#very subtle ship art

[luckykoifishing]

[braisedhoney]

looks are deceiving.

back in the day i would have given anything for these two to fight. they’re already kind of dead, so it’s fiiine they're fiiiine.

[charcoaledrocks]

angsty doodle >:]

based off of this amazing banger fanfic written by @krool-aid ( which was inspire by @neonross )

love em both , go check em out !! 💖

( 3 / 4 doodle dump )

[tamelee]

Kishimoto is such a troll

[d0vegum]

gromit and fluffles own my heart actually

[ghastimart]

a burnish vulpine. call that a firefox (+ bonus silly christmas doodle as a warmup)

reblogs loved, likes liked; ask before reposting

[lightbulb-warning]

16 classmates means 256 potential dynamics to explore if we only consider 1 on 1 interactions (which i will! ...until this sentence ends) and that means 256 drawings. considering that group interactions exist and it can be any combo that is... a way larger number.

i have 2 hands, 0 time and too much ambition!!

haha! oh no.

[whatsitzface]

Crazy? Frantic? Maybe even a bit Hectik?

Your honor, they are in love (GK told me!!!)

[kakusu-shipping]

Cradle ships aren't usually my thing, but the idea of Sun dating one of the regulars at the daycare might be winning me over for real. Usually the potential predatory aspect squicks me but there's no way Sun fun would even begin to process it that way he just really likes this funky lil guy that finger paints with him and eventually gives him a little smooch... my heart (no shade to cradle shippers who like predatory dynamics! <3)

Just a funky little guy and his ambiguous caretaker/lover.

[roaringheat]

Big doodle dump from the past months to remind myself art is fun :^)

[netmors]

STAR WARS: Eleventh Fleet AU

Hey-hey, I worked, caught a cold, got sick and that’s enough… …so, concept art for the Eleventh Fleet.

Ar'alani and Vah'nya's designs are fairly simple, but the problem with them in particular, and the Chiss in general, is their clothing and style. There are many official references, including those from Legends, but each artist still has his own vision regarding, for example, the shape of the fleet. Somewhere there is a strong homage to the design from the old canon, somewhere it was modernized, and in the latter they added the same “honor's chains”, which look a little strange on the laconic form. It seems to be in the Chiss style, but very impractical.

As a result, I am reworking the design of the expansion and defense fleet uniform, but more on that another time. Let's return to Ar'alani and Vah'nya.

At the beginning of the events of the "Eleventh Fleet", Senior General Ar'alani on his flagship "Vigilant" is increasingly confronted with the Grysks. A year will pass since her last meeting with Thrawn, when the invaders of the Ascendency space will openly attack the Chiss ships.

Such cat and mouse would continue for another year until the disappearance of another Night Dragon class war cruiser, subsequently leading to disaster in the heart of the Chiss Ascendancy. The Senior General will be one of the few superiors who, along with Ba'kif, can survive. Much of this will be down to Vanto and Ronan - unaccounted for variables in the Grysk's plans. The trust placed in Thrawn's "alien protégés" paid off in full.

The Senior General was often accompanied by Senior Navigator Vah'nya. "Vigilant" almost always accepted missions to search for missing navigators. Vah'nya not only guided the ship through the stars and darkness of outer space, but she was much better at rehabilitating rescued navigators, as well as leading the other navigators on the ship. Friendship with Eli played an important role in this.

Because of her "anomaly" as a Navigator who hasn't lost her powers into adulthood, many of the regulations and rules simply don't work for Vah'nya the way they do for other girls. And to be an “anomaly” for Sindikure is a very subtle walking on the edge of a charrik. And yet, to the dissatisfaction of some aristocrats and syndics, the girl manages to balance on it for quite a long time.

+ bonus Ba'kif timeline concept art.

Because I’m not entirely sure that I’m right, but I really wanted to think about what this gorgeous grandpa would have looked like during the Thrawn. Ascendency Trilogy. And I also reworked his “chains” and other form elements quite a bit. And yes, I’m more than sure that Thrawn adopted Ba'kif’s “style” in his time.

[zeroducks-2]

What's up with batman and the erasing of queer history? Sry I try to interact with fanon as little as possible

There is no simple or short answer to this but to try and not make it a wall of text - Batman/Robin has always been a staple of the queer community, so much so that to this day there are "brudick" graffiti in big cities and lots of older gay couples have been using them as a reference for solid partnership which endures in spite of adversity.

Originally there was no indication anywhere that Bruce and Dick were in the roles of father and son, rather they were partners against crime, one the shadow of the other, and they would share everything both when it came to crime fighting and in their everyday lives. They're shown sleeping together, going on lake trips together, finishing each other's sentences and Dick being viciously jealous every time Bruce would "replace" him with any of the women he used to have flings with such as Talia or Selina.

