease above Fenris’ nose deepens and multiplies while lending, maybe for the first time, an edge to the gravity of his voice … or is it just Hawke imagining things?

Fenris looks away again, eyes drawn out of the guarding shade’s darkness. A faint glow from the ascending crescent moon above them trails the arch of his brows and jawline with silver-stained fingers, a light more shade than anything, a smidgen of darkened silver trembling on his cheekbone. Closer still, hands almost touching, Hawke finally follows his gaze. To Duke Prosper, grandiloquent in his teal and golden costume complete with a snow white creature’s fur and scarlet feathered helmet (living up to his name well enough), to the ladies sumptuously gossiping away their stark lipsticks, who have by now flung unambiguous allusions at him with hungry eyelashes, and eventually to the auburn-haired elf woman waiting anxiously for him.

Underneath the vibrant armor and sable tunic in Fenris’ chest an apprehensive breath is caught in is lungs, it fills them to bursting, and then storms out again. Hawke draws closer to the hedge.

In his own chest Hawke’s breath is even, air flowing and streaming in and out with ease and leisure. Well does Hawke know it, he knows it now, this polarity of breaths; tranquility and agitation, unwound and vigorous. Familiar now. Already familiar within so short a time.

So little time and so much life, a life’s worth of breathing in it.

“How is it,” he suddenly whispers into the black shadow of the high hedge, “that the Duke guffaws even at the most boring words of mine whereas I cannot win you over to crack the tiniest smile for me today?”

At his whisper Fenris’ head snaps around, moves away again while Hawke watches his emerald eyes dart to the other side through the shadows, and Hawke’s heart warmly swells as if flooded.

It has been a delicate twenty-four hours since.

As early as now Varric is eyeing them – perceptive as ever – shooting them side-way glances with the air of someone who will not have anything hidden from him (even though this is the one sole thing Hawke never tells him) – and Hawke is eying his dwarfen friend in turn, waiting for him to give in to his itching fingers, pen and imagination running wild.

Twenty-four hours …

An evening of bitterness. A day of betrayal. A year of hope. A life of obedience. A moment of fear.

And an hour, sixty minutes, three thousand and six hundred seconds of kisses, of embracing, of muted pain, solace, avowal and bravery, of wild hearts, of a desperate, defenseless thing called love.

 No sooner, after waiting, so much waiting and hoping for him to find his way back to Hawke, no sooner had Fenris arms and lips come away from him than Hawke breathlessly gripped his trembling hand in a haze, to drag him with him onto the nocturnal streets of Hightown, to meet a waiting and disgruntled Varric at the appointed place. Pretending nothing had happened – heart ripe with explosion, madly grinning, almost giddy with joy and overcome by an adventurous recklessness.

That was when Tallis appeared. Hawke can see her thin face contorted with impatience and the same bravado which fills him. From a roof she sprang and fought and killed and smiled, telling stories of jewels and burglary.

When Fenris does not answer immediately, Hawke leans closer to his face, his voice rough and daring. “Maybe I should practice with other elves first.”

Then Hawke produces a small bronzen key from the ridiculously tiny pocket of his lustrous jacket, cocking his head. “You do not want to know what I had to do to gain this.”

His eyes twinkling with the reflections of amber lamps Hawke moves out of the dark shade of the evergreen hedge. “You and Varric keep an eye on our impressionable Duke and” – his fruity voice assumes the throaty Orlesian accent with gusto – “ ’is deer pet.”

Just before Hawke leaves, just before Varric’s prying eyes finally detect them from the other end of the garden and just before Tallis hisses “Hawke! What are we waiting for?”, Hawke’s fingers brush and linger for a brief moment on Fenris palm.

The redolent odor of some magnificent flower swims in the warm evening air.

Fenris, by contrast, still smells of the hunt. Of steel and blood, of apprehension, of wood leaf and tree bark, untarnished by the revelries and pretentious silk.

And then, all of a sudden, Fenris hand shoots forward and lungs for him. Behind the gloom-swathed hedgerow in the melting obsidian shade Hawke feels himself pulled, his mouth met by hard lips, terse teeth. The kiss is hard and short-lived, the whisper following in its wake a gnarling grunt. “You do look even more ludicrous than you sound.”

Before he can pull away again, Hawke takes Fenris’ hand and impulsively puts his wrist to his mouth for a kiss. Under the charcoal-dark armor, Hawke can feel Fenris’ heart almost give way at the touch. His laughter, rich and low, vaporizes against Fenris’ skin.

And then Fenris hands are all over his face, as though led by a desperate need to feel Hawke’s skin, fingers touching the curve of his cheekbone, the arch of his abundant brows, following the lines of his hairline. Whilst Hawke knees buckle at this, he kisses the patches of night shadows and inklings of silvered light upon Fenris’ face.

“This is stupid,” Fenris mutters softly, his delightfully low voice almost an evaporating whisper, “not stupid in the sense of silly but the most unwise and imprudent thing you have ever agreed to, Hawke.” Hawke, however, kisses each word, breathless and elated, until his name dissolves into a indissoluble smile of dark and silver.

Hawke’s answer is immediate: “Na via lerno Victoria.”

Incredulous, Fenris’ eyes widen. This Hawke observes with studied scrutiny, enjoying the effect his self-taught Tevene produces immensely. To his own amazement, then, he feels Fenris rising on his bare feet. His lips trace around his jaw with their breath, down Hawke’s chin and up the other way to his cheekbone, not kissing, plainly touching, tactually, sensing. With a soft groan Hawke captures Fenris’ hand in his. He presses first one to his mouth, then another, with exquisite tenderness, first palm, then the inside of his wrist. Tasting, desperately, underneath his skin, Fenris’ pulse which flutters and throbs.

Anew, all at once, Fenris pulls his hands out of Hawke’s grasp and pushes him out from under the shade of the hedge.

“Do not get caught, Hawke.” he growls hoarsely, note quite capable of banishing that tender, delicious gentleness out of his rumbling voice.

Hawke thereupon gives a wild laughter, replete with bliss and joy, sending a flutter of nightingales skittering into the warm, velvet night.

His lips streak with a pulsating grin. “Come and find me when I do.”

As Hawke turns back he fetches Fenris’ gaze, their eyes lock. Fenris is feeling suspicious. So is Hawke.

Fenris will not abandon his irritation and disagreement, not even for Hawke, neither his bristling at what he thinks is utter foolishness and venture. Hawke would not have it otherwise.

But.

But that daring, foolhardy, audacious, temerarious, roguish recklessness has not quite worn off yet.

Not yet.

Not yet.

____________________________________________________________

A thousand thanks to the amazing @14daysdalovers aka @scharoux for hosting this delightful event and pouring all her efforts, dedication and heart in it! Thank you so very much for your time and commitment, dear!  💗 You’re one awesome girl! 💗

[refriedweeb]

LET ME SANCTIFY YOUR BODY (SHINSOU + PLUS SIZED READER 18+)

A/N: refriedweeb here my little chickadees. Here’s another plus size reader one for all my beautiful thick babes out there. I’ve started hardcore sipping over everyone’s fave emo boy (who I always thought would prefer a thicker girl bc it just screams at you he would be) not responsible for any emotional trauma caused. ALSO, I used the same quirk from the Hawks’ series I have going on don’t judge me it’s honestly my favorite quirk I’ve thought up (and totally not bc I'm self-inserting) also if anyone draws y/n/me/yourself in this hero costume y/n chooses I'd die bc I think it’s so incredible

Prompt: Your hero agency has been pressuring you into a more scant, sexually appealing hero costume. Though you’re a hero, you’re still coming to accept your body and feel that the new costume they’ve put you in is anything but. Your boyfriend has other thoughts.

Tags/Warnings: body worship, oral, sex, spanking, shinsou being an absolute god

Word Count: 6,009

You stared at yourself in the reflection of the mirror in your bedroom. It’d been a long, exhausting past couple of weeks between you and the hero agency you worked for. They were insistent on changing up your hero costume, eager to add some sex appeal and tighter material around the assets that made you such a ‘feast’ as they called it. You were fuller figured, plump in spots that other female heroes weren’t. Your curves had caught the eye of the media surrounding the hero discourse, and you’d become something of a source of body positivity for the public. It wasn’t about your health, rather, but that strength and power came at any size, and a hero didn’t need to look like the heroes of the past in order to do good and be worthy of everything you had in your life. At first you’d been a little skeptical, sure that the other shoe was going to drop and you were going to be shunned for the tummy you had, the thickness of thighs that made you look ‘more beautiful than Venus being born’ according to one of the magazines that had commented on your body. 

However, you hadn’t seen anything wrong with the hero costume you’d been rocking prior to the media’s public obsession with you. It hid the insecurities that you wished to conceal, like that very tummy so many people had started to praise. The dimples in your thighs that showed through in the latex and skin tight material that made up so much of hero costumes. Many designers of said hero costumes had been scrambling to get their designs to your hero agency, practically groveling for you to pick theirs. You’d left that day after your seemingly endless patrol (thankful that nothing out of the ordinary outside of small, petty crimes) had come to an end. But...that didn’t mean the work was over just yet. The agency you worked in had been persistent that you needed to pick a new costume by the end of the week, and it was already Thursday. 

Your eyes moved from the mirror to the laid out costumes on the bed. The hero alias you went by was that of Nightmare. Your quirk was an Emitter quirk, and worked in a way that many people had been careful to get within your reach of. Once you activated your quirk, you could raise your target’s worst nightmare into a warped physical reality around them, or at least they perceived it to be a physical reality. What it really was, was a field of false reality with layers so thick it was hard to look through in order to see that it wasn’t real at all. A hallucination of the worst kind. You, much like your boyfriend Shinsou, had been people that your fellow classmates had thought would be best as villains, rather than heroes. People didn’t trust you, didn’t want to get to close to you lest you reach out a hand to their forehead and bring forth their own personal hell. 

They wanted to make someone they had once demanded be too dangerous to be a trustworthy hero into a sex symbol. The fleeting thought caused you to snort, your eyes moving back over the costume layout once more. Shinsou hadn't popped around to yours yet, likely still finishing out his own patrol. His opinions might have helped, but you weren’t sure when he’d get to yours and you’d rather get the uncomfortable trial and error of why your body didn’t look right in any of the costumes that had been sent to you over with. That way you could curl up in bed under the sheets and wait for Shinsou’s warm embrace. It’d always managed to make you feel better when you were sure the world hated everything about you. That very reason had been one of the reasons you and Shinsou had bonded so quickly. The world was determined to make you a villain before you’d even had a chance to prove them otherwise. You were each other’s biggest support system, the team cheerleader while you raced to make the world a better place. 

