#i found it while sorting through my gallery

[partentts]

a bunch of miscellaneous sketches

[floofeh-purpi]

Through the Screen.

Self-aware! Obey Me x Gn! Insomniac! Reader

OMG IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I LAST WROTE SMTH WHATRR?!!! And its first time writing for a fandom that's not Genshin under the sagau tag-

『Beloved fluffball/s mentioned below! 💜』

@rotin0 @cherry-blossom-sword80 @leniisreallycool @mc-cos-charm @imtotallynotthere @cosmo112 @cheeseburgercasserole @kanashi-aivy

Credits to cafekitsune for the dividers! (I needed these omfg)

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, reader has a nightmare, cursing, ooc because... hm...., I don't know either, written in bullet form, I don't know this is so messy 🙏

• Alright, so where the fuck should I begin with this???

• You maybe fell for them, but they fell even harder— so much harder than their bones are brok— oh wait you mean THAT kind of falling??

• Anyways

• After you FINALLY saved enough money to buy a new phone you stepped on it when you were half asleep

• Ouch.

• You still had to bandage your foot because of the wounds it inflicted on your foot.

• And one time you were resting your foot; you found a certain Otome game...

• Duh bitch of course it was Obey Me! as if it wasn't obvious enough by the title

• You decided to download obey me because:

1. Your best friend forced you to.

2. You were bored.

3. You wanted to cure yourself from boredom after you wake up at 3 in the morning—

• Even though you had to delete a 'few' apps and things from your gallery...

• You think it was worth it! :D

• Because goddamn these guys in the cards look so ngh— excluding luke for obvious reasons.

• You look at them, yes.

• But bitch you dont know that THEY look at you too!

• At first, when they found out they were stuck in a game, they took a while in accepting things, that the human exchange student is- well, some sort of... coded sheep acting all plastic looking thing...?

• Like, what or who made them? Why? And when??? Why did they make them suffer like this??? Why make Lilith die and make Beel drown away in his guilt for god knows how long? and most importantly, what or who is playing??

• Well, until they've gotten access to your phone's camera— you can literally see their pupils form into hearts when stare into their eyes for so long! Except for Luke, they only sparkle more

• The sheep (aka the you in-game) was just... eugh.

• You know those occasional surprise guest sessions after those dance battles???

• Basically, the maximum amount of gifts you can get from surprise guests in a day is 6, and that you have to achieve a perfect sequence and stuff (Basically on all three actions that you do to them)

• ...Bro, they broke out of the coding that makes them give only 6 gifts to you a day and all of a sudden—

• HOLY SHIT??? 10K GRIMM IN ONE GIFT FROM BARBATOS???WHAT–?!

• You know they'll give you only 1k Grimm (it depends if they'll give you Grimm or the gift or nah)

• So— Bitch I'm not finished yet!

• Bro not only that, you also noticed that, as you were playing the game and progressed through the lessons smoothly.

• You could've sworn that the dance battles before were more difficult than now,

• Like bitch, who the fuck was responsible for buffing these mfs up?? 😭🙏

• You thought that Satan hated it when you touched him

• So why the fuck were you getting heart reactions from him when you accidentally tapped his head once when your phone fell on your head?!

• And the voicelines...

• Holy shit the voicelines...

• if you EVER have Asmo as the person— or demon in this case— that'll show up on your D.D.D screen, and if you're playing somewhere around 12am-3am...

• ...😰🙏

• Man's practically gonna lecture you about how lack of sleep can damage your skin

• AND YOU CANT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT

"What the hell are you doing at 12am?! Aren't humans supposed to sleep at this time?!"

• The demon exclaimed with wide eyes and a pout on his lips. Im imagining it and its so funny lmfao.

"WHAT THE FU—"

• ...Yeah you didn't play for a few days after that.

• Did Asmo scare you too much??

• My hands smell like soy sauce what the fuck.

• That's not the only reason, but school was being bitch and decided to throw exams, assignments, projects, and more to your sleepless self! :D

• Also because you desperately needed to fix up your sleep schedule and you needed to buy sleeping pills for your deprived ass, but they didn't need to know about that now, do they????

• And since you read a lot— no, actually... too many fanfics for game characters being self-aware...

• You suspected that they're now apparently... self-aware!

• You know how you always have to play obey me in landscape on your phone??

• Cuz' what I'm trying to say here is that they can basically see your pretty face through your camera, but only occasionally.

• Yk why??

• Cuz you usually keep on covering the damn camera on your phone :( aka the front camera on the top on your phone whenever you're in story mode, dance battles, devilgram posts or whatever you called it, and pretty much the entire time you play Obey Me.

• But they don't have the heart to say it out loud to you! :<

• But hearing your laughs whenever your eyes bear witness to the brother's banter or your hymns of praises directed towards them whenever you win another dance battle is enough for them to be content with the time they spend with you.

• But it doesn't mean that they don't want more.

• How could they NOT want more?

• They want every. single. ounce. of your. attention.

• But yet...

• Your so close to them. Yet so far away.

• You tossed and turned in your sleep, cold sweat dripping off your forehead as your nightmare got the hold of yourself.

• Tears welled up in your closed eyes as you subconsiously muttered out incomprehensible gibberish in your sleep.

SON OF A BITCH?!

• You exclaimed as you immediately sat up in bed and shaked the thick covers of your blanket as if you would pass out from a heatstroke if it covered your seemingly traumatized form any second longer.

• You went out of your room to get some water to calm your tears down a little.

• After staying in the dining room for maybe... the past 30 minutes or so, you finally went back to your safe haven; your room of course!

• You lay down in bed; exhausted yet not tired enough to lull yourself back to sleep.

• And so, with dark circles and dried tears on your face, you decided to open your phone and play the only game you have in your full-storaged device; Obey Me! :D

• You waited for the game to finish loading with half-lidded eyes. Damn the wifi for being shitty this... midnight?

UGH FINALLY...

• You exclaimed loudly in your bed.

• 2:04am. The D.D.D showed you. Wait how long were you awake again???

• Idk if you have Mammon as the demon that pops up in your D.D.D, but here you go-

• Did I make him ooc? 😰

Oi, human! I heard ya cryin' earlier. Ya ok?!

• THERES NO YELLOW FOR THE TEXT COLOR WHAY?!

• The white-haired demon exclaimed with a frown. Oh shit, that's one way to assure yourself that they're self-aware. But you didn't they can hear you too, so what—

The fuck? I didn't know they can hear me too... 😭🙏

• You murmured out. Yep. Mammon heard that.

Oh shit! Does this mean that they heard me scream at a cockroach while I was playing before?! 😰

• ...He heard that too.

What? -Mammon

OMFG IM DONE GUYS! IM DONE! Sorry it took me forever though 😭🙏

Published: September 20 2024. 3:12pm.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

A New Dawn | Eris x Reader

Summary: Feyre grows closer to you, a close friend of Lucien’s, as you visit him while she’s in Spring Court. During that time, she learns of you being given to Eris as a servant by Amarantha, but no one could’ve suspected how deep the relationship between you and the Autumn Court heir went.

Word Count: ~ 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, tyranny, pregnancy, also this entire fic is mainly in Feyre’s perspective btw

A/N: This is actually my first attempt at writing for Eris (all bc of a cute request), but if you like it then lmk and I might try more, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Feyre Archeron first met you at Tamlin’s manor, when she was still stuck as a human in a land of immortals that were trapped and bound by Amarantha. She’d been taking a walk through the house with Lucien, him explaining all the paintings in the gallery’s old, dusty collection that he knew of, and her eagerly listening, wanting to scrape up any lick of knowledge she could get.

That was when she’d seen you, coming from Tamlin’s office, him grave-faced and you just looking sad. You saw Lucien and perked up a bit, and he eagerly pulled you into his arms and held you.

“Who is..?”

Feyre spoke, trailing off at the silent tears you shed while Lucien held you close, his face buried in your shoulder. When you finally pulled away, the fiery male wiped your tears away with his thumb and glanced towards Feyre, you also looked at her.

“Y/N, this is Feyre, Feyre, this is Y/N.”

He said simply, a bit of his usual charm lacking because of the raw emotion in his tone. Feyre hadn’t known then why you’d been wide-eyed looking at her, turning to Tamlin and whispering some questions her human hearing couldn’t pick up, but she now knew exactly why you’d been shocked to find a human there during that time.

She was the cursebreaker, and you’d suspected that she would be the one from the moment you saw her.

You eventually had to leave, with whispered words to Lucien and more silent tears, before you had mounted a horse, even though running would be faster, and ventured back off to Under the Mountain.

“Where is she going?”

Feyre had asked Lucien. The male had only shook his head.

“Under the Mountain. She was..gifted to my brother as his servant, and she’s stuck there.”

He said, sentences carefully worded in the true manner of the fox-like male. Feyre found that horrifying, the thought of being gifted to a male, forced to serve him and do gods know what for him, being stuck there and only able to leave by delivering messages to other Courts. If only she knew the truth.

However, you sometimes got excuses or reasons to leave and stay at Spring longer than necessary, and you became a sort of salvation for Feyre. You would take her out into Spring Court to your favorite bakery, or the shops that were open at the time. Even when she asked, you never had a good reason for why some were closed, nor did Tamlin.

You slowly spent more time together, and she told you of her sisters, of Nesta’s hostility, Elain’s love for gardening and the flowers she’d grow with the spare change they had after selling skins, or how she grew up hunting. In exchange, you would tell Feyre all about your life growing up, how you and Lucien had been in the same age group and because of your High Fae status, you’d been friends for centuries.

“I’ll see you next visit,”

You would tell her every time, but this time seemed different. It seemed more like a final farewell. She gave a concerned look.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know, but I hope I see you again.”

It turned out that the next time you saw her was when you had a leash around your neck like a dog, Eris holding the chain to the collar as you both watched Feyre fight for her life in the challenges Amarantha proposed to her.

“Do you think she’ll live?”

You’d asked him quietly, and Eris had responded point-blank.