Did DC mean for them to be read as a queer couple? No, of course not. Bob Kane and others wrote a partnership, an unbreakable bond which would allow these two men to overcome any obstacle together, and queer people read into it as queer people always do.

Someone else read into it though: Frederick Wertham, who called Batman a pederast and used Batman and Robin as an example of how the evil comics would corrupt young minds to send them on the way of perdition and sin. He wrote all of this and many more infuriating shit in his book Seduction of the Innocents, which was then the major influence in creating the Hayes Code, which is the reason why we never had queer characters in comicbooks and movies and anything really for decades (and we're still struggling today).

Wertham and the Hayes Code did not stop the queer community from loving Batman and Robin though, therefore what started happening was the more subtle shift towards Bruce and Dick having a father and son relationship rather than a partnership. You can see this clearly with Jason Todd for the first time: Bruce takes Jason in and treats him as his own son, the narrative calls them father and son, and there is no doubt in the mind of who's reading that Bruce perceives Jason as his child. It all went steadily downhill from there.

Nowadays, writers have Dick say character assassinating things like "I love you dad" to Bruce, Tim saying "we will save our dad" to Damian, and everyone in the fandom acting like this has always been the case and actually you're weird and you should be sent death threats for shipping Brudick, because "UMMM that is literally his son?!??!?!?". DC has been pushing the idea that these folks are a nuclear family for a while now, but whoever has actually read the comics knows it's not the case, and it used to be very different before.

Brudick, among queer people, used to be entirely uncontroversial. While Wertham raged about how it corrupted the minds of young men and the Hayes Code prevented queerness to be anything but vaguely hinted and coded in the text, queer folks didn't care and kept having matching Batman and Robin shirts.

Today queer people will call you a pedophile and a groomer and try to doxx you for posting Brudick art because apparently they're doing the fascists' job for them, either because they are genuinely misguided or because they think that if they're enough morally pure they will have a spot among the chosen ones, hell if I know. What I know is that they'd suck Wertham's cock and balls if he wrote Seduction of the Innocents today, and it's DC's fault too with their erasure of every found family dynamic among the batclan, and the way they've been pushing the idea of a "batfamily" instead, in which everyone has a strict role of son or brother or father, and shipping them makes you the antichrist.

[deadlyangelofpurity]

You know with how safe edgy Viv's shows I don't see why the setting is in Hell. I feel like Viv shot herself in the foot by doing this because it seems like Viv wants the praise of being considered edgy but she's too cowardly to follow through so we're trapped in this weird limbo where Viv wants to be edgy but is obviously putting on the brakes.

I think part of the problem Viv is quite immature.

Despite Viv being an adult, it is very evident in her writing style that she hasn't quite matured past the edgy teen phase and whilst her animation and drawing skills are good despite the questionable character designs, her writing is by far the weakest part of her skill set. It doesn't help Viv seems very impulsive and changes her mind on a whim and is willing to turn the story upside down at all costs as it's why Helluva Boss went from a dark comedy to Stolitz melodrama soap opera.

Not to mention Viv has amassed the wrong kind of audience for this show. Let's be honest with ourselves, despite Viv's show being rated adults, I am like 99% certain that at least a fairly large chunk of Viv's audience are teenagers and young adults at best who have been watching her since her channel got popular and most of these people primarily care about shipping and tend to be...immature and more volatile. I think that's partially why the writing is so juvenile because Viv is scared of alienating her audience. I think that's why she made Ozzie care for consent and Bee being concerned over people overindulging because Viv didn't want to make them unlikable at the cost of consistency. It's also probably why Lucifer's more evil pilot incarnation got changed into some wacky silly uwu depressed boy.

Viv seems to play favorites and she doesn't hide it. It's very obvious that when Viv favors a character, they become more likable almost instantly or at least she tries to make come off that way, though it's more noticeable with people like Stolas, Fizz and Lucifer. Compare their initial impressions in their debut episodes and you'll see a stark difference. I also think Viv is overall way too close to her fanbase because she takes ideas from them and she ain't subtle. Vaggie being a fallen angel was a fan theory that slipped into canon, Stolas and Blitzo meeting as kids was based off fan art and Hell, Chaggie wasn't even her idea(which probably explains how dull and unnecessary their relationship is) because a crew member made it and Viv being impulsive put it into canon despite Vaggie and Charlie acting more akin to best friends and honestly given how Vaggie's fallen angel backstory makes things so weird, I genuinely think she'd be better not existing in this series.

Honestly I'd at least respect Viv if she at least stuck with her guns here. Instead she's pretty much playing ping pong in terms of consistency because Viv's version of Hell is more or less Detroit but painted red.

[unholyhelbig]

any chance for a kate x reader angst?

Title: Firecrest (Part 1/???)

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4075

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual activities, fire, mentions of childhood abandonment, horrible grammar (I don't proofread lol), and things I'm sure I'm forgetting.

