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if you and your established friends tease each other, that’s one thing. my friends and I rip on each other all the time. but if you’re not friends with someone already you’re not gonna know what their sore spots are so just going in with a “fun” insult probably won’t land well.

I think this: https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/185332471341/neil-i-like-to-interpret-the-relationship-between

EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ANNOUNCEMENT

The first time I open commissions in my life, when I need it more than ever.

My mother will be submitted to an operation in the thyroid in a few weeks from the moment when I share this post, thus she won’t be able to maintain her job for which she’ll need her voice. So I’m determined to cover the finances of our living within all my capabilities.

WILL DRAW:

OCs (refs and descriptions are welcome and encouraged);

Anthro (furries, scalies, etc.);

Any couples;

Softcore body horror;

Surrealism;

Fanart, depending which fandom.

WILL NOT DRAW:

NSFW;

Anything too sexually suggestive;

Mecha;

Guro / hardcore body horror;

Animals in four legs;

Fetishes such as vore, inflation, diapers, etc.;

I’ll let you know when something specific makes me uncomfortable.

While commissioning me, you’ll be able to:

see WIPs;

tell me to change stuff such as pose, color, background, etc (you’ll be charged for the changes once I announce the initiation of the coloring phase. It’ll be the same price as of an additional character for the respective style you chose me to draw);

make suggestions;

take refunds while the piece isn’t completed;

interact with me, overall!

Here are my terms of service, please read.

So I decided to change up the prices a bit for commissions. The prices I had before were almost giving a commission away for free. Sorry if you don’t like the new prices, but I had to make it worth doing on my end

If you have any questions or want to commission me, please dm me

NEW PRICES:

CARTOON SKETCH: $5

SIMPLE PORTRAIT: $10

SUPER DETAILED PORTRAIT: $20

ADD ON $3-$10 FOR EACH ADDITIONAL PERSON IN THE DRAWING  (Depending on complexity) 

Commissions are open!

So I finally have opened commissions! There are seven slots available at the moment, details are under the readmore <3 I’d appreciate any reblogs as exposure if it’s not too much trouble! Have a great day!

I am open for commissions!

Prices:

Sketch (single character): $15

+$5 for each additional character

Flat Colors (single character): $20

+$5 for each additional character

Full Color (single character): $25

+$5 for each additional character

Full Illustration (single character): $40

+$10 for each additional character

I accept payment through Paypal

If you are interested in a commission, feel free to message me on tumblr, or email me at [email protected]

@skeleton-richard

When Edward is three, they all go to stay with Aunty Joan and Uncle Edward. There’s a strange feeling about the place: all the adults are talking quietly in corners and breaking off when the children come near, like they’re waiting for something. His father says Uncle Edward isn’t feeling very well, that he’ll probably get better but they all need to be with Aunty Joan, just in case. 

He doesn’t say in case of what.

It’s scary. Edward can’t sleep properly: the bed is too large, and too unfamiliar, and the shadows in his room are darker and scarier than the shadows at home, and the wind howls around the stones and his cousins are bickering next door-

His cousins are bickering next door. 

Edward slips out of bed, and out of the corridor, padding in to the room opposite. Harry sits on the end of the bed; Richard stands by the fireplace glaring at him, hands on his hips- Aunty Joan in miniature, except his hair isn’t long enough- it only grazes his jaw. Both fall silent and turn to look at him as he appears, and Edward shrinks nervously. “I can’t sleep,” he says, and Richard’s expression softens. 

“And?” Harry asks.

Edward shrinks some more. “Can I come in with you?”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something-”

“Of course you can,” Richard says, ignoring Harry and coming to scoop Edward up. Edward clings to his neck as Richard carries him to the bed and tells Harry to get out of his way, which Harry does, though he grumbles under his breath about it. Richard plops Edward down, and scrambles in to bed next to him, pulling the covers around them and letting Edward snuggle up to his side,  A moment later, Harry is on the other side of him, and Edward is enveloped in warmth. 

“Your mother could not kick my father’s ass,” Henry mutters under his breath.

“Yes, she could!” Richard retorts and Edward drifts off to sleep to his cousins bickering about whether Aunty Joan or Uncle John would come off better in a siege. As his lids grow heavy and his breathing evened out, Richard pressed his lips to his hair.

Edward is seven. Richard is thirteen, now, and King, which means Edward doesn’t get to play with him so much. Ever. He’s been excited about coming to Court ever since his father said he’d bring him; he couldn’t wait to come and see Richard. Except, he’s barely seen Richard, and now he probably won’t. They’re going home tomorrow morning. Edward curls up in bed and tries not to cry about it- he’s not a baby, anymore, and it’s not that big a deal. He’s seen Harry and that’s…

Just not the same. Harry’s alright, but Richard’s better; he’s kinder and more patient and he looks pretty and smells nice. Sometimes Ned can make him smile- or laugh- it’s the best thing in the world.

