#1889 world's fair

[britishchick09]

i finished rewrite christine's eiffel tower story last night and it's definitely the coolest, longest and most historical rewrite short story yet! ;D

[stephenist]

Demolition of buildings next to the Eiffel Tower for the 1889 World's Fair in Paris *1

[nickysfacts]

Yes the city of Paris, most famous for its Tragic Street Lamp!😄

🎨🇫🇷🖋️

[daguerreotyping]

Cabinet card of "BEAUTY," the Male Chick-Rearing Cat, 1889. As the back of the card enthuses:

This remarkable animal has been exhibited to at least a million of people, and no person has ever claimed to have even heard of a cat like him. It is really believed that his counterpart does not exist in the world.

At three months of age he had not seen a chicken. Immediately on being shown to him they were adopted, with every sign of affection that a cat or hen could show for their young, brooding and caressing them, and eating and playing with them. In no case has he shown hostility, never having bitten or scratched a chicken, never drawn blood on one; yet he possesses a full complement of the sharpest teeth and nails, is a great mouser, would kill other birds instantly, is exceedingly active and more than ordinarily playful for a cat of his age.

When we reflect that young birds and fowls are the legitimate prey and food of the feline race, and that this is a male cat, (males being more ferocious and destructive than the females, especially in this species), it must be conceded that this is an extraordinary freak of nature.

He has been admired by and has delighted multitudes of people, and it is hoped that many thousands more may see him. At this writing, (Oct. 15th, 1889), he is just two years old, and has been exhibited twenty-one months, having been placed on exhibition within one week from the time his extraordinary peculiarity was discovered.

It is only fair to state that he has a fine general disposition, his only other peculiarity being an unusual stubbornness; yet he will bite and scratch vigorously if provoked, but never can be provoked by his feathered little ones.

We presume that the large money offers his owners have received for "Beauty," exceed in amount any offer ever before made for an animal of his species; but it seems to them that no amount of money could be offered that would purchase him, for, besides being of great commercial value, he would be most sadly missed by those who have had his care from kittenhood, and to whom he has endeared himself by his wonderful intelligence, strange affection and lovable ways.

He delights all who see him; but none really know him save those who are constantly with him. Employees and and attaches of the various museums where he has been exhibited have invariably become so attached to him as to really deplore his departure at the close of our engagements.

"Beauty" lives in almost regal style, everything being done for his comfort that is consistent with show life.

He is a full maltese, weighing about thirteen pounds.

[worldhistoryfacts]

The biggest event in Paris — and maybe the whole world — in 1889 was the “Exposition Universelle,” a World’s Fair. The event attracted over 32 million visitors, a number approximating 2% of the world’s population (although this estimate is probably a little high, as many attendees came several times).

The big attraction of the fair was, as you can see in the poster above, the Eiffel Tower. The tower was the tallest structure in the world, dwarfing other famous sites like the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Statue of Liberty, as you can see in this design sketch from Eiffel’s firm:

{Buy me a coffee} {WHF} {Medium} {Looking Through the Past}

Much, much more on the 1889 world's fair here:

[pmamtraveller]

GUSTAV WERTHEIMER - THE ENCHANTED SLEEPER, 1902

The artwork includes historical and mythological allusions, especially those related to mermaid legends. The title suggests the concept of a "sleeping beauty," similar to legends, where individuals are put under a spellbound sleep until they are woken up. The scene shows a nude woman lounging on the boat next to a man who is already sleeping - a very tranquil moment.

"The Enchanted Sleeper" by Gustav Wertheimer can be likened to his other paintings featuring sirens, like "The Kiss of the Siren" from 1882. Both pieces portray the female form in a captivating and alluring way. "The Enchanted Sleeper" highlights a peaceful, surreal state, in contrast to "The Kiss of the Siren" which shows a lively interaction where a nude woman is pulling a sailor into the water. This difference emphasizes Wertheimer's skill in portraying feminine allure in various ways, switching between peaceful charm and energetic allure when illustrating sirens.

Wertheimer began his studies at the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna under Joseph von Führich . Since May 10, 1870 he studied in the technical painting class of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Munich with Wilhelm von Diez . After graduation, he worked in Munich. In 1881, he moved to Paris, where he remained until his death. In Paris, Wertheimer experienced his greatest successes and also received honorary awards at the Paris World's Fair in 1889 and 1900.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob and Dream have been fucking at all their meetings. Only one problem…in 1889 Hob tried to ask Dream about a relationship, fumbled it, and Dream stormed off, not knowing that this time, he’d gotten Hob pregnant.

Hob is very hormonal during his pregnancy, and heartbroken on top of that. He spends a lot of time crying over Dream and he has no way to tell Dream about the child, no way to reach him. And even if he did, maybe Dream wouldn’t even want a child with Hob. Maybe he’d abandon him anyway—or take the child away.