“No.”

But the glimmer of hope in his eyes as he glanced at you, a silent apology promising a future together if this human did manage to free you, a future where you weren’t chained and he wasn’t trapped.

Well, you’d almost gotten that when Feyre had given her life to free Prythian’s people, and come back as High Fae. Almost, but not quite.

“Just a little longer, darling, I promise.”

He would murmur to you every night as you had to act as his servant, attend to his every need, and act like the two of you weren’t painfully in love every day and night. That was, until, the night Beron was assassinated, shot dead with an ash arrow right through his black, soulless heart during a private conference between him and some higher-up you hadn’t bothered to learn the name of.

The next time Feyre had seen you, she’d been accompanied by Nyx and Rhys, Nyx on her hip as the other High Lords idly chattered, most of which were interested in how Eris would handle being High Lord of Autumn. Even more surprising, you’d been labeled High Lady of Autumn not shortly after.

They were still in for plenty of shock when you and Eris walked in, and the scent of budding, growing life spread through the room. Rhysand recognized it instantly, and the tiny bump on your stomach told everyone else what it was as well, not to mention the smug, satisfied face of Eris, clearly filled with pure male pride at his mate being pregnant.

“Oh wow, so you two were..?”

Feyre asked you while you chatted with her.

“We’ve been mates since before Amarantha, but we didn’t want to say because of Beron, then everything happened…it was a whole mess, but we worked it out.”

You replied with a warm smile on your face, one hand on your stomach. Rhys still seemed wary of Eris, rightfully so, but after seeing how the fiery male didn’t seem as conniving or rude, or even like the Eris he’d known for centuries at the meeting all because of his pregnant wife, or maybe because he didn’t have to play the role as the unassuming heir anymore, his mindset was slowly starting to change.

“Congratulations,”

Rhys had said to you and Eris, a slight genuine smile tugging at his lips as he’d patted Eris on the back, at which the other male stiffened slightly, but didn’t seem overly hostile.

Back at the townhouse, both having glasses of wine and idly sipping on them, Nyx already asleep, Feyre and Rhys chatted.

“I think they’re cute together,”

She said with a smile. Rhys chuckled lightly, shaking his head in amusement.

“She mellowed him out, for sure. I’m glad, I don’t think they could deal with another sassy High Lord out there other than me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Really, though. They’re cute.”

Rhys let out a little hum of thought, before nodding.

“They are.”

[goddess-aelin]

Lovestruck

Day 2 of Rowaelin month- spies/heist AU

A follow up to Lovesick- highly recommend reading that one before this one. Otherwise you'll probably be lost

Masterlist

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: stealing, small injury

“Aelin?” Rowan’s heart completely dropped to his stomach. Why was the woman he had seen just hours ago sitting on his fire escape, clad in black and laying next to a broken statue like she was on some sort of fucking art heist?

“Ro..I…Agh.” Aelin clutched her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was in pain. “Fuck.”

Rowan could only stare. 

“I swear this isn’t what it looks like.” Aelin’s turquoise eyes met his own. She shifted her hand behind her to sit up more sturdily but a hiss of pain escaped her lips instead.

  And at that moment, Rowan really couldn’t have cared whether she was in the middle of stealing the fucking Declaration of Independence, he couldn’t bear to see her in pain. “Fuck, Aelin. Come here.” He pushed his window up just far enough that he could reach out and pull her toward him. He picked her up with a gentleness that surprised even him given the circumstances, watching for any injuries or flinches of pain. Setting her down on the couch, he started to make his way to the kitchen but thought better of it and held his hand out to Aelin, instead. “Give me your glove.” 

“What?” 

He made a motion with his hand. “Give me your glove. Quickly.” Hesitantly, she did as she was asked, handing her black leather glove over to Rowan. Even though it was at least three sizes too small, Rowan shoved as much of his hand into the glove as he could and went once again to the window. Leaning out, he gently picked up the pieces of the broken statue, making sure that he got every little piece before closing the window.

As he turned back to Aelin, he could tell she was gobsmacked. 

“Why are you helping me?”

Rowan just sighed but didn’t answer her question. “How about we start with me wrapping that wrist and then you can tell me what you were doing on my fire escape at two in the morning with a suspiciously familiar statue.” 

While she didn’t necessarily look happy, Aelin nodded. “Deal.”

“Can you walk?” At his question, Aelin nodded, and got up to follow him to the kitchen.

She sat at one of the high-top stools at his kitchen island and he could feel her piercing gaze on his back as he rifled through the cabinets to find a wrap for her wrist. Returning to her once he found it, he grabbed her hand, inspecting for any cuts or scrapes. Finding none, he started pushing at her skin in different areas. She hissed as his fingers met the already-forming bruise.

“Luckily, I think it’s just a sprain. I’ll wrap it but if it feels any different tomorrow, you should go get an x-ray.” 

Aelin snorted. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” 

Rowan raised his eyebrows at that. But still he said nothing, trying and failing to gather his thoughts around this strange, beautiful, and mysterious woman. Gently, he began wrapping her wrist with the bandages.

“So you just keep a wrist wrap in your kitchen?”

“I’m a doctor, remember? I have medical supplies all over my apartment.” Aelin let out a huff of breath at that. “Are you going to tell me why I found you out there, looking as if you were falling from the heavens?”

Aelin sighed, gathering her thoughts. “I swear to you, it was not what you think. I wasn’t stealing the statue from the art gallery above.” Rowan met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I was stealing the statue but I swear I had a good reason.” 

Aelin took a deep breath to steal herself. “I come from a long line of Terrasen royalty. Of course, we don’t have a monarchy anymore so I’m just a normal citizen, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about my family’s history. My great-great grandfather had a collection of artifacts that dated all the way back to King Brannon’s line. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Rowan nodded in affirmation. “Well that broken statue was one of the last known pieces from that time period. My great-great grandfather passed it down to my great grandfather, he to my grandfather, and then it should’ve passed onto my father. But this guy, Arobynn Hamel, took it instead”

“The Arobynn Hamel that owns the art gallery upstairs?”

Aelin nodded. “If we come from a long line of Terrasen royalty, then he comes from a long line of people who tried to steal the throne from us. So I guess he felt like he was entitled to this particular statue and when my grandfather died. Imagine our surprise when the will was read and our family heirloom was suddenly passed down to a guy no one could stand.”

"Sounds fishy.” 

“It was. There was no way that my grandfather would have given it to him. None. I grew up being a part of my grandfather’s life and I still remember his disdain for the man. Without my dad here to stop me anymore, I guess I just wanted to have a piece of our family history back.”

“So why did you feel like you needed to do this in the dead of night instead of fighting for it via legal routes?”

Aelin’s rueful smile slowly grew into a smirk. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Rowan couldn’t hold back his huff of laughter. This woman. She was going to be the death of him. Aelin’s face suddenly got serious. “Are you mad?”

Rowan furrowed his brows. “Mad? No.” He sighed. “Concerned? Yes, of course.”

Aelin swallowed loudly. “Are you going to turn me in?” 

Rowan really tried to make a good show of contemplating. But his strength when it came to this woman was nonexistent. He caved much sooner than he would’ve liked and feared he gave away much of his emotion in the process. “Of course not. If I turned you in, I wouldn’t get to go on another date with you and we can’t have that, can we?”

Aelin beamed. Slowly, as if he were a skittish deer, Aelin leaned in and rested her forehead against his. “Thank you, Rowan.” 

Tilting his head so that he could place a gentle kiss upon her lips, Rowan whispered “You’re welcome.”

The oven beeping broke them out of their little bubble that wholly encompassed them. It was at that moment that he could tell that Aelin finally smelled the melting chocolate and sugary goodness. 

Slowly, like a cat, her eyes met his, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Are those for me?”

Rowan shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe.” 

Aelin softly swatted at him. “You’re a dork. But…” Her gaze was piercing as she pursed her lips, debating on her next statement. “But you’re my dork.”

Rowan could feel something in his chest alight at her statement. He was her dork. Given that he just found her on his fire escape after she stole a priceless heirloom, warning bells probably should have been going off in Rowan’s head. But all he could think was, “And you’re a thief. But…” He pecked her nose. “You’re my thief.”

A/N: Happy Day 2 of Rowaelin Month! I have some stuff planned though none of it written but I'm glad to have even gotten this piece out!

[changedmyminditsnicehere]

So here it is! Only many months after my last fic, I am delighted to present, Hob and Dream make bad choices in a back office, the fic. I really hope this will mark the start of me coming back to writing a bit more after a slump! I've got ideas for keeping up this AU if people like, so please do let me know!

=======

Hob didn't normally attend these sorts of events. Scratch that. Hob had never attended one of these events before. It wouldn't even have crossed his mind if Genny hadn't suggested it at the Humanities start-of-term drinks. So what if Genny was a broke history of art student and Hob was a professor? Professor shmessor. As far as his salary was concerned, he certainly wasn't going to turn down the chance at a free glass of wine on a Thursday evening. That said wine had to be drunk in front of some incomprehensible contemporary art while surrounded by the sort of person who was very determined that they alone could comprehend it was a minor issue. Hob drank with Joyce professors, a few neo-expressionists were nothing to him.

With his spirits fortified by that thought, Hob had taken the plunge, looked up the nearest and soonest private art gallery opening in Mayfair, put on a slightly nicer suit than he normally wore and got on the tube. On arrival, Hob had realised the suit was completely unnecessary. Certainly, some of the (older) attendees were decked out in what was clearly thousands of pounds of suit, but the majority of the young crowd looked like they had taken a wrong turn through the zombie apocalypse on their way from whatever trendy bit of North London they emanated from. Ah, youth.

Still, Hob was unlikely to have fit in even if he had attempted to squeeze himself into some drainpipe leather trousers. He wasn't going to complain about seeing them on someone else. As he carefully lifted a glass of wine from the tray of a nearby waiter, nodding gratefully, Hob looked around the white-walled room, eyes passing over canvases and the crowd alike, then stopping. No, he certainly wasn't going to complain about leather trousers on anyone, especially not if some of the attendees could fill them out so well.