What would Nightmare wear? What would the unstoppable, dangerous Nightmare wear? The first costume was definitely not your speed, a deep plum color that was beautiful on its own. Yet, it was cut deep in the back with a half-peplum tiered skirt at the back of your waist. To you, it made you feel like a joke of a circus ring leader, feeling more like an overripe raspberry than a hero worth going toe to toe with. You didn’t have a body like Midnight or Mt. Lady. You were fuller all around, a pooch of a stomach that stuck out more than theirs, thighs that were thicker in muscle and fat then theirs. An ass, that as Shinsou had once said when he was drunk on sake, wouldn’t quit. Once again, you didn’t see anything wrong with the hero costume you had now. It was baggier, yes, allowing you to obscure a body you hadn’t fully come to terms with despite the years of progress you’d made with self-acceptance. Sure, the trench jacket did nothing to show off much of the body you’d worked hard to maintain and love, but it hadn’t been about how good you looked. It’d been about being able to do good and save people from villains. If you’d wanted to be judged for your looks, you would have signed up to be a model. But hero politics were the same politics that existed in every aspect of reality, and you had gotten used to it. It was really only a matter of time that you’d be up next in the line of speculation. The first costume was a hard no, and you peeled yourself out of it already feeling the sinking feeling of defeat as it crawled up into your spine. 

The second costume was better in some aspects, worse in others. It was black in color which was much more your speed, with a black mask to match that shielded the top half of your face. Yet, over your bust and over the widest part of your hips ran horizontal white lines, giving the effect of making them appear wider than they were. It wasn’t as if they just ran the front of the costume, either. Traced around your back and your butt, you only felt that sinking feeling grow. You looked wrong, and felt worse. There was no way people actually thought this was going to look good on you, did they? An annoyed sigh passed through your nose, doing one last turn around in the mirror confirmed your thoughts. These people had no idea what would look good on you. The cynical part of you was sure that this was the other shoe dropping. This was some grand joke that you were the punch line of. If you picked any of these costumes you’d be ridiculed for your body just like you’d been when you were a kid. That mere thought sparked tears in your eyes, but you pushed them down. There was one costume left. Though you didn’t have much hope for it. 

You were so in your negative thoughts at the moment as you stripped down from the second costume, you hadn’t heard the front door of your place open and close. Nor the sound of shoes being kicked off. 

The third costume was by far the most aesthetically pleasing to your tastes. Like Goldilocks and the three bears, it’d been the one you thought would be best. It was a one piece jumpsuit as the rest had been, cut deep in the front and back, low plunges that exposed everything to your naval in the front, and the small curve of your lower back. Though where freshly exposed skin would have been free, black mesh was laid overtop to give the graft appearance. There were winding slits down the long sleeves of the costume, making the mesh look like ropes winding down the length of strong arms and deliciously thick thighs. The mesh at the lower back connected to the beginnings of the mesh at the back of your thighs, lining up with the mesh that curved down from your naval and over your hips to meet up with the front mesh of your thighs. The mesh of the costume was one continuous running line, and you had to admit you liked how it shaped your body. It was tight as the other costumes, and certainly left nothing to the imagination of anyone who’d see you. If you picked this costume, everyone would know what it was you were working with. And that was what they wanted, right? The final costume was by far your favorite, opening and closing the fingerless gloves that had come with it. But were you okay with the world seeing the rest of your body? You didn’t think you were ugly by any means, and hadn’t felt ugly since you were a teenager. But...that didn’t mean the world wouldn’t take that chance to pick you apart if they thought you’d gotten too confident. 

You leaned up on your toes, angling to this way and that so you could get a full view of how you’d be seen from all angles. Your hand rolled over the little pooch of your belly, over the curve of your backside into that meshed lower back of the costume. The way your thighs blossomed against the costume, looking strong as hell. In the platformed boots you wore to do hero work, it’d look good. You thought. But was it too risky? Would you look like a joke? Your shoulders sagged in defeat, not sure you had the confidence to pull this off like the world seemed to think you did.

“Well, well...” came that deep drawl of the man you cared so deeply for. You jumped, completely unaware that for the last five minutes you’d been examining yourself in the mirror, that Shinsou had been eyeing you up from his position. Leaned against the frame of the door, hands tucked into his pockets with a shameless look on his face. “These those new hero costumes you were talking about?”

Once you were sure you wouldn’t about faint from the racing of your heart, you nodded. “Yeah, they weren’t that great,” you said and jutted your chin to the ones you’d hung back up on their hangers to be sent back. “Those were the first two options, and they looked...gross on me.” you said, voice dropping as the negative term against yourself left your throat. Shinsou angled a brow upwards question, violet eyes moving over to look at them. He doubted that they looked bad on you, almost disappointed he hadn’t gotten to see your skin slip under that tight material, the way it ran so flush over that body of yours he’d worshipped for so long. For all Shinsou cared, you could be running around in a trash bag and he’d find a way to think you were the most beautiful person in the world. But, one thought he shared in common with you on the first two hero costumes, was that they didn’t speak Nightmare. Your quirk was exceptional, like his in a way. It needed something as equally daring, as enticing as you were.

“I doubt that...” Shinsou strolled over to look at them, running the fabric of the raspberry suit between thumb and forefinger. “But they’re not you. They’re too tame for you.” the comment was innocent enough, but your mouth dried up at it. Sunken eyes moved over to look at you once more in that black suit number, one that he found himself to be a growing fan of. “What about that one?” His expression was hungry as he dragged his gaze up and down your body, over the curves showed off so freely.

Shinsou had never had an issue with your body. Rather, he preferred a partner that was on the thicker side to begin with. He liked being able to feel you in his hands without worry about hurting you too much. Your skin was a comfort to him, the way you were soft and plush drove him up a fucking wall. He might not have been the biggest fan of public affection, but when it was just the two of you he couldn’t keep his greedy hands off you. And how could he? Even in that moment, his fingers twitched with the carnal need to have your flesh under the pads of his fingers. 

“It’s definitely the best of the bunch.” You shrugged, hand running down the shape of your belly once more, your mind still stuck on whether or not it was going to get you ridiculed. “I just don’t...I think it’s too much. I don’t think...” you trailed off. “I don’t know if I look good in it.”

The sound of a snort from behind you had you meeting Shinsou’s gaze through the mirror. He wore an incredulous expression as if you’d just claimed that there was no such thing as gravity. He shook his head and approached you slowly. “You’re kidding, right?” Shinsou stood behind you, his chin resting on the top of your head. His body was pressed flush against yours, and you could feel the half-hard length of him pressed against your backside. “You don’t think you look amazing in this, (Y/N)?”

A blush hit your cheeks as his hands rested on your shoulders. “It’s not that, Shi. I just don’t...I guess...I don’t think people will want to see me like this. So...exposed.” Being sexy wasn’t the problem here. It was how others would see you and if they’d take the same thought away that the agency had, that Shinsou had, that some of the media had about you. You could take being ridiculed for your ability to act as an hero, if you messed up on the job or anything like that. Those criticisms pertained to your ability to help and change the world, and nothing to do with your physical appearance. Changing your hero costume would open up that path to criticisms about your appearance that had never been there before. 

“Ah...so that’s it.” Without having to say much, Shinsou understood where your mindset was. He sighed, feeling somewhat guilty. Had he not shown you how beautiful you were each time he settled his mouth or his cock between your thighs? Had he not told you how you were the only person who was ever going to have his eye whether you were dolled up in a face full of makeup or drooling while you slept? The last thing he wanted for you to feel about yourself was inadequate because of how much you weighed or what your body looked like. He knew it wasn’t for him to decide, that only you could determine your self-worth, but you were perfect for him. And if he was selfless enough to let the world see you how he saw you, he would in a heartbeat. But just because he wanted the world to see it, didn’t mean he was a fan of sharing. Timidly, you met his indigo gaze through the mirror’s reflection. “Here’s what I think, kitten.”

A chill ran down your spine as his fingers started to ghost over your shoulders. “I think...” He slowed his movements,  tracing the seam where mesh met spandex, Shinsou’s eyes narrowed as they followed where his fingers met. They ended at the inner point of the V that formed the front of a potentially new costume. Goosebumps erupted over your skin wherever his fingers trailed, and all you could do was watch in the mirror as his head came to rest on your shoulder, doing the same. “This looks downright sinful...” his fingers moved back up the V of the spandex material, only to pause as his fingers cupped the fullness of your breasts, thumbs whispering over piqued nipples. He hovered there for a moment, tracing circles around them as you shivered against the well defined muscle of his chest. “Not a thing left to the imagination...” Shinsou murmured, taking as his hands swept over the top of your chest to your shoulders, slowly down your arms. The winding tightness between your thighs had started, and he’d only been gentle with you so far. His thumbs moved along your inner forearm, traced circles along the sensitive part of your inner wrist before they flowed back up the length of your arms, returning to your breasts where he pulled and teased once more. “You’re telling me I might have to share this with the public...”

Shinsou’s eyes, a beautiful shade of setting sun, were narrowed as his hands traveled down the mesh material of your stomach once more. His fingers spread as he traced your belly, fingers bent just slightly so you felt the drag of his fingertips through the material of the suit. It was just a prototype, after all. The real work effectiveness of the suit would be put in place if you agreed to have it. At the sensation of his nails scratching along your stomach, your thighs turned inwards, backside pressing in against a growing erection. It only caused Shinsou to smile that smarmy smirk that had caught your attention all those years ago at UA. “You’re telling me everyone’s going to get to see this goddess body I get to claim night after night...” Shinsou continued, pulling the soft pudge of your skin in his hands as he raked them to the side to grip your hips. Those fucking hips. His fingers dug in sharper there, knowing your skin could handle it. So full, so fucking lush. “Hell, kitty, you might just raise the crime rate because everyone wants to see you in this costume...” He released his iron grip on your hips, hands sweeping towards your backside to grab at the bountiful ass you had. How it drove him up a fucking wall to see how it bounced against his hips when he took you from behind. “You have no idea...” Shinsou paused to pull up the legs of his pants before he squatted down to his knees, his hands still on your ass.

“How fucking good you look in this...” You were speechless as he continued to knead at your ass, giving that plump backside of yours a soft slap that sounded through the room. He worshipped your body day in and day out, and had simply no problem letting you know how much he loved every square inch of it. Shinsou let out a low hum. His hands continued their march, coming to cup the lower part of your ass in his hands. He was greedy when it came to this, the best fucking handful and then some any god could have given him. “Your ass looks so fucking good...” he whispered, side of his face nuzzled up against the curve of your thigh. One hand slipped from the grip it has on your backside, slipping between your thighs. An idle thumb swept through your lips, so thick and full that when he ate you out he simply rested his head there. A sharp gasp escaped you, rolling into the touch that ended before it’d even begin. This didn’t go unnoticed by Shinsou, that devilish smile there once more. “And these fucking thighs...” he whispered, his second hand repeated that sinful sweeping motion between your legs, his hands gripping your inner thighs, slowing pulling them apart. All the while, you watched through the mirror, his eyes zeroed in on the puffy mound of your pussy that seemed particularly swollen in that jumpsuit. “These fucking thighs that I love to have wrapped around my head...” Shinsou turned in so his nose was pressed against your left thigh, his teeth soon enough caught the material of the jumpsuit between them and pulled it back from your supple skin. A moment later, a sharp snap hit the air as it slapped back against your skin, causing you to squirm. “You’re telling me the world is gonna know how fucking delicious these thighs are...”