But on the other side, when Hob is holding his son, he is the happiest he has ever been. So he sets out the be the absolute best single parent in the world. Even if it breaks his heart that he might never see his stranger again.

This would certainly add a complication to their relationship post-1889!

Imagine how Dream feels when he becomes aware of his son entering the dreaming for the first time after he's born! It's like a thunderclap coming down on Dream’s heart, and he hasn't felt that way since Orpheus. He's wracking his brain as to how this could have happened, and then he thinks... Hob.

It takes Dream a while to pick himself back off the floor and to visit his son's dream. He's just an infant of course, so it's all soft and colourful. Dream wraps the baby up in a hundred protective enchantments there and then, marking the little one as his son. He's already missed so much and failed to protect Hob and their child through the pregnancy, so he's intent on making sure that they will always be safe from now on.

When he finally screws up the courage to go to Hob he finds his former lover exhausted, but not sleeping. He's watching over the cradle, humming softly. He looks so anxious, Dream just wants to hold him... but when Hob sees him he looks even more defensive.

"You can't take him. He's mine." He says, fierce despite the exhaustion. He only settles when Dream comes close and lays a hand on his shoulder. "He is ours, in fact."

Hob tells him about the difficult pregnancy, his fear that the baby might die, his fear that Dream would never come back. He's so tired, and so sorry for hurting Dream’s feelings. He just wants his son to have a father, and of course he wants to give Dream his love - if Dream can accept it.

And Dream kisses him on the forehead, scoops him up, and makes sure that he safely travels to the dreaming where they can talk about the future properly.

So, in 1916 when Dream is captured, its fair to say that he isn't there for very long. Within 48 hours Hob comes clattering down the basement stairs, accompanied by his and Dream’s blue eyed, strongly built son. Of course he insisted on coming, and Hob has never been able to deny anything to his baby boy (even now when he's 26). Dream can't help but smile, although he's concerned for his love. He's just relieved to know that his family would come for him in times of trouble.

And he wouldn't want to miss out on Hob’s second pregnancy, would he?

[mote-historie]

Conrado Walter Massaguer (Conrado W. Massaguer, Conrado Massaguer, C. W. Massaguer, Massaguer), Travel Illustration for the Cover of Social Magazine, Cuba, 1926.

Massaguer (Cuban, 1889-1965) was Art Director of the magazine Social (founded in 1916), he had many of his caricatures published in American magazines (Life, Cosmopolitan, The New Yorker and Vanity Fair) and designed artwork for Cuba's pavilion at the 1939 World's Fair in New York. (x)

Photo: Halloween HJB

[elizabethvictoriafashion]

1920s

1920s Fashion

For our third fashion history lesson, we studied the 1920s and Art Deco. The 1920s was an incredible decade that changed fashion as we know it. Skirt lengths shortened and women were finally liberated from the dreaded corset. The silhouette became more rectangular, undergarments were abandoned and women showed no cleavage. However, the waist was still aparent at the start of the decade.

By 1923, the waist had dropped, women became more flat chested and embroydery was heavy and glamorous. Fabrics such as sheer and chiffron were used (see through fabrics).

La Garconne

French for the bachelor girl, this word was used as a derogatory word by the elderly and a complement by the young. It was used to describe rebellious, tom boys with short hair and who wore men's clothing. They took part in pre-marital sex and other 'rebellious' activities.

By 1924, trousers were boudoir attire. For example, Paul Poiret's satin pajamas.

During this time, women began to reapply their makeup in public. This wouldn't have been allowed 20 years prior.

Despite the liberation of the corset, some women still used them to make their busts look flat. This was achieved by the freedom corset.

Menswear

The Prince of Wales became the 'it boy' for men's fashion. He was an idol, making fair Isle knits fashionable, and others such as: loose fitting tailoring 'bum freezer'; white flannel trousers and blazers; checkards; stripes; plaid. In 1925, the Oxford stripes became the trending trousers type. Loose fitting that had an average size of 40 inches! Despite the change of fashion from formal to casual, evening wear for men was still black tie and tails.

Lucian Lelong 1889-1958

Known as the man who saved Paris, Lelong stopped Hitler from moving Haute Cauture to Germany during the Second World War. Born into a family of designers, Lelong started a fashion business. He was a very smart business acumen. Unfortunately, he had to go to war. But once the war was over, he came right back into the fashion business. His business flourished with 1200 staff. Lelong was influenced by sport, due to this his designed are associated with fluidity. His dressmaking became engineering; he was a great innovator. Not to mention his 40 fagrances.

He developed the talent of up and coming designers, for example, Christian Dior. And in 1948, after nearly 30 years, Lelong closed his house for good.