The figure had his back to Hob. One ebony hand gestured at a large canvas of swirling lines of black and near black and hips cocked at an angle that was doing, just, everything, for said trousers, the figure was clearly mid-sermon on the meaning of the mess to the young woman next to him. She was half to leather-trousers, half to the work, though the amusement twirling around her lips told Hob she was taking neither very seriously. If it was an art nerd's attempt at seduction, it wasn't going well. Hob snorted to himself and raised his glass, taking a sip of commiseration for all those poor undergrads who had ever tried to chat up a woman via metaphysics. 

The movement must have caught the woman’s eye. Her gaze flicked in his direction and Hob wasn’t fast enough in raising his eyes from the work of art in leather in front of him to the artworks around him. Brown eyes caught Hob’s and the woman’s amusement sparkled into an outright wicked smirk. Utterly careless that her companion was still mid-homily, the young woman reached out, grabbed him by the arm and dragged them both towards Hob. The crowd, previously stifling, seemed to flow apart like the Red Sea in her path. Hob found himself rooted to the spot as she held eye contact, unable to mingle off into the crowd as he had hoped.

By comparison, her companion had clearly not caught up with their new direction yet. Barely facing the right way, they were following with all the grace and hangdog expressions of a particularly put-upon wolfhound. Yet Hob was hardly going to complain about the opportunity to see said expression. If the view from the back had been good, then oh boy, the front was something else. Pale pale skin, with high cheekbones, wild dark hair and a nose meant for looking down on people, the man was a vision in black and anger. Somehow, Hob knew he was the artist behind the baffling canvases on show tonight. He also knew he really wanted to know what the artist looked like after Hob had licked away the anger currently curling those rose-bud lips. 

Unfortunately, imagining licking this beautiful vampire of a man, on his face or elsewhere, was hardly conducive to making the best first impression. As the woman pulled up directly in front of him, smirking delightedly up, Hob floundered desperately for an opening statement that wasn’t going to leave him wearing his drink.

"Hello?" There. That was a good start.

"Hello there yourself. I saw you standing over here admiring my brother's work and I just had to bring him over to say hello." Her brother clearly didn't agree if the way those dark eyes were currently flinting up at Hob was anything to go by. “I’m Morana, this is Dream.” Morana had a beautiful, chocolatey voice which she was absolutely using to encourage Hob into joining her in her mischief.

“Hob, Hob Gadling. It’s lovely to meet you.” Hob congratulated himself for managing a whole sentence and a completely unawkward tip of his wine glass towards the pair. Dream did not seem like he would appreciate the offer of a handshake, even if Hob’s palms hadn’t already felt sweaty enough he was worried about losing grip on his drink.

"It's just so hard to extract Dream from his studio,” Morana declared, a theatricality which could only be achieved by older siblings very much tinging her words. “I think it is important he talk to people who show an interest in his art whenever we manage it, don't you?" She was in no way even attempting to hide her awareness that Hob’s interests might lie elsewhere than Dream’s art, or her apparent delight in the fact. Dream, by comparison, was clearly trying to pretend that he was not party to their conversation at all. Well, Hob thought, two can play at that game.

"Oh, what can I say?" He smirked right back. "I've always found myself partial to the colour black."

"Perfect! Dream's all about black at the moment."

Dream, beautiful creature that he was, was not, it turned out, very good at tuning out inanities when directed at his work. With a derisive snort, he shifted his gaze from the mysteries of the universe to Hob and Morana.

“As I was just telling you, sister, the whole point of these works is that they are not actually black…”

“They are infinite colours, infinite varieties, I know dear brother. I wrote your catalogue essay. How about you explain it all to Hob here?” Her eyes positively gleamed. “I’m sure he’d love to hear all about your work. In fact, why don’t I leave you two to it? I’m going to go see if anyone here might have something more drinkable than this.” With a wave of a warm white wine glass, Morana disappeared smoothly into the crowd. 

Hob turned fully to Dream, ready to commence operation seduce-the-moody-goth-artist, despite having absolutely no idea what to say. Luckily, against all his expectations, Dream, appeared to be willing to talk to a complete stranger, if only about his work. 

“It is as my sister says. None of the pigments I used in this series are truly black, or anywhere close. If you look carefully, you can see.” Hob feels as faint as a Victorian maiden when Dream actually takes his wrist, long fingers delicately wrapping around his sleeve to pull him closer to the nearest canvas to demonstrate. “This series, this work, is about exploring the depths that can be found everywhere, if only one takes the slightest moment to actually look for them. It is not my fault that people so rarely take that moment to actually look at anything beyond their immediate impression.” 

Dream pauses, apparently socially aware enough to realise that a rant about human failings probably isn’t the best way to talk to someone that, for all he knows, could be a paying customer - not that Hob’s suit, or his shoes, make any promises about his ability to buy these works - the ‘price on request’ written on the exhibit list had confirmed that to him. But Hob was enamoured. Up close he can really see what Dream means, can see where the seemingly black canvas actually reveals itself as the deepest blues, purples, even greens glittering across the surface.

“Beautiful” he breathes. “Practically a playground, isn’t it?” He feels Dream freeze, the fingers still (still) clasping his shirt sleeve suddenly tensing, and he curses himself. What a way to stick his foot in it. Well done Hobsie. There’s negging and then there’s telling a man who works as an artist that his life’s work is just playing around. Bollocks.

But Dream, though stiff, doesn’t drop his wrist. If anything, he grips more tightly, fingers edging up, closer to bare skin. His eyes fly from the canvas to meet Hob’s. If Hob had felt like a Victorian maiden before, the sudden realisation that he could absolutely get off just from looking into Dream’s eyes and a touch to his bare wrist finished him off.

“You.” Add Dream’s breathy, breathless voice to the mix and Hob is off to heaven as well. Shame he absolutely wrecked his chance. “You would be the first person to say such a thing about my work.” Oh. Oh. Not a mouth-meet-foot moment. It may in fact precipitate a mouth-meet-something-quite-different moment Hob realised, staring into Dream’s darkening eyes.

“Really?”

“Mmm.” Dream was turned fully to Hob now. Hob realised how close they had become, a private moment in the middle of the ebb and flow of the art crowd in their corner. “People often see what they assume to be true. In me, as well as my art.”

“Too into the tortured artist ideal to see what’s underneath?” Hob quirked an eyebrow.

“Too enamoured of their assumptions to appreciate the potential for… personal enjoyment as well.” Hob had to take a conscious breath and loosen his fingers on his wine glass one by one. He debated just how inappropriate it would be to invite an artist to ditch their own exhibition opening for a shag right now or if he should wait around until the end of the opening, whenever that might be. They always said 9, but Dream’s crowd did not give off the atmosphere of a people who might allow an event to end before 3am. 

He was about to open his mouth to make the suggestion anyway when the crowd swelled once more, and Dream stumbled into him. In his loosened grip his wine immediately went everywhere, if everywhere was almost exclusively down his own front. Thank fuck it was white wine. Hob would not have coped with red wine stains on his singular dry-clean only shirt. 

“Oh dear.” He was barely surprised at how sorry Dream did not sound. “Let me take you to the office, I am sure there are towels back there. Maybe you can borrow one of my shirts.”

Hob was not convinced that a high end art gallery office space would stock towels, and much less convinced that he would fit into any Dream might wear. He was, however, not going to object as Dream used his grip on his wrist to weave through the crowd, utterly ignoring the various socialites waving tissues in a vain hope to catch the attention of the star artist. Looking past them too, Hob caught sight of Morena. His attempt to convey ‘sorry there’s been an unfortunate accident but I promise I will return your artist shortly and not get up to nefarious things with him in an absolutely not sound-proofed back office’ via eyebrows was swiftly and gleefully undermined by the salute she gave him with, what Hob couldn’t help but notice, was definitely a much nicer glass of wine than any of the other attendees.

He had little time to do much more than salute back before Dream was pushing him through a small door into a surprisingly large office space. As Hob stepped into the space, Dream leant back against the door, pushing it shut. The burble of the crowd through the walls didn’t entirely cover the sound of a lock clicking emphatically into place. “Just in case anyone tries to barge in.” Dream said, looking up at Hob like the picture of innocence through his eyelashes. “You know how people are at these things, always trying to get in places they shouldn’t.” Hob snorted. Dream stepped away from the door, walking towards a kitchenette on the far side of the room.

“And are we somewhere we shouldn’t be? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your adoring public after all.” Dream paused his rummage through the cupboards. From what Hob could see, those things had clearly never stocked anything more than empty coffee mugs and instant powder, and certainly didn’t currently contain anything as useful as a tea towel. 

“My sister runs this gallery. She organised this event. She can handle the crowd.” The lack of tea towels was swiftly going down as a problem in Hob’s estimation. The gap between Dream’s shirt and his leather trousers as he reached up into the cupboards however…

“Good to know,” Hob walked to Dream, stopping close enough that he wouldn’t be able to turn without brushing against Hob. “Any luck on the towels?” Dream’s huff is so clearly part amusement, part attraction, Hob can’t help but be flattered. Then Dream turns, carefully sliding his hips against Hob’s crotch and Hob feels his own breath being punched out of his lungs. Dream leans back, head tilted and a challenge clear in his sparkling eyes.

“No luck, tragically. You are going to have to take your shirt off. We can put it on the radiator to dry.” 

“And whatever shall I do, while I wait for it to dry? I’m not sure I can pull off the suit jacket without a shirt look. Certainly not as well as you could.” A rosy blush rises to Dream’s cheeks, but his face looks no less hungry.

“Oh, I don’t know, Hob Gadling. I think you could certainly give it a go. You might just become someone’s next muse.”

Hob can’t help it, as he looks at Dream’s smug face, at his beautiful rosy lips twitching like the cat who got the cream. He huffs out a laugh and leans forwards, hands coming to frame Dream’s bony hips and presses his lips to Dream’s.