He wasn’t the jealous sort, Shinsou. He knew that you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t want to be. That you came home to every night because you wanted to. In that sense he was secure in his relationship with you. But he wanted to make it astoundingly clear to you just how beautiful your body was, and how everyone else in the world who had their head screwed on tight enough was going to see it too. He was hungry to devour you in that suit right there, to fuck you and mark you so greedily so that the world would know his mark on you, but this wasn’t about him or his selfish wants. This was about making you feel like the strongest, sexiest, most powerful woman on the entire earth. And based off the heat he was feeling so close to his hands that gripped your thighs, his mission was working. He hummed, digging his fingers into your skin. “I could spend hours on your skin, kitten.” he murmured, his nose inching up the length of your thigh to where it curved, the crease of hip into thigh his goal. “Kissing it all over, tasting all of you...” you squirmed as Shinsou shifted on the ground slightly, so that he knelt in front of you. The sight of him looking up at you, sunken eyes dark with lust, made your waver on your knees. It was next to holy imagery, his legs spread wide, hands gripping your thighs for purchase as if he didn’t, he’d disappear entirely. “You gonna let me taste you, kitten?”

Shinsou didn’t wait for your answer, moving on his own agenda. He leaned forward into that sweet, tantalizing mound of yours. His nose burrowed in, hands moving up to grip your hips as he pulled you in against him. The flat of his tongue slipped over the clothed length of your cunt, warmth radiating against the sweetness of your pussy as he pulled your thighs apart for him. You moaned out his name, the action he took so simple but enough to threaten you over the cliff. Shinsou had only touched you, slow and measured at that, and this was the first he’d put a hand or tongue where you needed him most. The fabric that had been between your legs was in his mouth, Shinsou sucking on the fabric there to get as much of you in his mouth that had already escaped you while he’d been busy touching you. The fabric fell from his mouth when he was done, slapping against your heat and causing you to jolt forward. Your fingers found themselves wound through the thick tendrils of indigo hair, balancing as he smiled up at you with his head tipped to the side. The look was downright bastardly, and you tugged on his hair. “Don’t tease me,” you said, breathless.

“No teasing here, baby...” Shinsou breathed, pausing to blow hot air against your sex. “I want to make my girl feel good,” while he spoke, he stroked his middle and index finger up and down the slit of your cunt, pushing in slightly so the fabric dipped in your glaze. “I want to make you feel good about this fucking body I intend to destroy...” He sounded so bored as he played with your pussy that it only drove you crazier. You knew from the bulge in his pants that he was far from bored, but how nonchalant he could be while he was winding that coil of an orgasm tighter and tighter inside of you could have pushed you over the edge. “I want to take my time getting you there...”

You mewled, rocking against his fingers as they slipped back and forth, agonizingly slow in their rhythm. Shinsou had never been a fan of when you doubted yourself or your abilities, your worth and your beauty. This wasn’t exactly what he would have called a punishment, rather a reminder that there wasn’t a single part of you that he would want to change about you, and that you should have felt the same. He worshipped you, every second of every day. Frankly, in his eyes, there wasn’t enough hours in the day to give thanks to whatever deities were out there that created the fucking perfect version of yourself that was stood over him currently. “Sit on my face, kitten.” he drawled, eyes raking upwards over those delicious curves of your body, the thickness of your skin so plump, until he was looking into your eyes. “Let me taste you.”

With the way he’s looking at you, you know you don’t stand a chance of saying no. “Yes,” you rasped out, Shinsou’s hands soothing you as they smoothed up and down your thighs. You took a step back from him, Shinsou staying where he was, frozen as he watched you pull down the suit.

 It was like a work of art, his cock hardening as you pulled the front of it down, exposing your mounds of flesh, nipples piqued and flushed from when he’d been teasing them earlier. As the black material folded over your arms, exposing soft skin he ached to get his hands on. Down over your midsection, exposing the little roll over your belly that had his mouth watering. “You look so fucking beautiful,” his voice had hollowed out, thick with need to have your thighs practically suffocating him. He watched the blush deepen on your cheeks, only serving to make him grow harder. His eyes snapped back as the skintight material rolled over your hips and his cock twitched. The way your skin pushed out, full and so fucking desirable from the spandex material sent him over the edge. And then there it was. That glistening pussy with the softest patch of hair extending up towards your naval, a landing strip you’d called it once. Shinsou couldn’t help himself as he reached up to his mouth and ran his index finger over the swell of his bottom lip. He could see how wet you were already from the teasing he’d put you through, how your glaze seeped onto the thighs you’d pushed together. He was motionless as you slowly rolled the jumpsuit the rest of the way, over the curve of thighs into calves, finally at those fucking ankles he rather enjoyed having up by his face when he drove into you like a man starved for your fluids. 

“You look so fucking tasty, kitten.” he whispered, settled onto his back. Not once had his eyes left yours. “Let me have you, please.” The please and desperation in his voice caused you to squeeze your thighs together again, and he moaned. But you indulged him once he’d taken his shirt off, your eyes directly tracing the spattering of indigo chest hair that lead a thin trail to his naval, the patch at his waist thickening as it disappeared below his pants. Slowly, you lowered yourself until you were sat on his chest. The slickness that spread on his chest from your cunt caused Shinsou to moan as his hands wrapped around your thighs once more, spreading you so he was face to face with that precious cunt he called his. “Gonna make you feel real good, baby.” he said and pulled you forward so that your thighs were pressed in against either side of his head. When he spoke next, the breath he exhaled was right against your heat. “The world’s prettiest cunt, all mine...” Shinsou’s chuckle had you fisting your hands. “One thing I won’t share...”

And then he dived in, having dessert before he’d even had dinner. He’d been aching to get his mouth on your cunt since he’d seen that swollen mound of the hero suit you’d tried on. Now that he had it, he was going to ravage you until you were begging him to stop. His nose pressed in against your mouth, hands spreading your legs further as he lapped noisily against your wet pussy. You were so wet for him already, his tongue lapping up those juices only spurred you to drip more. He was always sloppy when he ate you out, simply because Shinsou wanted to have as much of you on him as possible. You tasted like honey, like a lazy Sunday morning, like the feeling of victory. He slurped and suckled, his teeth grazing over your clit as you found the rhythm of his tongue and started rocking against him. Soon enough the sounds that filled your bedroom were the wet, sloppy noises of Shinsou eating you out, and you whispering his name like a prayer as he suckled on your clit with feral need. His face was slick with your silk glaze, running down his chin and onto his neck, the floor underneath him. But frankly, he didn’t give a fuck. Your thighs had done what he’d hoped they would, squeezing and flexing against his head as he played with and teased your clit. Shinsou could hardly breathe, but if this was how he was supposed to go, he certainly didn’t mind. 

He’d started to flick and circle, traced his tongue around your bundle of nerves faster, and you started to ride his face harder. It was a chase to your orgasm, and just before you reached that finish line, he stopped. A desperate whine escaped you, writhing in an attempt to get back on his tongue and finish out your eye. Except, Shinsou was hiking one leg over his shoulder so that you were off his chest entirely. You whined once more, your core throbbing at how wet his face was. “You taste like fucking heaven...” he groaned as he wiped his fingers over his face, coating his hand in all your silk. Then, he undid the button of his pants, the zipper. And as you adjusted yourself with legs spread, you saw the brilliant pink tip of his cock, dripping pre-cum as he sprung free. You whimpered, desperate to be full once more and to reach your orgasm. Shinsou eyed you up, taking the wetness of your slick from his face in his hand and pumping himself as he came to rest between your thighs once more. 

“I want to cum,” you groaned as you reached out, fingers ghosting through the curls of the violet hair around the base of his cock. Shinsou pried your fingers away, returning it to where it’d been beside your head.

“I’m gonna let you, kitten.” he said, as he continued to coat himself in your silken drip. First, he wanted to take a mental picture of how fucking good you looked on the floor. Hair fanned out around your head, your cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide with lust. The rapid rise and fall of your chest, your divine breasts moving with each movement. On your back, you were subject to his mercy. The only plan Shinsou had was to make you cum, to make you realize how fucking incredible you were. “You feel good for me?” he asked as he pulled you close to him by the legs, leaning over so that he could hike them up over his shoulders. 

You nodded, any of the previous doubts about your body and how you looked quieted as you watched Shinsou turn his head to the side and nip at your ankle. “You’re so fucking perfect. These fucking legs drive me wild every time, kitten.” You felt Shinsou pressed up against the entrance of your cunt, feeling him leak onto your slip. “I don’t ever want you to feel bad about yourself when you look so good.” He was slow as he pushed into you, feeling the stretch around his cock as you moaned out his name. “Your body is fucking perfect,” he said through gritted teeth as he propped himself up on his forearms, leaned in over you so that violet hair hung over your face. Once he started thrusting, he was slow, hitting deep against your walls. 

“This tummy is so fucking beautiful,” he groaned as your walls clamped around him once he picked up pace. “Feels so fuckin-nngh,” he sputtered, your feet locked behind his neck. “So good to rest on.” His pace quickened again, purple shaded eyes dropping to your breasts as they bounced in time with his thrusts. “These fucking breasts,” he grunted. You whimpered as you felt that mounting wave of your high start to climb again. “So fucking hypnotizing to watch while I fuck you,” he hissed, your hands braced against his muscled biceps as his pace started to turn sloppy. Your nails dug in, and Shinsou tossed his head back as he hit the final turn.

When he looked back down at you, there was carnal need in his eyes. “These fucking lips,” he moaned, leaning down to capture your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss that left behind traces of your cunt. “I can’t get enough, kitten...” His tongue ravaged the rows of your teeth, lapped against your tongue as he fought to taste every part of you could. You were at the climax of that wave mounted in your heat, and you moaned his name, the only indicator he needed of to hurry the fuck up. He started to fuck harder into you to the point where bruises were likely to blossom against where his skin slapped against yours. “That’s it, kitten, that’s it.” he cooed, listening to the mewls falling past your lips as you started to spill over, the wet sound of sex filling the room louder than it had been. 

Shinsou leaned back just slightly and returned his hand to your clit, the final push you needed as he paid it loving attention. You came undone around his cock and thumb, the shuddering orgasm ripping through you as you cried out his name. Your legs spasmed, squeezing against once more as he followed after you moments later, spilling hot ribbons of cum inside you. He continued to thrust after he’d come, emptying whatever remains he had until he was empty and spent. Breathless, Shinsou flopped against your chest. His head rested against your breast, moving in time with your rapid breaths that mirrored his own. His thumbs traced loving circles over your hips, his cock soft inside you but Shinsou not wanting to leave you aching and empty of him just yet. “That’s my good girl,” he rasped, swallowing heavily. 

Your hands raked through the thick wave of indigo hair, gentle as you combed through it. Words and thoughts were out of your functionality for a passage of time, but when you finally remembered how to do both, you asked a simple question. One that you really already knew the answer to, no longer abashed about how it hugged the curves of your body, just another indicator that you were human. After how much attention Shinsou had dedicated to your body, you almost felt silly for having felt insecure to begin with. “The black suit?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the breast opposite the one he was slumped on.  Shinsou turned his head slightly so that he could look at you, admire all that you were. And what you were to him was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life making feel that good about herself, about her place in the world. However he had to do that, he would. It was only right because you had supported him through so much and had never asked for anything in return. You were the only person who had ever looked at him like he was normal, like he wasn’t some type of freak. And he’d done the same for you when you’d both attended UA. As far as he was concerned, the only forever he needed was right there, pressed up against his naked body. Shinsou’s grin was lopsided and he nodded. “The black one.” 

[inventors-fair]

Two guilds, one cause group commentary

Super sorry for being super super late.  Here’s the commentary about the guild colab cards.