Jean Patou 1887-1936

Not only a business man but also a ladies man. The two things Patou loved was women and business. That much so, he opened a dress shop after the First World War. He named it the House of Patou and got his family to work for him. Patou was inspired alot by Russian and Eastern influence, including his love of fur. He brought mens fabric into womens sportswear; similar to Coco Chanel. Patou saw trends like cubism and art decor, so used these in his work. Jean Patou did many iconic and unique things, such as; the first person to brand his work; brought over American models to work for him; created the most expensive perfume at the time, using 10600 jasmine flowers and 336 roses; created mens silk ties from biased cutting waste.

Gabrielle Bonheur Chanel (Coco Chanel) 1882-1971

Chanel did not start off wealthy, she was poor and didn't like her background. However, she lived a good life, despite the fact her mum died when she was 6. She lived and grew up in a nunnery making hats. Chanel was the first designer to create womens jersey taken from men's underwear. She paved her way into fashion by using sex and her sexuality. Her house was established at 31 ru cambon in 1909. At the time, Chanel No.5 was one of the best selling fragrances in the world! And the interlocking 'C's are the most famous fashion logo.

Art Deco

The Art Deco period is a movement in the decorative arts and architecture, originating in the 1920s in France after the First World War. It was developed into a major style in western Europe and United States during the 1930s. It was graphic, strong patterning with rich Egyptian colours; exoctic. For example:

Hoover factory, London 1932-1935

Chrysler building NYC.

An example of an Art Deco artist was Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

[incandescentlysomething]

Princess of the Smoke: Prologue

House of the Dragon Season 2

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 1889

Aelinor Velaryon's world has collapsed. Her beloved Prince Aemond has murdered her brother, plunging their realm into war. Now Aelinor faces a choice. Can she sit on the sidelines, ignorant to the chaos that consumes her family, or can she muster the strength of the dragon and fight for her mother's right to the throne.

Aemond has destroyed his world. Now he must accept the consequences of his actions, waging a war for his brother even as his heart lies elsewhere. But how can there ever be peace when the woman he loves is now an enemy to his family? And worse, when she hates him?

This is a sequel to Lady of the Ashes! It follows the events of the show, but is canon-divergent.

The skies were fair today.

All morning, Aelinor Velaryon had listened as the guards and servants whispered of the fair weather and glanced fearfully to the heavens. The storms of the past few days had faded as quickly as they had appeared, taking with them whatever meager protection they had provided.

Almost as soon as the dawn had broken, Dragonstone had come alight with activity. Guards rushed too and fro, preparing for gods know what. Her chambers were next to her half-sisters, and she heard them speaking in hushed tones as they moved through the corridors.

Aelinor had hardly slept since her arrival at Dragonstone, her body too beaten by grief to find anything resembling rest. She sat in her window, staring down the cliff face toward the sea. There was no screen in her window, and the breeze carried the cold sting of saltwater into her chambers. Waves smashed on the rocks, whipped into a frenzy by the lingering storm winds. But already they were calming. Soon there would be nothing to keep the Greens from moving against them, not smashing waves to keep their ships in harbor, no lighting splitting across the sky to keep their dragons in roost.

How cruel, that after such an act of brutality, the heavens themselves had decided to enforce a peace, that they had forced everyone to sit in their misery for days before any action could be taken. But it seemed even the heavens had grown tired of waiting, and now they cleared the way forward.

Lucerys was dead.

There was that same horrible truth, that same dagger in Aelinor’s heart that wracked her body with such agony that she could scarcely breathe. Never again would he tease her, never again would they play cards or share in a biscuit stolen from the kitchens. Her dear baby brother, gone off to be a man, and he had been killed for it. She clutched her robe closer to her body, as if it might keep some of the heartache away. 

Aemond had killed her brother.

The knife in her heart twisted, and Aelinor took in a shuddering breath. What a fool she had been. She had let herself be swayed by Aemond’s pretty words, by his kisses and declarations of love. He had never been loyal to her, and indeed, could never have truly loved her if he would do this. Lucerys was his own blood, more more importantly, he had been hers. For Aemond to do this…it was as though he had driven the dagger into her back himself.

How they all must have laughed at her. Silly little Aelinor, trying to play princess while everyone around her prepared for violence. She had been blind, she had been weak. She had failed Luc, and that was something for which she would never be able to atone.

A mournful screech echoed across the cliff side, but Aelinor barely glanced to the side as Darrax soared into view. No doubt her father had requested that the dragons be set free to fly, their mere presence hopefully enough to dissuade an attack.

Darrax’s obsidian scales glinted as he danced through the sea spray, moving back and forth until his flanks glistened like dark pearls. He let out another cry, one sorrowful enough that Aelinor felt a pang of guilt. No doubt that he could feel her pain, and she had neglected him the past few days, barely able to motivate herself to eat or drink, let alone walk all the way to where he roosted.