[godbirdart]

You don’t have to answer this question as it’s probably dumb to ask…but do you know what platform(s) would be a good starting point? Particularly for original content rather then fanart? I heard deviantart is a good place where alot of ppl got there start on but there’s lots of art thrives and such.

don't even worry, it's not dumb at all! it's hard to gauge where to Begin in the vast hellscape that is the online world. i do get this question [and some adjacent questions] often so please allow me to use your ask as an excuse to post a few of my site rankings for various art things!!

for reference, these are the sites I'll be addressing because i have used them at some point within the last year. please note: my information on Cohost and Itaku specifically may be out of date as I haven't used them in a long while. naturally, this is all solely my perspective. i run both a furry/original content account and an anime/fanart account on most of these sites and run them reasonably independently from one another. these rankings are based on how well each account fares on each site.

I will be talking about Patreon and Ko-Fi as if people will only be posting paywalled content there. you Can publicly post on both sites, but for the sake of this post i'm only going to treat them as paywalled sites since well, that's kind of their purpose.

POSTING ART IN GENERAL

the A-tier list sites here are the ones that are most practical, with a decent member presence and little to no algorithms impairing your reach. the only sites here with any sort of algorithm are tumblr and deviantart, but i feel they don't ruin your reach that much.

B-tier list is mostly centered around popularity. there are massive audiences on both masto and twitter. twitter can be really good if you're posting certain content. mastodon has countless instances [read: servers / subdomains, however you want to call them] that can help narrow down an audience and like-minded people. for example, i use mastodon.art whereas many furries may use meow.social. you Can be discovered by people on other servers than yours.

C-tier has been sorted in accordance to audience. this is solely in my experience, but not a lot of new people are flocking to cohost and itaku. we also just hate facebook in this house and i will never give a facebook products a high rating.

F-tier: if you are a new or growing artist, putting your art behind a paywall or making it a chat platform exclusive thing can really hinder your growth. you can still do this of course, but you won't get as many eyes on your work as you would on a public gallery. threads is there solely due to privacy issues that Cannot be overlooked. i will not recommend it.

POSTING ORIGINAL CONTENT / CHARACTERS / NON-FANWORKS

here's how i'd grade these sites for posting Original content, characters, stories, etc. your best sites will likely be furaffinity, deviantart, and tumblr. i've put these three here for their tag use, discoverability, and audience presence. tumblr can be a little glitchy with its tags, but they DO function.

A-tier is entirely centered around audience presence. these sites are great for showing off your work, but they don't have the same population as the S-tier. mastodon can be good as the quieter instances give you more discoverability. bluesky has been THRIVING when it comes to the furry community as of late [i'm personally on there daily] - the only reason i don't put it as S-tier is because it's invite-only AND you need to rely on your work being found through the Feeds feature if you aren't an already established artist.

B-tier: useful, but population may hinder your growth. toyhouse is GREAT for posting your original characters and stories, but it is invite-only and not necessarily gallery-focused [it can be USED for a gallery, but it's not the main purpose]. you can also post stories and lore to toyhouse. discord and telegram are Good, but again it can be hard to gain an audience through sites that require invites.

C-tier: it is DIFFICULT to grow on paywalled sites with original content. cohost [to my knowledge] has been stagnating with the release of bluesky.

F-tier: threads sucks, the end.

POSTING FANWORK, FANFIC, FANDOM CONTENT IN GENERAL

S-tier here is sorted because of audience presence. while twitter does suck, i'm finding a LOT of success there with fanart. tumblr is The fandom site of course. furaffinity is great for a surprising range of fanart that isn't exclusive to furry, and deviantart's Groups feature is still going strong which can give you that extra exposure.

A-tier is: fans Go here, but the population or algorithm can make things tricky. instagram is good for fanwork but the algorithm and the speed that things are posted there can make discoverability an uphill battle. patreon; if you make comics or art with fan characters [especially 18+ content lmao] you can grow pretty rapidly there. patreon, like any other paywalled site, should be a secondary site and not your Primary posting location. artfol and pillowfort are still growing. pillowfort has a Communities feature - sort of like deviantart groups - that you can submit your art to which gives you that extra exposure. artfol is just a nice gallery site and the tagging system is,, decent enough. a little confusing because the tag system looks up keywords in posts and titles First, you have to tab over to hashtag searching specifically.

B-tier: invite only and audience reach. again, bluesky relies on your art to be picked up in Feeds, as there's currently no tag search. inkblot is growing but has a decent audience. ko-fi isn't as known as patreon for exclusive content but it's still a good site. mastodon has tagging that makes discoverability easier, but mastodon and its many servers can make things confusing for some people. itaku's not as commonly used so it may be harder to gain new eyes there once you establish yourself.

C-tier: posting fanart to these sites Can Work. toyhouse focuses on posting and sorting original characters, so treating it as a gallery site won't get your far fast. it isn't impossible to grow as an artist there, but the site isn't intended for fanart posting. i cannot say much on cohost here. telegram and discord, again, it's harder for people to discover you out of the blue unless you mention your server / channel on another site.

F-tier: fuck threads.

lastly, to address thieves,

thieves are gonna be everywhere. i'm sorry to say, but there will always be shitty people. i recommend the following:

watermark your art. not in the corner, don't just sign in one spot, place a Huge translucent watermark over the WHOLE art. i recommend making it a colour gradient too instead of one solid colour or greyscale.

also: sign your goddamned art! put your username on there!

post a low resolution when sharing online. less than 1200px wide or tall. 72dpi. JPEG format. keep the high res privately for yourself.

add a subtle noise filter over your art. it doesn't have to be high opacity, and it'll make your art a little grainy, but it's good for fucking with AI bots and ruining any print quality potential.

i hope this offers some insight! if you have a different experience on these sites, please feel free to add your testimonial in the replies or reblogs! not every artist is going to have the same experience and growth rate.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Ok regarding that “can i make Yves do my homework if I give him my childhood pictures” ask, exactly how much access does Yves have to our lives? Does he have images or videos from when we were still a baby or would they be new information to him?

A bunch of my baby pictures and videos are lost because my dad lost the computer that had them but we recently found my aunt’s old camera filled with our childhood pictures, it was a pleasant surprise for us but would it be for Yves too?

It absolutely is. If Yves was there with you while your aunt showed you the photo gallery of her old camera, Yves would momentarily lose a bit of inhibition and let his pupils dilate to a maddening degree before instantly constricting it back to appear normal. It's a rare, super deluxe edition photos of you, there isn't anything else like it out there as they're most likely not uploaded to the internet or a cloud based service, where he could easily hack.

Him coming across media from your childhood or at least during those early days where people still go to and get their photos developed, is like winning the lottery for him. Because, although he tries to collect everything relating to your existence, there is only so much he can do in a day. He rather prioritizes the present and the future, as the past is the past; neither you nor him can change it, he can only understand or connect it to your current behaviours or thought patterns.

He does have some information about you as a baby or a child, but that is if they're "readily available" to him. (I.e., it can be found in predictable places like in your childhood home.), that is why, Yves would try to build a good relationship with people you grew up with, to extract information.

Despite being reclusive as he is, Yves would never fail to attend every and any family gathering he is invited to or expected to come. Encouraging that drunk uncle to drink more if he knew he has something to say about you, bribing your relatives with gifts and career opportunities, perhaps even drugging that really difficult and combative cousin to make them more bearable to interrogate.

As soon as he knew your aunt could be another goldmine of your data, he would get to work. Wasting no time building a rapport with her, it's a piece of cake given how obsessive and manipulative his nature is.

Inevitably, your aunt will come to love him and see Yves as family. By extension, her relationship with you will skyrocket too, she will invite you to her place much more often even though she might not be the most sociable person in the first place. Yves will find a way to make her bend to his whims.

The majority of their conversations would be about you, only sometimes Yves would talk about something else if it meant he could keep the drive to spill more about your lore going. His sharp ears and mind will pick up on clues as to where he might find more pictures or writings about you. He would then break into your aunt's home to give it a thorough shakedown and leave without a trace. Yves would repeat this process until he's positive that she has nothing left to offer. That camera is getting fucking stolen and replaced with a duplicate.

It didn't matter if your aunt was a minimalist or a severe hoarder, he would go through all her things just to try and find pieces of your puzzle. He would wade through cobwebs, dust piles, rat droppings and mould if he had to, Yves isn't scared to get dirty to obtain what he wants, "squeamish" isn't in his vocabulary.

When she is robbed of all your essence, Yves would become distant. Not hostile towards her, just cold and indifferent. He would still maintain some sort of relationship with her though, in case she becomes useful again later. As of now, he either puts his entire focus on your current peripheral and direct life, or start to hunt other members down- from his snooping, he had learned of other people who may have valuable input about your childhood.

All of this is happening in the background. You wouldn't suspect a thing, there wasn't a dip in his attention for you. In fact, he may have gotten a lot more smothering, as Yves would be shaking at the thought of testing out his new theories and hypothesis that were birthed from his new knowledge.

He just loves you so much that he couldn't help himself but to get greedy. Yves wants all of you; past, present and future. And any version of you that could have been.

[ok-boomerang]

Zutara 17

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

Zuko jiggled the doorknob for just a moment before he turned to Katara, a frown on his face. "It's locked somehow."

"Huh? It locks from the outside?"

"Yeah, you know the palace. All sorts of weird security measures," said Zuko, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. He sighed. "Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…"

Katara glanced around the little room Zuko had pulled her into, the one he had said he'd been wanting to show her. It was filled with small statues, some created from earthbending, and was meant to serve as a gallery of artwork from around the world. It was quite lovely, and she particularly enjoyed the little statue of the polar bear dog, but their engagement party was going on in the adjacent hall.

"Maybe if we shouted, someone could hear us?" Katara suggested, walking toward the locked door herself.

Zuko turned back toward her, sliding in front of the door. "I don't think so, they're pretty far away—"

She attempted to edge around him to try the door herself, but Zuko took one step to the side again. "And maybe it would be best if we weren't found right away," he said, a smirk unfolding on his face as he blocked access to the door.