[A/n: how about enemies to lovers angst? How about Enemies to lovers with a little fake dating sprinkled in there? Let me know if this is something you all would like to see continued!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Your mother had the in-depth beauty of a street dog. Her features were angular, yet soft and welcoming. People were often tempted to reach and run their fingers through her fur. But she tended to gently correct. She had the perfect demeanor for a government spy. However, you had always known her as a brilliant biochemist. Alluring in her brilliance.

The soft lights of the city shaded her face in the back of the taxi. The air had warmed significantly, but the low hum of the air conditioner made you pull your suit jacket close to your breast. The maroon had felt like too much at first. But the impressed nod from the woman next to you was enough to ebb away any doubts.

Your mother popped open her compact and swiped her finger against the corner of her mouth, taking away the smudged gloss that wasn’t noticeable in comparison to her presence. There was not much you feared in this world, but her wrath. Her annoyance. Her disappointment. None of which she flashed often.

“Remember what we talked about, y/n.”

“Of course. Would you like me to repeat it?”

She snapped the compact and leveled you with amusement. Her eyebrow lifted, the start of a smile at the corner of her lip. She couldn’t be serious. You made eye contact with the taxi driver in the mirror. He showed the same amusement that your mother did, yet somehow, hers stung more.

A groan escaped you, but bled into the mantra that was drilled into you for the past two weeks. “I will be the perfect lady who is grateful for the success of Lance and his political circuit.”

“And?”

“I will not start anything I can’t finish with Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, And I’m an adult perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“That wasn’t part of it.” Your mother corrected softly. Her hands were suddenly on you, smoothing down the lapel of your suit. “But It’ll do. Mostly, because we’re here.”

Eleanor Bishop often held her galas in the historic buildings of downtown Manhattan. There were small pamphlets lingering by the extensive hand-carved doors. They’d detail the rich family that had built it from the ground up. The architecture was always admittedly beautiful, and Eleanor had a subtle, expensive taste.

This venue was no different; stretching hallways and men in suits that mirrored yours in a tasteful black. Your mother never stepped ahead of you, instead holding a hand out and helping you from the back of the taxi. You’d left a generous tip, careful not to shove your hands into your pockets.

“This used to be a museum for fine arts and culture. The last I heard; the city was going to tear it down but made it a historical site. They use it for banquets now, I suppose.”

“Oh? You’ve read the informational booklet, then?”

She jabbed her elbow into your ribs and mocked a scowl. “No. I robbed it. How do you think we paid for your college tuition, kiddo?”

That was an exaggeration. You were 90% sure- maybe 75%. Bobbi Morse was a force to be reckoned with, and that was something you had learned from a young age. She’d let you sit on the counter of her lab while she worked, and you’d watch her with absolute awe.

Your mother had taught you, without fail, a variety of fighting skills. Starting with Aikido and ending with Taekwondo. She was a master at her craft, both in the field and in her lab and had worked with you since you could walk to train you in the same.

“Mm,” You hummed your response, “Which priceless painting did you take?”

“It was a vase, smart-ass.”

You pulled in a breath to retort before effectively being rendered silent by the performance hall. Eleanor Bishop had gone all out for the benefits that she backed. This was a vast space that was adorned in white sheer and glittering lights. A slideshow of the sponsored bird sanctuary flashed on the televisions scattered throughout the space.

There was a band on the stage, string instruments that you could feel in the center of your chest. The low notes shuddered through you as you took in the crowd. There were few that you actually recognized, usually hazed in expensive alcohol and lingering by the food, or some form of fresh air.

“It’s ironic that it’s about birds, right?”

She leveled you with an unimpressed look and squeezed your shoulder fondly. It didn’t take long for Lance to make his way over to the both of you. His eyes lit up and a smile spread across his freshly-shaved face. He gave you a small wave, gently exiting the conversation he was having with a congressman, a millionaire, or an architect that was just the right amount of desperate.

Lance Hunter had stolen your mothers heart when you were ten years old. You always assumed it was the accent, but the more you got to know him, the more you understood his charms. Lance had never forced things with you, had never claimed to be your father.

There were quiet moments when he’d join you on the wrap-around porch of your family home and just sit. The two of you would watch the way the sun dipped behind the horizon, sipping on syrupy cans of soft drink. Eventually, you talked to him, and he listened with diligence.

“My girls,” he said, placing a chaste kiss against your forehead before sidling up next to Bobbi. They had effortlessly matched in a deep and royal blue that contrasted the ignited red of your own suit. You were the perfect epitome of a political family.

Eleanor Bishop had given you a brief nod of the head, signifying your presence. It was a silent warning told through blackened eyes: Behave.

Her diligent attention was enough to split your family up. You preferred to linger away from the stuffy socialites. Bobbi and Lance were required to mingle. You plucked a flute of bubbling champagne from a passing tray and moved towards one of the elegant support beams decorated with what you now learned, was real foliage.