Her window faced King’s Landing. Somewhere out there, too far for her eyes to see, Aemond waited. She wondered if he had been reprimanded, if anyone had discovered that he had aided in her escape. She had thought him so gallant, so overcome with love that he had been willing to risk everything to save her. But it had not been gallantry, and it certainly had not been any genuine affection for her. No, it had been guilt. Guilt that guided him to bribe the dragonkeepers and help her flee, guilt that he had felt as he embraced her and let her declare her love for him.

Or perhaps he was laughing too. Perhaps he had returned to the Keep and announced to all how he had slaughtered her little brother, and perhaps he and Aegon had shared a cup as they celebrated.

Though she tried to resist, her hand trailed to her throat, feeling the small sapphire pendant that hung there. She was weak. If she was strong, she would have hurled the pendant into the sea, she would have been eager to be rid of anything that reminded her of Aemond.

But for that one, foolish moment, she had believed that everything would be alright. She had let herself believe in his promises, believe that their love for each other would be enough. 

She had been wrong. She could not love this Prince Aemond. This man who everyone had been right to call a monster. For what else could he be? Aemond Kinslayer. Aemond One-Eye. The monster that everyone thought he was, that she had always sworn he could not be. No, he had proved himself to be exactly as horrible as everyone had said.

Aelinor tightened her grip on the pendant, feeling the sharp edge of the gem cut into the burned flesh of her hand. She wanted her Aemond back. The Aemond who had stood by her side through everything, the Aemond who could never have hurt anyone.

Or perhaps he had always been capable of this, and she was the only one foolish enough to be blind to it.

Gods, sometimes the rage cut so deeply, so suddenly that she felt her heart stutter in response. Aelinor could not recall ever being truly angry, but she now found that, in the moments where her grief and apathy faded, where she was no longer indifferent to the chaos around her or the devastation tearing her heart to shreds, that she was truly, deeply furious. Bitter. Betrayed.

And who did she have to turn to? Her mother, torn to pieces by her grief, who had to wage a war and lead a kingdom as she grieved her child? No, Aelinor could not burden her further. Her sisters, Rhaena who now mourned her betrothed, and Baela who tried to comfort her sister. No, they did not need her burdens either.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Aelinor found herself longing for Jacaerys’ company. They might fight, they might disagree more often than not, but he was her elder brother. She longed for the familiarity of his company. But he was gone too, off to the North to spread the word of his mother’s rule. Doing his part, while Aelinor rotted away in grief.

A knock sounded at her door, but Aelinor did not rise to answer it. A servant would not have knocked, and she hoped that whoever it was would be dissuaded.

But the door creaked open anyway, heavy footsteps entering the quiet of her chamber.

“Daughter.” Prince Daemon’s voice was surprisingly hesitant.

Aelinor tilted her chin toward him slightly, as much acknowledgement as she was prepared to offer.

She had not spoken to her father, not since he had told her of Aemond’s involvement in her brother’s murder. She knew that he prepared their war, that he was perhaps all that held their war effort together.

Did he grieve, she wondered. He had known Luc since they were very young, and while she found her father callous and cruel at times, she did not think that he was without humanity. Perhaps he managed his grief by preparing for an attack, by maintaining his indifference even as everyone else fell to pieces. It was admirable, she supposed, in a sort of cold, removed sort of way. Often she saw him and Caraxes patrolling the coast, a blood red wyrm weaving through the skies.

“I am going to ask you something, Daughter,” He began.

Aelinor turned slowly toward him, her hand still tightly clasping her pendant. She saw her father glance toward it, something undecipherable in his eyes.

“But first,” He stepped forward until he stood by the foot of her bed, only a few feet away from her seat in the window. “I need you to know that when you give your answer, you must mean it.”

Her mouth quirked into a wry smile, the movement hurting her face. “I am not prone to lying, Prince Daemon.”

“Not Prince Daemon,” Both of his hands rested on the hilt of his sword. He stared at the ground, and she saw his jaw clench as he spoke. “I am your father. I have always been your father, even when I have not been here for you to know it.”

Aelinor’s lips parted.

“And your mother…” He took a deep breath. “Your mother needs our strength. She needs us to be for her what she cannot be, in the moment of grief. She needs you to be her daughter, and she needs you to be my daughter.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She asked, even as understanding settled into her bones.

He looked up then, his violet eyes settling on hers, and she felt herself flinch with the familiarity of it. There was pain there, genuine suffering shining behind his eyes, even as he steeled his face into a mask of indifference. Was that so different from what she was doing? Or were they more similar than she would have liked to admit?

The answer to that question was already alarmingly clear.

Aelinor took a deep breath, her ribs creaking at the movement. “Ask your question, Father.”

A very long moment passed, so long that she wondered if he had thought better of it, if he was going to leave without ever asking what was on his mind.