Understanding washed over Katara, and she slapped a hand to her forehead. "Zuko!"

He was unabashed. "What, so I want to spend some alone time with my betrothed?"

She couldn't be annoyed with him. Not really. She was getting tired of the constant meet and greets at the hours-long party, and perhaps that's why Zuko had pulled her in here all along.

"You made sure it's locked?" she breathed out. "From the inside, that is?"

"Yeah...from the inside."

"Fine," Katara sighed, smirking herself, as she reached toward him.

[ohblackdiamond]

the story of mandate (conclusion)

Part I is here. Here is the completely signed magazine.

I went to a Paul event thanks to my dear friend @elrohare and I was a woman on a mission. This was my holy grail, my twelve labors of Hercules, my ultimate sacrifice of good sense, my Mandate, if you will. Paul is a man of constant sorrow who's seen trouble all his days. Paul had not known trouble until he saw my face again a mere two months after his last time.

Unlike Gene, who will randomly set a date to hand out his crap for hilarious prices, Ace, who will appear at any 500-1000 seater across the country and balefully advertise his meet and greets onstage, and Peter, who will roll out of bed every six months for a horror convention, Paul does his events at Wentworth galleries across the country. Paul is basically like Pokemon Red's Porygon. You can get him, but he'll take everything you have.

I was prepared. I had done the legwork and the paperwork. Part of my purchase included an autographed item. (Please note that this is not nearly the entirety of the, uh, Paul Stanley Experience, if you will-- this is only the Mandate aspect of it. There was more!)

Paul remembered both of us. "It's been awhile."

"Yeah, couple months, since February, yeah." I'm actually sort of not shocked he remembered us since neither of us look like typical KISS fans. There is also a very large height difference between us, so we are distinctive. We talk. I manage some conversation, some of which is sort of funny. But I'm not here to provide Paul with wit and candor. I'm here for Mandate, which he has already by that point seen the back of even with me trying to cover the naked men in the tub with my phone. He has already also seen the front of it, with its doodled-on-by-Gene cover. He has seen it open, because I had to set it down in order for us to take our picture together. He has probably spent the whole rest of our conversation leading up to this determining what to say to the lone weirdo that has not given him RARO, his solo album, his other solo album, the KISS comic book (mint condition), or various and sundry other KISS collectibles.

He has hit on it. He gestures to the president of Wentworth who is, incidentally, the one that's borrowing my phone to take our pictures. He comes closer as Paul shows him the magazine, along with me.

"Gene drew on it [the front cover of my copy]," I say.

"Mandate... this is the very first magazine we were ever in." (Peter said the same thing in his first book. They are both technically incorrect, but far be it from me to correct Paul Stanley on things that happened before I was born-- and to be honest, knowing what I know about how slow it could end up being to go from writing a feature for a monthly magazine to it actually being published, it wouldn't surprise me at all if they'd done the magazine some months prior to it being on the shelves).

"Our manager at the time said he could get us into a magazine. We didn't know it was a gay magazine. I mean, whatever you're into, but... ["I wasn't," basically, though I don't know if he said those two words specifically]....." as he flips, completely needlessly, through the pictures, sort of slowly, until he gets to page eight and page nine, where all three of his bandmates have signed in black Sharpie. "Of course, they blew me [the photo] up. ... And Gene drew on it."

I finally manage to pipe up.

"Yeah, Gene texted you about it, purportedly, anyway...."

"Yeah, he did."

"He did? Really?"

He looked like he was weirdly thoughtful. Well, sounded like he was. Maybe even a little bit amused. I had a hard time looking too hard at him while this was going on, and I found myself looking more at the naked men he was flipping through. But I had my plan and I would not be too distracted. I had brought my own black Sharpie, since I knew he had a penchant for signing in silver (this is because his Wentworth artwork always comes with an inscription on black paper that he writes on in silver). The Sharpie was right there and, possibly because he was keenly aware of my level of distress at the thought of Mandate being signed in a different color, he obediently took it and signed it and shut it, and handed it back to me. My smile could've broken through my dimples.

Triumph complete. Thank you, @elrohare for again allowing me the pleasure of coming with, and I was glad to plus-one and for once, return the favor.

Thank you, Mr. Paul Stanley of KISS. And thank you to Peter, Gene (especially Gene!), and Ace. I hope Mandate gave you all an unexpected blast from the past, and I really wish I'd told Paul that Peter quite appreciated the ass on the guy on the front cover. Maybe next time.

[captainofthetidesbreath]

sorry to bother you but i wanted to ask how you're enjoying using Obsidian? I've been eyeing it for a while but would love to know your thoughts, highlights, lowlights, etc :) if you don't mind sharing, ofc!

No worries! The short version is that I've been enjoying Obsidian quite a lot, and I find that it serves all of my needs nicely without any fuss. Using it is rather frictionless, I think, and getting used to it was pretty easy though it did take some willingness to very much learn to navigate its menus and features and how it lays everything out. It's not at all difficult, but I do think you have to sit with it for a bit. It's currently my main writing program with the exception of screenplays, for which I use Highland 2.

For context on myself, my writing needs are rather straightforward. I use these sorts of apps and programs to write and organize my fanfic, original prose writing, professional correspondence, and journalistic article drafts. I previously used Notion, which I left because of the big NotionAI push. Before Notion, I used Bear, though I can't remember why I stopped using it; I haven't checked out Bear 2, so I don't know if it suits my needs.

When I was shopping around for a new program to use, the following points were important to me, in no particular order:

no native / built-in generative AI assistants

interface is simple and clean or had customization or community themes that would make it so

offline access

mobile app with document sync

ability to organize and group notes through a folder, tag, or similar system

not too many Things going on with it or I could very easily ignore stuff I didn't use without them cluttering up the UI or my space

Obsidian organizes files within "vaults", of which you can have multiple, each of which are connected to folders that are stored locally on my laptop (or my phone). I love this. I have local versions of all of my notes. I can literally find all my stuff as markdown files within a folder on my desktop and open them up in another program with EASE. If you are someone who doesn't have a lot of storage space, this might be an issue, but for me, this is a very bright highlight.

The biggest lowlight for me is that mobile sync is reliant on a subscription fee, but considering that the rest of the program is free and the fee is small, I found this ultimately a very small concern. I very critically need mobile sync because I spend a significant amount of time writing from my phone. The mobile sync is incredibly good; it keeps all documents synchronized very well, and I have yet to run into version conflicts that cause me to accidentally overwrite and lose significant progress. I don't even have to close files on my laptop first; they'll just update in real-time on my screen like Google Docs. Sometimes I'll name documents something that my phone's file path system cannot handle; Obsidian warns me that it cannot fetch and sync these files with illegal names, and I like that it keeps me informed about that.

It has both a folder system and a tag system, which allows you to organize your files. I only use the folder system because my needs are simple, but the tag system is also solid. It also has a robust search system. It also has a bookmarking system to further organize your stuff. I don't have enough files to use that, but it is available, and I think that's neat.

More precise customization can be difficult if you're not used to writing CSS. I am familiar with CSS, so I found this a small hurdle, but this will be a bigger issue for others. That said, this does mean that Obsidian is DEEPLY customizable, and there is a large gallery of community themes that offer a lot of styles that serve a wide variety of needs. There is also a deep bench of community plugins to help get Obsidian to do what you want — I have plugins that make the word count in the status bar show the count of highlighted text and allow me to copy text as HTML instead of formatted text or markdown. There is also an active Obsidian community and forum, so you will not be necessarily troubleshooting customization alone.

Other small things that occur to me to mention right now: It supports opening files in multiple windows, and it has a tab system, which is really neat. The ability to open multiple files at a time is very good. You can also open files side-by-side for easy comparison, which is useful for more technical work. I don't use Obsidian for coding or wiki work, but I can imagine this being really useful for that. It has a reading mode. Offers a version history with a "show changes" mode and restoration capability. File merge capability. You can open images into it and organize them like any other file.

All in all, I'm very happy with it, and it serves all of my personal needs very well. I generally give it a blanket recommendation, again noting that I think it does take sitting with to get used to some of its features and UI and customizing it to your needs and preferences, but I don't think that's super difficult with some patience and time.

[fanhackers]

How To Be Gay, by David M. Halperin

While there are obvious fan studies classics, there are other books that don’t always fall into the “fan studies” canon that I have found incredibly useful for my own thinking.  I cited one of them, Carol Dyhouse’s  Heartthrobs: A History of Women and Desire (2017), a few posts ago; another is David Halperin’s How To Be Gay (2012)

How To Be Gay came out of a course Halperin taught at the University of Michigan, whose full title was “How to Be Gay: Male Homosexuality and Initiation.”  The initiation in question was not sexual, but cultural:  Halperin believes that there are not only gay texts, a gay canon of sorts, but also gay ways of reading that are taught and learned and that help constitute something we might call a gay subjectivity (that you don’t have to be gay actually to have):  e.g. Hollywood movies, opera, Broadway musicals, camp, diva worship, drag, muscle culture, style, fashion, interior design. Halperin asked both why this set of things–why musicals? why this diva or that–and what do they tell us about gay experience? Halperin was trying to trace “gay men’s characteristic relation to mainstream culture,” which often involves collaborative and camp appropriation: a queering.

I find this book very useful, both because fandom also has its own shared languages and rites of initiation (consider the idea of watching something with fannish goggles or slash goggles or a fanfic lens, as was recently discussed in a previous post; think about all the languages and tropes and artistic structures we all learn from each other) but also because Halperin talks about modes of identification that aren’t representational or based obviously in identity politics. So, for example, he says that the gay male students in his class were more likely to express themselves vis a vis a shared text like  The Golden Girls than vis a vis the traditions of what Halperin calls “good gay writing.” There is, Halperin argues, a queer pleasure in the Broadway musical that’s different than the pleasures of gay identity or even gay sex; similarly, queer female fans might find pleasures in identifying with, say, Sherlock, Crowley, or Blackbeard that are very different from the pleasures offered by a woman- or lesbian-centered text. 