He drifts off to sleep, and has the strangest dream: that Richard comes, and kisses him on the forehead, and gives him a present.

When he wakes up, he’s clutching a book to his chest. He stares blearily at it, and then at the inside cover. for Ned, my favourite cousin. But don’t tell uncle John I said that or he’ll get mad and make the council meetings last three times as long as they already do. Anyway, sorry I didn’t really get to see you that much. I’ll tell your dad he has to bring you back sometime soon. Richard ii Rex Britannica 

My favourite cousin.

When he’s fourteen, Edward  kisses the son of one of his father’s friends in the stables, and rolls about in the hay with him a bit. It’s nice, kissing, and being pressed up against him, right up until the moment his mother catches them at it. She sends Ned to his room, and Ned’s friend back to his father, and later, she wants to know what on earth he was thinking of.

Edward doesn’t know how to tell her he was thinking that Richard’s hair was that length, and that colour, and would probably feel just like that if Edward was ever allowed to run his fingers through it.

(When he’s fifteen, and bored on a rainy day at Court, he decides to go to riding despite the weather. He gets to the stables and stares wide eyes as Richard moans beneath his friend, Robert de Vere. It’s not until de Vere pulls back sharply on Richard’s hair and ducks his head to nip at Richard’s throat that Edward has the presence of mind to run all the way back to his room and hide under his covers)

When Edward is eighteen, Queen Anne comes to speak with him. Robert de Vere has been forced in to exile, “and the King can’t sleep alone,” she says, worry colouring her voice. “And I can’t always be with him, there are times…” she blushes, and Edward blushes too, though he doesn’t know why. “You wouldn’t mind, would you? Being his bedfellow for some of the nights?”

Edward doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. The King wraps his arms around him, and sometimes he cries in to the back of Edward’s shirt when he thinks Edward’s sleeping. Others, he presses kisses to Edward’s neck, or his hand, and once on his lips. Edward fought very, very hard not kiss back.

The thing about Richard is: he kisses a lot of people. He kisses Anne all the time- of course he does, she’s his wife. He kisses Norfolk, and Northumberland, and Salisbury- chastely, for the most part, though once when the King was very drunk- the Christmas after de Vere was sent away-, Edward saw Salisbury gently untangle Richard’s hands from his hair and hold him at arms length after the king ended up slipping his tongue in to his mouth. “I think perhaps you ought to go to bed, your majesty,” Salisbury says softly, gripping his waist as the King’s knees gave way. “You’ll feel better once you lie down,” he hands the King over to Anne and Edward, and between the two of them, they get Richard undressed and into bed, Richard complaing the whole time that he wasn’t tired and he would be alright and then “Where’s Robert?” Anne and Edward glance at each other, and Anne sighs softly. “You go back down,” she says, “I’ll get him to sleep.”

“No!” Richard sits up at that, grabbing at Edward’s shirt and pouting at Anne. “Mine. My Edward.” He pulls at Edward’s shirt harder, tugging him down on top of him, and then passes out, arms wound around Edward’s neck. 

“Well, “ Edward says ruefully, as Anne helps untangle him. “At least his sleeping.”

So.

Richard kisses a lot of people. He kisses Salisbury, and Norfolk, and Northumberland. He kisses Anne. He kisses Uncle Gaunt and Uncle Gloucester, and Edward’s father and mother, and their aunts, on the cheek in hellos and goodbyes.

He kisses Henry like he hopes it kills him, furiously pressing their lips together like his touch is deadly poison.

He doesn’t kiss Edward. Not in public, not in daylight. He smiles, and brushes Edward’s face sometimes, but he doesn’t kiss him. Not unless he thinks Edward’s sleeping.

Edward doesn’t understand. 

When he’s nineteen, Robert de Vere dies in exile.

Richard is ashen and silent, in private, he gets distracted easily and starts to cry without warning, and Edward holds him until he stops. Sometimes he nudges Edward’s face with his lips as though he’s going to - 

and then he doesn’t.

Edward pulls the covers over them, wrapping his arms around Richard’s waist. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, and Richard says

“If you want.”

Edward swallows. “Your grace…why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

he expects Richard to deny it, to claim he’s being ridiculous. Or to dismiss him entirely. Instead, Richard says:

“Because you’re my favourite cousin. You always have been. And you’ve grown up in to a handsome man, Ned, and if I start to kiss you I’m not going to stop.”