@dumbellsndragons First of quite a lot split/aftermath cards for this contest! I was quite surprised! Beast is not much but it’s an honest spell. The real deal is Breakfast! It essentially doubles the power of your board, by splitting it to 2/2 bodies that can in turn trigger various etb effects. Temporary buffs, (bloodrush anyone?) can play a huge roll on how many tokens you can make!

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes​ Misjudged this one, took it for an Izzet Simic spell, while it’s actually an Izzet Gruul one that plays into the destroy to create mentality of the two guilds. While witty and creative, this spell feels a little too specific. It definitely has a fun side but I fear people would use it more as a combo piece.

@abzanhero​ Sel-gari was a very popular combination and Rotweaver is a very nice example on how those two guilds could interact. It fills the graveyard, cares about the graveyard and has the potential to make HUGE tokens for you to populate. All that in the expense of immediate impact on the board, but I asked for kitchen table EDH cards, and this fits the category very well.

@helloijustreadyourpost​ I love the throwback to popular EDH cards like Savra and the first print of Teysa that care about the color of creatures you control.  That said, I am not a fun of the limitations on the card, as I view more like a Yu-gi-oh design than an mtg card, where usually the only limitation is the cost of the card.

@bioodprice Great control card but the two triggers feel conflicted as the one taps a creature, and the other punishes the players for having untapped creatures. Either way, it has good pillowfort potential as it can hinder both voltron strategies and punish token based decks.

@dimestoretajic​ Great tempo card, would do wonders in limited enviroments. Lorewise, it’s sad to see that guilds consume their messengers. If this trend continues, Vivien will surely pay Ravnica a visit XD

@ghoulcaclulator64​ First of all, congratulations for going the extra mile and made your own artwork for the card! It’s really cool!

On to the ability of the card, its very well stated and it has great combo potential with all the copy effects of blue and red that can help you create an army of deadly blasters. I am not sure whether you wanted the trigger to work with spells any player controls or not, but all in all I find Whip-Walker an interesting design!

@kytheon4-4 Great flavor text that fits the theme of the design challenge 150%! Also a quite impactful card on a tri colored creature deck of all shapes and sizes. If mentor returns, it could definitely appear on Green creatures, or creatures of any color, like Exalted

@hypexion​ When you’re a Gorgon with a Biology major, there’s no need to stay in the undercity XD In general I like the use of ability counters, and this applies here as well. The +1/+1 counter would serve as a reminder for the deathtouch counter, though I must complain that Mila herself doesn’t have deathtouch but has to work for it like a guildless peasant.

@yourrightfulking​ For GGUURR you get two cards and at least a 2/2 body plus 2 damage wherever you want. This is an insanely good deal, and this being an instant means that you can also mess up combat big time. I wouldn’t call the card broken in any way but I feel there should be some moderation, maybe the damage affect players and planeswalkers? But that’s me nitpicking, all in all pursuit of perfection was a very nice entry for the contest.

@nine-effing-hells​ In a similar vein, from a mechanical standpoint, chorus of battle offers +4/+4 , with the additional trample and lifelink. Comparison with Titanic Ultimatum is inevitable, and it offers a lot more for an additional mana. I think here it should be safer if the play was asked to offer a single R and W to get the bonus and not the double colors which add a lot of weight to the card without clear benefit.

@misterstingyjack​ The design challenge was meant for you to design tri colored cards. There were a few color matters submissions, but this is the best “rulebreaker” and who’s a better rulebreaker than a goblin gang that pays homage to Shattergang Brothers A really cute card whose effects are relevant  in an EDH game, especially the green one. Death to the mana rocks! 

@grornt​ Great revisiting of Graft and I love the fact that with haste, the total damage you can do to the opponent doesn’t change as you pass around your counters! Interestingly, Riot and Bloodthirst also operate with +1/+1 counters so this beasty truly unites Simic and Gruul!

@hiygamer​ If there’s one thing “cannon” in this challenge, it’s that the Selesnya and the Golgari will rebuild Vitu-Ghazi! The abilities and the overall flavor of the card are super sweet, but I think we should be wary of lands with the potential to generate tons of mana. For example, as much as I love symmetry in design, the graveyard matters part of the card shouldn’t be on equal ground with the other ability as it’s easier to produce more mana with mill shenanigans.

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion This pricey enchantment is so splashy, Kiora would probably try to steal it. Good thing you considered planewalkers on the second ability, because then you would have certainly crossed the line. I don’t know what kind of deck is the true home for this card, but even one turn with this card on the battlefield will decide the course of the game.

@dabudder​ For 2WUG, you get a 5/5 flyer and you draw one card. It’s not much, in EDH at least, but it’s definitely an honest play. Again, the fate of Vitu-Ghazi is on the spotlight, and here we see the Azorius care about it! Who knew Ravnicans love Selesnya that much?

@koth-of-the-hammerpants Scavenge 6 for merely two mana is a tremendous deal. The Second activated ability takes an A for creativity and flavor, as we see the pinnacle of recycling in this combined Simic Golgari project. I feel a few balance tweaks are required here and there but the idea of a creature “reforming” itself through +1/+1 counters is damn cool.

@narkis24​ Puns and memes are always appreciated but the abilities, while interesting, they have me wondering whether this is too oppressive for your opponent. The free treasure token every now and then is pretty innocent and it may be the token of an unofficial alliance made on the kitchen table. However, the potential of multiple counterspells with little investment  seems a bit scary. I would rather it somehow required self sacrifice in the ability so people don’t gang up on you.

@thedirtside I love the name and its connection with the bouncing nature of the card. While overall this spell feels weak or requires a lot of mana, I feel there are decks out there that would appreciate the utility this card offers.

@bread-into-toast​ Selesnya and Orzhov is a wild combination from every perspective but as the flavor text suggests, all woodshapers are welcome XD

The 5 toughness guarantees that you will make a good number of tokens before this thrull enters the soil, and it might deter a couple attacks while on the battlefield because it can potentially make 10 or more tokens with a good block. An Abzan token deck will have dozens of ways to utilize this small army, and the deat trigger gives you yet another one if there are not any available at that time. All in all, a stellar design. I didn’t do a runners up post this time, but this could be easily included.

@gollumni​ A solid utility 4 drop that shines more at late game than on curve because as the challenge suggests we’re playing kitchen table edh. For the full colored cost you disable three potential blockers. I love the tiny detail that unlike other creatures in the original ravnica that cared about different colors of mana when you cast them, Enlisted Banisher represents all three colors for the sake of devotion and color matters cards, like the beloved Knight of New Alara.

@shakeszx A very unique design that encourages different tribal strategies in an attempt to unite everything under its glorious pincers during combat. I feel a deck with Gedj as a commander would be both fun and challenging to build. I suppose it would contain a lot of Slivers and Allies. If anybody makes this deck please let us know!

@wolkemesser​ A wild project uniting Gruul and Izzet. This is probably the most intricate design I’ve seen in a while, utilizing XYZ, three colors, two kinds of tokens. But what about the kitchen table? The options this card offers are insanely good, so much that I think it’s undercosted. The red ability, essentially lets you save up mana, and treasures can also help you generate mana for the other two options of the card.

And while the power level is definitely high, I have to commend you for considering when the player is allowed to do these crazy mana sink shenanigans. Having a specific time window is important and setting it on main phase 2 means that you give both yourself and you opponents time to figure things out.

@teaxch​ Excellent build around potential and I like that the optional copying trigger as you can utilize a deck with both buffs and single target removals. The spiciest thing about this card is that it has the highest cannon potential because actually Izzet and Boros collaborate to create advanced soldiers. It’s Captain Amrica all over again :P They even got the right colors

@masternexeon​ I love the irony of a card that obstructs your opponents playing cards during your turn has flash itself. It’s a real solid hate bear. The haste hating is more of a trinket text than a relevant ability, but it’s better to have a rare ability than not having it.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff I don’t know why this doesn’t have a straightforward adapt X ability, let’s move past that. Any numbers of counters are always welcome, but in this design it’s easier to get a good amount of counters early game, for example going for 4 on turn 4 is a really nice play and you can swing for 7, which will have a long and memorable impact on the kitchen table. On the other hand, if you topdeck this late game, there’s a chance you won’t be able to pay 11 for the 11 creatures you might have in the graveyard.

@davriel-canes-tea-supplier​ Another aftermath card. You surprised me there! Get down is a slightly more expensive freeze two spell, but that’s customary for dual purpose cards like this. On to business, we got a selective wrath effect. It’s more disruptive than an actual sweeper because odds are the opponent sees it coming (except if you discard it on purpose to head straight to business) Overall I feel the whole card could be a bit cheaper but I appreciate the impact it can have in the game, and it also helps me create an image of the Ravnican lobby that’s in the hands of Orzhov with the assistance of the Azorius

@reaperfromtheabyss​ Ending, with a flashy comeback of Fuse! Both halves are great cards in their own right, Body is a tad better than life’s legacy because it also gives life at the price of one black mana instead of any mana, and Soul can produce a respectable amount of flying tokens while wiping a player’s graveyard. The combined effect isn’t as explosive as other fuse spells, but the utility it offers is much appreciated. And while the card frame for fuse isn’t flavor text friendly, I really like the story it tells, about how the two guilds care about death and how they utilize it for their advantage.

[mongsanggga]

You Found Me | heroesofbr00klyn

@heroesofbr00klyn continued from here

Steve had been in Beacon Hills for about six months when the oldest family in the town, the Hales, held their end of summer part for the whole town, all ages, all people. It was nothing small or cheap by any means. Steve worked for the Sheriff's department, having retired from the Avengers and from government work about a year ago. The party was semi-formal and so Steve was currently wearing dark chinos, a blue button down shirt, no tie, and an open vest. He had a drink in his hand and was listening to the Sheriff's son, yet again, talking about what he'd been doing at college. The young man was engaged to one of the Hale boys, though Steve never could remember which one.

STeve had caught the eye of a man early in the evening with darker blond hair and fierce blue eyes that drew Steve in. He kept seeking him out all night, their eyes occasionally meeting and the other man giving him a teasing smile each time.

It had been a couple of hours and Steve was heading to the bar when he saw the man again, but this time he looked put out and uncomfortable. A woman was talking to him and kep getting closer to him, a hand on the man's arm which seemed to irk the man to no end. Steve frowned. A rescue was in order.

He quickly walked over and slid an arm around the man's waist, kissing his cheek softly. "There you are, sweetheart. Sorry I was so long. The Sheriff's son got overly chatty. Are you ready to grab another drink or have we had enough fun for tonight?"

Peter wasn’t a fan of the annual party when the Hales had numbers, but after the fire, the event hadn’t been priority. Most of the family had burned alive, Peter himself had been forced to undergo over a dozen skin grafts, and he was thankfully back to his former look, though a very large chunk of the family inheritance had gone to the process. Peter knew that he and the other five survivors, his own kids, Jackson and Malia, and his sister’s children - Laura, Derek and Cora - were still well covered financially and the police were looking for the team responsible. However, nine years had passed since the fire, and the girls had insisted they hold a party to hold tradition and Peter had let them choose the theme and helped get the location secured. The girls had set up a memorial wall along side, photos of the many family members lined with candles and flowers of all kinds. Peter had been surprised when the images of his dead wife and youngest daughter were there, and he had avoided the memorial wall as much as possible as they waited for the guests to begin arriving.