Here’s an excerpt that gives a good sense of the book, I think: fans might identify with this or recognize it as descriptive of their own fannish feels.  (FWIW, the italics are all his!)

[H]omosexuality is not just a sexual orientation but a cultural orientation, a dedicated commitment to certain social or aesthetic values, an entire way of being.  That distinctively gay way of being, moreover, appears to be rooted in a particular queer way of feeling. And that queer way of feeling—that queer subjectivity—expresses itself through a peculiar, dissident way of relating to cultural objects (movies, songs, clothes, books, works of art) and cultural forms in general (art and architecture, opera and musical theater, pop and disco, style and fashion, emotion and language). As a cultural practice, male homosexuality involves a characteristic way of receiving, reinterpreting, and reusing mainstream culture, of decoding and recoding the heterosexual or heteronormative meanings already encoded in that culture, so that they come to function as vehicles of gay or queer meaning. It consists, as the critic John Clum says, in “a shared alternative reading of mainstream culture.” As a result, certain figures who are already prominent in the mass media become gay icons: they get taken up by gay men with a peculiar intensity that differs from their wider reception in the straight world. (That practice is so marked, and so widely acknowledged, that the National Portrait Gallery in London could organize an entire exhibition around the theme of Gay Icons in 2009.) And certain cultural forms, such as Broadway musicals or Hollywood melodramas, are similarly invested with a particular power and significance, attracting a disproportionate number of gay male fans. What this implies is that it is not enough for a man to be homosexual in order to be gay. Same-sex desire alone does not equal gayness. In order to be gay, a man has to learn to relate to the world around him in a distinctive way.  (p. 12 - 13)

–Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

[la-merlaison]

Louis XIII and his cooking adventures 🍴🥞

When it comes to our Louis XIII cult, I often refer to the king's iconic omelettes, but what about his other stuff? For example, he really loved sweets (like beignets or jams), but could he also cook them? The answer is YES, and that's not even all yet!

Louis was a curious child who's head was already filled with various interests and cooking became one of them when he was only ten years old at the time (which is quite unusual for a king). First ever case of the king cooking was recorded on february 11th of 1611, when he was preparing milk soups for the Duchess of Guise / Catherine of Cleves. So milk soup, most likely, could be Louis' very first dish made by himself!

Of course many kids have a sweet tooth and our precious omelette king was not an exception which I guess is why he started to learn how to cook mostly from recipes of sweets. Also, take a shot every time I say "sweets" or "cooking" (don't..) 🕊️

So, among 17th century royal sw- *ahem* DESSERTS we had in our menu – a jam, quince jelly, beignets (basically french donuts) and marzipans. In a well-known, among many of y'all Louis stalkers, journal of his doctor Jean Héroard I found some clear evidence of Louis XIII cooking some of these himself, so here it is feat. me periodically panicking over my own translation because my half-french friend is too busy atm and I don’t wanna bother them:

June 6th, 1611 — «He walks through the corridor from the study to the paneled gallery where he had an oven for making jams, he is amused to see how it's done.» I know it's not exactly him cooking, but I just wanted to leave it here :")

October 15th, 1612 — «Madame comes to see him; he has fun making jam with Mademoiselle de Vendôme»

January 29th, 1613 — «He often has fun making almond milk and marzipans at Madame's house.»

March 6th, 1615 — «It was very cold; he goes to the kitchen, makes omelettes, beignets, fried eggs; it was he who made them and ate a little of that he tasted.» Pretty sure the last few words could be translated better because it's always rather my terrible french or a little confusing way of Héroard's writing, so feel free to correct me.

February 3rd, 1616 — «He is preparing a small snack of dry jam for the queen, who must come to him at two o'clock. After going back to bed, he happily forms various battalions of his little silver men.»

February 5th, 1622 — «He leaves Saint-Germain, goes to Pontoise, where he enjoys making and eating beignets; while dining at Cormeille, he suddenly goes to the goblet in which he makes little cream puffs.» The original text says «petits choux au lait» and I have no idea what could that exactly be, but it seems like some sort of little éclair-like buns made of milk? Little cream puffs?? Maybe by «choux au lait» Jean meant «choux à la crème» which were invented back in 1540 in France.

I know you've been waiting for the quince jelly too, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything about the jelly :c Though, judging by what we've got here It's still quite possible Louis could cook quince jelly as well, hmm... Anyways, if you know something I don't know of the jelly mystery, hit me up!

In the future, this great love for desserts will be inherited by his son Philippe I, Duke of Orléans (brother of Louis XIV), who is also a very interesting character in history!!

In conclusion I must say that Louis not only had a sweet tooth, but also a big love for trying out different things, all this curiosity and pure excitement, even when it comes to something so simple and familiar like food, will never ever stop to fascinate me :"D

Btw speaking about Louis 'trying out different things', I of course still have a lot to share on this as well! Stay tuned and have a good day/night 💘💘💘

[heartfullofleeches]

Summary: Finishing your shift at the gallery, your Coworker walks you out before the beginning of theirs. [Anon Request for my series Night Gallery. Ask at end for spoiler reasons]

"Headin' out for the night, Y/n?"

Eyes ahead. You pop the lock on your locker and sort through your belongings. Bag. Wallet. All the important things were there. Leaving candy bars and small photos of yourself secured their safety, but there was no harm in doubt checking. Gathering them up, you swing your bag onto your shoulder and turn towards the room door. A wrapper crinkles from the breakroom table.

"Y/n?"

Your fingers miss the knob as they speak. You correct yourself, freeing your mouth of its dryness. "Yea... My shift ends in a few minutes."

"Oh, sweet! I finally found my coat so I'll head out with you." Chair legs scrap across the floor. A step-

"You can't."

They stop.

"Why not?"

"You have the morning shift, remember?"

They huff. "You're right... but it's not sweat if I skip one day. At least let me walk you to the front."

Your head shifts towards the clock. "Alright.."

The gallery was at during this hour. The time when everything stilled and you were undeniably alone as the world woke. As you approach the exit, a happy hum ghosts your tail; its stride leaping to a skip when you attempted to create distance.

"I'm so glad we were able to meet up tonight."

It takes all of you not to stop. Your coworker is walking beside you now, making your pace to the exact beat. You feel the radiation of their smile; cold fingers brushing yours.

"With my shift change, we rarely see each other anymore."

Your tongue shifts uncomfortably against the floor of your mouth, but your lips stayed sealed. Had they visited just a little earlier, maybe you could have entertained them for just a little while.

"I really miss you."

A tug on your sleeve. The outside world presents itself to you from gated windows; held at bay by a weight on your back. Lavender locks tickle your cheek; your arm limp in their grasp - fist balled.

"Please don't leave me all alone here. I want to be with you. Things are so much better when you're here."

You will yourself to unclench your hand, placing it over theirs. The coolness of their skin pools beneath the coat. "Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow. Like always."

Their muscles tense, but you're go. "...Okay."

You take the chance to leave. Standing outside in the beneath the waking sun, you look back. There they stand; unblemished skin, eyes like a moon lit lake. The security jacket hangs off their shoulders and bunches around their wrists; a

The words crawl from the pit of your stomach. "How did you find your coat?"

They wait too long to answer. "Crazest thing. Someone stole it and was wearing it somewhere around on the third floor."

"Goodbye, Anri."

"We both know that it isn't. See you soon, Y/n.

The doors close behind you. You pull out your phone and send to message to your coworker to check on them. There will never be a reply. You take a seat on the step of the gallery, waiting for the doors to open so you can fulfill your promise.

[thebroccolination]

Good evening, and welcome to:

Sentimental Hour

I took this screenshot of a gifset almost exactly three years ago. It’s the first thing of WinTeam I ever saw, and it’s the first image of them in my phone’s photo gallery.

I’ve been thinking about them and writing about them ever since I first watched UWMA, and part of me was a little afraid that when Between Us ended, I’d be content with what we got to the point where I wouldn’t want to write about them anymore.

That can happen when your ship is both canon and has their own series! Especially if they aren’t characters in a high-stakes situation or part of a secondary world.

WinTeam are just two university club athletes who hooked up one night and fell in love over the course of months while they helped each other sort through their respective traumatic backgrounds.

But they’re the most compelling pairing I’ve ever loved, and I still can’t fully put into words why. Look at them, though. :’(

Some pairings I love are superheroes, figure skaters, pilots of space lions, ancient warriors, a firefighter and a dude hosting a benevolent alien that gives him neon fire powers—

And yet, for some reason, I don’t even write fic for most of those pairings. I love reading fic about them, but I’ll usually just write one or two and then move on.

WinTeam, though. That’s a Forever OTP for me.

Some of it is BounPrem’s chemistry. Even when they’d just been cast, back when they didn’t know each other and barely liked each other, that chemistry was there. Even in photos, you can feel that they have a rare spark.

And it only got stronger the longer they worked together.

But it’s not just the actors, otherwise the series would have been enough for me. It’s the characters. The way they’re written in Hemp Rope and Between Us, the gentleness they show each other when no one’s around, the way they want to trust each other but they’re so afraid to, the way they reach for each other even though they don’t have a name for what they are.

I love so much about them.

I love that their deepest fears and flaws connect them. At the start of the story, Team has kept so much guilt and pain to himself for so long, he’s just adapted to struggle through it. Meanwhile Win is alone and convinced he always will be.

It may always kick me in the heart that Team’s confession builds up to a vow to take the first steps because he can see that Win is too afraid. And he can do it because Win spent months giving Team every imaginable route to comfort and security, even when it cost him sleep or time or energy that he didn’t have to spare. The beautiful thing is that because of Win’s kindness, Team is strong enough to take the lead from Win, who’s been trying so hard to steer when he’s abjectly terrified of making any mistake with Team.