“I wouldn’t mind. If you never stopped, I mean.”

“You would.” Richard said quietly. “once they hurt you for it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I love you.”

Richard shudders. “Don’t,” he says, “Please. Don’t.”

Edward leans over and kisses him on the mouth, shifting to straddle his hips. 

you know how far you can get into eurasia and africa by sailing up rivers from the baltic and mediterranean seas? pretty fucking far, and that’s what vikings liked to do to trade

then, you know, people are people, so love happens, business happens, and so ppl get married and take spouses back home to the frozen hellscape that is scandinavia (upon which i’m guessing the horrorstruck new spouses went “WHAT THE FUCK??? FUCKING GIVE ME YOUR JACKET???????”)

and sometimes vikings bought thralls and brought them home as well, and i mean, when your indentured service is up after however many years and you’re a free person again, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe it’s a bit hard to get all the way home across the continent, so you make the best out of the situation and you probably get married and raise a gaggle kids

so yeah

Why?

Check that out: the goods Vikings and Scandinavians were getting from their trade with the rest of the world was so important they buried themselves with it, as part of their treasure hordes.

We KNOW this.

Vikings in Persia

Black Vikings

Vikings in North Africa

Buddha statue in Viking hoard

Vikings brought Native American woman to Europe

Unflattering texts in Arabic about Vikings

Original text by Ahmad ibn-Fadlan

More about the Islamic World and Vikings (some Vikings converted to Islam! sort of sketchy site tho)

Viking technology came from Afghanistan

More on trade route determination via metallurgy

I can’t begin to return the favor that @john-laurens and @ciceroprofacto have done, but hope this makes a small dent in my debt to their scholarship.

The first time could have been an accident. In the small, crowded room they shared that week with Meade and Tilghman, Hamilton hardly had enough space to turn around, let alone find a private corner. Given the situation, he must have thought that facing his best friend and bedfellow while undressing the most modest option. But it wasn’t strictly necessary to remove his shirt in order to take off his breeches, then nakedly stretch and shimmy like a horse relieved of its saddle, before Laurens had time to politely close his eyes or turn his face away. Nor was Hamilton’s amusement necessary when he caught the direction of Laurens’ gaze. And least necessary of all, Hamilton put his shirt back on before climbing into bed. Laurens blew out the candle and rolled back to back, grateful for the position and darkness that concealed his enjoyment of an image he thought he had not been meant to see.

Now, he wonders, “Why did Hamilton take the shirt off in the first place?”

The second time he chalked up to drunkenness. The lads had invested in a barrel of beer and drank it over the course of one endless night that a few of them didn’t even remember. Not too far into the binge, Hamilton and Meade almost simultaneously threw down their cards and announced they had to take a piss. As if by the power of suggestion, Laurens realized a minute after the door closed behind them that he also needed to relieve himself. Outside, he heard Meade laughing uproariously and in the gibbous moonlight saw Hamilton stumble as Meade smacked his shoulder.

“That’s piss in the snow, not an H!”

Laurens approached from behind and saw the word "HOWE” scrawled in neat yellow script in the snow on Meade’s side. On Hamilton’s side, he saw a squiggly line.

“John! Meade says I can’t write an H, which, of course is ridiculous because…” he teetered so hard to one side that Laurens rushed to prop him up. He put both hands on Laurens’ shoulders, looked resolutely into his eyes and said, as he lowered one arm, “You write with a better hand than I.”

He placed his cock in Laurens’ hand. Laurens did not draw it away fast enough to escape Meade’s raised eyebrow.

Now, he remembers that the next day, they groggily wrote Washington’s letters. The sound of the quill scratching the paper mocked their hangovers. Hamilton returned with a fresh sheaf of paper, looked over his shoulder and winked, “You write with a very fine hand.”

The third time seemed natural. They lodged in a farmhouse and all fancied the pretty oldest daughter. But the army had been marching for days and even the aides de camp smelled like soldiers. She had hauled out a large washtub and personally boiled enough water to fill it. Laurens found this out when he walked in on Hamilton, sprawled so that his legs and arms fell out of the basin. He didn’t flinch when Laurens saw him.

“Ah, my dear Laurens! It is most unfortunate that this tub lacks room for more than one filthy revolutionary,” he said, spreading his legs even further, as if to make more room for his friend.

All Laurens saw was the flesh between Hamilton’s legs floating heavily and freely in the water.

Now, he realizes that last part is all he vividly remembers of the whole event.

Laurens reads the passage in Hamilton’s letter for the fifth time:

“In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I never spared you of pictures.”