The floral scent tickled the back of your throat, so you took a generous swallow and let the alcohol warm your stomach diligently. There had to be something interesting around here, away from the rest of the party. A plague or two that would further explain the venue.

A burst of forced laughter greeted your parents as they sidled up next to Jack and Eleanor. Lance had produced some campaign buttons, which the group took without hesitation. You had to admit, he was loveable and politician-worthy.

“Look at us, we match.”

You swallowed back a groan, not bothering to look over. A small noise still escaped you, and the grumble conveyed your exact disposition towards Kate Bishop. Disgust. Annoyance. The slightest bit of attraction. She overwhelmed your senses with her crisp, winter scent.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you glanced over at her. She was in red too, incredibly vibrant against her soft expanses of exposed skin. The dress had a dipping neckline, revealing the freckles that created constellations against her collarbone. She beamed with irritation. You’d never admit that she was captivating.

“I thought you were given explicit instructions to leave me be.” You said between gritted teeth.

She hummed and grasped the drink from your hand. Kate was calculated in her movements, wrapping her lips around the smudge of lipstick that you’d already created on the rim of the glass. She didn’t break eye contact, those slate orbs boring into you.

“We both know you’re the most interesting thing at these parties.”

“I’m not falling for your… charms, Kate Bishop. Your mother may have bought you out of our consequences last time. But, I have more at stake.”

She scoffed and set the now empty glass down on the nearest table. You knew damn well that Kate wasn’t absolved of accountability after your run-in a few months back. She held herself differently now, and it was a minute expression of her posture that caught your attention.

There was a small split at the corner of her lip, and a healing bruise just at her hairline. She’d attempted to use makeup to cover the abrasions, but you had a trained eye. You were your mother’s daughter. These were defensive wounds. And for just a moment, you worried that the Bishop’s had a heavier hand than you’d anticipated.

But then, Kate’s muscles flexed and her head lilted to the side, dark curls splaying over her shoulders. She had grown stronger. It wasn’t noticeable, or at least, it shouldn’t’ have been. But you knew every inch of her body and despite your forced separation, she’d grown steady of herself.

“Why should I be punished, when you’re the one who set the curtains ablaze.”

You leaned close enough to feel her body heat. To her credit, she didn’t step back. A ghost of a smirk was on her lips. You snarled your words. “And who’s fault was that?”

“I don’t see how I was supposed to know you’d get trigger happy with your powers when I went down on you.” She gave you a cocky pout. “Is that a new thing, or have you never been able to handle yourself in moments of pleasure?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from grasping at the strap on her dress, pulling her closer to you out of a burst of anger. The phantom look of confidence spread into a full-blown grin. You were exasperated, the familiar heat burning just under your skin.

It was true, you’d lost control for just a moment, with Kate Bishops head between your legs, one hand buried deep in her mess of tangled hair. As an orgasm washed over you, thighs shaking, your other hand had drifted too close to the drapes and had caught them ablaze.

Despite the both of you being adults, you were separated within an instant. Dragged embarrassingly away by your respective parental units after the fire was put out. The last you’d seen of her was reflected with the flashing red lights of a rumbling fire engine.

Kate had a devilish look in her eyes. “Harder, baby.”

“Ladies,”

It was a resolute sound that had you pulling apart as if she was a toxic entity. In your book, she was. Both hands landed in your pockets and the two of you looked sheepishly at Eleanor. She’d been keeping an eye on you, you were sure. And had made a direct line to you the second Kate had given you that salacious look.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bishop. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Kate coughed out something that sounded like ‘Kiss ass’ and covered it up with a doe-eyed look of innocence. She may not have been afraid of her mother, but you were terrified. Bobbi had a soft hand. It commanded you like a weapon, and you were happy to do what you were told.

Your own punishment had consisted of heavier training. Both mentally and physically to perfect control that you’d had mastered years ago when you were nothing but a girl with streaks of tears dripping from your chin. The fire had been too strong then, overwhelming and horrible.

“Good evening, Miss Morse, I trust you’ve found a way to entertain yourself during the benefit that isn’t antagonizing my daughter.” Before you could answer, she turned her attention to Kate. “And you. I specifically allowed you to bring a guest in attempts to keep you away from Bobbi’s little arsonist.”

She had been under the full impression that you’d taken a zippo to the hanging drapes. It was the white-hot flames that leaked from your own fingers that had done the damage. Kate was thankfully tight-lipped about the fact, and you let the socialite think whatever she wanted. She hadn’t pressed charges.

Kate pulled her shoulders back, almost looking offended at the name you were tagged with. Almost. “Clint got stopped at the front for an autograph, mom. I’m just biding my time.”

“Bide it somewhere else. We’ve talked about this.”