They’re so balanced. In such an ordinary, quiet way. They’ll never leave each other to falter alone because they both understand how that feels. There’s no question that Team will go to the hospital with his new boyfriend to visit his boyfriend’s brother, just like there’s no question that Win will admit to Team how lost he feels.

I think I just wanted to write this all down because I’m relieved that I found them, and even more relieved that even though the series is over, they’re always going to be part of my heart.

And they’ve raised my standard for love stories forever.

[areyoudreaminof]

I'll Take You To The Boba Shop: Day 7 AU

@elucienweek Day 7 AU

Elucien Boba Shop Date AU!

This is a small gift for the wonderful and unhinged group of people I've met these past few months. You all inspire me, make me laugh, and lift me up. It has been such a thrill to have found you all. You know who you are. Slurp that boba down, but don't choke! Read on Ao3!

I cannot thank @separatist-apologist enough for commissioning this piece and zolyna on instagram for her artwork. 🧋

Elain

Elain was beginning to sweat, but she really couldn’t blame the weather.

No, it was a beautiful summer evening, the kind of evening that had a breadth of soft warmth beneath the breeze. The sky stretched across the horizon, the deep blue of late afternoon was making way for the pinks and golds of sunset and the rays hit her face like a soft kiss. The wind fluttered through her hair and dress just enough so that her curls didn’t catch on her lip balm.  It was the perfect sort of day that Elain would otherwise have savored. But she was too nervous to savor anything just yet.

Instead, she found herself pacing outside the café, sandals clacking against the pavement as she tried not to check her phone again just in case he pulled up. Elain didn’t want him to think she was one of those girls who lived and died on their phone. She didn’t want to look impatient or bored when he met her. She wanted him to think she was as effortless and cool as her sisters were. She wanted him to talk to her for hours again. She just wanted him.

It was only her second date with Lucien Vanserra, and she had it bad.

It was Feyre that introduced them at her art gallery opening two weeks ago. Elain had heard his name thrown around, brushing it off as another one of Feyre’s pretentious art friends. Her last boyfriend, Graysen, had been pretentious enough and she really didn’t think she could handle an artist with a capital A. But, as it turned out, she really couldn’t handle being immediately attracted to Lucien. She had never seen hair so red and vivid, tied off his face in a way that reminded her of some sort of ancient god (or an anime character).  The scars that swept across his glass eye just made him even more gorgeous. Her tongue got caught in her throat and her heart threatened a quick exit out of her chest when he held his hand out to her. She didn’t say much to him that first time, but he somehow (Feyre, most likely) found her bakery last week and asked her for drinks after she closed. Elain wasn’t sure how her tongue managed it, but they spent the rest of the evening talking with such ease that she felt as if she’d known him all her life, and she floated as he walked her home. The flirty texts hadn’t stopped so Elain gathered enough courage to ask him out for boba, her treat. Lucien mentioned that he had never had it before, and she knew just the spot. But now, as she flittered outside the doors, she wondered if this was the worst idea she’d ever had.

 Her underarms began to sweat under the cotton dress while Elain thanked the Mother that the pink fabric wouldn’t show any sweat stains. Elain was overdressed in the ruffled sundress, but it was her color and it showed off her most of her cleavage, which she had even powdered with some jasmine dusting powder and was praying that it hadn’t solidified and bunched up between her boobs. She had spent an hour meticulously curling her hair to make the waves look natural. Looking at the window, she caught his reflection striding towards her. Elain spun around quickly. He looked downright golden in the white shirt he wore, sleeves so short she could see his broad biceps and forearms. Keep it together , she told herself, as she skipped over to meet him breathless, “You made it!”

“Of course, how could I miss this?” he laughed. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Oh no, I just got here. Besides, it’s too beautiful out to wait in the car.” she said hurriedly, “Are you ready?”

“I am. After you, my lady.” Lucien said as he held the café door open for her.

Lucien

He’d been waiting in his car at the back of the parking lot for half an hour when she pulled up.

They weren’t supposed to meet up until 5:30, but Lucien had woken up at the ass crack of dawn, too nervous to sleep. He took too long of a shower then agonized over his outfit like he was a teenager again, all before 8am. After nervously pacing his apartment for several more hours. At 4 he decided to give himself time to get to the café just in case he got lost. Lucien arrived too early with his stomach in his throat and waited. He somehow had managed to get a second date with Elain Archeron, and she had been the one to ask him. All bets were off, Lucien was pretty sure he was going to fall in love with this girl.  

He had thought so the first time he saw her in that fleeting sort of way, almost as if to say look, almost like she was made for you . Lucien knew she was pretty, he certainly had seen her pictures all over Feyre’s social media, but to see her in person was a whole different experience. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Sure, running into her at her own bakery wasn’t exactly a coincidence on his part (he might have pestered Feyre for details), but it felt like fate after he walked her home that night after drinks. He had never talked so freely and openly with anyone before. Elain was beautiful, but she was also smart and funny in a way that Lucien suspected went unnoticed by others. Getting her text Monday morning to meet for boba (something he mentioned off handedly that he had never tired) put him into a tizzy the rest of the week. So, with his heart thrumming in his chest, he finally got out and made his way towards her. Dressed in a soft pink that brought out the gold in her thick hair, he tried not to run when she looked up at him.

“You made it!” she exclaimed, smiling at him. Lucien felt his breath hitch.

“Of course, how could I miss this?” he tried to laugh. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Because I’ve been waiting all week , he thought.

“Oh no, I just got here and besides, it was too beautiful to wait in the car, are you ready?” she asked, her doe eyes meeting his own.  

“I am. After you, my lady.”

Elain

The small boba shop was nestled comfortably between a hip vintage store and a yarn supply place. Elain had found it through word of mouth, and she came as often as she could. It had such a fun environment, it was reasonably priced, and they had the strawberry boba that she loved so much. She loved the place and thought that Bubble Butts might be perhaps the greatest name for a boba shop. The voluptuous cartoon duck on the logo looked over its shoulder in a come-hither look.

That duck gave her an unhinged idea.

Elain turned her head, angling her shoulder towards Lucien, who was looking up at the menu, and channeled her best seductive look in his direction.

“See anything you like?” she asked biting her lip. Like me, maybe?

“I do but, I don’t know what’s good. Do you have any ideas?” he said with a deep chuckle that made her shiver despite the warm air.

“Well, what do you like? Something sweet? Or something stronger?” she asked, making sure to bat her eyelashes slowly.

“I like sweet and strong.” He said, his lips curling into that vulpine smile of his.

“Black Milk Tea.” She blurted, scolding herself for not waiting a beat. She needed to get Lucien to like her, and the tea of course.  “It’s sweet, but there’s a nice kick to it.” He smiled and nudged her shoulder with his, “Sounds good to me.”

She approached the counter with Lucien and recognized the tall dark-haired woman wearing a banana apron standing there. Elain brightly greeted her and made some small talk as quickly as she could before she ordered. Black Milk Tea for Lucien and her Strawberry Milk Tea with extra whipped cream. She didn’t hesitate for a moment. Strange, since she had always worried what she ate and drank on other dates. Graysen always made some snide comment about her weight, and she always forced herself to get lemon water. For some reason, she found she didn’t care if Lucien watched her slurp down her overly sweetened tea.  As she placed their orders, she whipped out her card before Lucien could reach into his pocket and stopped him before he could protest.

“It’s my treat! And if you don’t like it, you can take me to something I’ve never tried next time.” she said quickly. A moment of panic set it. Next time? Slow down you idiot!

Lucien’s eyes widened in surprise for a fleeting moment, but he still smiled. “I’m taking you up on that..”

A loud brass bell rang out as another waitress with a thick Italian accent yelled, “Shrimp Check!” Elain giggled as the patrons began to sit up straight. The sound of wooden chairs dragging on tile over laughs and shouts pierced the murmur of the crowd. Dates raced once another to achieve perfect posture and children squealed as they shot up their shoulders.

“They make sure you’re not slouching.” Elain giggled in Lucien’s ear, “it’s a fun tradition.” Lucien seemed satisfied with the explanation as his eyes watched the chaos with a hint of mischief in his eye. Music played on the speakers while the workers behind the counter sang along. Elain loved the ambience and atmosphere, and she said a quick little prayer to herself that Lucien liked it too. She shot a quick compliment to the woman wearing a lavender jumpsuit and waved to a patron she recognized as a customer from her bakery. As the line behind them began to gain momentum, the perfect patio seat caught her eye just in time for their drinks to be placed in their hands. Passing a group of women, that included a redhead and brunette passionately comparing Star Wars and Taylor Swift lyrics, Elain led Lucien out to the small table, hoping to catch the golden hour with him.

Lucien:

They sat outside on the patio, the breeze smelling like soft jasmine and their drinks getting slick with condensation as they stepped out into the warm air. The owner of the shop had whispered a quick; “Take her somewhere good for dinner!” at him as they turned to sit outside. He obediently nodded, slyly stepping next to Elain. The way Elain had looked at him over her shoulder? He about got on his knees right then and there.

He’d take her somewhere good, alright. There was that Polish diner a few blocks over, they could walk and take their sweet time. But what Lucien really wanted to do was take her home. He was a decent cook, he told himself. He would make her dinner or bake something with her. It didn’t have to be like that just yet.

Across the table, Elain glowed in the golden sunlight. Her dress was graciously cut, and her hair made her look like some sort of nymph. One hand rested on the table; her small fingers were splayed towards him as the other cradled her face as it rested on her elbow. His heart thumped in his chest as he placed his hand awkwardly flat on the center of the table, near her outstretched fingers. Wait, he told himself, ease into it, then hold her hand. He felt sixteen again, in the best way. Elain made everything new and exciting.

“So, how did you get into PR at all? You mentioned your family did law.” Elain said curiously. She remembered somehow, he smiled to himself.  “It’s a family business. I did pre-law in undergrad, but it really wasn’t for me. I liked talking to people but it felt, I don’t know, soulless.” He shrugged. “I fell into PR by accident, I took a marketing job right out of college, and I was good at getting up in front of people.”