Once the party was in full swing, Malia and Jackson had easily found their friends, Laura and Cora had coordinated outfits and were out and about. Derek had found his fiancé, Stiles, and the two hadn’t been far from each other for much of the night. Peter himself kept meeting eyes with a handsome man, a deputy if he was right, and he was impressed at the male. Something wanted to draw him closer, but Peter had feared getting close to anyone recently. Enough time had passed for him to find a new mate, but a part of him was terrified of losing anyone else. When a few hours had passed and his glass was finally empty, Peter found his way to the bar to refill his drink. That moment was when a news reporter had approached him. She had wanted an interview from the Hales in regard to the fire; how they had adjusted and moved on from the tragedy that made national news, and when Peter had politely told her to fuck off, she had turned off work mode and begun to hit on him. It was unsettling to say the least, because Peter knew the type. Get your story by working your way into the target’s private life and then post everything they open up about.

Then there was an arm at his waist and it felt as if all his anger and tension melted from him. He was startled by the kiss, a spark tingling through him. He found himself relaxing into the blonde, lips curving in a thankful smile. “I believe the fun has run it’s course.” he answered, wanting to get out and get some fresh air. He reached behind him to move Steve’s arm and lace their fingers. “Shall we?”

[arkaniist]

I wrote 2.5k words about Tolkien, WWI, Le Morte d’Arthur, the Iliad and Odyssey, and more, all bundled happily in an essay about queer subtext in the Lord of the Rings revolving around the relationship between Sam and Frodo. I posted about this before, and someone asked me to post the essay, so here it is!

Homoerotic Subtext in the Lord of the Rings

In June of 1916, J. R. R. Tolkien shipped out from England to France to join his comrades on the Western Front. In July, he would participate in one of the bloodiest struggles of World War 1, the Battle of the Somme. Just a month later, he would be struck with Trench Fever, placing him in convalescence or behind a desk for the remainder of the war. Though his front-line experience was short, there is no denying the effect that the war and the loss of his closest friends had on Tolkien, nor the influence it had on his writing in the post-war years. Much has been written on that topic already. However, there is one aspect of Tolkien’s time in the service which is underexplored when it comes to the literary critique of his legendarium – of which the Lord of the Rings is but a piece – and that is his exposure to the widespread homoerotic attitudes which were a common undercurrent in the British armed forces during that time.

Homosexuality has always been an overlooked behavior on the front during wartime, even as it passed from common practice to taboo. One reason for this might be that people who are worried about being shot to death in a trench have other things to worry about besides who their mates might be kissing. Another might be that facing death brings a greater appreciation for love to the front of the mind, and it does not matter which gender that appreciation is directed towards. As a result, we find many examples in literature and letters of men expressing chaste but deep homoerotic love for other men. In The Great War and Modern Memory, Paul Fussel writes that in WWI-era battlefield poetry, one could not fail to notice ‘the unique physical tenderness, the readiness to admire openly the bodily beauty of young men, the unapologetic recognition that men may be in love with each other.’ (303). “War poetry has the subversive tendency to be our age’s love poetry.” he quotes Richard Fein. In that case, we must examine war literature for the same sentiments.

Most common in officers towards their men, we find ‘something more like the “idealistic,” passionate but non-physical “crushes” which most of the officers had experienced at public school. … What inspired such passions was — as always — faunlike good looks, innocence, vulnerability, and “charm.” The object was mutual affection, protection, and admiration.’ (Fussel 295) This makes sense, as ‘the tradition in Victorian homosexuality and homoeroticism [is] that soldiers are especially attractive. What makes them so is their youth, their athleticism, their relative cleanliness, their uniforms, and their heroic readiness, like Adonis or St. Sebastian, for “sacrifice.”’ (Fussel 302) In the Lord of the Rings, we find Frodo described as ‘taller than some and fairer than most, and he has a cleft in his chin: perky chap with a bright eye.’ (Tolkien 163). At his coming-of-age birthday party, he inherits the great evil that is the One Ring from his great uncle; he is an unintentional sacrificial lamb. Later, when he volunteers to take the One Ring to Mt. Doom knowing that it is likely a one-way trip if he can even make it that far, we find in our protagonist a young, beautiful, self-sacrificing hero.

Fussel writes that ‘although the usual course of protective affection was from superior to subordinate, sometimes the direction was reversed, with men developing hero-worshipping crushes on their young officers.’ (297) Enter Frodo’s counterpart and co-protagonist, Samwise Gamgee. Tolkien wrote in a 1956 letter to a fan that “My ‘Samwise’ is indeed (as you note) largely a reflexion [sic] of the English soldier—grafted on the village-boys of early days, the memory of the privates and my batmen that I knew in the 1914 War, and recognized as so far superior to myself.” (Letter 187)

A batman, in military parlance, was a soldier who, as well as fighting, oversaw an officer’s kit, cooking, and cleaning. (Garth) However, Sam is so much more than Frodo’s servant, though they start the journey as master of the house and gardener. Sam shows an incredible dedication to Frodo that cannot be explained as mere class-based loyalty. Take this passage from Return of the King when the enemy has captured Frodo. The Hobbits are separated, and Sam is up against what seems like impossible odds – faced with the task of raiding an entire tower he assumes is filled with enemies, alone, armed only with a short sword. He does not even know where Frodo is or if he is still alive:

‘… Except for that little frightened rat, I do believe there’s nobody left alive in the place!’

And with that he stopped, brought up hard, as if he had hit his head against the stone wall. The full meaning of what he had said struck him like a blow. Nobody left alive! Whose had been that horrible dying shriek? ‘Frodo, Frodo! Master!’ he cried, half sobbing. ‘If they’ve killed you, what shall I do? Well, I’m coming at last, right to the top, to see what I must.’ (Tolkien 887)

… He cared no longer for Shagrat or Snaga or any other orc that was ever spawned. He longed only for his master, for one sight of his face or one touch of his hand. (Tolkien 889)

Besides demonstrating Sam’s willingness to face certain death rather than leave Frodo, this passage is a perfect illustration of another one of Tolkien’s literary inspirations besides the Great War. Tolkien was a scholar of European mythology, drawing inspiration for his legendarium from epic myths like the Old English Beowulf and the Finnish Kalevala. Read the following lines from Le Morte d’Arthur regarding King Arthur’s death:

Then Sir Bedivere cried: Ah my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies? … And as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so took the forest… (Mallory, Book 21 ch. V.)

Alas, said Sir Bedivere, that was my lord King Arthur, that here lieth buried in this chapel. Then Sir Bedivere swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit he might abide with him still there, to live with fasting and prayers. For from hence will I never go, said Sir Bedivere, by my will, but all the days of my life here to pray for my lord Arthur. (Mallory, Book 21 ch. VI.)

These Medieval warrior relationships themselves draw from an even older literary tradition, one with not so much covert homoerotism but overt homosexuality. Ancient homosexual pederastic relationships like that of Alexander and Hephaestion or Achilles and Patroclus form the model for many close male warrior literary relationships. Compare Achilles’ reaction to Patroclus’ death in the Iliad to that of Bedivere to Arthur’s and Sam to Frodo’s:

A dark cloud of grief fell upon Achilles as he listened. He filled both hands with dust from off the ground, and poured it over his head, disfiguring his comely face, and letting the refuse settle over his shirt so fair and new. He flung himself down all huge and hugely at full length, and tore his hair with his hands. … Antilochus bent over him the while, weeping and holding both Achilles’ hands as he lay groaning for Antilochus feared that Achilles might plunge a knife into his own throat. (Homer, Book XVIII)

Near-suicidal grief at the loss of the beloved is a common theme between the three of them. Achilles lives to avenge Patroclus, Bedivere lives to pray for Arthur’s soul, and Sam, as luck and Tolkien would have it, lives to save Frodo, who was not dead after all, though it was a close thing. Sam’s joy at finding Frodo alive is as poignant as his grief at having thought he lost him – unashamed physical affection and more tears follow the discovery of his master.

[Frodo] was naked, lying as if in a swoon on a heap of filthy rags: his arm was flung up, shielding his head, and across his side there ran an ugly whip-weal.

‘Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!’ cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. ‘It’s Sam, I’ve come!’ He half lifted his master and hugged him to his breast.

…

‘Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,’ said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

Sam felt he could sit like that in endless happiness; but it was not allowed. It was not enough for him to find his master, he had still to try and save him. He kissed Frodo’s forehead. (Tolkien 889)

Tolkien’s earlier description of Sam as a combination of village boy and batman fits neatly with Fussel’s declaration that ‘to the degree that front-line homoeroticism was sentimental it can be seen to constitute another element of pastoral.’ (Fussel 300) In the Lord of the Rings, the Shire – Sam and Frodo’s home – represents the ultimate ideal of Pastoralism. In the Shire, Hobbits live community-focused rural lives with minimal conflict, drinking and feasting and partying, with little to no exposure to more advanced societies of the East. In that light, the entire quest of the Lord of the Rings can be seen as a removal from the Pastoral – the world becomes darker, less hospitable, and less natural the further East the Hobbits travel until they reach their end goal: a blighted, unnatural wasteland dominated by machinery.

As Frodo falls further and further under the sway of the One Ring, he forgets the Shire. He loses his connection to his pastoral home. Nevertheless, ever at his side is his loyal Sam, who recalls even in the darkest moments the comforts of home. Sam is Frodo’s link to the pastoral ideal when his suffering is the greatest. Sam’s yearning for the pastoral often comes up in the form of recalling Frodo as he was in the Shire. This is exemplified by the following passage near the end of their quest, just after the One Ring has been destroyed:

‘Well, this is the end, Sam Gamgee,’ said a voice by his side. And there was Frodo, pale and worn, and yet himself again; and in his eyes there was peace now, neither strain of will, nor madness, nor any fear. His burden was taken away. There was the dear master of the sweet days in the Shire.

‘Master!’ cried Sam, and fell upon his knees. In all that ruin of the world for the moment he felt only joy, great joy. The burden was gone. His master had been saved; he was himself again, he was free. (Tolkien 926)

While Sam represents and thus easily returns to an idyllic pastoral existence after the war, Frodo remains haunted by his experiences. Finally, we reach the real end of Frodo and Sam’s journey, the temporary separation before the eternal unification. Frodo and Sam go to see off Frodo’s uncle, and there Frodo reveals he will be passing into the West as well – a form of eternal life in Middle Earth, but one that is forever separate from the rest of the world:

‘Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood, what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.’

‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them. But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I leave to you. … You will … keep alive the memory of the age that is gone, so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more.’ (Tolkien 1006)

Here we see Frodo acknowledge that this separation splits Sam’s spirit – part of Sam goes to his home and family, but part always goes with Frodo. Frodo encourages him to live the rest of his life fully in the Shire, and when the time has come, he can reunite with Frodo in the ‘afterlife.’ Contrast this to Patroclus’ final request of Achilles in the Iliad:

“One prayer more will I make you, if you will grant it; let not my bones be laid apart from yours, Achilles, but with them; … let our bones lie in but a single urn, the two-handled golden vase given to you by your mother.” (Homer, Book XXIII)

Furthermore, the resolution in the Odyssey, as Odysseus reassures Achilles that his will was done:

Your mother brought us a golden vase to hold them—gift of Bacchus, and work of Vulcan himself; in this we mingled your bleached bones with those of Patroclus who had gone before you… (Homer, Book XXIV)

Return of the King ends with Sam riding home with a heavy heart to his family after watching Frodo’s ship depart to the West. Like the Iliad and Odyssey, we must read a bit further to determine what eventually happens with Frodo and Sam. The Lord of the Rings has a massive amount of supplementary material, including maps and family trees. In Appendix B, we find a chronology of the years before, during, and after the main novels. It reveals that at age 96, after the death of his wife, Samwise rides out to the Havens and passes over the Great Sea to unite with Frodo for the final time.

Queerness is often overlooked in serious examinations of literature, especially when the voices of cishet men dominate the discussion, as they do in Tolkien scholarship. Tolkien scholars have repeatedly dismissed the idea of homoeroticism in Tolkien’s works as silly fangirls making things gay for titillation, which erases queer voices and condemns queerness to the realm of the unrealistic and ahistorical.

I have been a fan of the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit since I was queer child struggling with gender identity and sexual attraction. In sixth grade, I received my first copy of the Lord of the Rings, and I read it voraciously until the pages started to fall out. Although I did not fully recognize the homoerotic undertones back then, I still yearned for the deep, lasting, emotionally fulfilling, and life-changing same-sex relationships I saw in those books. Even 20 years later, as a queer adult, the idea that I might share something so intensely personal with my heroes is vitally important to me. J. R. R. Tolkien died in 1973. He was a devout Catholic who maintained a lasting friendship with a gay poet and spoke with great esteem of a novel about gay men written by a lesbian; one can hardly imagine what he might have said about the idea of queer subtext in his writing. But if I, a queer reader, recognize some essential part of myself in Sam or Frodo, if I see my bonds in their bond, is that not enough to warrant an entrance into the discussion and serious consideration? Whether you see their relationship as a purely platonic friendship or a great romance of the ages, Sam and Frodo are in love.

Works Cited

Fussel, Paul. The Great War and Modern Memory. Oxford University Press, 2013

Garth, John. “Sam Gamgee and Tolkien’s batmen.” 13 February 2013, [msg for link].

Homer. The Iliad. Translated by Samuel Butler. Project Gutenberg, 2000. [msg for link].

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Samuel Butler. Project Gutenberg, 1999. [msg for link].

Malory, Thomas. Le Morte d’Arthur, edited by Caxton, William, and Sir Edward Strachey. Project Gutenberg, 2014. [msg for link].

Tolkien, J. R. R. “Letter 187.” The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Tolkien, Christopher, and Humphrey Carpenter. Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

—. The Lord of the Rings. HarperCollinsPublishers, 1994.

[doneses]

Who were the Schnee’s meant to be?

So with V7 having drawn to a close, I wanted to try and sort out my thoughts on how the Schnee’s that we know in the show today, might not be the one’s that Monty had originally intended to make.

This is not meant to be a dig at CRWBY or to say that CRWBY are mangling Monty’s vision. Monty was constantly introducing different ideas to RWBY (like the Maidens) so it is entirely possible that the Schnee’s we got are one’s he would have ended up making, it’s impossible to say for certain.

But looking over V1-2, some behind the scene information involving Monty, and later volumes, you begin to see evidence of where things appeared to have been... reshuffled.

The Winter Issue

Most of the ‘changes’ that occured in the Schnee family can be traced to a single character; Winter Schnee, as what we are presented about her character and her relationship with Weiss in the first two volumes is wildly different than V3 and onwards.

In V1/2, what Weiss mentions about her home life is vague and she generally tries to avoid that subject due to unhappy memories. In V1, after seeing how serious about leading Ruby is, Weiss brings up how she wanted to have bunk beds as a child, but what’s interesting is the sad look she gets before telling Ruby this.

While one could say that Weiss and Winter weren’t able to have bunk beds due to Winter being much older than Weiss, however, I think it might be less due to an age difference and more just due to a more distant relationship between the two sisters, a relationship that Weiss wished was more sisterly.

The reason I think it is due to Weiss and Winter being distant is due to one of the best scenes in V2, and arguably the entire show.

This scene in V2, and the follow up, show us Weiss’ entire relationship with her family members involved in the SDC; she’s nervous, she’s scared, she has to fake happiness and put on a face to interact with them.

Seconds before the line goes through, you get to see how awful the prospect of interacting with her family is for her.

And here is where thing’s get interesting.

Why would Winter be at an SDC building alongside her father? And as Weiss specified, it isn’t any random SDC building but

The main headquarters of the entire SDC.

Given what we know about canon Winter, she actively despises her father and arguably the entire Schnee family outside of Weiss given how distant she keeps herself and buries herself in the military. Given how close she is to Ironwood and how aware he is of her volatile relationship with her family, he most likely wouldn’t be having her do missions with the SDC, which I’m not sure what Ironwood would even need done at the SDC headquarters back in Atlas at the time of V2. On top of that the way that the secretary mentions Winter seems to imply that she works there.

The other interesting aspect of this scene, is Weiss’ face after getting the information she needed from the SDC and refused to talk with her family.

She looks miserable. Just as miserable as when she was mentally preparing herself for the possibility of talking to them.

The reason I find this so interesting, is how Weiss in V3+ is the complete opposite when it comes to Winter.

She’s excited, the mere sight of Winter’s ship sends her running from the arena and across Beacon’s campus.

And it’s here we learn Winter is part of the military, and can infer that she’s the one who trained Weiss prior to her leaving for Beacon.

So why does Winter being different matter?

This change in the relationship between Weiss and Winter is the reason why I think Whitley even exists as a character, and why Willow is an alcoholic.

Did you notice that throughout the first 3 volumes, when discussions about her family, Weiss never mentions having another sibling? A sibling who would be of a similar age to her and would be able to share a bunk bed with her?

Unless of course, said sibling was close to their father, and was rather cold and distant with Weiss.

I remember that there was a lot of confusion back when V4 first aired at who Whitley was; everyone was confused that Weiss had this other sibling who she had never mentioned before.

As we have seen, Whitley has a closer relationship with his father than he does with the rest of the Schnee family, and is more involved in the actual business aspects of the SDC than his siblings. Hmmm. Now that seems to line up a bit with what the implication for Winter was in V2.

And as we can see, Weiss isn’t as friendly with Whitley as she would be with Winter; she doesn't enjoy talking with him or being around him.

Now the next source should be taken with a grain of salt given who it is from, but in Shane’s letter, he mentions and covers a lot of things that were changed from the original script for V3 that Monty had done (Jaune seeing Pyrrha die, Yang fighting Adam before losing her arm, etc), and what CRWBY made.

V3 had begun pre-production in 2013, shortly after V1 finished airing. And the main thing to take away from that part of the letter is that the Winter that Monty had originally created, was changed. Whether it was just her design or her character as a whole is left unclear but, I do believe that this change in Winter’s character lines up with the change in Weiss’ behavior in relation to Winter, and why Whitley was not mentioned until V4. If this original version of Winter was meant to be a Whitley like character, a sibling that is groomed by their father and hostile toward Weiss, then when they changed Winter to being a military woman, they needed to create a new sibling to still fulfill that character role in Weiss’ story.

How does this affect Willow?

From Pyrrha’s voice actor, we know that a lot of story elements, like the Fall of Beacon and Pyrrha’s death were moved from V2 to V3, and that Monty was working on V3 content while V2 was airing. We know Monty was working on content for V3 due to his tweets in 2014, sharing character files that were on his computer.

Do you see it? The names listed?

Willow Schnee, and Winter Schnee.

It’s through this list of character files that we were able to learn Willow’s name prior to V7 and also how we learned Taiyang’s name prior to V3. Monty is very much a ‘pants’ style of creator, he makes things up as he goes along and tosses things in because he thought it would be cool, just look at Neo or CFVY. The entire reason that M&K were brought into to the show and help him with the writing was due to him needing people to help him with getting the plot to each of its major plot points, as he (like most content creators) just had the major plot points thought out.

Which is why I find the inclusion of Willow on the list of character files that were being worked on for V3 and shown during V2 to be interesting. Why would Willow be on that list of characters meant to show up soon or are in the current volume if Willow would be a minor character who wouldn’t appear until near the mid- to end of the show? And if Whitley is meant to be Weiss’ rival for control of the SDC as the show seems to be setting him up to be, then why is he nowhere to be found on that list of character files?

Winter in canon for the most part took over the maternalistic role in Weiss’ life after Willow fell into depression and started drinking. It can be assumed that she is the one who trained Weiss in her glyphs, swordplay, and attempted to do so with summoning, as shown in the V5 character short.

Winter helped train Weiss so she would be strong enough to leave home.

But if Winter was originally meant to be a rival to Weiss and have a strained relationship with her, then who would have been the one to have trained Weiss in her semblance and weapon?

If my theory is correct, I believe Willow was meant to have taken the role Winter had in V3, to have visited Weiss for a bit and help teach her summoning like she had done so with her glyphs and swordplay. That Willow was originally meant to have been a mentor figure for Weiss, instead of being uninvolved in her life.

But why change Winter so much?

Now this is something I do not have an answer for as I don’t work for RT, and honestly this all entirely speculation on my part just based off bits of behind the scenes info that we’ve been given and what I’ve noticed during my own watchings of the show. If I am correct and Winter’s character was changed and took the role Willow was meant to have and her own character was given to Whitley, that is indeed a pretty drastic change, and from an outside perspective seems like it’d be creating a lot more work for a writer instead of having the more simplified version that Monty had (if I’m correct).

And the only answer I can think of, is from this scene.

While it might sound nice to have Weiss be trained by her mother, and her sister be her rival for control of their family company due to them being their father’s favorite and Weiss being abused by him, it does create the question of “If Willow is so skilled at Huntsmen things, why doesn’t she defend her children, or simply get a divorce?”

And I think it’s due to that question, of how to keep Weiss being abused by her father and it playing out realistically, that led to the decision to have Winter’s character cut out and made into new character, and for Willow’s role to be grafted onto this new Winter, and the remnants of Willow being turned into a neglectful alcoholic to add more drama to Weiss’ life and make her difficult childhood even harder.

I didn’t know Monty on a personal level nor will I claim to know how his mind worked, but I do believe based off the evidence I provided that the Schnee family that we have in canon are different than what Monty might have originally envisioned and was working towards in V1/2. And that’s not to say it’s a bad thing if I am correct about these changes, as the Schnee’s are arguably the best part about RWBY and the intense family drama is something that draws a lot of people into the show.

[f1uffy-turtle]

Soul Bound: Prologue

The clouds roiled overhead as the pitter-patter of raindrops hit the ground and evaporated on impact. The headstones in particular were crackling under the immense heat of the boiling raindrops that plagued the weather of the Boiling Isles for what seemed to be millennia now.

What am I going to do now?

Thunder rumbled across the sky, causing the ground to quake under its immense sound as the lightning illuminated a cloaked figure leaning against a headstone. Raindrops sizzled upon contact of his skin, yet he barely moved or winced upon the burning pain that coursed through him. What does it matter to him? He was used to it. He clenched at his chest and took a deep breath. With his finger, he drew on the muddy ground, slightly uprooting the already wilted foliage of the graveyard and muttering under his breath.