But instead he held out a hand. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, an image that she found to be greatly at odds with who she knew her father to be. He stood before her, his hand outstretched, his palm up, waiting for her. 

“I need my daughter.” Daemon said. “And I need her to be a dragon.”

Aelinor felt the familiar stoke of rage in her heart. How dare he ask this of her? How dare he ask her to withdraw from her grief? It was cruel, it was unkind. She was not him, she was not…

Or was she?

Already she felt the veil of grief slipping away, some scorching and unfamiliar falling into its place. Her family needed her. Her father needed her. Her mother…she needed to do whatever it took to protect her mother.

Aelinor’s hand tightened on the pendant, yanking the chain from her neck in one brutal movement. With the flick of her wrist she tossed it to the ground, watching it skitter under her bed and out of sight.

She reached forward, taking her father’s hand in her own. He did not flinch from the ruined skin of her palm, instead tightening his fingers into hers with a tenderness that nearly disarmed her.

But she would not be disarmed anymore. She was Aelinor Velaryon, daughter of the rightful queen, and she would not be weak anymore.

“What do you need?” She asked.

[mysmistree]

So I've been playing The Great Ace Attorney, which is one of the newer games by Capcom that features the appearance of The Great Detective, Sherlock Holmes. (Annoyingly named Herlock Sholmes since this game came out before he was fully copyright free.) And I was trying to figure out what year the game took place in. I heard one character, Mael Strongheart, mention the "Great Exhibition", and immediately it hit me that he was talking about the World's Fair. But, you see, the World's Fair was only hosted in London twice. 1851, and 1862. The first Sherlock Holmes story, A Study In Scarlet, was published in 1887. "Oh, well. Guess they shifted one forward or one back." I figured. Except, hold on. Mael Stronghart mentions that he wants to make "Paris' World's Fair look like a toy shop." So, the World's Fair isn't new, and it's been hosted in France before? The first time France hosted the World's Fair was in 1855, and was the only other host before the UK's last fair. And the timing would still be mis-labeled. Except. Except.

On the Wikipedia page, I went searching for the World's Fair which presented the Eiffel Tower, as I was wondering if it would be this one. The Eiffel Tower was actually presented in 1889. Okay, coolio. Technically after the first Holmes story, but, this Exhibition was hosted in Paris, France. Not London, England. But there's another exception. In the 1889 World's Fair, France had the French Revolution on their minds. And so they themed the Fair around Revolution and Anti-Monarchy ideals. And so, quite a few countries chose to boycott the exhibition instead. And would you be surprised, that one of the groups on that list was the United Kingdom? This would line up quite perfectly with the events of the game. In 1887, Sherlock Holmes comes into existence with the publication of A Study In Scarlet, which in the canon of The Great Ace Attorney, is the first publication of his adventures. In 1889, Paris, France hosts the World's Faire, titled the Exposition Universelle.

The United Kingdom, a monarchy, boycotts this exhibition because it is anti-monarchy. That year or later, they decide, in TGAA, to host their own exhibition, to outshine the exhibition in which Paris dominated with their presentation of the Eiffel Tower, a feat of modern architecture.

Because Holmes is a prominent character in the game, he talks at times about the very stories he appears in, and references them as "Short stories". The very first short story to feature Holmes was A Scandal in Bohemia, published 1891. And within the events of the games, there are cases which strongly resemble: The Red-Headed League,

The Man with the Twisted Lip,

The Adventure of the Speckled Band,

and hints to a few others. The Red-Headed League is the earliest of these to occur, and being published in 1891, makes 1891 the latest possible year the events of TGAA could have occurred. Therefore!

I put it to you, dear reader, That the events of The Great Ace Attorney, published by Capcom Begin and occur throughout the year of 1891! And I probably could've avoided ALL of the World's Fair talk, but WHERE is the fun in that??

(Picture from this article: https://www.pcgamesn.com/the-great-ace-attorney-chronicles/pc-sherlock-holmes)

[mid0khan]

Dreamling Week 2024, day 1

First time I participate in something like that, I can't wait to show you what I did for each day! Thanks to @mr-sadman for the prompts ^^

Prompt: Indulgence

Title: Just a Weekend

Summary: Dream and Hob had a fight. They will have to talk it through (and Dream can learn that the world won't end if he isn't workign 24/7, as a treat). (1,781 words, no TW)

Read on AO3:

It had all started with a stupid fight.

Look, Hob knew that Morpheus had responsibilities, and pretty important ones. He knew, when they started dating, that they wouldn’t see each other as often as they could if they were both humans. He knew Dream was doing his best, but his duties kept him away from the Waking World more often than not, and Hob couldn’t spend too much time in the Dreaming either (Morpheus had explained something about body modifications and compatibility with the Waking World, Hob didn’t understand everything but he had understood the result of him staying too long in his boyfriend’s kingdom would be Very Bad).