Elain began to unwrap her straw, “Well you’ve done amazing with representing Feyre. Was the rest of your family supportive?” she asked as she took a sip of her pink drink.

Lucien poked the massive straw into the foil top of his own tea, finding it too tough to break. “My mother was which is really the only person’s opinion that mattered, and she was supportive. Beron could give a shit. Everyone else is in law one way or another. My older brother does a lot of high up corporate law work. The clientele is kind of sleazy, but he handles it all well enough. He pissed my father off even more than I did when I started his own practice.”

He popped the straw harder, flinching as the milky tea began to seep from the top. “Sorry, let me get that,” he mumbled as he grabbed a napkin. Elain was faster, reaching for the cup and bringing it to her puckering lips, tongue darting out quickly as she drank up the mess. Lucien swallowed hard. She looked at him wide-eyed, “What were you saying about your brother? That he worked with your dad before he started his own practice?”

“Y-yeah.” Lucien stammered, heat creeping up his neck, “Beron was not happy about it. Threatened to cut him off and everything. But he changed his tune when Eris’ firm was more successful than his ever was.” He sipped the massive straw as something slimy lodged in his throat. 

Elain

Elain studied Lucien as he reached for the milk tea. Large hands gripped the cup as Elain wondered what his hands felt like gripping…the sounds of foil and plastic snapped her out of her thoughts.

“My brother does a lot of high up corporate work,” Lucien began “The clientele is sleazy, but he handles it well enough-” he gasped as he slammed his straw into the top of the cup, tea oozing out of the surface. Elain grabbed the cup on instinct, slurping the tea off the top, before she realized she hadn’t broken eye contact with Lucien, who was staring at her incredulously with a wad of napkins in his hand. 

What is wrong with you, you animal? She scolded herself as she cleared her throat. “What were you saying about your brother?” she stammered, desperately hoping she’d saved her dignity.

Lucien’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his mouth agape. Elain’s heart hammered in her chest as she scolded herself for being so gross. Finally, Lucien responded, “Yeah, Beron wasn’t happy about it, but he changed his tune when Eris’ firm was more successful than his ever was.” Lucien took a long sip of his tea and Elain watched like a hawk. It was now or never. He’d either like it or hate it. As she opened her mouth to speak, his eyes grew wide, and Lucien began to gag. Tea sprayed out of his nose and mouth as he reached for the wad of napkins.

Elain gasped and shot up from her chair, pounding Lucien’s back as he coughed. Her heart dropped into her guts and embarrassment shot through her bloodstream. Why didn’t I warn him about the tapioca beads? She thought miserably. Lucien’s coughing began to subside, and she rubbed his back in small circles. “Let me get you some water.” She said trying not to panic. Sweeping into the store, she was met at the counter by two baristas who saw the whole thing. The young man handed her a large cup of water with a smile, while the soft-spoken young woman murmured, “There’s always a first timer.” Elain took two big steps out the door and handed the water to Lucien, who seemed to have caught his breath.

“I am so sorry, Lucien. I should have warned you.” She said, with her stomach churning. Teary eyed, Lucien just smiled as he looked up at her.

“I’m fine Elain. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Elain handed him the cup with shaking hands, watching him gulp down the water. Even near death, he was stunning. But she just had do go and fuck it all up, had to go and nearly kill him and it wasn’t by sitting on his face, the way she had hoped.  

Sheepishly, Elain sat back down. Fuck it , she thought, and reached across the table for his hand. His eyebrows shot up, but he took it.  

‘Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked. “This is my fault; I am so sorry.”

Lucien laughed, eyes bright once more. “I am fine, Elain. Like I said, it went down the wrong pipe.” He reached for his forgotten tea, taking a smaller sip. “You were right though. The tea is great. Strong and sweet is just perfect for me.”

Elain giggled, sipping her own tea, and savoring the cream and strawberry. “So, I take it, I ruined boba for you. How can I make it up to you? Skydiving?”

Lucien smiled, the right side of his lips curling up into that vulpine smile of his. “I wouldn’t say anything is ruined. But I have an idea on how to make it up.” He said, squeezing her hand.

Lucien

The slimy thing bounced in his throat as Lucien coughed.

He wasn’t choking to death. He was coughing and coughing meant breathing. Lucien felt tears form in his eyes and his nostrils sting as tea escaped them. Beyond his own humiliation, he felt Elain’s small hands thump, thump, thump him on the back. Lucien had slurped that tea down that enormous straw like a child, but he truly thought the black beads that sat on the bottom were for decoration. He hadn’t realized they were part of the drink. Grabbing the napkin, he managed to spit the bead up and wiped his face of snot and tea as smooth as he could.

“Let me get you some water.” He heard Elain say as the tinkling little door chime rang behind him.

I’m such a fucking moron, he thought. He felt like the world’s biggest dumbass. Nearly vomiting on his dream girl on their first date. Lucien knew without a doubt she was running for the hills now. He wracked his brain trying to wonder what cosmic entity he offended, when Elain came back with a large cup of ice water in her hands.  

“I am so sorry Lucien; I should have warned you.” Lucien looked up meeting her wide eyes that were filled with concern.  

Clearing his throat “I am fine, Elain. Like I said, it went down the wrong pipe.” Taking a large gulp of water, he realized he hadn’t even registered the damn tea flavor. Taking a cautionary sip, Lucien was impressed by the flavor. He was even more impressed by Elain. How quickly she reacted, how concerned she was, and the fact that she had taken his hand in hers.

“You were right though. The tea is great. Strong and sweet is just perfect for me.” Just like you.

She giggled as that sweet smile crept back across her lips and a soft pink blush spread on her cheeks. “So, I take it, I ruined boba for you. How can I make it up to you? Skydiving?”

Lucien chuckled before he suddenly had an idea. “I wouldn’t say anything is ruined. But I have an idea on how to make it up.” He said, squeezing her soft hand.

“Oh?” Elain replied, arching one brow. “And what did you have in mind”

Lucien dove headfirst into the deep end, taking a breath; “Let me take you to dinner tonight. A friend of mine has a Polish diner a few blocks over and she does these amazing watercolors. We can cut through the park if you’d like.” Lucien’s heart sped up as he watched a dazzling smile light up Elain’s face.

“Oh, I’d love that!” she said. She cocked her head and rested it daintily on her chin. “Your hair looks like fire in this light.” she murmured.

“And you look like the sun itself.” Lucien said as he laced his fingers between hers. Her hair caught in the light of the golden hour and the pink of her dress deepened in the sun’s rays. Eyes of deep brown met russet, and Elain and Lucien watched the golden hour melt into twilight.

TAGLIST: @ablogofsapphicpanic @octobers-veryown @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @wilde-knight @ofduskanddreams @spell-cleavers @melting-houses-of-gold @damedechance @eyllweambassador @ineffable-resplendence @krem-has-a-mess @labellefleur-sauvage @popjunkie42-blog @bagelfyre @reverie-tales @ultadverb @asnowfern @thesistersarcheron @vulpes-fennec @foundress0fnothing @werewolffprince @wittyrejoinder @cursebrkr @mossytrashcan @temperedink @carmasi @gaeleria @bellatrixship @brieq @c-e-d-dreamer @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @thelovelymadone @velidewrites @iambutmortal @panicatthenightcourt @andrigyn

[lover-of-the-starkindler]

1-4 for The Avion My Uncle Flew, 7-12 for The City Between, and 15-20 for The Galleries of Stone, please?

The Avion My Uncle Flew 1. What got you into this story? At some point I started reading off the Newbery Award and Honor list, and this one was an Honor book in 1947 2. Describe it in one or two sentences. Boy is thrown into a new situation and makes the best of it 3. Quickly list 3 things you like about the story! French vocabulary, kids exploring, cheerful storytelling 4. Assign this story a hyper-specific genre name, e.g. "inspirational religious semi-horror sci-fi western" (yes, that's Trigun) contemporary adventure as foreign language instruction (now accepting suggestions for similar volumes)

The City Between (#1 through #5) 7. How does the story compare to your initial impressions of it? has it surprised you yet? how? It's different than what I expected, but I can't put my finger on what or why because I didn't have concrete expectations going in. XD 8. What questions are or were you most excited to learn the answers to while experiencing the story for the first time? I am rather curious about Pet's parents… 9. Give the most UNHELPFUL and/or SILLY summary possible. Orphan takes in borders, and learns how to make tea 10. If you made an amv about this, what song would you set it to? Eye of the Tiger, maybe? But what I can tell you is that there would be a lot of shots of various characters striking a dramatic pose for the camera (think the Leverage gloat shot...) as well as JinYeong in slow motion during a fight 11. If you were put in the main character's position, how well would that go for you on a scale of 1-5? Assuming 5 is quite well, I would say… -1? 12. Assuming your loved ones would be there, would you want to live in the world of the story? Depends on how close to the action we are but let's go with no, not really

Galleries of Stone 15. What time are you most likely to be found reading/watching this story? (time of year, time of day, season of life, whatever makes sense to you) Summer, shading into autumn 16. Do you think this story has broad appeal, or is it meant for a very specific audience? if it's more "niche", what kind of person would most enjoy this story? I think the niche for cozy fantasy is growing 17. Compare this story to your usual tastes. how does it differ from what you've already enjoyed? if one says my usual taste tends to action adventure, this is much lower stakes and everyday adventures 18. Compare this story to your usual tastes. what parts of it are exactly the kind of thing you've always loved? I do love stories about making home in situations that initially look less than ideal until the place blossoms 19. Pitch an idea for a sequel or spinoff novel for this story! a comedy of manners set entirely in Pred, stoneworking only as the faintest of cameos (technically this does sort of exist, but I'm thinking it should be even more Georgette Heyer-esque) 20. What's the WORST thing about this story, in your opinion? (feel free to be positive, e.g. "it's not longer", if you want!) I find the third act a smidge under-developed and while the updated version gave me things I didn't even know I wanted it also left most of the final showdown to the imagination--generally a good thing, but I think it could have been written around just a bit more.