Eleanor gave you a tight-lipped smile that had noticeably softened compared to the venomous expression she held for Kate. A light squeeze was delivered to your arm. It had always scared you how quick she could switch like that. Her shoulders pulled back as she wandered back over to her group.

Lance lifted his chin in your direction. Silently asking if everything was okay, and it was. His quiet reassurance brought the heat licking at your stomach to a bubbling halt. Why you cared more about Eleanors disposition towards Kate, then her acidity directed at you, was beyond something you were willing to confront.

“Who’s Clint?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Can we have a normal conversation, please. Is it so shocking that I’d take interest in your friends?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yes. If you must know, he’s not a friend. He’s a mentor. He’s, my partner.”

Both of your eyebrows lifted. Partner in what? It wasn’t something you would audibly voice, save you show any concern past the normal amount that you usually had for Kate. The tautness of her muscles, and the superficial injuries made that discomfort return to the pit of your stomach.

Kate was an archer. You knew such from the trophies that littered her dresser the one time you’d been privy to her room. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid much attention. You were backed against her door and her teeth were scraping against your pulse point. But the little gold figures and the child-sized bow on the wall was enough to of a giveaway.

You only knew one archer, and you knew him distantly; from photos that your mother had blacked out with a sharpie. She’d later told you that she regretted the fact because the memories of the three of you would always remain.

The taste of bile filled your throat and Kate lilted her head to the side, like a golden retriever that had heard a piercing noise. There was a surprising amount of concern in her voice. “You okay? You’re looking a little green.”

“Hm? Yeah. Totally. The champagne is just sitting weird.”

A frown had found its way onto your face, and you directed your attention back to the crowd. It seemed that Eleanor was satisfied enough with the two of you lingering in silence. You were trained to know where the exits were in any venue. Kate’s stare shockingly darted in the same pattern as your own.

People had trickled in until the floor was bustling with conversation. You let your shoulders relax in the slightest bit, swallowing back the acrid taste in your mouth. Eleanor had lost her viewpoint of you and her daughter, and you weren’t much in the mood for fighting her on pure proximity.

“There you are, god, I didn’t know this many people cared about birds.”

This time, you couldn’t stop your narrowed eyes from flashing to the intrusion. Whatever distracted Kate was enough to be deemed a savior in your book. But the voice was familiar, painfully so. It was as if your body reacted by busting out in goosebumps, chills rushing down your spine.

Now, you wanted your mother to be able to see you. You were a strong, and capable adult that knew at least six different ways to kill a person without a weapon. You’d gone on missions with your mother, with your Aunt Daisy, too. A simple man in a simpler suit should not make your knees weak.

Yet- here he was. In a charcoal black ensemble with a pocket square that was a flash of purple. It was a color you’d grown to despise. It was an eyesore, as was the man that stood at a height taller than Kate, but just a few inches.

You’d found a singular picture of him that wasn’t defaced in your mother’s nightstand. A polaroid of the three of you on the beach. The sun had turned your cheeks a flushed pink. He had you in his arms and beamed at the camera. Eyes matching the blue of the ocean.

They were the same now, the same vibrancy that you’d thought about. He looked other, worn from parenthood and the effects of time. Of course, you’d seen him on television, but Bobbi had always been quick to flick it off, only lingering during the Sokovia accords.

His mouth fell open in disbelief, but you were careful to keep your jaw stock still. You weren’t going to give Clint Barton the satisfaction of rattling you. Not here, not if he ever decided to show up when you had a family of your own. Not on your deathbed. He couldn’t invoke that from you.

Kate had learned to pick up on body language, and she had learned fast. Her stare shifted between both you, and Clint. She had the right amount of perception to keep her mouth shut, even taking half an inch step back. She was in a position to hold the two of you apart, if need be.

“Holy shit,” He breathed out, “Sparky.”

“Don’t call me Sparky.”

You were taken aback by your own ability to produce words. They were pinched and had dropped down an octave to true anger. Not the type that Kate Bishop was used to. Sure, you had aggravation directed towards her, but nothing short of teasing.

Clint took a slight step towards you, and you took a large one back, nearly bumping into the support beam wrapped with vines and vibrant flowers. Your hand reached out to grab onto it for support, but Kate’s fingers wrapped gently around your wrist. Right. Yes. That would be the safe bet.

You needed to find Bobbi.

Chances were, Clint hadn’t seen her with the growing attendance. You could slip out through the large storm doors that were a few feet behind you. At least then, you could burn scorch marks into the grass and not into this historical building.

“What is happening?” Kate said, refusing to remove her hand from your wrist. You didn’t wrench it away, either. It was a force, a grounding factor. You refused to let the fire move past your fingertips in fear that it would burn her. “Clint?”

“She uh… She’s…”

The words died in his throat. You couldn’t’ stand looking at him, pale as ice and wringing his hands nervously. He couldn’t hold still, but you were like a stone. Almost as if he would vanish the second you averted your stare.

“I’m his daughter.”