Still, their anniversary was just around the corner and Hob had wanted to make it really special; which is why he had asked Morpheus if maybe he could spend a whole week-end in the Waking World, or at least be there when Hob would be awake. Which Morpheus had interpreted as Hob trying to keep him from his function. Hob had tried to fix the misunderstanding but had quickly grown frustrated with Dream and it had soon escalated to a full-blown screaming match. Morpheus had stormed off in a dramatic cloud of sand, and Hob had spent the rest of the afternoon angrily sweeping his living room so it wouldn’t look like an indoor desert anymore.

It had happened three days ago. Hob’s anger had run its course, and now he only felt disappointed. And a bit worried, since Morpheus hadn’t come back since their fight.

Okay, maybe a lot worried. It all felt a bit too much like 1889 for his comfort.

Which is why he almost cried in relief when Matthew knocked on his window this evening.

Hob rushed to open the window and let the soaking wet raven inside. He barely had time to greet his friend than Matthew was flapping an accusatory wing at him, spraying him in the process.

 “I know it’s none of my business, except I’m the one who had to work in a fucking hurricane because the Boss has spent the last days in a terrible mood so it is in fact my business. What happened?”

Hob sighed. “We had a fight.”

“No shit,” Matthew deadpanned. Hob glared at him. “Sorry sorry. What did you fight about?”

“I asked him to stay a few days in the Waking World for our anniversary. It’s next week. But he took that as me trying to keep him from his work, and he got all defensive, and I grew frustrated, and we ended up screaming at each other…”

“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight. Everyone in the Dreaming has been miserable for the last three days and finding a dry place in the realm has become Mission: Impossible because you guys couldn’t talk to each other?” Hob winced apologetically, and the raven let out an indignant caw. “You better fix this Gadling.”

“I can’t fix it alone you know; it takes two to make a couple.”

“I know but I’m not risking to anger a being with cosmical power who’s already in a bad mood.”

“Fair,” Hob sighed. “Listen, I’d like to fix it, I don’t like it when we’re angry at each other, but I can’t do anything if he refuses to see me.”

“That’s it. When you’re asleep tonight I’m dragging you to the castle and you two will talk it through like adults.”

 “What happened to not angering a being of cosmical power?”

“You’ll be the one facing him, not me,” Matthew shrugged.

“You’re such a good friend,” Hob teased.

“Don’t worry, you can’t die,” the raven retorted. Hob rolled his eyes and Matthew stuck his tongue out at him good-naturedly.

When Hob fell asleep this night, he barely had time to register what his dream was about before the raven pulled him into the Dreaming’s throne room. Hob cursed as he was immediately drenched, rain falling from the ceiling in literal waterfalls. Outside, he could hear the wind screaming, rattling the painted windows in their frames.

“I thought you were exaggerating when you said a hurricane!” Hob yelled to be heard against the storm as Matthew dragged him out of the room.

According to the raven, Morpheus had spent the last three days sulking in his quarters. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining in the hallways of the castle, so they manage to travel through the corridors without too much discomfort; it wasn’t dry though, as water was seeping from the walls, pooling on the tiles in puddles that Hob had to avoid carefully lest he ended up with wet feet.

“I’m surprised Mervyn’s crew isn’t fixing the castle,” he commented as they passed waterlogged paintings.

“The whole maintenance force has been mobilised in the library,” Matthew answered. “Water everywhere! I had never seen Lucienne so angry; the Boss is in for an earful when everything’s back to normal.”

When they finally arrived in front of Morpheus’ quarters, Hob’s feet were wet anyway. Matthew left him in front of the black door with a last “good luck” before flying away. Hob took a fortifying breath before entering his boyfriend’s bedroom.

Hob knew the place; him and Dream had spent some (very memorable) nights there together, so he didn’t take time to admire the finely sculpted furniture, the high ceilings, or the sheets so dark they would have made Anish Kapoor cry. He quickly scanned the room, and when he didn’t find Morpheus, he crossed the bedroom toward its balcony.

Just as he had expected, Dream was there, standing in the rain, wearing a robe so thin it was almost see-through, the wet material sticking to his skin.

“Morpheus?” Hob called, and the Endless flinched. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay in the rain like that.”

“I can’t get sick,” Dream answered. Yet he walked back inside the room, which Hob took like a small victory. Every time the immortal saw his beloved in his own realm, he was baffled anew by how otherworldly the Endless looked there. He did too in the Waking World, to some degree, but it was nothing compared to how Dream looked in his home. His body was slimmer, taller, more emaciated and more muscular at the same time, his skin so white it was almost luminous. His eyes, usually an impossible shade of blue, were completely black with swirling nebulas in place of a pupil. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful. Hob loved every aspect of him.