How am I going to see you again?

He promised me that I would see you again.

He promised me…

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he tapped on his drawing, causing the ground to illuminate before it died down again. A moment passed, then two. The man sighed.

Another failed experiment, I guess...

He grabbed at his chest again and proceeded to tug on his collar. His hand slid over to the top hem of his tunic and as he was pulling it down, it showed grafts of burnt skin that oozed and stung especially under the humidity of the boiling rains. He rummaged around, and grabbed onto a broken chain that trailed up to the cold iron shackle that wrapped around his neck. He unclasped the link that he fashioned for it and undid the shackle from his neck which that, as well as his face, remained untouched from the burns that trailed through the rest of his body. He made another mark on the collar with his fingernail. He shifted his weight under his legs and leaned his shoulder against the headstone. As he scratched at it, tears pooled up faster than he could wipe them away from his face. His breathing grew rapid. He gripped at the headstone, his knuckles going from red from the immense heat, to a cold white.

A foot slid along the stone path nearby. He picked up the headstone and chucked it with a force that was akin to that of an abomination. The unsuspecting figure dove out of the way before the stone impacted the cobble pathway before shattering.

“Sir, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!”

It was a guard of the Emperor’s Coven.

“Look, if you needed some time alone, I understand, but the Emperor gave me strict instructions to watch after you at all times. He doesn’t want to have to send you to the Conformitorium again, sir.”

He looked at the guard intensely for a moment and he raised his arm to smack him. The guard flinched and cowered into a ball. He paused for a moment before shakily lowering his arm.

“My apologies, sir." The figure chuckled. "However, if I would care to inform you,” He picked up the guard and tossed him onto the crude glyph he drew in the mud, “This shit is delicate work!” He grabbed at the back of his head and picked it up out of the mud.

“You see this glyph, sir? It was informed to me by your lovely Emperor that our target had recently rediscovered it. It’s slow, methodical. Can it be used efficiently?”

“Y-y-y-yes sir!”

He shoved the guard’s face further into the mud before plucking it again like a turnip that was gripping into the arid soil. The force field that was holding the rains back from the guard dissipated and the downpour started hailing towards him. The burned man gave a twirl of his finger, casting yet another one above them. This didn’t stop from some droplets stinging at the guard’s back, causing him to wince. The figure let out a deep sigh that he didn’t know he was holding and looked back at the muddled guard who was convulsing between sobs.

“Yes, but it’s still very fragile. One line out of place can ruin the entire spell.” He looked back to where the headstone once was and back down to the guard.

“I’m sorry for treating you this way." He sighed. "You don’t deserve this cruelty. Not from me. Not from anybody.” He started digging his nail into his other palm, dragging it along as blood trickled down his wrist.

“I-I was just d-d-doing my job, sir.” The guard shuddered, “I hope you understand.”

“Yes... of course I do. I was treated very much the same before. Had an… employer who treated me poorly, but I was very happy to do whatever they said. It’s really tragic that we have those who would do anything to get what they want by controlling people. Tell me, Steve. What stake do you have in this? Who did the Emperor use as leverage against you to take control of me? To gain control of you?”

The guard rolled around on his back and looked at the man curiously. “Why?”

“Well, I want to make a deal with you, Steve. It’s that simple.” He smiled as genuinely as he can muster, but it faded as quickly as he put it on. “I want to offer you your freedom. I want to free you from your hold from the Emperor’s Coven. Not to make you coven-less of course. That would be illegal. No, I want to relieve you of the burdens that come from working with the man."

His bloodied hand started glowing.

"You can have as much power as you want. You can be with whomever you want.” He stopped for a moment.

“But… what's the catch?”

“Well, you have to promise me that you would offer the same to whomever you want to be with.” He sighed nonchalantly.

Steve cackled at the statement. “There is no way that you can offer anybody that kind of power! Only the Emperor is that powerful and even then, he gets his from the Titan. What can you offer me that can be any more than that?” The figure sneered and extended his bloodied hand towards the guard.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

The guard was taken aback by the statement. The burned man exuded so much confidence. Could he really be offering what he’s saying? Freedom from the burdens of the coven? That would mean being able to cast as much magic as he could. He would be unlimited to the possibilities. He would be able to be with Lilith, if she were to notice him, of course and give him all the shoulder pats. He would be free of Belos’ influence. But what does he mean that he wouldn’t be coven-less? Is he offering him to join a coven of his own? What game was he playing?

“Alright, I’ll bite. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

“Of course, sir. Enjoy the freedom that nobody else will be offered in life.”

Steve took the man by the hand and light had burst from the glyph that he drew on his palm. He shielded his eyes as the light and encapsulated the entire area. The burned man took in a deep breath and opened his eyes once all had settled. He waited for his eyes to adjust before looking down at Steve. His body was limp, only being held up by his arm that the figure held onto. The shine that was in the goggles on his mask was not there anymore. He was dead. The burned man smiled.

At least that worked.

Now it’s time to get our actual work done, Steve.

Belos be damned.

[welcometoels]

Session Eleven - Slathiel

And so, our adventurers completed their quest for the four items of power, and returned them to the entity known as Slathiel, as promised.

Or did they?

Something about this being rubbed certain party members up the wrong way.  This, combined with the close personal connection each of them felt to one of the items, gave them pause.

Thus, a plan was hatched - each party member would speak to some of the friends they had made in town, and gather a little posse to speak to this so-called Slathiel - that way, if everything suddenly went wrong, they would have strong support in the ensuing battle.

Kadis makes the first move.  Stepping into Jackie & Clutchstraw’s, he has a friendly chat with Drow artificer Aberron - who, understandably, still has a lot of questions.  Kadis fills him in as best he can, and Aberron - after a quick consultation with his brass owl, Dominique - agrees.

Oddsock takes a more direct approach.  Storming into the Dogwood Trading Post (Presented By Himself), he invites Jackie Face to come out and play.  Jackie, though, has business in mind - specifically beer business.  The market research has gone swimmingly, with the new hoppy brew going down especially well with the hard-grafting carpenters in town - in particular with the man who took the lead on building the Potions & Artifices shop: a man they refer to fondly as Jackies’ Hammer.

After agreeing that this would make a fabulous name for the beer, Oddsock gives Jackie Face a few more details about the upcoming fight.  Face becomes uncharacteristically quiet, muttering under his breath about company values, teamwork and synergy, in a way the Dog finds strangely familiar.  Suddenly, Jackie Face disappears into a large box of miscellaneous armour parts in the corner, and promises to see the team outside shortly.

Talion heads over to the Jaunty Skinner to speak to his new buddy and nighttime companion Freginald Biceppe.  Being very well disposed towards both fighting and Talion - his two favourite things to do - Freginald needs very little encouragement to join the fray, and pledges his two meaty fists to the party’s cause.

On the other side of the pub, Julius finds Gyder at the bar with the latest in a line of foaming ales, and X at a nearby table, idly doodling couches with a distracted look on her face.  Gyder has a new haircut - trimmed almost to the skin at the sides and back, with a asymmetrical fringe.  It is the kind of cut that would look spiffy on an Elf, but serves mostly to accentuate the severity of her face.  This may have been the point.

Julius approaches both with a panicked entreaty for help.  X yelps and quickly hides her drawings, before asking what is wrong.  After a brief, stuttering rundown of the situation from the Otter, X immediately agrees to assist, and turns to Gyder.  The Half-Orc drains her ale in one swallow - game on.

Out in the town square, as everyone gathers, new companion Batch 38 Unit 12 is standing in conversation with Aberron Clutchstraw.  The Helpforged cleric is going into extensive detail regarding their inner workings, while the Drow stands agog, in rapt attention.

Suddenly, from the Trading Post door, there appears a strange contraption: Half of a suit of armour, with raccoon faces peeking out from the neck and wrist holes, mounted on a unicycle.  Jackies Left and Right clutch a katar and tea tray respectively, while Jackie Face shouts commands at Jackie Bottom’s madly pedalling feet.  Jackie Middle is in there somewhere, doubtless horribly warm at the heart of the hastily-assembled Mecha-Jackie.

Standing in the deepening dusk and watching with a sense of bemusement as this all take place, Slathiel now commands attention.  An agreement was made, a quest given and accepted, yet no items of power have yet been presented.  Folding their six golden arms and flapping their wings, Slathiel requests them once again.

It is now that the party begins to ask questions that had been festering since their first encounter - specifically about who Slathiel is, and what they need the gems and lanterns for - but Slathiel is not in an answering mood.

Talion laments his lack of a Detect Good & Evil spell, and 38/12 - helpful by design - twists the spell focus on their chest to the left, lighting up several magical runes imprinted on their body.  With a wave of their hand, the verdict is announced:

“This entity before us is... Evil.”

With that, Slathiel’s demeanour changes.  Unfolding their mighty ruby wings and taking flight up to the roof of the Jaunty Skinner, their form too begins to alter: The six golden arms merge into two thick, grey, scaly limbs, their height increases and their head widens, with a mouthful of sharp teeth and two cruel eyes glaring down at the gathered people below.

The creature hunches forward on the roof, turning its hands about in arcane gestures. “I gave you the chance to do what I asked,” it says, “but you have chosen death.”

From its scaly hands it shoots a Fireball, straight at 38/12.  The Helpforged dodges the worst of the blast, but Kadis and Aberron are less fortunate, finding themselves close to death.

Worse still, Dominique is hit full force by the flames, and is shattered to pieces - a pile of broken brass and a single bright gem lying where the owl once was.

38/12 does their best to apply healing, while X dashes over to assist and Aberron, recovering from the loss of Dominique, conjures up an Eldritch Cannon to imbue those nearby with bonus health.  The Jackies make a decent fist of pedalling in roughly the right direction, whilst buffing themselves with the Power of Commerce.

Deeper into the fight, those that can fire projectiles do so, to varying levels of success.  Kadis dashes round to the side of the inn with the intent to scale it, and Julius cast Faerie Fire on Slathiel, lighting it up like a festive tree.  Having achieved this, he transforms into a giant Wolf Spider, and begins to climb the front of the pub.

Slathiel, infuriated by this affront, descends, in order to bring the fight to the party.  Freginald takes this as his cue, and makes with the fancy footwork and fists to the face.  Talion lends his rapier to the fray, Gyder strides forth with her greataxe, and X conjurs up a spiritual weapon to assist.

Julius, abandoning the wall plan, drops his spider form and brings up a Moonbeam of radiant energy upon Slathiel, while Aberron moves in to support, Oddsock makes ready with Blasts both Eldritch and Searing, and the Jackies roll out in entirely the wrong direction.

Kadis, hearing the decent of Slathiel around the corner, attempt to jimmy open one of the Jaunty Skinner’s windows, with little success.  He does, however, attract landlady/mayor Tiatha Rowe’s attention, and asks her to fetch a lantern from the wall and bring it to him.

As all of this goes on, a terrible shout is heard from the south.  The figure that appears is familiar, but somewhat worse for where - green-scaled Dragonborn in dirt-covered robes, with a ragged sword wound at his throat.

As he charges in, he shouts after the monk who took his lantern.  The body may be Graindude, but the voice is pure Aberraton Mortesque.