Kate’s hand did move from your wrist and to your hand, almost out of instinct. Your relationship, or lack-there-of, had never required this kind of closeness. But She was hanging on tightly, nails digging into your skin. The slight sting brought you back.

Clint croaked “How’s your mother?”

Kate winced and you felt the spring in your spine loosen. He was more nervous than you were and that gave you an advantage. “You can ask her yourself. She and Lance are mingling.”

“Lance is here?”

“Of course.”

He was running for congressman. It would damage his campaign if he hadn’t shown up. The gossip blogs that followed the lives of New Yorks Elite had picked up on the rift between you and Kate. There were a few grainy photos of the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in foil blankets that made you look like Baked potatoes. There was soot on her chin, and you had wiped the darkness away with your thumb. Of course, that had been the moment they caught and wrote about, and plastered all over the internet.

Clint worked his jaw and cupped the back of his neck with a tepid smile. It wavered incessantly. He was boyish in his charm and that would always be the case, no matter how old he got. You knew he had a family now. A real family that didn’t’ consist of a secret agent and their match-happy daughter.

You gave Kate a squeeze with your free hand, signaling that you were fine. The last thing you wanted to appear was weak. She seemed to get the message loud and clear, wrenching her touch away with a nervous clearing of her throat.

“I’m sorry… Can we back up for a second?”  

Clint had a dejected look in his eyes that almost made you feel a twinge of guilt. Almost. Your own ego often got in the way of things, and this was one of them. There was a flood of emotions between both of the archers, a silent pleading to hear him out.

“You and Mrs. Morse dated?”

“They were married.” You snatched another glass of campaign, this one all for yourself. You swallowed the acrid drink and let the bubbles assault your throat. “When did the divorce finalize, again?

“Y/n”

“No, I was never really privy to the details myself.”

“We shouldn’t do this here.”

You finished off the rest of the drink, a certain amount of your defenses lower. You felt warm, but not warm enough to do something stupid. He was right. You shouldn’t do this here and if you had your way, you wouldn’t’ do it anywhere. You were perfectly content to let this man slip back into oblivion and train the Bishop heiress that you had a habit of bedding.

Clint seemed to let out a sigh of relief when you nodded in agreement. He scrutinized you both, the rush of initial shock ebbing away like a melting lake. Chunks of ice broke off and gave way to the familiarity and closeness the two of you held. It was relaxed, despite the rivalry that landed you here in the first place.

“No,” he drawled out, “No, no, no. Kate, you didn’t’.”

The tips of her ears were red enough to match your suit and the color that painted her own lips. She hid her face in her hands with a groan. But you wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her against your side.

“Does that bother you, old man?”

It clearly did. Kate leveled you with a delicious glare that was unmatched but didn’t’ move from your hold. Was she letting you have this? You weren’t entirely sure. He was whipping his head back and fourth with enough force to break his own neck. It was making you dizzy, but giddy all the same.

Your moment of joy at his dismay was short lived. You caught the sharp scent of your mothers perfume. She’d cut through the crowd and furrowed her brow at your closeness to Kate. It took her a few moments to realize that Clint was here. To realize that he was the man that had spurred your act of rebellion in doing the exact opposite of what she’d requested at the start of the night.

Her cool eyes took him in just as yours had. Kate was still next to you, swallowing a dryness in her throat that you could nearly hear. Bobbi didn’t attempt to separate you as Eleanor had. Instead, she gave you a quiet stare. “Darling, I think it’s time we go. There’s a situation we have to attend to.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure.”

It hadn’t been, but you shocked yourself and Kate by leaning in and pressing a kiss just behind her ear, still blazing with blush. She froze but gave you the slightest bit of nod. Clint opened and closed his mouth like a surfaced fish, but kept quiet.

Your mother walked with a purpose, her shoulders pulled back and an elegance to her sway. You didn’t look back, keeping time with her as she weaved through the crowd and towards the lobby that was ten degrees cooler and much, much more welcoming.

“Is there actually a situation, or is this your attempt at a rescue?”

She ignored your question, stopping and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a soft look in her eyes that made your stomach squirm. “Are you okay, sweetie? I had no idea that he’d be here. I never would have made you come.”

“I’m fine, mom.” She didn’t seem convinced, so you added “Really.”

Eventually, Bobbi relented with a shaky sigh and cupped your cheek in a comforting manner. “Good. Okay. Good. Because we do have a situation.”