“I missed you,” he said softy. Dream answered with a pout, but a smile creeped on his lips all the same.

“…I missed you too.”

“Can we talk about our fight?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, but we will have to do it at some point.”

“I know,” Morpheus sighed. He sat on his bed, hugging his legs against his chest nervously. “Let us talk then.”

“Can I sit next to you?” When Dream nodded, Hob climbed on the bed with him. He tentatively took Morpheus’ hand in his own, and when the Endless didn’t push him away, he squeezed it lightly. He knew how hard those discussions always were for Dream.

“Are you angry at me?”

“I was a bit at first. I’m not anymore.” Morpheus let out a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry for screaming at you, love. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I apologize for leaving abruptly. And for the sand. It was spiteful of me.”

“You’re all forgiven. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it again, though. I was worried.”

“I will try my best.” They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Hob softly rubbing circles on Dream’s hand with his thumb. “… There is something else I should apologize for,” the Endless eventually whispered, avoiding Hob’s confused look. “I am entirely responsible for our argument.”

“That’s not true, I could have explained myself better…”

“I understood what you were trying to say perfectly well the first time, I just pretended not to.”

“If you didn’t want to spend the weekend with me you could have simply said so,” Hob said, hoping he didn’t sound too hurt by the idea.

“But I want to!”

“Then why did you-” The immortal realized he had raised his voice, and stopped, forcing himself to take a few calming breaths. “Love, I need you to explain why you did that.”

Morpheus’ form shrunk as he turned away from Hob without letting go of his hand.

“It was… easier to blame you rather than myself.”

Hob softened. Dream had made a lot of progress since they had started dating when it came to talking about his feelings, but he still struggled often. It didn’t help that he had literal eons of issues to unpack.

“What do you blame yourself for?”

“I shouldn’t want to be away for so long. I already left my realm for a whole century-”

“Against your will,” Hob chimed in.

“-and now I want to leave again? Spend two whole days in the Waking World?” Morpheus continued like he hadn’t hear him. “I was made to serve my function. I shouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“Dream, we talked about this. You’re allowed to want things outside of your job.”

“It’s not my job, it’s-”

“I know; that’s not the important part of what I was saying. Let’s try something else: your siblings, do they like things outside of their function?”

“Destiny doesn’t.”

“And he looks absolutely miserable if you ask me. What about Death?”

“… She likes apples?”

“Does it make her bad at what she does?”

“Of course not! She accomplishes her duties admirably,” Dream exclaimed, turning back toward Hob. The immortal took his face in his hands, trying to be the most convincing he could be.

“See? It’s okay to have likes and wants outside of your function.”

“But leaving for two days? What if something happens and I’m not there?”

“I’m sure Lucienne can manage. And Matthew can come fetch you if you’re absolutely needed here.” Morpheus still seemed doubtful. Hob sighed. “It’s okay if you don’t think leaving for to days is a good idea. But I want you to understand that you can let yourself have things sometimes. Constantly depriving yourself is not good for you, and it won’t make you better at your work.”

“It is a habit that will be hard to break.”

“I know. But I’ll be here to help you.”

“… I think I would like to spend the weekend with you. But I will come back to the Dreaming when you will sleep, just to make sure everything is alright.”

Hob smiled. “Sounds perfect love.”

Outside, the sun shone for the first time in three days.

[stephenist]

Construction of pavilions next to the Eiffel Tower for the 1889 World's Fair in Paris *1

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- Fantasy AU

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

A Blaze In The Dark by @the-lonelybarricade

On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

All Of The Girls You've Loved Before by @separatist-apologist

I want to teach you how forever feels

OR:

That time Elain was a witch and Lucien was condemned to hunt her down

I Am Not A Woman, I'm A God by @separatist-apologist

Elain Archeron only wants revenge on the man who jilted her and turned her village against her. On the Autumn Equinox, she decides to summon a demon and have her vengeance before leaving that village-and the life she'd once hoped for- behind. What comes for Elain is no demon. An ancient God of Chaos rises, binding her life to his. And when he speaks, he makes the most terrifying claim she's ever heard.

He says she's his wife.

Burnished Gold by @wilde-knight

Should I call you that, then?” She quirked her head. His noble brows curved in confusion.  “Err–call me what?” he replied, still trying to find his way over the path of their stumbling first encounter. “Well, farmboy, of course,” she replied with the sly hint of a smile he’d treasure until his dying day. “As you wish,” was his only reply.