He is a distant concern for now, out on the edge of town.  There are more pressing matters, such as the giant lizard who is now bearing down on Freginald, to terrible effect.

Fortunately, 38/12 is on hand to provide healing, while X lets rip with a Guiding Bolt.  Talion and Gyder cut away as Julius’ Moonbean shines down, and the Jackies nearly make it to the battle.

Back inside the Skinner, Tiatha has reached the window and hands a torch out to Kadis, along with a request that he try and keep the fight out of her pub.  This request becomes harder to fulfil, as Barty appears from the back.

Seeing the carnage on his doorstep, something changes inside the affable Gnome.  He pulls out his meat cleaver and carving knife, bellows several nautical oaths into the air, and charges forth with the rage of a sea storm.

Slathiel rears away from this new attack, and launches its fury at Freginald once again.  Undeterred, the brawny fighter hammers a fist straight into its jaw, smashing its head with furious vengeance and showering the inn’s chef with gore - which he loves.

And Lo!  What sight do we see here?  Losing control of the unicycle once again, the Jackies charge, by accident more than design, straight into the advancing corpse of the reanimated Graindude.  They set about his rotten head and shoulders with bites, jabs and tea tray slaps.

As this furious (and inadvertent) melee ensues, Kadis puts into action his torch plan.  Sharpening the unlit end, he channels his apple-lobbing skills and smashes the torch in the direction of the corpse... and misses completely.

Another fine plan foiled by the Dice Gods.

Fortunately, his friends are on hand with less convoluted fighting styles, and before long the revenant falls under fist, axe, rapier, raccoon, cutlery, magic blasts, and a final scourging strike from the Moonbeam, showering everyone with rotten Warlock.

Finally, quiet falls over Dogwood square.  Barty goes to draw a bath, and Aberron picks up the gem that used to be Dominique, promising to remake her better than ever.

The others simply stagger about, congratulating each other on a fight well fought, before becoming silent.

The whole world becomes silent.  Then, it begins to fade from view, and nothing can be seen, heard or felt around our party of four.

The round red gem and silver lantern rise from their keepers, and float in the air, joined in this negative space by the blue gem and green lantern.  As they float, they begin to dance in a slow circle above the party’s heads.

And then a voice.  A slow, calm, pleasant voice.

“Well done.  You were very good, very entertaining, wonderful to watch.  You were not fooled by that creature, and you have forged a beautiful bond as a party.

“We will meet again, I’m sure, elsewhere in this world.  But for now, I will leave you with a gift.”

The gems and lanterns begin to change form in the space above their heads.  The blue gem shrinks into a perfect blue pebble, and attached itself to Julius’ necklack, next to Pa McGinley’s charm; the green lantern becomes a small black and green egg, and sets itself next to Kadis’ cursed idol; The silver lantern flattens itself into something that could be a plectrum or a silver dragon scale, and hangs beside Talion’s jagged onyx charm; and the red gem becomes a gleaming red bottle cap, which hangs on to Oddsock’s leather tunic, at his neck.

Finally, the remains of Slathiel swim into view, and a perfect golden gem emerges from its skull.  This too undergoes a transformation, into a tiny golden gear, which lands in Kadis’ hand.

“There is one more,” says the disembodied voice.  “Make sure this gets to them.”

The world then rushes back into view, but not quite as it was.  The dusk sky is subtly different in colour - more vibrant than before - and way off to the south stands a tall spire.

It is completely unfamiliar to Oddsock, though Julius may once or twice have seen it on the far horizon, and Kadis and Talion will have heard tales of it - the tallest tower in Els.

It is Barty, though, who speaks.

“Monthend Spire,” he says, his voice filled with awe.  “Now I know where we are.”

[aion-rsa]

Why Wonder Woman’s Real Origin Story Lies in First Wave Feminism

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This holiday season, one of the few bright spots for families unable to go to theaters—and even those who did—was Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman 1984. An ambitious and vibrantly colored celebration of heroism in all its forms, including those that don’t end in fistfights, it’s a superhero movie that’s won as many fans as detractors. But while basking in the new spectacle is well and good, it’s also worth considering how it came to be. For even in this HBO Max tentpole, one can still see how the feminist movement of the early 20th century is grafted into the very DNA of the Wonder Woman character, her origin, and even her most contentious iconography… something that rarely gets acknowledged in the broader comic fan community.

The character of Wonder Woman was created by Dr. William Moulton Marston in 1941. A psychologist with an eclectic career, Marston went from inventing the lie detector test while still an undergraduate at Harvard in 1914 to being essentially blacklisted from academia by the age of 33. But of course his most enduring legacy came afterward; it came when he engineered a superheroine intentionally designed to be a great role model for girls and boys.

As Marston famously said, “Frankly, Wonder Woman is psychological propaganda for the new type of woman who, I believe, should rule the world.” However, the actual political and sociological influences on Marston and the women who helped him create Diana are often overlooked, even as the character has come to dominate pop culture.

Marston, rather infamously nowadays, lived a polyamorous lifestyle with his wife Elizabeth Holloway Marston, and a second partner named Olive Byrne. Byrne is often credited in the 21st century as the inspiration for Wonder Woman (instead of a wedding ring, Marston gave her two bracelets that are identical to those worn by Diana Prince). Yet it is very likely that Holloway Marston had just as much influence. After all, she was a lover of Greek antiquity and until her death kept a book of Sappho’s poetry from the island of Lesbos within reach.

Still, it is Byrne’s influence that historian and esteemed Harvard professor, Jill Lepore, most untangles in her riveting portrait of the Marston family, The Secret History of Wonder Woman. Lepore, who holds the title of David Woods Kemper ’41 Professor of History at Cambridge, zeroed in on Byrne’s relation to the early feminist movement at the turn of the century and its impact on Marston, recasting Wonder Woman as a bridge between the suffragist movement and the generation who grew up reading Wonder Woman comics before fighting for the “women’s liberation movement.”

Olive Byrne was born in 1904, the daughter of Ethel Byrne and the niece of Margaret Sanger, the latter of whom founded what became known as Planned Parenthood (Margaret also coined the term “birth control”). In 1916, Ethel and Margaret opened in Brooklyn the first United States birth control clinic, and received jail time at a workhouse for their trouble. There Ethel nearly starved to death while going on a hunger strike. During this time, a 12-year-old Olive Byrne was being raised in a Catholic orphanage because her father and grandparents had died, and Ethel Byrne was not interested in raising her daughter.

Despite their absence, Olive held her mother and aunt’s politics in high regard. And those ideals would reverberate in Wonder Woman comics too. They were thoughts informed by the circle of New York intellectuals and early 20th century socialists Margaret and Ethel interacted with in Greenwich Village. Among their contemporaries were Upton Sinclair, Emma Goldman, and a very notable Lou Rogers.

Lou was actually named Annie Lucasta Rogers, but because she was told she couldn’t get work as a woman cartoonist, she initially submitted her work as “Lou” via the mail. Her historic drawings of women being able to finally break off the shackles of patriarchy by using the right to vote are echoed throughout Marston’s Wonder Woman comics, just as much as the author’s own fascination with male and female domination and submission.

In the 1910s, feminists and suffragist literature was rife with Amazonian imagery that would live again in the pages of DC. For example, Max Eastman published in 1913 a book of verse called Child of the Amazons and Other Poems. In it, an Amazonian girl must confess to her queen that she has fallen in love with a man. Yet Amazonian law forbids any warrior to marry or bear children until she has produced significant change in the world. Thus the young Amazon abandons her romance, stating she won’t seek love again until “the far age when men shall cease / their tyranny.” This is echoed in Wonder Woman comics as Diana repeatedly, and flatly, refuses to marry Steve Trevor.

In one classic Marston story, a dopey Steve whines, “Angel, when are we going to be married?” Diana coolly fires back, “When evil and injustice vanish from the Earth!”

More appropriate still is Inez Haynes Gillmore’s Angel Island. Published in 1914, after Gillmore co-founded the National College Equal Suffrage League, Angel Island envisions five American sailors who are shipwrecked on an island that’s crawling with “super-humanly beautiful” women with wings. Driven mad by lust, the men capture the women and cut off their wings, leaving them helpless as none has ever walked with their feet. But eventually one of the angels leads a violent revolution “with the splendid, swinging gait of the Amazon.”

This too echoes early Wonder Woman stories of the heroine being chained or rendered powerless by men who would wish to dominate her in every sense of the word. It is, after all, the fate her mother Hippolyta had to free the Amazons from in bloody battle.

Men trying to chain Diana or rob her of her powers by either bounding her bracelets together or removing them was also a common occurrence in ‘40s Wonder Woman comics, particularly those authored by  Marston. In one memorable Marston story, a man unaware that Diana Prince is Wonder Woman even chains her to a stove so she cannot leave the kitchen. Diana retorts with a smirk, “How thrilling! I see you’re chaining me to the cookstove. What a perfect caveman idea!”

The year of 1915, meanwhile, saw the publication of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland, another feminist tale of an uncharted utopia of only women. For thousands of years, this lost paradise’s women have reproduced asexually, not unlike how Diana is born to Hippolyta in the comics after the Amazonian Queen sculpts her out of clay. These women of “herland” know nothing of fear, war, or even basic concepts of property. Unfortunately, three male American students find them and fall in love, each marrying one woman. But then each is thunderstruck that they cannot consummate their relationship whenever they want. In this thinly veiled allegory about the need for birth control, two of the men are banished when one tries to rape his wife, and another expresses confusion as to how rape can be a crime in marriage.

“The women [of Herland] are Amazons because, in the nineteen-teens, reporters routinely used the name to describe suffragists,” Lepore said in a recent article in The New Yorker. “So did suffragists themselves in both the U.K. and the U.S., including Elizabeth Holloway.”

The writers of these stories were also contemporaries and even sometimes neighbors of Olive’s mother, Ethel. And just as Olive helped introduce a worshipful admiration for her aunt Margaret Sanger and Planned Parenthood to the Marstons, with whom she built an unorthodox home, so too did she seemingly inform (along with Holloway Marston’s love for antiquity) what became the Wonder Woman origin story, which was recently given new life by Jenkins and Gal Gadot in 2017’s Wonder Woman.

There is of course the question of whether the new movies fully embrace these legacies. Lepore, for one, is skeptical, writing in 2020 that “Patty Jenkins seems to be interested in history… But she’s apparently not at all interested in the history of women: it’s got no place in either of her two ‘Wonder Woman’ films, even though they both take place during major inflection points in that history.”

However, the hard-won victories of that history, and how Marston seeded the ideals of its first wave into his comics, is still inextricably linked to Gadot’s Wonder Woman. We see it when she stands with a near divinity over Chris Pine on a beach in the 2017 movie, unaware and undisturbed by the preconceived limits a patriarchal society would place on her; and we see it when Wonder Woman can defeat villainy and greed in Wonder Woman 1984 without having to throw a single punch.

So for whatever bondage iconography that also clearly seeped its way into Marston’s creation, there is a definite through-line of a century’s worth of feminist ideals that connect the fantasies of the suffrage movement to the icon of female empowerment that the women’s liberation movement claimed Wonder Woman to be when she was placed on the cover of Gloria Steinem’s Ms. magazine in 1972. And a hundred years later, it lives on like Amazons and angels on the big screen.

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