[artsandculture]

Woman at a Window (1822) 🎨 Caspar David Friedrich 🏛️ Alte Nationalgalerie 📍 Berlin, Germany

At the window of a barren room you can see the back view of a young woman looking outside. It is Caroline, the wife of Caspar David Friedrich, who looks from the artist's studio to the opposite bank of the Elbe. In 1822, four years after his marriage, Frederick created this small-format, private image. Even in the year of origin, the painting was shown at the Dresden Academy Exhibition: "A small picture depicting the artist's studio in his peculiar simplicity, in the middle of the background the window with the view of the Elbe and the opposite poplars, would be very true and pretty if Friedrich had not followed again here, which it loves to depict people straight from behind." (Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, 1822, . Börsch-Supan and K. W. Jähnig, Caspar David Friedrich, Catalogue of Works, Munich 1973, pp. 96). While the Viennese Magazine for Art reacted to Friedrich's painting with incomprehension, the mystery of the turning-off women inspired the poet Friedrich de la Motte Foqué to become a sonnet. Friedrich consistently constructed the simple, empty interior of horizontal and vertical. Nothing reveals comfort, only a short piece of floor made of wide wooden floorboards, a dark wall and a high window are visible. The female figure alone and the prospect of delicately green poplars on the other side, opening up by a wide spring sky, enliven the presentation. Resembling the filigree peak of a church tower, a ship mast appears in the upper window area, structured by a narrow cross. A subtle color sound of blue, green and ocher draws attention to the light steps in the finest nuances. With this 'window picture', Friedrich picked up a romantic motif of longing that links inside and outside, closeness and distance. The view outwards simultaneously goes inwards, in the center of the soul. Two further interior representations have been handed down by Friedrich: "Woman ascending to light" (1825, Pomeranian State Museum, Greifswald) and "Climbing woman with a candle" (around 1825, loaned from private property in pe.). Like "Frau am Fenster", these images remained in the possession of the artist's family for a long time. It was not until 1906, on the occasion of the exhibition of the century in the Nationalgalerie Berlin, where Friedrich was comprehensively represented with 36 paintings and 57 drawings, including "Frau am Fenster", and the painterly work of the artist, which had been forgotten, was rediscovered.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Cowboy Like Me - Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Azriel meets his match in a contract spy while attending a barge party in the Summer Court. Together, they are tasked to investigate rogue shipments coming into Prythian. Will they be able to tolerate each other? Will they fall in love along the way?

Inspired by the queens of my heart, Taylor Swift and Sarah J. Maas.

Part 2

Warnings: Language and some suggestiveness.

These functions were odious. Hundreds of elite fae from throughout Prythian gathering to spread gossip, exaggerate how deeply their coffers ran, and boast of their latest voyeurs in both the sheets and battlefields. Yet, amidst all of the cock measuring, bits of truth revealed themselves to those with the proper skill set. So yes, while odious indeed, a lucrative affair for me.

Tonight I’d found myself aboard a pleasure barge on the Adriatic Sea. Several High Lords accepted Tarquin’s invitation to a summer soirée honoring some milestone birthday of Cresseida’s. I couldn’t remember her age, I didn’t care honestly. The information I sought was of a more confidential manner.

Whenever any High Lords made their appearance at such gatherings, nobility from their respective courts came out in droves in hopes of rubbing elbows with the upper cress of their kingdoms. Minor lords sought advantageous matches for their heirs, esteemed merchants networked to expand trade routes, tittering courtiers cozied up to nobility in an effort to advance whichever cause they were pursuing that night.

A well-trained ear and eye lusted for occasions such as this. Those Minor Lords so easily letting details slip of their needs, allowing a glean of where their courts higher nobility were failing them. The merchants whispering confidential details of questionable consignments slipped in with their usual fare.

And the courtiers, it was too simple to read in between the lines of their oh-so-cryptic conversations. The courtiers of lesser nobility who hadn’t yet mastered the art of subtlety were easy to read, even easier to trade gossip with.

My glamour skills were exceptional. Some would call the statement arrogant, but it was truth. On top of my assets as a spy, my ability to work my way into high profile events with subtle changes to my hair, eyes, and scent made spying a lucrative profession.

A contact from Adriata’s Port Authority had contracted my services for tonight. A shipment of jewels, spices, and varying textiles procured from the continent had arrived days ago with fake gems, missing rolls of fine silk, and poison laced spices that had been set aside for the royal kitchens. I’d been tasked with garnering any information that may lead to the perpetrators.

Initially it was suspected that the act had occurred before leaving the port of origin. However, Tarquin’s own contacts had accounted for everything at the port and again halfway through sailing. I had my suspicions of who was behind the act which led me to my current position, pretending to be engaged in conversation with the pompous son of some Minor Lord from Dawn.

Honestly, how many “Oh”, “Wow”, and “That’s very interesting”’s could I throw into the conversation before he realized I wasn’t paying attention.

Yet, what I saw behind the male was quite interesting. Eris Vanserra making a rare Autumn Court appearance, far too casually winding through the crowd toward the High Lord of the Night Court as the lovely High Lady shared an animated story about, “Water Wolves”, whatever those were. The story just interesting enough to garner the attention of the surrounding audience long enough for the High Lord to stride off to a more secluded area toward the bow of the ship. The same place Eris had conveniently found himself at.

Feigning ill, I excused myself from the one-sided conversation. Quickly, I glamoured myself to look a bit more pale, and padded toward the bow. Fortunately there was a blind spot within earshot perfectly hidden by a few crates of spare items for the night should any dishwear or wines run out from the various tables spread around the barge. Keeping up my ruse I leaned over the rail, quietly dry heaving.

“All I’m saying is watch your shipments. An influx of boats have been reported leaving our ports recently. He’s up to something.” Eris’ hushed voice warned.

Oh, this was very interesting. Autumn’s heir apparent heeding warning to the Night Court.

The High Lord’s voice lowly inquired, “Do you know wh-“

The atmosphere suddenly turned dark as shadows swirled next to me. Raising from his perched position in the dark stood the High Lord’s spymaster.

Shit.

“Did the oaf you were speaking with bore you to sickness or is this washed out complexion a new glamour?”

Shit!

“People are staring, Shadowsinger. Are you going to ask me to dance or should we make a spectacle of ourselves?” I smirked cooly. Unsure of how I managed to pull off the collected facade in the face of the feared, and…. devastatingly gorgeous? Spymaster of the Night Court.

He smirked - a deadly, seductive smirk, extending his hand. This was a dangerous game. “My lady, honor me with a dance?”

I stepped toward him, aware of every weapon carefully placed underneath my silken cobalt blue dress. His shadows keenly aware of them too as they swirled around the location of each hidden sheath.

Oh, they were good.

His fingers gripped tightly atop the most easily accessible of my daggers, firmly pressed to my waist as a herringbone corset would be. His opposite hand gripped mine just tightly enough that it couldn’t slip free.

“You know, beautiful, it seems you’ve got a couple of weapons under your dress. You’re quite the double threat.” his face remained relaxed but those hazel eyes promised strife if I didn’t comply.

They stepped in rhythm to the Summer Court medley that played “It takes one to know one, handsome.”

He twirled me outward and pulled me back in before I could dare consider escaping. “I’m protecting my High Lord. Weapons come with the territory. Who are you serving?”

I batted my eyes innocently “I’ll serve you if you ask politely.”

I could have sworn the slightest shift in scent invaded my senses, “Ah, but you’re not a courtier, darling. You’re a spy. And I don’t take kindly to spies listening in on my courts affairs.”,

“Luckily for me, our interests seem to align.” I countered.

He dipped me back just in time to lock stares with the High Lord, stars twinkling in his eyes as he looked down at me, “Ah, brother. Who is your lovely dance partner?”

Once again,

Shit.

And then everything went black as we winnowed.

~~~~~~~~

“Welcome to the Hewn City - My name is Azriel. Care to share your name?”

“Elyse.” I lied.

Azriel stepped forward, “No dear, I don’t believe it is. Let’s not get off on a worse foot than we already have.”

I rolled my eyes. Fine. “Y/N.”

Good girl. He purred. The heat that pooled in my core at his tone was pathetic. Traitorous body.

“Why were you spying on Rhysand?”

I was a spy for hire. Being tortured in the name of Adriata’s Port Authority was not how I was going down. So I told him the truth.

“Adriata received a shipment with stolen goods and poison laced spices. I was simply seeking information on the matter.”

“And you felt that my High Lord was involved?”

I scoffed. “No, not exactly. While your High Lord is rather cunning, he’s not one to risk sparking a Civil War. Especially against his own ally.” I looked intently to the Spymaster with a smirk, “That bastard Eris Vanserra on the other hand…”

I could have sworn amusement briefly flashed in his eyes at the statement as he sat before me. “I’ve seen you at several functions recently. You are sly, I’ll give you that. But you have tells. The way your eyes wander off of those you are in conversation with. The slight lies you give the courtiers in an effort to bring their guard down and let information slip. Your glamours are excellent but not enough to disguise you once you’ve been spotted.”

Confusion swirled in my brain at this tactic. Certainly the willingness to share was an effort of bringing my guard down.

I stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”

He raised an eyebrow “You shared information with me, I am simply returning the favor.”

“How generous of you , Azriel.” My tone was sharp. But his name… Oh how it tasted like honey on my tongue.

He shrugged. “This doesn’t have to be hard. Despite what you may have heard about me, I am a reasonable male. From what I’ve seen, up until tonight, you’ve never been a threat to those I’m allied with.”

I relaxed a bit at the statement. “You’ve watched me that closely?”

“What kind of spymaster would I be to not keep tabs on potential enemy spies?”

“I am not your enemy, Azriel.” Damn my tone for coming out so softly.

He looked at me earnestly, “I know.”

“Then why am I here?”

His gaze once again shifted to that of the infamous spymaster, “I want you to work with me.”

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Thank you to everyone who voted in my poll and/or took the time to read this! I hope to post Part 2 this week. Stay tuned!