---

An Elucien Fairy tale inspired by A Princess Bride

Pride and Prythian by MANGo

Regency Era Elucien Inspired By Bridgerton

After bumping into a beautiful woman at the seasons first ball, Lucien Vanserra has spent every day since trying to track this mystery woman down. All the while his best friend is making calls on the Archeron house, attempting to woo the youngest daughter - and all is recorded in the daily editions of Lady Whistledown

A Tale of Nymphs by @missarcheron

Elain is a nymph of spring, spreading beauty and happiness wherever she goes. Lucien is the Lord of Death, whose realm is, well- dying. When he meets Elain, he knows he will need her to save his court- and perhaps for some other things as well…

Prythian's Fantasia by @vulpes-fennec

It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Golden by @separatist-apologist

I once believed love would burning red. But it's golden.

To save his people, Lucien Vanserra will marry his most hated enemy.

But to love her? Well, that's another thing entirely

This Fire Won't Burn Me by @separatist-apologist

Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Your Heart, Beating Through Stone by @ofduskanddreams

An upstanding young woman from a disgraced family, Elain Archeron takes a position as a governess to avoid an unwelcome arranged marriage. She didn't know what to expect when she arrived at the Forest House but finds herself enchanted by her pupil Charlotte Vanserra, the only child of the Duke Eris Vanserra and his late wife, and her grandmother Serafina, the Dowager Duchess. Just as Elain begins to feel like she has a place in the world, everything changes.

Every summer, Lord Lucien Vanserra and his brothers return to their childhood home for holiday. You would not believe his surprise when he arrived early and found Elain Archeron, the girl he'd loved for half of his life, sitting in his chair at the breakfast table. When Lucien finally works up the nerve to speak to the woman again, a dangerous situation arises that may bind the two in ways neither of them anticipated.

They Are The Hunters, We Are The Foxes by @the-lonelybarricade

Nesta had been very firm in her instruction not to stray from the path. The path was safe—sprinkled with iron dust every morning by the mercenaries who protected their villages. But Elain had spied the blackberries, plump and ripe for the taking, if only because no sensible human would have dared. Ordinarily, Elain wouldn’t have. Too terrified of the fae and what she heard they did to young, pretty human girls like herself. But today, Elain was to be married. Even facing the woods was less daunting than that. - Elucien Little Red Riding Hood AU

Ex Luna Scientia by @kingofsummer93

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Flicker in the Night by @ablogofsapphicpanic

Elain is sure that Graysen is the man she's going to spend the rest of her life with. He's everything she could have hoped, and has been caring and kind to her in a time when her family is looked down upon after her younger sister, Feyre, disappeared over the Wall separating them from the land beyond it three years ago. But when reveals that he intends to marry someone else for the dowry she can offer, she desperately claims she will retrieve a star that they saw fall on the other side of the Wall and use that for her dowry. He accepts, but she only has a week to retrieve it. But how hard can it be to get a rock? Instead of a rock or a gem, though, she finds a man. But she refuses to let that get in the way of true love. The only problem is transporting a mouthy, uncooperative star all the way across Prythian and back over the Wall in time to meet Graysen and gain his hand, and all of the roadblocks that come with that.

never shall we die by @howlingcaptaincommando

One sunlit morning, the Archeron sisters are kidnapped from their ship by the Pirate Lord Rhysand, his spymaster, and his warlord — why, and what he wants from them, they don’t know. But they are soon to find out.

Twist of Fate by @damedechance

After an ill-fated night that alters Elain Archeron's friendship with Lucien Vanserra, Prince of Autumn, forever, Elain struggles to regain any semblance of civility with her childhood friend and crush.

You Are Not The Kind Of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying The Wrong Girl) by @c-e-d-dreamer

With her season and herself ruined thanks to her older sister's lover, Elain Archeron decides she's finally going to take what she wants.

ivy game by @thelovelymadone

Beron wants Lucien back in his court and intends to reinstate him in Autumn, willing or not. The Night Court tells Elain to accept the bond or face the consequences by the end of the day. Lucien is told by the Night Court that Elain intends to break the bond so the war between Autumn and Night Court is prevented. What is fact? In a lavender field, a few bargains are made. What comes before a storm? Calm.

[dailyoverview]

The planned city of La Plata — the capital city of the Province of Buenos Aires, Argentina — is characterized by its strict, square grid pattern. At the 1889 World’s Fair in Paris, the new city was awarded two gold medals in the categories “City of the Future” and “Better Performance Built.” La Plata has a population of around 772,000 people.

-34.921111°, -57.954444°

Source imagery: Maxar

[worldhistoryfacts]

Like many world’s fairs, the 1889 expo tried to give attendees a taste of cultures around the world. One of the most popular attractions was the “Cairo Street,” where people could experience some of the sights, sounds, and tastes of Egypt:

It was an age of imperialism, which meant that France used the fair as an opportunity to trumpet its conquests. A pavilion represented each French colony, and visitors watched performances of “native cultures,” like this one representing French Indochina:

{Buy me a coffee} {WHF} {Medium} {Looking Through the Past}

Much, much more on the 1889 world's fair here: