#described him to the party and all and whatever. but then i saw this art and it got me thinking

[baellielurk]

Pssst. Hi! Commissioner of the Strahd x Alek piece here! I saw your tags about Alek’s hair color. I’m pretty sure we as a fanbase collectively decided that he was blonde because Godfrey Gwilym is blonde and hey! Same family. 😂

my best guess was just that of course the homoerotic bestie of the black haired emo guy is gonna be blonde in a lot of heads but the family thing makes actual sense, with logic and the like. huh

[neo-novaa]

bitter

*ੈ✩ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ethan landry x reader

*ੈ✩ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: drunk confessions, .2 seconds of angst, no spoilers :)

*ੈ✩ 𝐚/𝐧: part 1 of 2!! i swear i promise, i pinkie promise that part 2 will come out today

you don’t get jealous, ever. 

it was your (albeit private ) defining feature. you were content with everything you had— no, beyond content: you were happy. you didn’t want anything else because you didn’t need anything else. you had a good family, enough money to keep you from debt, good friends, and even better academics. 

so imagine your surprise when you get that bitter feeling boiling in your stomach at the sight of your “friend,” ethan landry, eyeing another girl. 

you’re being very liberal with the term “friend,” but it’s only because you can’t think of a word to describe someone you’d been hanging out with for a few months, talking and treating them as a friend, but going home and imagining what it’d be like to fuck them senseless.

you’d probably call it a crush, but “friend” sounded much less embarrassing. 

but it’s all going on at some stupid party for some stupid celebration you couldn’t care less about; all you wanted to do was get drunk enough to barely avoid a hangover. you went with your small group of friends, and eventually forced yourself to socialize once you had some juice in your system. 

and it was when you were talking to some pretty girl from your liberal arts class when you saw him: leaning against the wall, red solo cup in hand, eyes stuck on a girl in a halter top with patterned shorts to match— a girl standing right across from you. 

and maybe it was something in the way his fingers were tapping on the plastic cup, or the twitching of his knee, or the way that he just refused take his fucking eyes off of her—

it set you off. 

suddenly you found yourself at a table full of cheap bottles of booze, and your plastic cup was full, brimming with whatever concoction of cheap seltzer and even cheaper tequila you could find. soon enough, you were weaving and dodging your way through the sweaty masses to try and find an exit.

finally, after eons (three minutes) of searching, you managed to find yourself a door, and relished in the early spring chill that hit your skin.

you tried to drink and forget, seeing as though that was the whole reason you came out here. but no matter how much jungle juice you downed, you found your mind wandering back to him.

you couldn’t stop thinking about how ethan refused to look at anyone but her, how even when people greeted him, he waved them off without even looking at them. and you couldn’t stop thinking about the way she was dancing, as if she was born to do so, and how he wouldn’t stop fucking staring at her.

you weren’t jealous— you didn’t get jealous. this wasn’t jealousy, it was just…

just what, envy? envious of what? of some dork you’ve grown particularly fond of eyeing some random girl at this stupid frat party? of the guy you’ve been harboring a crush on for months staring at a girl he didn’t even know? of ethan landry, the boy you hadn’t stopped thinking of for months, thinking about anyone but you?

no, you weren’t envious. what could you possibly be envious of?

“what are you doing out here?”

you jump at ethans voice, beginning to feel particularly sluggish— when did your cup get so light? as a matter of fact, when did it get empty?

“i could ask you the same thing,” you say, finding it increasingly difficult to formulate words. 

“it got too sweaty and crowded in there,” he sits down next to you, bringing his arms close to his torso at the sudden cold breeze. “i always forget how much i hate coming to these parties.”

“then why do you keep coming?” you raise the cup to your lips, frowning when you remember its lack of contents. 

he doesn’t say anything.

“is it because of a girl?” you see him tense from the corner of your vision, however foggy it may be. 

ethans shaking his head. “what makes you say that?”

you shrug, carefully placing the cup by your feet. “i saw you looking at her,” his shoulders drop, and you can’t help but feel something in your chest drop too. “she’s really pretty, i think i have a few classes with her.”

“i really don’t know what you’re talking about.” he feigns ignorance, the coward.

“come on ethan, don’t pretend to be stupid, i know you’re smarter than that.” a chill runs down your spine, you tell yourself its not from the sudden realization of your close proximity to him, but instead because of the cool air around you. 

“wait, are you…” he turns to you. “are you jealous?”

you scoff. “jealous? i don’t get jealous e—than,” you hiccup between the syllables of his name.

“you know, i have a tendency to misread situations, but you…” he pauses to take a dramatic breath. “you seem really jealous.”

“okay, sure but…why would i be jealous, hm? it’s not like i make the rules on what girls you can and can’t look at.” you’re staring into his eyes. those wonderful, beautiful, adjective-ful eyes that make you want to start screaming and shaking and crying and throwing up. 

you can’t stop looking at his eyes, and you can feel your gaze flitting between the two.  

you want ethan to quip back with something sharp and cleaver, but he doesn’t. he just turns away from you, shrugs, and keeps on nursing the drink in his hand. 

for a moment, you feel guilty, another feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while. maybe that made you a good person, or maybe that just made you a socially inept asshole. 

you don’t know why you feel guilty, but you suspect it has something to do with how silent ethan is, or how his brows are leaning with regret, or how his shoulder are slumped much more than they were a second ago. 

“i wasn’t looking at her,” ethan mutters, breaking your shared silence. “i was…looking at someone else.”

you want to curse him out because, really, why did it matter if he was looking at another girl? it was someone who wasn’t you, and that’s all that mattered. 

“i don’t care ethan, it’s not that serious—” you cut yourself off when you turn to him, frozen in how quickly you drown in his puppy dog eyes. 

and then it hits you. 

he wasn’t looking at that girl, he was looking at someone else.

he was looking— 

“at you.”

oh.

oh.

you want to say something, you really do. in any other situation, if it played out exactly like this but minus the alcohol, you’d be able to come up with some poetic ass speech about love and devotion and life—

but you’re drunk, and you can’t think. you don’t want to think. 

so instead, you act. 

instead, you kiss him. 

your hands are grasping at his shirt and you’re kissing him hard. you don’t care if it’s sloppy or bad, you just care that you’re kissing him.

and, obviously, ethan cares too. 

because in a moment, one of his hands are brushing the crook of your neck, and his other arm is shaking around your waist. you know your breath tastes like black cherry white claw and dollar store tequila, but with the way ethan was kissing you, it was as if you were the best thing he’d ever had in his life.

it’s like he’s starving— as if he’s been waiting for this for months. and you wonder, passively, if he’d been pining for you all this time as well. you want to ask him, but asking him would mean you’d have to stop kissing him, and at this point you’d rather die than have that happen. 

so you’re quick to pull yourself onto his lap, stradding one of his thighs. you’ve just started to work with the hem of his shirt and god just feeling his v-line makes you dizzy— but ethan pulls away, and you feel your jaw slack at the sight of his lust-blown pupils and spit-kissed lips.

“as much as i want this to happen,” you note how heavy he’s breathing. “i really wouldn’t want to have sex with you on the front steps of a house party.”

you’re standing up with a curt nod, pulling ethan by the hand as you back up.

“also my room is like, twelve minutes away—”

“my house is just down the block, and my roommates are gone for the weekend.”

ethan glances towards the direction that you gestured in, and nearly trips over his shoes as you start walking towards it. 

“yeah, that actually sounds perfect.” 

all the way home, neither one of you can stop imagining what it’s going to be like to get fucked senseless.

[sassyfrassboss]

I have always thought that Meghan's pre- arriage "everyone loves classy" PR was as much aimed towards Harry as it was the public.

She presented herself as the ultimate fun loving, carefree, intelligent, smart, enterpreneur, business woman world traveler career woman millionaire who was also a domestic goddess, spiritual, go getter. These are words that Harry has used to describe her, at some point or other.

I believe a lot of what Harry initially got told about her, through her, was based off of her IG page, Tig blogs, small scale media presence. It must have been pretty easy for her to leave a story and present a certain personality based on pictures, cutsie videos and glam photoshoots. It's basically what she did on a more public scale with her PR as well.

But also, since Harry was pretty dumb, desperate for a partner he could show off to the world and his family, and they were pretty much in a long distance, he would have bought whatever she sold to him. His cosseted up bringing ensured he lacked the street smarts to call someone, especially such a confident outgoing woman out on her bullshit. What she presented to him was his version of "normal" everyday life, but it was also the right amount of adventurous, fun, glam, celebrity lifestyle which he could finally embrace.

Back in the UK, noone treated him a special of a celebrity. His family, his cousins, his friends were all low-key. But he had started believing his own PR and thought of himself as somewhat of a hunk, sought after bachelor celebrity. His friends would have laughed in his face if he started acting like he enjoyed the red carpet and Hollywood parties. But here, with her, he could enjoy that because it was her thing. She was seemingly accommodating him in her super celeb highflyer lifestyle.

He was being conned and he didn't know it.

Which is why it was such a shock to him Everytime she started collapsing on the floor in hysterics because he thought he broke her. So he had to play the hero and fix it for her. So this whole time, and till date maybe, he's been thinking he made all these decisions as a last resort, because he had no choice, but he was being backed into a corner so expertly that he saw no other option that to do what he did in the way did.

He thought that sudden, cataclysmic changes in her personality- from the art loving accomplished fun loving millionaire a complished actress supermodel best effortless classy royal to bitter, resentful hyper scared underconfident depressed person - was his doing. But actually, it was just Meghan finally being what she always was, and peeling back her own layers slowly and methodically so as not to scare him away.

What's hilarious is that while she was conning him, he was also being insidious and hiding his true self from her. She was too blinded by her hubris to see that. And she got hoodwinked too.

She never factored in Harry's special kind of sociopathy and darkness. Which is the biggest reason she (they are) is now failing.

But that's for another Ted talk, I guess, so I'll stop now and save that for later.

So I am going to break this down by paragraph.

I have always thought that Meghan's pre- arriage "everyone loves classy" PR was as much aimed towards Harry as it was the public.

She presented herself as the ultimate fun loving, carefree, intelligent, smart, entrepreneur, business woman world traveler career woman millionaire who was also a domestic goddess, spiritual, go getter. These are words that Harry has used to describe her, at some point or other.

Her “everyone loves classy” PR was 100% aimed at Harry. She had to market herself to him as a future Duchess/Princess but also a loving and caring wife. I also believe she was aiming this directly at the UK public and his family, but mostly the UK public. Her PR knew that if she didn’t have the backing of the UK public there is no way that the family would get behind their relationship. Also, she was marketing herself as the opposite of Catherine. Right around this time there were a ton of anti-Kate articles being published. About how she was too shy, not a hard worker, had a nanny, she didn’t know how to dress or photograph well, she wasn’t a kind and loving DIL to Charles, she was TOO involved with her family, she didn’t like horses, she had nothing in common with William – though Meghan had LOTS in common with William, she wasn’t well-educated, she wasn’t posh enough, she only had a degree in Art History, she never had a real job, she waited around for William to propose,…you get the idea. From November 2016 onwards we were saturated with articles about how Meghan was much better Duchess/Princess of Wales material.

I believe a lot of what Harry initially got told about her, through her, was based off of her IG page, Tig blogs, small scale media presence. It must have been pretty easy for her to leave a story and present a certain personality based on pictures, cutsie videos and glam photoshoots. It's basically what she did on a more public scale with her PR as well.

I will never forget the “cutsie” video of her eating the raspberries off her fingers. Also, it was in Bower’s book I believe that Meghan selected certain photos off of her IG for her friend to use to show Harry. She definitely was trying to get him hooked on her “sexiness” and then reel him in with her “carefree, loving, humanitarian” persona. We also know that they communicated thru IG often so from June 2016 onwards we can say for sure that her IG account and Tig blog were totally geared towards Harry and getting his attention and keeping it.

But also, since Harry was pretty dumb, desperate for a partner he could show off to the world and his family, and they were pretty much in a long distance, he would have bought whatever she sold to him. His cosseted up bringing ensured he lacked the street smarts to call someone, especially such a confident outgoing woman out on her bullshit. What she presented to him was his version of "normal" everyday life, but it was also the right amount of adventurous, fun, glam, celebrity lifestyle which he could finally embrace.

Exactly. Even though Harry now claims he hated the attention we all know he secretly loved being in the spotlight. His bitterness of George being born and then William taking on more of a Crown Prince role leaving Harry obsolete has been made clear through all of his interviews and his book. Harry wanted to be the center of attention so when he saw the “red carpet appearances” and fashion shoots of Meghan he thought he was finally getting someone who could make him more popular and more celebrity-like. Also, think of how easy it is to reinvent yourself when you aren’t faced with people from your past interfering in your relationship or you having to actually be around the person day to day. Meghan was totally able to tell Harry whatever she wanted because by this point, anyone who could truly tell him exactly who she was had been kicked out of her life long before.

Back in the UK, no one treated him a special of a celebrity. His family, his cousins, his friends were all low-key. But he had started believing his own PR and thought of himself as somewhat of a hunk, sought after bachelor celebrity. His friends would have laughed in his face if he started acting like he enjoyed the red carpet and Hollywood parties. But here, with her, he could enjoy that because it was her thing. She was seemingly accommodating him in her super celeb highflyer lifestyle.

He was being conned and he didn't know it.

Harry 100% believed his own hype. He totally bought into the “Hero Harry” PR campaign that ELF put out there…I mean we see it even now that Harry thinks he deserves special treatment because he served in the military. Well so did my brother who actually put his life on the line more than once and he doesn’t even use his military discount. What is hysterical is that his impression she was some sort of Hollywood superstar makes it clear he has no real knowledge of the workings of the world. He kept saying how impressed his family was by the amazing woman who was so accomplished and famous but 99.95% of the world had zero idea of who she was. What I find extremely telling is that he grew up with a certain set of people, women who had been raised in noble families and none of them wanted anything to do with him…it took a very long distance relationship with a hustler to tie him down.

Which is why it was such a shock to him every time she started collapsing on the floor in hysterics because he thought he broke her. So he had to play the hero and fix it for her. So this whole time, and till date maybe, he's been thinking he made all these decisions as a last resort, because he had no choice, but he was being backed into a corner so expertly that he saw no other option that to do what he did in the way did.

Meghan totally fed into Harry’s white knight complex. We know that Harry felt he could have done something to save his mother and Meghan feasted on that like a vulture. I do think that a lot of what he has done has been of his own violation though. Meghan might have nurtured the idea but I for a while have felt that Harry has always wanted to really bash his family and the press and he now has his opening.

He thought that sudden, cataclysmic changes in her personality- from the art loving accomplished fun loving millionaire accomplished actress supermodel best effortless classy royal to bitter, resentful hyper scared underconfident depressed person - was his doing. But actually, it was just Meghan finally being what she always was, and peeling back her own layers slowly and methodically so as not to scare him away.

You know when you get into a relationship and you always try to portray the best version of yourself and then slowly reveal your flaws? Like, maybe you aren’t the best housekeeper or you can’t cook to save your life…well Meghan portrayed herself as a victim and Diana 2.0. The thing is though, Diana was VERY prone to emotional outbursts and crying tirades so this is something familiar to Harry. It probably triggered him even more than her being completely in control of her emotions because Harry had witnessed his mother more than once sobbing on the floor during his childhood so Meghan sobbing on the floor triggered his white knight complex. What I think caught Harry by surprise, at first, was Meghan’s bullying tactics. That is one aspect of her personality she had a hard time suppressing. She was rude to anyone she saw as beneath her and at first he probably had issues with that but then she convinced him it was because she was bi-racial or that people were jealous of her.

What's hilarious is that while she was conning him, he was also being insidious and hiding his true self from her. She was too blinded by her hubris to see that. And she got hoodwinked too.

So I don’t know if you watched the Netflix series but it is SO clear that Meghan has him completely hoodwinked. By her saying in the series that she had no idea she had to curtsy to The Queen (Yeah okay sure) that she knew nothing of the Royals. Or when she was full on caught out lying during her lawsuit she blamed HER LYING and getting CAUGHT on William! And Harry bought it!

She never factored in Harry's special kind of sociopathy and darkness. Which is the biggest reason she (they are) is now failing.

She also never factored in him crashing and burning in popularity. Meghan truly thought that the heir to the throne should be determined by popularity and not birthright. So when they couldn’t convince the BRF to hand the keys to the castle over to Meghan and Harry she was pissed. I think she also counted on his popularity making her more important that Catherine in the hierarchy. The based all of their goals and ambitions on Harry’s popularity and not once did they take into account that the BRF would stick to the script. Once Harry started being told “No” for once in his life they started imploding and I think that is when Harry started to turn…up till that point he had been busy covering for her but now that he was going to be left out in the cold is when I think she truly got an idea of just what type of NARC he is.

But that's for another Ted talk, I guess, so I'll stop now and save that for later.

CAN’T WAIT!!!

[asparklethatisblue]

Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating + Fitzier 👀

yee!

“You remember Alan, from the charity fundraiser last month? He’s been asking if he’ll see you at the party tonight.”

James looked up from his reflection in the mirror, where he’d painstakingly been trying to make a french braid look neat. Dundy was leaning against the doorway of his bedroom, ready to go and just watching James finish up. He frowned, sorting through any recent business encounters he’d had.

“The Canadian?”

Dundy grinned.

“Exactly the one. You’ve gotten along so well, I’m surprised it took this long.”

James returned his attention to the braid, already only half listening.

“I didn’t think we had any common acquaintances.”

“Graham goes to the same gym. And I have it on good authority that he’s ripped.”

James saw Dundy wink at him through the reflection as he tucked bobby pins into his hair. He hummed non committedly.

“So you know you’ll have something rock hard to grind against if you get it on after the party.”

James paused.

“What?”

“Come on Jas, when was the last time you hooked up with anyone? This dry spell can’t be good for your psyche.”

“What dry spell?” James asked, finally turning in his chair to stare at Dundy. “I’m half moved in with Francis, didn’t I tell you that?”

Dundy rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah right. I have eyes, there’s no way you’re genuinely getting anything out of whatever it is you two tell people you do.”

James stared at him. Dundy stared back, his grin not dropping, not waving it off and cracking a joke about James being boring and settling down and this being a tease. Was he being serious?

“I’m getting everything I need and more out of that relationship,” James said, his voice clipped.

Dundy snorted and shrugged.

“Of course you do. Come on then, John’s probably outside with the car by now. And I’m sure poor Alan will be beside himself if we’re too fashionably late.”

James watched him go and turned to look back into the mirror. The man looking back at him was far less happy and at ease than he’d been a mere five minutes ago. The braid was perfect, but suddenly James felt the need to rip out the pins and run his hands through his hair until there was nothing artful about the mess at all.

Had his friends really been so wilfully blind? Yes of course they barely saw Francis, despite working in the same office building . He never took Francis to the same places his friends went, he never posted tons of pictures of his hot new date when he and Francis took long walks by the river. He didn’t describe in detail what had been going on, didn’t spin tales of his romantic adventures to his friends. It hadn’t felt appropriate to do so about a man that was more or less their boss now.

But Dundy rolled his eyes when James spoke of Francis in any way that didn’t involve work or gossip. And hadn’t Graham been mentioning men he knew more often, men that his friends once would have tried to set him up with? Charles and John both talked about dating apps or bars and looked at James as if he cared. Had none of them taken him seriously this entire time?

James’ phone buzzed and he picked it up reluctantly. The little string of hearts in the contact name immediately softened his expression, and he eagerly opened the message.

“Hpe you have fun tinight 😘”

The phone buzzed again.

“Casserelo in the fridge if yiu come home late”

James felt his lips twitch and replied with a few heart emojis. 

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home and join Francis in the house that he’d half moved into already. Maybe they’d watch some old movie, or Francis would read a book while James scrolled on his phone. Francis would pet his hair in the way James loved, and maybe he’d take him to bed, kissing him until he was breathless and making him cry out in pleasure in ways no overly fit gym bro from any old party could hope to achieve. And then, of course, Francis would kiss him regardless of how the night went, and would whisper that he loved him as James fell asleep in his arms.

James slid the phone away and got up, giving his reflection one last, encouraging smile.

He’d go to that party and roll his eyes at whoever his friends tried to set him up with, and then he’d spend the evening judging the poor guy for all his flaws and the way he could not possibly hope to measure up to Francis. 

Perhaps he’d also snog Francis in the middle of a meeting on Monday. Let his friends try and wave off that one

[trollsedits]

Hello, Can you please write your headcanon for whatever trolls you picked?

Like your own opinion about them...

Of course I will, I decided to do Both poppy and viva since I love their sister duo 😭🫶🏻

Poppy 🩷:

-She’s definitely a huge swifties she would drag branch to go to every single one of Taylor Swift concert (or the troll version of her)

-she’s clingy especially when around branch

-definitely hates it when her dad keeps secrets from her especially about her long lost sister Viva

-she is a supportive friend she will support you no matter what

-she’s the troll that everyone wants to go to for comfort or just need to vent

-Her favorite brozone member is Clay

-she would easily forgive anyone especially creek who literally sold them out to chef

-she’s very talkative you can’t make her shut up

-Is a major fan of Rave and party she will throw the biggest party/Rave with the help of the techno trolls

-she will remember every trolls,bergan birthday/anniversary so do expect her to

show up at your door with gifts and stuff

-she rarely gets mad is hard to see her mad

-when she dose get angry she would angry scrapbook til the scrapbook is in flames she almost set her pod on fire one time b/c she was so angry branch and her father would make the whole troll village splash water on their pod and her father banned her from scrapbooking when she’s angry

-she also listed to Harry styles aswell

-she owns all of brozone albums

-she once called branch older brother John Dory the old one during the Royal wedding it was funny even branch wasn’t mad at her for saying that

-She has tons of baby pictures of branch she even ask John Dory for more pictures of baby branch she made a scrapbook of baby branch

-She’s wears the pants in the relationship (Base on a fan art I saw)

-she would be the one to make a move on branch like proposing etc.

-she owns every Taylor swift album and one Harry style album

-She gave barb a swiftie friendship bracelets after the rock apocalypse

-she basically gave every trolls a swiftie friendship bracelets either with their name/songs from Taylor swift or just something that describes them

-she also gave one to brozone too each one of them having words that describe them John Dory was the most offended by it branch threatened to beat his square *** up if he dare take it off

John Dory: The Old one

Bruce: Daddy BRUCE (okay don’t look at it the wrong way guys cause he’s a dad now 😭)

Clay: serious boy

Floyd: the sensitive one

Branch: Lover or bitty B 💙

——————————————

Viva 💛:

-Still dose not know why her sister is friends with a Bergens

-Still dose not trust Bergens

-Definitely has abandonment issues

-she still mad at her father after 20 years for not telling poppy about her

-she loves milkshake so much that she once drank so many and got hyper clay had to banned it from her for a while til she can control herself

-She’s definitely listen to Lana Del Rey she cried to so many of her song cuz it reminds her of her father and poppy

-Her favorite lana del Rey album is the Lust for life and honeymoon album

-she is protective of poppy won’t let anyone near her not even Bridget and sometimes branch

-Viva likes to make candy necklaces with any new friends she meets

-Viva is that type of girl to kick down anyone door without knocking so believe it or not she has seen some stuff she once kick down clay door and caught him….

-knowing that viva will kick down anyone door down they all got hard metal door to keep viva from kicking in

-She gets angry quickly when she dose clay is afraid of her clay would often try to avoid things that trigger her

-she and clay are business partners

-she’s super duper chaotic

-she’s braided everyone hairs

-she’s a tight hugger she once gave clay a hug so tight taht it almost broke his poor ribs

————————————

Anyways, thanks again for the request Anyways if you want to request me just click under my profile “Ask me anything” I’m currently slowly running out of content so do request if you have any also just to let you all know that I’m working on another brozone headcanon so it will take a while…

———————-

Like + Follow are very much appreciated! ✨

[docholligay]

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

This is when I'm supposed to tell you about the weight of history and what it is to see the human experience of the human experience all collected into a large building, and how it being labyrinthine is a part of the art itself, giving one the feeling of the human journey, up and down and backwards and lost, always lost, but surrounded by beauty and blah blah I'm sure it would have been very evocative and I'm clever as shit or whatever but honestly one of my FAVORITE things to do in museums is play games with myself. I like to pick categories, and find things that fit them, and here's a sampler of what I found

Something I’d like to steal: 

This punch bowl could very possibly hold two gallons of my sangria in one go, which would enable me to be an even better hostess, not having to constantly be looking to see if the sangria needs to be refreshed with the jugs from the kitchen waiting in the wings. There’s such an intensely organic feel to it, I just think it would feel good to carry this. I feel like I always pick a serving piece for this category--I always spend a lot of time in the functional arts--but in fairness, that’s the things I like and also, it sounds very frivolous to say that I love throwing parties, but it’s a part of connecting with my community, and I think, in some way, serving them. Genuinely, I would love to host something like a Sailor Moon mixer or something if people could teleport in. That’s what I do for my congregation, is basically catering for the shabbat meal. Anyway, I would use the SHIT out of this for the Shabbat meal, and also for parties. 

Something that moved me:

This is The Angel of Death and the Sculptor, and I must have stared at it for five solid minutes. My mom was wondering what in the hell I was looking at, and it was hard to describe. There is something so beautiful about the way the young sculptor is caught by his wrist, in the middle of his art. It will ever be unfinished, but no less the beautiful for that imperfection. The look on his face, as I moved around the piece in the corner of the Parisian-style square set into the Met, that horror and knowledge all in one. The Angel of Death cannot look him in the eye. He does what she needs to do, and then moves on, but that in no way means that each work is wanted, and this is not the act of calling an ill old man home. He was scultping the sphinx! He was doing greatness! But that matters not at all, when Death comes to call. I thought about it a lot then, if I had been alone I might have sat there and written down every fool thought that came into my head, but I wasn’t, and so I moved on, but it was lovely, and I was really touched by it. 

Something I learned: 

I did not know this kind of multi-shelved thing made to hold mostly objects was called an étagère! I had seen them plenty in interiors, but hadn’t connected a name to them.

The ugliest thing i saw: 

This fucking??? “Display platter”??? So it’s a platter, but you can’t use it as a platter because you have the ugliest fuckign fish this side of Billy the Big Mouth Bass over here blocking every useful part of the platter, joined by his good friend why the fuck is there a crawdad desperately trying to escape this place, and several venomous snakes circling the place. This looks like something my beloved and very sexy wife would buy at a garage sale for 2 dollars and put up in the garage because I deemed it too ugly to hang by the dead animal skulls in our house.

[yawn-junn]

hi ! I’ve been wanting to request a sumin x reader one shot for a while but I haven’t got the inspiration , while I checked your song prompt list I saw Jk’s ICONIC song. Still with you. So here’s more context cuz my mind went CRAZy abt this. sumin and reader met in college , they both were in the same arts class , with their commun friend , Jinsik. Reader is an outgoing person , they (you can use any pronouns I don’t have preference ) are the type of person who isn’t scared to talk to new persons or to make new friends. And actually reader is quite popular for their bubbly personality too. So reader and Sumin met at their usual art class. Everything’s went well during the year and they grew closer and closer. Until prom. The party ended , and it was raining , everyone went back home , but sumin and reader. Sumin told reader about his and jinsik’s idols career and reader told about their career too , like reader is either a trainee under a big compagne like hybe or jype, up to you! And sumin’s thought are the lyrics ykkk

Time flew by and they don’t talk as much as they used to , if I may say they don’t talk at all lately. But they both are stuck in each other’s mind , so one rainy days , after a long time no see each others , they met. They both were walking alone in the rain , reader with an umbrella and sumin just walking , soaking wet from the rain. But when he met reader’s eyes all his thought vanished and he wasn’t thinking about anything but reader and his feeling for them

This kind of vibe yk! Like old lover type of stuff

you don’t have to follow what I wrote at all it’s just for u to see what I meant by that and the kind of vibe I want

anyways have a good day! Love !

♡︎보고 싶었어요 - Sumin♡︎

♡︎Title: I Miss You

♡︎Special Thanks Too: strawbe3rryyayy, Sumin, Xikers

♡︎Note: sorry this took so long I've been writing short formed story's since that's all I have time for so sorry if this seems rushed or anything of the sort, also remember I have a 25 days till Christmas prompt going on rn your free to request whatever prompt and whoever you want (EMF pump is a small box that puts off lots of energy used for ghost hunting)

♡︎TW: slight angst : cursing : gender not specified but I probably called reader a girl :

♡︎Prompt: Still With You - Jungkook

♡︎Words: 1011

♡︎Taglist: @eumppappasgrippers @mxlly143

You never took your popularity for granted, never joining the group of girls who think they're hot shit, taking everything with a grain of salt. You had a decent amount of friends. Always jumping to help others, always conversing in the halls during free time, a people-person, is what people would describe you as. A normal day in art, you and your good friend Jinsik were sitting and talking, “oh right, my friend Sumin is supposed to transfer today, he’s a lot like you, i think you'll like him” Jinsik said, sketching an eye on his paper. “Like me? You mimicked, looking up from your own paper, in response Jinsik nodded, “yeah, he's super friendly you’ll balance each other” Jinsik said, lifting his head to look at you.

“What makes you think I'm willing to get along with him?” you teased, Jinsik dead panned at you, a few small giggles left your mouth “ok sorry your friend sounds lovely” you giggled. Jinsik rolled his eyes, focusing back on the drawing in front of him, a few minutes later a group of kids called your name drawing your attention to them. Getting up you quickly walked to their table, sitting in the empty seat, giggles and laughter echoed from the table as you helped them with their work. “All I'm saying is if you want an A use black paper with a white pencil, the teacher eats it up” you giggled, the students laughing and listening. Almost 20 minutes later you made your way back to your desk, stopping to see a male with green hair in your seat. Putting on a huge smile as you made your way in front of your desk, the guy looked confused “told you someone sits there” Jinsik giggled.

“Dont worry about it, you can have my seat” you said quickly stopping him from standing “what's your name?” you asked, pulling a chair up sitting in front of him. “Sumin” the boy now known as Sumin giggled “what's yours?” Sumin asked tilting his head slightly to the side, “yn, nice to meet you Sumin” you giggled holding out your hand waiting for a hand shake, Sumin reached up shaking your hand energy raiding off him like an EMF pump. “Sorry for taking your seat” Sumin rubbed the back of his neck slightly embarrassed, “don't be it's fine you just wanted to sit next to your friend i understand” you giggled, Sumins eyes slightly lit up “your even kinder than Jinsik said!” Sumin giggled. 30 Minutes of you and Sumin talking and Jinsik being the third wheel later, the three of you made your way to the cafeteria, you and Sumin slightly ahead of Jinsik talking.

“damn , kinda feel like a third wheel..” Jinsik mumbled, you and Sumin bursted out laughing, the three of you sat at a table in the middle of everything, “do you normally sit here” Sumin asked, before you got a chance to answer Jinsik answered for you, “people like to come up and sit with us” Jinsik said getting comfortable in his seat, “they really need to put better seats in here” you mumbled shifting uncomfortably in your seat, Sumin and Jinsik hummed in agreement, you and Sumin started talking again, kids came and left, this routine went on for a year till the end of school.

“Yn i think you should go, it's the end of school for our whole lives.” Jinsik said laying on your bed, “yeah he’s right, it’ll be fun you won't even have to stay the whole night” Sumin said, “are you two working together now?” you giggled, after hours of convincing from both of your friends you agreed, “What y’all think about this one?” you said holding up an outfit, Jinsik scrunched his nose “too revealing” He said, Sumin sighed “you'll look great in it” Sumin said standing up holding the outfit out to see it properly, “your so weird” Jinsik said rolling on his stomach, Sumin slightly rolled his eyes, causing you too giggle. “Finally!” Jinsik said dramatically, standing up. “Woah…you look…” Sumin said trying to find the right words “ugly? Throw up? Death? Absurd? Disgusting?” you asked jokingly,“nono amazing!” Sumin said a faint blush forming on his face, Jinsik took notice of the faint blush, chuckling making his way out your bedroom door.

The party went just like you thought, slightly overwhelmed by the amount of noise, making your way outside breathing in the fresh air, you heard the door shut, “partied out?” Sumin jokes “overwhelmed too much noise” you giggled, Sumin nodded in response “we’ll still be friends after college right?” Sumin asked doubt falling on his face, “I hope so, we never know what the future has for us, so I can't confirm nor deny” you sighed, turning to face Sumin, you noticed people start leaving “id head home before the rain starts” a girl said passing by. You and Sumin walked home together. 

Jinsik sent a text saying he had already arrived home. “It's just…yn look….me and Jinsik are in a boy group called Xikers…once collage ends tomorrow, we won't have as much freedom as we do now..” Sumin said, looking down at the ground, “Sumin..” you mumbled grabbing his attention “im a trainee..i understand” you said grabbing his hand reassuringly “a trainee?” Sumin questioned “yeah under hybe, so i wont have free time either but we can try thats all that matters” you said softly, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand. 

That conversation was the last you'd have with Sumin, Jinsik old text left with a thumbs up from your end. That was until you and Sumin crossed paths 4 years later at Kcon “Although I'm standing still under the frozen sunset, I want to walk towards you one step at a time, Still with you, Dark room, no lights, I shouldn't get used to it, but I'm used to it again” Sumin thought to himself before making him way up to you, rebuilding the forgotten friendship, this time growing to something much more.

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

I’m leaving this little request in your mailbox with absolutely zero pressure.

Eddie Munson (because I’m nothing if not predictable…)

[REUNITE] and/or [MASK]

You know I’ll soak up everything you write like a sponge, even if it’s for a fandom I’m not part of, so I can’t wait to see what you write whether you write my ask or not! Have fun!! 💕

Oh Jax as if I wasn't going to write whatever you asked me to lol somehow it ended up being 4k words of emotional pain and smut.

Lonely is the Word

Pairing: Eddie Munson x femreader

Words: 4k

Rating: E

Warnings: some angst, smut

masterlist

I saw some graffiti once that said "love is like broken glass." And if that's true, Eddie Munson was the boot that had shattered me, ground me into nothing more than particles.

I couldn't even blame him, not really, not after what he had been through.

So I waited. Time passed and his physical wounds had healed, but Eddie stayed behind, the walls he built growing higher and higher, covering over with brambles and thorns and vines to keep me out, to keep everyone out. As much as I wanted to, I was never able to fit in the spaces he had hallowed out of himself, cutting myself on the jagged edges whenever I tried. So, bloody and bruised, I left.

Not just him, but Hawkins altogether.

As summer faded away, I loaded my things in the trunk of my shitty, hand me down station wagon, and picked up Robin the next morning, driving the two of us to New York where Robin was starting a theater program at NYU. I hadn't even said goodbye to Eddie. I doubt he would have even seen me if I tried.

And now it was January, cold and bleak midwinter. The elevator doors closed and regret clogged up my throat as I saw my reflection in the gleaming metal. The dress Robin had managed to snag for me from the costume department could only be described as decadent - black velvet that clung to my waist and breasts, the neckline a deep v that settled just above my belly button. It fell to the floor in a tumble of fabric, a long slit up the side, the sleeves ending at my wrists. Atop my cheek bones sat a Venetian mask, black and gold and secured by a black ribbon.

I felt beautiful. I felt ridiculous.

A warm hand settled on the small of my back and I turned, giving Robin a wan smile. She had worn a black velvet suit to match my outfit, her hair falling in messy waves around her white and gold mask.

"You look killer, you know," she chirped, trying to bring excitement back to the moment.

And I should be excited, I knew that. This party was going to be insane - invites were incredibly hard to come by and I knew how stoked Robin was for this. So I ticked my smile higher and clutched my friend's hand, squeezing gently.

"You look killer," I answered, swinging our joined hands between us. "Thank you for bringing me."

"There's no one else I'd rather crush some fancy masquerade with."

It hadn't been easy for Robin, watching her oldest friend crumble into ruins at the loss of the love of her young life. But she took it like a champ, doing everything she could to bring some light back to the situation. And when her NYU acceptance letter came in, it was a no-brainer that we go together, that we try and escape the ghosts of that spring.

Nancy had gone to California with Jonathan and Steve...well, someone had to stay with Eddie. So Robin called him most nights and they giggled like idiots until sleep claimed them.

The elevator doors slid open as they reached the penthouse. Robin extended an arm. "M'lady," she teased.

A second set of doors opened and I would have sworn we had walked into another world. Original art in gilded frames covered the walls and waiters in all black, masks included, skirted around the room, trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres braced on their splayed fingertips. The lights were low and we had to squint to make out the darker corners, the people who had already found their way to them, masks abandoned, bodies and hands occupied.

"Remind me how you got us in here?" I asked, her eyes wide.

"Uh…remember my thing for hot older women?" Robin whisper-yelled.

I nodded, my eyes refusing to settle on any one thing.

"I fooled around with the Dean of Performing Arts."

I turned to her, my mouth falling open. "You did not?!"

"What? She's only like forty." Robin shrugged. "She's insanely hot. And we only live once, kitten. Better make the best of it."

"You're out of your mind!"

All Robin said was "yes" before leading us toward the nearest waiter and snagging two glasses of champagne. It was bubbly, tart on my tongue, and warm as it hit the pit of my gut. My eyes wandered off in search of the hors d'oeuvres, darting over the other guests who were draped in couture designs. I snagged a bacon wrapped fig and then another, flashing the waiter a stupid grin as I chewed. A hand rose from across the room and Robin perked up at the sight of the brunette woman in red, her dress a frothy confection that wrapped around her like a cloud.

"Duty calls," she whispered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek before abandoning me for who I assumed was the "insanely hot" dean.

There is a feeling that comes with being watched. That feeling only intensifies when being watched by someone who has seen the most vulnerable parts of you. It's a sort of heavy awareness that pushes at all of your defenses.

That feeling descended on me, leaving me feeling hot and cold, bare and vulnerable, like prey. My eyes scanned the room from behind my mask, lingering here and there, but I found no one watching, everyone too engrossed in their drinks or their company or their hidden, wandering hands. I backed through the crowd and found a spot near the doors that led to the balcony, watching transfixed as the music took on a darker tone, the party slowly melting from upscale gathering to bacchanalian revelry. For a moment, it was easy to forget the unease that ate at me as these upper east side yuppies forget their sense of propriety.

And then I felt it, the watching, like hands peeling away the layers of my borrowed dress. This time my eyes landed on familiar chocolate curls and my stomach dropped, landing somewhere near my feet.

No, that was impossible.

They were gone as quickly as they appeared, disappeared into the crowd. I whirled around, trying to find Robin. My eyes darted over the crowd, looking for the white and gold mask, finally landing on her familiar golden hair. But she was too engrossed in her conversation to notice me, to see the panic on my face.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my brain screaming that there was something I was missing, something important, just as a warmth bloomed at my back, a heat so heartbreakingly familiar.

"Hey you."

I knew that voice. I'd heard it a thousand times before in a thousand different ways: soft and intimate near the shell of my ear, shouting at me from across the room, caught in a whine as I touched him, touched him, touched him.

I turned and there he was, his hair pulled back, a black and red mask over the top half of his face. He was here. He was whole. He was…wearing a suit?

"Eddie?"

"Hey, baby," he murmured, and his voice drew me in, dragged me down, like it did every time. For a moment I forgot how angry I still was, how hurt.

But then he grinned and it all came back, crashing over me like a wave against the beach. "What the fuck?" I hissed, looking over my shoulder, looking for escape. I had wanted this so badly, wanted him, but now all I wanted was to run away.

Eddie's face fell, his soft mouth pulling down at the edges. He was quick to straighten it though, holding his hands up in surrender as I pulled away from him. The soft candlelight glinted off the metal of his rings. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I know that doesn't mean shit and you hate my guts but I just…I couldn't keep it in anymore. I'm so sorry."

"I've been gone for six months, Eddie! And there were five months before that when an 'I'm sorry' would have been way more appropriate." My eyes narrowed and I crossed my arms over my chest. He opened his mouth and I held up a hand to silence him. "I get it, okay. You went through something horrible, something I'll never truly understand. Rob still has nightmares; I know whatever it was was horrible. I wasn't there, so I don't really understand. But you wouldn't let me help you, you wouldn't even let me try to be there for you! I go on a stupid spring break vacation and I come back to my boyfriend on trial for murder and an earthquake that bulldozed my house and you won't even talk to me!" A few heads turned toward the sound of my raised voice.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing the toe of his shiny dress shoe against the marble tile.

"And where the fuck did you get a suit?"

Eddie snorted a laugh. "Robin."

"She knows you're here?"

"She scored me a ticket."

My eyes flew over the room, landing on my roommate who leaned against a column on the other side of the open space. Robin dropped her gaze when she realized she'd been caught, her smile slipping.

I sighed, shaking my head, buzzing with irritation and resentment and a sadness I thought I had left behind. "You two are unbelievable. I can't believe you, Eddie." I dropped my hands and turned away from him, pushing through the double doors that led to the balcony, goosebumps erupting over my skin as soon as the January night air swept over me. I stomped toward one of the ridiculously fancy fire pits, flames dancing in the dark, the warmth seeping into my bones. So frustrated that I could scream, I stared into the fire, willing my nerves to settle. Footsteps broke my newfound calm and my hands clenched into fists again.

"Jesus Christ, it's freezing out here." Eddie rounded the corner, already pulling the jacket from his shoulders to wrap around me. I fought the urge to snap at him, to shrug off his offering. But it was warm and it smelled like him and oh, god, it was too much. He reached back, untying the ribbon that held his mask to his face and I felt the telltale burn of impending tears when I looked at him for the first time in six months.

Eddie was almost exactly like I remembered. His eyes were still soft, so dark and warm I wanted to drown in them. His plush mouth curved up into an awkward smile that I had memorized almost as soon as I met him. I knew every freckle that lay over his body. I knew just where to touch to make him laugh or to make him moan. I knew what he sounded like just before he came, when my name was a whimper in his mouth. But that Eddie had been a boy. Whoever stood in front of me now was definitely a man. There was a hardness to him that I had never seen before, a hollowness, a haunting.

"What are you doing here, Eddie?" An old softness crept into my voice, the one I saved just for him.

He tossed his mask to the bench tucked into the corner beside us and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was dead."

My face pinched in confusion. "What?"

"I died down there, in the Upside-down. I was dead." He said it as if it were old news, as if it wasn't earth shattering. "I remember the pain, I remember the blood, I remember Dustin holding me as it all went dark. I don't remember how they got me home. Hell, I barely remember the trial. The lights were on, but no one was home."

I nodded, angling my body toward his. He stared down at his shoes, refusing to meet my eyes. Slowly, gently, as if afraid to scare him off, I reached for him. His dark eyes met mine and it was as if whatever wall lay between us split right down the middle.

"I couldn't stand the sight of myself, so how could I expect you to?"

And just like that, my heart broke all over again. "Eddie, there was never a single moment where I wanted anything but you." Our on again, off again had been in an off period when that Spring Break had come around, but I had genuinely believed it was just another one of our stupid games, a parting meant to make the reunion sweeter, hotter. "I was coming home to you."

He nodded, a sad smile pulling at his lips. "I know. But something broke in me and I had no idea how to fix it. I wasn't gonna let you wait around while I figured it out. It just wasn't fair."

My voice lowered, my festering irritation blooming painfully. "What wasn't fair was you making that choice for me. I get that you had some things to work through that a girlfriend wasn't super conducive to, but we could have had a conversation about that. You could have just dumped me."

Eddie nodded, pursing his lips as he really thought about what I said. But then his eyes met mine and I didn't miss the heat in them, they way they shined in the firelight. He pulled his hands from pockets and stepped forward, grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward a door I hadn't noticed before.

"Eddie, let go of me." I tried to yank my hand back but he didn't give an inch, breathing a soft 'hell yeah' when he found the door wasn't locked, pushing it open and jerking me inside what looked like a small library. Two leather chairs flanked an ornate marble fireplace and a low, plush leather couch sat on the opposite side, its back to the massive built-ins stuffed full of books and sculptures. It was dark, the only light coming from the moon and the lights that had been strung up on the balcony, filtering in softly through the gauzy sheer curtains. The door clicked shut behind us and when Eddie's hand fell to the knob, he slid the lock home.

A familiar spark lit in my belly, a heat that had always promised pleasure, that only took root when he looked at me the way he was now, the way he hadn't in over a year. His eyes were black in the dim room, his face serious as he pinned me with that heavy gaze. And then he was on me, his hands cradling my face, his mouth crushing to mine. My surprised gasp lowered into a moan when he licked into my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip.

"It was never about living without you," he mumbled against my lips. "I just didn't know how to live with myself anymore. But I think I've finally started to figure it out."

"Eddie," I whispered, and it hurt. It broke my heart that he felt that way, that he had lived in a world where he didn't feel like he belonged, even more so than he had when we met, both outcasts and not too eager to change that fact. It hurt even more that it had all played out this way, neither of us able to reach out to the other.

Eddie backed up toward the couch, dropping to splay over the cushions. He pulled me over his lap, my hands finding his hair and tangling in the curls I had managed to free from the hair tie. He sucked at my neck, his mouth hotter than I remembered as his hand slid beneath the slit of my dress. He tugged off my mask before his hands fell, rough fingertips sliding over the skin of my thigh, higher toward the juncture of my legs. I knew if he touched me there, I would forget every reason why this was a bad idea. Yanking at his tie, I wriggled my hands beneath the collar of his shirt, my fingers meeting texture they'd never felt before. Eddie sucked in a breath and I pulled back, my eyes darting over his face.

"You don't have to…," he started, but I cut him off, pressing my lips to his, gentle fingers slowly unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. When I peeled back the stiff white fabric, my eyes fell to the familiar demon head tattoo and then the thick knot of scar tissue below it.

It looked like…a bite. Like something's teeth had torn through him, ripping chunks of his flesh away.

There was really nothing to say. So I leaned forward and planted my lips to the ruined skin, leaving my tongue over the rough texture before kissing a trail up his neck. "I want to though."

His hand slid beneath the band of my underwear and he groaned when he found me wet for him, his middle finger gliding easily between my folds. "Oh Christ," he groaned, pressing lightly. I felt that tremble in his wrist as he held himself back from pressing inside me. "You're always so wet for me," he said, as if it hadn't been a year since he'd touched me like this.

I didn't bother reminding him, just ground down against his hand, searching out that delicious friction. "We're gonna get caught," I panted against his lips, tilting his face back to look up at me. The sight was divine, his mouth parted, his eyes glassy with need.

"Nah, I locked the door," he said, leaning forward in search of my neck.

"Not the other door, dingus," I reminded him.

He chuckled before licking a stripe over my throat, his teeth worrying at my skin. My head fell back on my shoulders. "We'll be quick. And then we'll go back to your place and I'll take my time with you, apologize however you want me to, baby."

When he put it like that, it sounded too good to argue over. All that pain and anger, all the questions, would still be there. Maybe it was better to just take what I needed, what I knew he could give me.

"When do you leave?" I asked, heart already breaking all over again at the idea.

Eddie's hand stilled between my thighs, his free one rising to cradle my jaw as if I were something precious. "I'm here until you send me away." He kissed me once, gently. "My ticket was one way. Harrington's back at your place, in case I needed a getaway driver."

"Okay, good." I tore my hands from his hair and dropped them to his waist, trembling fingers fumbling with his belt, urging him to lift his hips so I could tug his pants over the slight curve of his ass.

"Are you saying I need a getaway driver?" His breath was hot against my neck, his tone teasing.

"Shut up." I felt the familiar chill of his rings against my skin, his thumb brushing a circle over my clit. He was kissing me again, little groans falling from his lips to mine. It was so easy to fall back into him, to pick up where we left off before life turned ugly and tore us apart. One thick finger slipped inside and I cried out at the shock. Eddie's eyes widened, sliding to the unlocked door, before covering my mouth with his palm.

"Don't get us caught, sweetheart," he mumbled, a second finger joining the first. I moaned against his palm, my eyes rolling back as I rode his hand. "That's it, that's good, right?"

I nodded, unable to speak past the fingers that pressed into my mouth. It was good, but it wasn't enough, not after everything, not after the waiting and the wanting. His belt came apart in my hands, the button of his slacks slipping easily from the hole that held it closed, and then he was in my hands, hard and hot. His eyes rolled back when I stroked him, my fingers not quite able to close around the thick of him. He whined and then suddenly I was falling, the hand that had been pressed to my mouth coming to cradle my head as he dropped me to lay back on the couch.

Eddie tugged my underwear down my thighs, shoving the soaked lace in his pocket and hitching my leg over his hip. I felt the blunt head of his cock nudge at me as his hips jerked forward, impatient.

"Shit, I wanna be gentle with you, but I...I don't think..." His voice was hoarse, his forehead coming to rest against mine. His hands held my wrists over my head and it was all I could do to arch my back, to try and get closer.

"There's time for gentle later." It was true and it was all I could say before he pushed forward, burying himself in me.

I had almost forgotten the near impossible stretch, the way my body had to adjust to the size of him. But then he was moving, a long, slow stroke that pulled him nearly all the way out before thrusting forward and stealing my breath. I thought my heart would beat out of my chest in those heavy seconds before he started to thrust in earnest. Slow and controlled melted into deep and hard and I couldn't swallow down the moans that poured from my throat as he fucked me.

"God damn it, sweetheart," he muttered. "Hush." I couldn't, I wouldn't, and I whined again as he hit that spot up high and I saw stars. "Fucking hell." He crashed his mouth to mine, his tongue curling behind my teeth, swallowing down the sounds I made. He tasted like smoke and spearmint gum, he tasted like home.

Eddie rose up, his hands finding my knees, spreading them wide. His eyes darted between my face and the place where he disappeared inside of me, the sounds of labored breathing and wet flesh growing louder. His hair was wild around his face, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. One hand slid down my inner thigh to where we were joined and began to rub quick circles against my clit. I knew he wouldn't last much longer. I knew I wouldn't either. I palmed at my breasts through the material of my dress, desperate to be naked, to have Eddie's skin pressed to mine, to be able to touch and taste and take our time.

Later.

"Baby," he groaned. "I'm not gonna last. You feel too good, missed you too much. Are you still in the pull?"

I just nodded, a low groan crawling up my throat. It wasn't more than another minute until I felt him bloom within me, that familiar heat uncoiling sticky and deep. Eddie bit out my name from between clenched teeth, his hips stilling. Without a word, he pulled out of me, dropping to his knees on the floor. I moved to sit up, but his large hands found my hips and tugged my ass to the edge of the couch. He winked before ducking beneath the skirt of my dress.

"Oh my god," I choked out at the first pass of his tongue. He slid two fingers forward, their passage eased by the slick of his cum as he pumped them back and forth. My back arched when he pulled my clit between his lips, tiny shocks like lightning pulsing over my skin. Even though he was hidden by the black velvet, the sound of his mouth on my cunt was obscene. Eddie moaned, curling his fingers forward. I felt that clench in my lower belly, the muscles of my legs flexing where he'd draped them over his shoulders. His teeth grazed my clit and I saw stars. When he groaned against me I felt it, all fluttery vibration, and fell apart on his tongue, my back bowing off the couch, a filthy moan of his name falling from my lips.

"I missed that," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my thigh before lifting his head, setting my feet gently against the floor. He tucked himself back in his pants before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, wet and shining. "I missed you."

He tugged my dress back into place and laid his head in my lap. My fingers threaded through his curls, muscle memory at this point. "I missed you too. I honestly can't believe you're here."

"I don't know where we go from here," Eddie said as he propped his chin against my leg. He reached forward and grabbed my hand, tangling our fingers together. Just then he looked so much like the boy I had loved. "But I couldn't wait anymore to figure it out. And I love you too much to just let you go."

I opened my mouth to respond and the doors that led to the library burst open, giggles and rustling fabric floating into the room. Eddie sat up straight, his eyes going wide. I scooted up the couch, peeking over the back. Robin had herself wrapped around the dean, her hands disappearing beneath her bright red dress. She turned and our eyes met from across the open space, Robin's face flushing hot and red. Just as quickly as they had entered, she wheeled the older woman around awkwardly, backing her out of the room.

"This one's taken," was all she said before flashing two thumbs up and mouthing "hell yes!"

Eddie grinned, his dimples flashing. "At least someone's rooting for us."

I leaned forward, propping my elbow on my knee and resting my chin against my palm. This close I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. I smiled and it was real.

"I'm rooting for us."

[birbfeeder2artisticboogaloo]

thousand autumns donghua, episode 14~

(episode 14 already??? IS IT ALMOST OVER?? OH NOOO I’M HAVING TOO MUCH FUN ;A;)

AH our intrepid duo have arrived at bixia sect!!!

aww the cute bby likes the scener--OH MY GOD EVERYONE IS DEAD

OH NOOOO THIS IS TERRIBLE!!! WTF???!??

i am glad that shiwu is getting some extra trauma btw, it'd be a shame if he had a normal childhood after all this

YAN WUSHI'S EYES WENT ALL PURPLE!!

he frowmn >:( like dis >:(

oh!!! my son is here MY SON IS HERE HI BBY!!!!

UH. wow the old man wiping blood off his mouth in a. kinda sexy manner??? hawt. 😳😳😳

yu shengyan all worried about him ;A; the letter, all symbolically splattered with blood ;A; wHAT A SCENE

is this a flashback??

ruan hailou!!! idk u yet but my opinion is low bc u and pu anmi are killing these ppl who seem v nice

AAAAHHHH TOO MANY NAMES!!! i'm getting a bit overwhelmed by all the introductions!! i’ll try my best, but pls forgive me if i get names wrong or miss a few ;A;

yue kunchi, ok he's a disciple here....that miniature chinstrap beard thing on him is....a choice 👀

also some of these other dudes have got like,,,,,,,sort of khitan style hair arrangements?? they look rad tho 💅

GIRL NO DON'T PROTECC HIM WITH UR BODY!!!

OHHH it's not a flashback!! SHEN QIAO ARRIVES JUST IN TIME TO HELP!!!!

lmao ruan hailou thinks he's the main character, it's very cute

ahh is pu anmi from the south then?? his animations are rly good actually, like i can just FEEL the disdain dripping off him, i can imagine him as an actual human in a live-action drama like, i've seen ppl do these....movements!! I LIKE IT!!!

ooh they gonna fight?? they gonna fight 😤

EWWWWWW HE LICKED THE SWORD!! DONT LICK UR SWORD MAN!! DO U KNOW HOW MANY DISEASES ARE BLOOD-BORNE. DO U WANT EVERY HEPATITIS. UR NOT SAFE FROM PLAGUE SIR

aww yisss now they fighting >:D

OH SHIT SHEN QIAO IS SHOWING HIM UP

FIGHTING TWO AT ONCE???? GET EM SHEN QIAO!!!! U ARE SUCH A BADASS SHEN QIAO!!!!

shen qiao is the epitome of 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee' today with his gentle winds ability!!! such beautiful martial arts!! 🤩

i love how there's always a guy describing the fight for us, the audience lmao 🤣 like a sports announcer or something, but for martial arts 🤣

FUCK YEAH THIS FIGHT SCENE GOES SO HARD!!!! THIS IS GREAT!!!!

WOOOOOO!!!!

Zhao Chiying!!! A LADY SECT LEADER!!! she is beautiful omg ;A; she is so pretty and graceful ;A; they all respect her so much ;A;

bixia disciples: great to see u zongzhu!! ur killing it zongzhu!! :D

lol ruan hailou looks like he just saw his ex at a party. awwwkwarrrrdddd

OH SHIT ZHAO CHIYING IS KNEELING TO THIS LOSER?????

she is so polite!!! she's a better man than i tbh!! i would never bc i am impolite as fuck :D couldn't be me luv, couldn't be me 😌👌

SUCH HONOUR. SUCH DIGNITY.

ohhh was........was ruan hailou accused of assaulting the previous master's daughter?? but he didn't do it, and he was wrongfully exiled from bixia sect?? maybe the subtitles are a bit unclear, or maybe i'm a bit dumb, or maybe it's both (it's probably both lol)

aaaawwwwww the disciples love her so much ;A;

OH GREAT EVERYONE IS NOW CRYING

wtf is even happening anymore??? im so confused lol

lol yeah girl u could have intervened BEFORE ur disciples got killed but whatever

now pu anmi is a prisoner to bixia sect!!! they have ONE DUDE, one SKINTY DUDE, taking him away, unrestrained. that won’t end poorly at all (unless the plot declares otherwise lol 🤣)

pu anmi: U GUYS SUCK!! MY SHIZUN WILL RESCUE ME!! AND UR STUPID BOYFRIEND YAN WUSHI IS GONNA DIE!!! >:(

shen qiao: :(  but we're not friends anymore :(

OH SHIT IS THIS GUY GONNA KILL HIMSELF???? DON'T DO IT BRO WAIT WAIT

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OH MY GOD HE JUST

HE JUST WENT OVER THE CLIFF LIKE

THAT WAS SO FUCKING SAD???? IDEK WHAT HIS DEAL WAS BUT WAS THIS REALLY THE ANSWER??? poor fucking man, he was a twat but like........i feel quite bad for the man!! nobody deserves to feel that there's no way out besides taking their own life ._. even if u have done really bad things....u can do better! as long as ur alive, things can change!!!

poor shiwu....standing by the table, wiping his tears....he's seen SO much ;A; my poor bby boyyyy i wanna hug him ;A; COME TO BIRB'S WINGS, CHILD!! I SHALL SHIELD YE FROM HARM!!! :V

shen qiao: well i brought shifu's kid all the way here :)

zhao chiying: yyyeah about that. can u keep him actually??

shen qiao: u couldn't have told me this BEFORE WE WALKED ALL THE WAY HERE?? :) whatever fine i'll keep him, he's mine now :)

AWWWW SHIWU'S KOWTOW WAS SO EXCITED!!! HE'S SO HAPPY OMG!!!!! SWEET CUTE BABBY ;A;

HE SNATCH THE TEA FROM ZHAO CHIYING BC HE'S SO EAGER TO HAND IT OVER OH MY GODDDD ;A;

btw are his parents and sister dead now?? his old man's probably in gaol for taking another child hostage but his mum and sister were starving to death on a bridge. do u suppose they sold him to zhu lengquan. do u think they got a good price

shen qiao: btw can i stay over ur place?? i need to kill a man :)

zhao chiying: sure why not lol

[forgottenyear]

[tw: rape]

[i am not sure, so please be careful]

--

I was in a college drawing class. I was also in the art club. I had previously been a member of the campus LGBTQ+ group, having been pressed to join by my friend on campus (she was the faculty advisor to the group), but it became uncomfortable to be the only older person present and I did not appear at all LGBTQ+. I was sure that I made them feel uncomfortable and less safe to express themselves openly, so I found a better fit.

So, I was in the drawing class and the art club (which conveniently met in the same room and the class immediately followed the club). There was a guy roughly my age who was also in both. I do not remember exactly how it came up, but the guy wanted the art club to have a booth (or whatever) in an upcoming sidewalk art show in town, to display student art from the college. It was a good idea, in this form. At some point, he started enthusiastically pushing that we should also have “transexuals and drag queens” as a part of the exhibit. I was creeped out by him for this, but I thought it was only a passing brainstorm, so then I was taken off-guard when the LGBTQ+ group was invited to the next art club meeting, to discuss this guy’s idea. The group wanted to submit art, but this guy kept pushing for them to “dress up” for the event, and he was only incidentally interested in their artistic contributions. He then arranged for the exhibit to take place in a bar, and the majority of the student artists would not be allowed in, but this did not bother the guy. The LGBTQ+ club was entirely excluded, being entirely underage, so the guy decided to look around for suitable substitute “transexuals and drag queens” (he did not change the terminology, even at the request of the LGBTQ+ group). His only motive appeared to have them around as decorative objects.

I cannot describe this man. The description I have, and I already knew it was not him, is the description of the only rapist we saw. The description of the only cis-guy at the party that night, and the guy who was hitting on Angela all night. At least until he was done.

-- 

(had to do some grounding)

--

We stopped going to the art club. Eventually we stopped going to the drawing class. Eventually, we made an appointment with the school therapist. Almost immediately after seeing the school therapist, we dropped all classes and our friend stopped responding to my emails.

Me. My friend. My classes. Yes, we were there, but I need to drop down to just me for a while. I need to be me again.

--

I intended to write the reason I went to see the school therapist. I thought it was relatively simple.

If I had the energy, but I am still recovering from the migraines, I would probably go on a tirade again. I do not have it in me. One meltdown a day is enough.

It is hard to understand how things that are in my own past are literally mind-numbing. I mean literally literally mind-numbing. I am still surprised. I still do not expect how bad it will be.

I am too tired for this tonight. I need my happy childhood back for tonight. I would rather remember nothing at all.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Sculptor

Chapter 10 - The Gift of Fire

[Final main chapter! I'll post the epilogue shortly and then this fic is done ♥ And please don't forget to check out @ceru-draws!! This fic wouldn't exist without their incredible piece The Sculptor (but Wangxian), and I seriously can't recommend their art enough, go give them some love! Follow them here, or on Twitter, or on Instagram, whatever you prefer, but just do it!]

[Masterpost] [AO3]

-/-

“How was the party?” Lan Wangji asks Wen Qing when she arrives home on Saturday afternoon, and he can tell the moment she walks through the door that something’s up. He looks beyond her shoulder to spot Luo Qingyang following her in, and he relaxes. He likes Luo Qingyang, truly and genuinely, and though he’s not typically fond of unexpected visitors, how could he be upset to see her? “Mianmian,” he greets, more warmly than he would greet anyone else who isn’t his wife or Wei Wuxian.

“Hi Wangji,” she says with a sweet smile up at him. “I hope you don’t mind-”

“You know you’re always welcome in our house, don’t ever apologize,” Wen Qing reminds her before Lan Wangji can say precisely the same. “We have news for you,” she then says to him, and he can’t help but blink at the barely-restrained aggression in her tone.

He reaches out to take the shopping bag from Luo Qingyang’s arms with an inquisitive noise in the back of his throat. The pair of them follow him into the kitchen, and when he sets the bag down with a rustle of paper and a glance back at them he catches them in the middle of communicating something between them with nothing more than sharp glances in his direction and thinned lips.

“What happened?” he asks with no small amount of alarm - considering the panic he’d felt over the party in the first place, he’s not inclined to think that any news they might have to give him together the day after will be anything good.

“Wei Wuxian is definitely gay.” Wen Qing says it like ripping off a bandaid, sharp and quick, and Lan Wangji so thoroughly appreciates his wife and her no-nonsense attitude in that moment that he can hardly breathe. “Mianmian’s Family - they’re the painters he shares Yiling Collective with, the theater director at the performing arts center in town, and Wei Wuxian.”

“He was there?” Lan Wangji asks when he feels like he can breathe again. He’s not sure what he would have done if he’d gone to the party with them and seen Wei Wuxian sitting there, surrounded by part of their little underground community in such a way that there could be absolutely no doubt as to his place in it, but it likely wouldn’t have been very dignified.

“No,” Luo Qingyang says apologetically and Lan Wangji exhales carefully. “But Uncle Xingchen had to run out to the studio for something and he said A-Ying was still in his side of the studio moping around. Uncle invited him to come but he said he didn’t want to show up at the party all sad and accidentally spoil our coming out. He started telling us about the piece he saw on the workbench, and when he described it to us Qing-jie knew for sure that my ‘cousin’ he kept mentioning was your Wei Wuxian. I didn’t even realize you were down there working with him until last night!”

Lan Wangji stares into the space between their shoulders and just..tries to think.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes come to mind first, laughing and intense in equal measure, heavy whenever they rest on him for any reason. His hands, never straying but…lingering, on the rare occasions Wei Wuxian finds a reason to touch him. His blushes, his praises, the way each image he’s made of Lan Wangji yet has been done with so much delicate care that it makes him want to blush just to think of them. 

He’d mentioned the end of their allotted time together twice within roughly 30 seconds of each other yesterday, and the reminder had settled uncomfortably under Lan Wangji’s ribs and stayed there, sharp as a razor whenever he breathes even today. Had it made Wei Wuxian just as upset? He’d seemed alright when Lan Wangji had left, but if Xiao Xingchen, who must know him well, had seen him just hours later and reported him back as ‘moping’ then what could have happened in the interim except Wei Wuxian thinking about their parting conversation?

“A-Zhan?” Wen Qing prompts quietly, and Lan Wangji forces himself to take a deep breath in. Hold it. Exhale slowly. “I want you to pursue this,” she tells him when he looks at her, her face as serious as it ever gets. “I want you to be happy. We can stay married, we can adopt A-Yuan, we can do everything we promised. And you can keep Wei Wuxian.”

“He’s single,” Luo Qingyang adds before Lan Wangji can attempt to get his feet back under him and he narrows his eyes at her - they’ve clearly coordinated this attack, but Luo Qingyang just smiles at him, falsely guileless. “And he told Huaisang forever ago that he was going to quit going down to the Corner Bar because hookups just aren’t what he wants anymore, he’s looking for more but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to find it.”

Lan Wangji wants to give him so much more that his knees nearly buckle under the weight of it, though of course only he knows just how close he is to losing his iron-clad control.

“Go sit down,” Wen Qing orders. “That’s a lot of information for 2pm on a Saturday, just go think about it, alright? We’re going to make Mianmian’s cookies to take across to Margaret, we’ll set some aside for you.”

Lan Wangji frowns a little at that, startled out of his spiraling thoughts by the utterly uncharacteristic decision from Wen Qing to not only bake cookies for someone, but specifically for a woman she claims to barely tolerate. As far as distractions go, it’s surprisingly effective. It’s Luo Qingyang who clears that up for him too, still smiling sweetly.

“I think Peggy’s one of us,” she says with a wink. “I’ve seen her snooping around the outside of the Corner Bar one too many times for her to have been ‘just a little lost’, I want her to know we’re here for her if she needs people to talk to.”

“Right,” Lan Wangji manages, and the only thing that keeps him from mumbling it is all his uncle’s comportment lessons as a boy. “That is…good. Mn.” He drifts out of the kitchen in a daze to return to his spot on the couch, mind churning uncomfortably through so much new information that he was in no way prepared for. He can hear Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang chatting quietly in the kitchen as they bake, occasionally breaking into laughter, and it soothes him to hear his best friend and her partner free to be themselves. Happy.

This is what he’d promised her. He’d sworn to her that they’d keep each other safe, that she could be herself with him and he would be there for her. Encourage her. He’s only realizing now that he’d never truly anticipated she would need to uphold her promises to do the same for him. He’d been so certain that he would spend his life entirely celibate, too afraid of being hurt, being in danger, to ever pursue a partner for himself. He had accepted that. But now, with the possibility of not having to accept it in front of him, it feels like his entire world has been flipped upside down. It’s terrifying. It’s uncomfortable.

But he knows Wei Wuxian. He trusts him. He, if he’s being honest with himself, loves him already. Desperately, in his own quiet, hidden ways. If pursuing that love means he has to feel like he’s falling up into space then he hopes he never finds his footing again.

“What are you going to do?” Wen Qing asks him quietly on Monday morning when he comes downstairs for breakfast, dressed for the day as usual in one of his most comfortable suits. “Will you tell him?”

“I do not know,” he answers honestly. He’s had a day and a half to think about it, and though he knows he wants Wei Wuxian, wants whatever the man will give him, he has utterly no idea how to go about actually getting it. Wen Qing had come to him on her own to ask him to start ‘dating’, and had proposed their marriage to him as well in her usual no-nonsense way. He has never once, in his entire life, practiced going after the things he wants like this, and certainly never with so much at stake.

Wen Qing, mercifully, leaves him to his thoughts without sharing any of her opinions on the matter (though he’s sure she has plenty). She sends him off at the door at the usual time with a reassuring squeeze to his hand and he appreciates it, the quiet reminder that no matter what happens he still has her. They’d promised - support and companionship. Security. He can be safe with her, even if everything else falls apart. 

When he arrives at the studio it’s to find Wei Wuxian only just arriving to unlock the door, his shoulders a little slumped and his hair tied up sloppily in a red ribbon, much brighter than the faded maroon of his shirt. Lan Wangji thinks of Luo Qingyang saying that he’d been ‘moping’ on Friday night, and he wonders with a pang if that’s still the case.

“Wei Ying,” he greets, and the man turns to look at him over his shoulder, already grinning at the sight of him.

“Lan Zhan! Right on time as always. Sorry I’m not already set up, I slept in this morning.”

“No need, Wei Ying deserves to rest.”

Wei Wuxian just chuckles at that and steps into the studio. The first thing Lan Wangji notices when he steps inside is that the place absolutely reeks of cigarette smoke, and he glances automatically at the ubiquitous little cardboard box that had taken up residence in Wei Wuxian’s pockets a few weeks ago. He hasn’t actually seen him smoking, but now he supposes that’s just because Wei Wuxian does it on his own rather than because he doesn’t actually do it at all.

“Ah…I’ll just. Open the windows,” Wei Wuxian says sheepishly with a little wrinkle of his nose that’s unfairly adorable.

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji shuts the door behind them and begins undressing. After having done it so many times he barely hesitates at all, even when it comes to removing his trousers which is still such a new development. His hands are shaking today like they haven’t since those first few days of undressing here, but he knows that at least this morning it has very little to do with baring himself for Wei Wuxian’s gaze - which, now that he can be honest with himself about his feelings, had thrilled him just as much as it had terrified him when Wei Wuxian mentioned it during that very first meeting.

“So - before you get comfortable on the sofa for the day,” Wei Wuxian starts with a smirk to invite him to join in the joke that is ‘comfortable’, as his pose is far from it, “I want to let you know that since I’ll be moving onto the final piece now I need to take some um..measurements. Well a lot of them, actually. To build to scale.”

It hardly takes any consideration at all for Lan Wangji to see the logic of that and he nods easily, unsure why Wei Wuxian is blushing about it.

It takes roughly two minutes more for Lan Wangji to understand the reason for that too.

He’s been measured for suits his entire life, stood on many a tailor’s podium with his feet spread shoulder-width apart and grit his teeth until the process was over. He has never once had a handsome man’s hands on his bare skin, measuring every conceivable part of his body. It’s a very different experience, and one he has no interest in ending any time soon. 

Wei Wuxian’s clever, lovely fingers skim across shoulders, ribs, down his arms, circle around his wrists…his neck. He finds a robin’s egg blue silk ribbon somewhere in all his many scraps of fabric and uses it to tie Lan Wangji’s hair up for him when it proves to be too inconvenient to ask him to hold it up out of the way in a loose bun on top of his head, and somehow the gentle hold of it at the back of his head, the bottom two thirds of his hair still hanging loose to drape over his shoulders, leaves him feeling more exposed than if it were all still gathered neatly out of the way.

He stands still in the middle of Wei Wuxian’s studio, in front of a mirror he’s never seen before but that Wei Wuxian seems to be using to help with the measuring process, and he settles into the low-simmering arousal of being naked for Wei Wuxian as the man, fully dressed, circles him slowly. Touches him, polite and businesslike but reverent in the same way he’s been every single time he’s ever touched him. Lan Wangji glances down on instinct when Wei Wuxian stops in front of him to measure the breadth of his chest from shoulder to shoulder and his next inhale catches when he sees Wei Wuxian’s sturdy leather boots so close to his own bare feet, a large fold in the stiffened skirt of his apron a hairsbreadth from brushing against his thigh.

Wei Wuxian has forgone his usual clay-stained overalls for the day, dressed instead in worn trousers and a sinfully soft short-sleeved button up, sleeves cuffed over the strong curves of his biceps, all of it haphazardly protected by a softened denim apron that does actually brush Lan Wangji’s skin in the next moment when Wei Wuxian steps just a centimeter too close. Lan Wangji’s hands are practically aching with the desire to push it all off him and strip him down as well, even as he thrills at the power dynamic of being so vulnerable in front of Wei Wuxian, still completely put-together and in control of Lan Wangji’s every movement.

Wen Qing’s question pings helpfully in the front of his mind again when he looks up from the narrow space between them to meet Wei Wuxian’s wide, dark eyes.

What are you going to do?

Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch on his chest and he swallows once before he leans back to scribble messily in his notebook balanced on the edge of his workbench, the furniture shoved aside for the moment to accommodate the mirror and give them room for Wei Wuxian to circle around him easily. They continue on in silence like that - nothing but their breathing, the occasional creak of leather or the wooden floor, and the slither of the tape measure through Wei Wuxian’s fingers to break it - for almost half an hour before Wei Wuxian finally takes a step back and studies him, color high in his cheeks.

“I have a few more to do,” he says, which Lan Wangji had expected considering he hasn’t even done his legs. He nods and follows easily when Wei Wuxian sits down on his stool sandwiched carefully between the mirror and the overladen table that Lan Wangji has spent hours looking at over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He’s meant many times to ask him about the family of statues on the top of it and is tempted to ask now, but whatever’s happening between them right now is..fragile in a way he can’t explain, but that he knows he doesn’t want to break. He stands silently beside the mirror as Wei Wuxian leans over - stretching out the lean line of his body for Lan Wangji to savor - to drop his tape measure on the workbench and swap it out for a pair of wooden calipers. Lan Wangji can’t resist raising an eyebrow when Wei Wuxian clears his throat and gestures vaguely at his hips.

Not that he needs permission, Lan Wangji would give Wei Wuxian anything, but he nods anyway and offers the man his usual quiet but firm, “Mn.” The familiar gesture makes Wei Wuxian smile up at him and Lan Wangji slides his hand up the side of the mirror to curl his fingers over the corner of the sturdy wooden frame - he’s afraid his knees will give out from under him if he doesn’t.

Wei Wuxian’s hands are visibly trembling as he adjusts the calipers a few times anxiously without bringing them anywhere near Lan Wangji’s cock (which is not nearly as soft as would be appropriate in a professional setting, though it’s thankfully not hard either) - and then he suddenly reaches into his pocket to draw out a brand new pack of cigarettes to pull one out and pop it between his lips.

What are you going to do?

Lan Wangji reaches out before he can think twice about it to take the lighter from Wei Wuxian’s shaking hands. As Wei Wuxian looks up at him, startled, he maintains steady eye-contact as he flicks the lid back on its hinge.

Spins the wheel under the side of his thumb with a metallic ring. 

There’s a nearly inaudible whoosh as the flame catches, hot and bright in his hand, and then Lan Wangji holds it out at hip height, mere inches from his own pelvis.

If Wei Wuxian wants a light, he’ll have to lean in close to get it.

They spend an endless moment blinking at each other, and Lan Wangji thinks in that moment that an understanding of the sort they’ve been dancing around for two months, since the moment they met, finally passes between them. Wei Wuxian lounges sideways slowly, ankles crossed next to Lan Wangji’s bare feet, elbow resting on the back support of his stool. His calipers dangle carelessly from his relaxed hand as he raises the other hand to hold his cigarette steady between his index and middle fingers as he leans in, in, in - and holds the tip of it to the flame cupped in Lan Wangji’s fingers.

Lan Wangji tucks one ankle carefully in front of the other and settles in with a relieved little sigh, the weight of years lifted from his shoulders in the moment between Wei Wuxian lighting his cigarette and flickering his heated gaze up to meet his, eyes glinting with the warmth of the flame. 

Lan Wangji flips the lid of the lighter over to snuff out the fire with another metallic little click, fingers clutching tight around the cool metal of it nestled in his palm. Wei Wuxian breathes deeply, takes the cigarette from his lips, and turns his head to the side to exhale again.

“Lan Zhan-” he chokes, his gaze fixed on the bare expanse of wall beside them. “I can’t-”

“My wife is a lesbian,” Lan Wangji blurts, panic moving him to speak bluntly. Heated glances and mutual understanding, one queer man to another, are all well and good, but he also knows that Wei Wuxian is a good man, a righteous man - he won’t step anywhere close to what he sees as an unforgivable breach of trust, but Lan Wangji can’t lose him. Not now, not ever. He can force himself to speak clearly for the sake of something so vital. Wei Wuxian will keep him safe.  “She had her coming out just recently. Friday evening.”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him again sharply, eyes wide with quick understanding.

“Mianmian?”

“Wen Qing’s girlfriend of three months, as of this week.”

Wei Wuxian exhales shakily and takes another fortifying drag off his cigarette - and the moment he does he seems to remember just how it was lit, and by whom, and his cheeks flush the deepest red Lan Wangji has seen on him yet.

“And you, Lan Zhan?”

“Pleased that my wife has found a lover to make her happy. And…” Lan Wangji swallows down years of shame, embarrassment, longing for something he’d never hoped to have in order to add, “I believe it is time I allowed myself to find my own.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at him for a breathless eternity, and then in quick succession he tosses his cigarette down to the floor to grind the lit end between his boot and the wood, jerks to his feet, and then his hands are on Lan Wangji again, firmer than before and without the excuse of the tape measure to mask his intention. Lan Wangji releases the mirror and the lighter clatters to the floor beside their feet in favor of having his hands free to reach towards the other man, to cup Wei Wuxian’s jaw, both hands curled tightly against that beloved face so he can pull him in and kiss him with barely-controlled hunger. There isn’t an ounce of hesitation left in either of them as their mouths meet, parted and perfect.

Lan Wangji may take a long time to make up his mind, but when it’s made he does nothing by halves; now that he knows what it feels like to have Wei Wuxian melted against his chest, lips soft and open in eager permission for Lan Wangji’s clumsy, amateur kisses, he knows he can never live happily without it again.

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[hopeamarsu]

Can I please request "Damage Control" with Oberyn or Frankie?''

Hi! ❤️

I decided to go with Frankie on this one and it turned a little dark somewhere along the way. Dark!Catfish lite, maybe? Nothing too bad, a hint here and there. I'm also working the angle that Frankie is a private investigator.

I hope you like it and thank you so much for sending this in! 

Damage control

Frankie Morales x reader

Word count 1,1k

Warnings: Angst, a lot of vagueness, some darkness. I'm calling it light darkfic. Suspense in a way. Private investigator Frankie.

“If Craig sent you out here to check on me or whatever, don’t bother,” You huffed as you heard the gravel crunch under heavy boots. You didn’t turn to look who had come to check on you, Craig had an abundance of minions to do his bidding and you walking out of the cocktail party for his art piece crying wasn’t enough for him to do it personally.

The boots stopped and a low, male voice answered you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know Craig, but if you need him, I can definitely ask around.”

You let out a sarcastic bark someone could describe as a laugh, maybe, and twisted around to look at the man who spoke. He was… handsome, your mind supplied. He was clad in a jumpsuit fit for a mechanic or maybe a pilot, shaggy and curly brown hair sticking out from under his hat, large hands streaked with grease and open, brown eyes that looked at you with worry in them. He was definitely handsome in that unassuming way and his posture was harmless, relaxed as he stood a little way from you.

“No, I don’t need him. Definitely do not. Need him that is.”

“May I ask then, why…” His voice died out as he gestured at your formal outfit and you let out a second bark. You knew he saw the tear tracks that contradicted the happiness that was normally associated with formal wear, it had to be the reason he asked.

“You may. Craig Owen is revealing his latest art installation in hangar 3 tonight and being his partner, I was forced to come with. He’s good, the art is good but he’s a complete fool in all other areas.” You sighed, rubbing your bare wrist as you went through the past half an hour in your mind, the events that made you walk out of the hangar and into the cool evening air.

“So I’m here, wallowing in self-pity and he’s in there, wallowing in the lustful gazes of the masses and ass-kissers. And apparently I was fool enough to believe he’d sent someone over to do some damage control, but instead I interrupted an innocent bystander on their way out of here.”

He lifted one of his shoulders in a small shrug. “I’m in no hurry.” He seemed to offer more silently, his eyes betraying the worry he felt and you were sorely tempted to open up the wounds, let someone in for a moment. You took another look at his jumpsuit and the patched name over his left breast.

“Thank you, Frankie, but I should go back in, I think. It doesn’t do any good for his image if I’m gone for too long.”

“Pardon my words, but if he’s left you out here and hasn’t come out to check on his partner, he doesn’t deserve you going back in.” The bite in his words was harsh and normally you’d jump on Craig’s defence, but the exhaustion of his actions piling up in the back of your mind made you close your mouth with a snap. Frankie looked at you, his eyes turning calculating and after a moment, he dug up a small handkerchief from his pockets and gave it to you.

“Would you like me to call you a ride, so you can get out of here?” He nodded towards the brightly lit parking area a small distance away. You wringed the cloth in your hands and nodded quickly. Going home sounded wonderful.

Frankie held out a hand for you and you stepped on the path in front of him, walking briskly. You heard him fish out a phone from his pockets and called a cab company, speaking in a clear voice about the directions on where to find the parking lot. Once the call ended and you reached the lot, he gestured towards the small garden patio set in front of the sliding doors.

“I know it’s not much, but it’ll take at least 10 to 15 minutes for the cab to arrive, so you can wait out here. If you need anything at all, please give me a call.” He held out a small card for you and as you took it, he tipped his hat in your direction before vanishing inside the doors. The parting words seemed a little off, but you chalked it up to chivalry as he was essentially leaving you alone in a remote place.

You sat down on one of the chairs and turned the card around in your hands.

Francisco Morales, Private Investigator, Mollier Investigations.

A phone number followed the three lines and a company logo in the right corner seemed to combine two letters M together. You thought it curious that a private investigator was openly handing out cards in the middle of a private airfield, but living in the large city never stopped surprising you. Maybe this was one of those surprises.

You tucked the card into your pocket just as the cab rolled out on the curb and a short man jumped out of it to open the backdoor for you. As you slid inside, you glanced at the sliding doors and swore you saw a flash of movement inside. Shrugging it off, you turned back to the driver and instructed him to drive you home.

Inside the hangar office, in the shadows behind the doors, Francisco Morales watched the cab peel off. A pang hit his heart for the wet tracks he’d seen and somewhere deep inside, the need to make it right swam up. But first, he had a job to finish and a lucky streak just might make it two jobs that night. He could always look you up later, he knew he’d be running into you again.

Frankie dug up his phone and pushed the number on his list. He waited for it to ring twice, before another male voice picked up.

“You have it?”

“Not yet, but… Something curious came up. Do you remember the Owen case? I think I might have a lead on that.”

“You serious Catfish? That trail has been cold for months now!”

“Yeah. You never guess who is holding out a party in the private airfield I keep my plane at. Craig Owen himself.”

“No fucking way! We need to get into that party, this could be it. Can you find us a way in?”

“Sure. Do a little this and a little that, make the lights go off in say… 30 minutes?”

“Copy that, Catfish. Ironhead and I will be down there shortly. Let’s catch this motherfucker.”

*

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this!

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mariesackler @princessxkenobi

[a-froger-epic]

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

J

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

J

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

[inkdemonapologist]

....Who Kyle? I don't remember him?

He is BARELY MENTIONED AT ALL.

Kyle shows up I’m pretty sure just three times in TIOL, though it seems more like one vignette that got split in three, and he’s never explained. In the first bit Joey talks to us about how great a perfect shoe is, how great it was to get a professionally tailored suit, and describes joking with Kyle while Kyle tells him he looks great. In the second bit, Kyle starts asking if this is the first pair of Nice Shoes that Joey’s ever had, and Joey closes off immediately, internally grumbling about Kyle trying to pry and figure out things about Joey’s past and status, and starts ranting in the book a bit about how Kyle isn’t superior just because he was richer than him and that his attempts are obvious and simple and also he’s lazy and I never liked him anyway. And then in the third part, it turns out Kyle and Joey have been waiting for Kyle's car to go check out a new speakeasy, which Kyle says will have “opportunities to connect,” and he introduces Joey there as someone who “will be a big deal very soon,” which Joey internally nitpicks as not exactly the best introduction and thinks that Kyle might enjoy his company but doesn’t seem to have much faith in his business abilities. And then Kyle goes off to dance and IS NEVER SEEN OR HEARD FROM AGAIN.

Kyle is extremely forgettable as a character, but also VERY ODD because he’s brought up and gets a name, but his connection to Joey isn’t explained. It seems like it would be simple enough -- “met Kyle through X and he’s the one that started taking me to upscale parties and speakeasies” or whatever, and it’s especially odd because his time with Kyle seems tangled up with some experiences he finds really life-changing; finally being dressed sharply and going to fancy parties and becoming the picture of Joey Drew that he'd always wanted to become, of finally having someone who calls him “Joey” without needing to be corrected from “Joseph.” It seems important to him, but also, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

So, that’s where he gets interesting -- Dreamfisher was the first person I saw pointing it out, but basically, if you stop and connect the dots, there’s probably a really important reason that Joey isn’t explaining who Kyle is or what their connection is: if Kyle is paying for all of Joey’s high-end experiences and clothes. Joey hadn’t started the studio yet -- he didn’t even have the idea for it until the art show with Henry a year later -- so there’s no way he’s actually worked up to being able to afford all of this from working at a bookstore. Joey outright says that Kyle enjoys his company but also that Kyle doesn’t trust his business sense, so, uh…….why is Kyle pouring money into making him pretty, exactly…….

Obviously, The Illusion of Living never directly says they were romantically involved, and it’s possible they weren’t. Joey never directly says Kyle bought his new clothes. But it really feels like the cleanest, simplest explanation for the bits we're given, and the specific hints towards this maybe being a gay-friendly speakeasy make it very believable that this implication wasn’t an accident. And like, reading it in that light works. Why were they waiting for Kyle's car -- that implies Kyle was dropped off at Joey's place earlier, after they got him his fancy suit and shoes, like Kyle wanted to be there when Joey got dressed. In the book Joey grumbles about how he never approved of Kyle, but in the moment he's making jokes and dancing around the room to make Kyle laugh.

Anyway, to answer your question, Kyle is briefly mentioned as a rich friend of Joey’s who takes him to the speakeasy where he runs into Nathan again. I personally think they were smooching.

[visd3stele]

magic and kids

summary:

A/N: I really hope you like it. Thank you for your requests. Loved writing it.

art credit: @phantomrin

TW: none

@britishbookworm2 requested (if you want to leave a request as well, click)

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It's been four years since Taryn decided the mortal world would be a more suitable place to raise her child than Elfhame. Even if her sister was now High Queen, the fairies would still make life hard for her and her baby. Maybe not on purpose, she admits it. But magic runs wild, free and unstoppable. Used to it, the Fae Folk barely notices the dangers. And frankly, they don't care. Not allowed to use it on humans as cruelly as before, some meaner courts claim innocent ignorance. How can an entire society of enchanted beings change overnight? How could they be expected to adjust to human fragility all of a sudden?

So Taryn took her baby, promised her sister to visit and fled to Heather and Vivi's. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought. Getting used to the mortal world, that's it. And if her baby had longer canine than normal, or his ears sharpened to pointy edges to the top, it passed unnoticed. Her son certainly didn't stood out the way Vivi did, even with light brown eyes that looked orange in the sun and rusty red hair. He didn't need much glamouring either, not like Oak, Oriana or Madoc. By the time she sent him to preschool his hair was long enough to cover the ears and no one seemed to notice the teeth even without magic.

For all the talk Taryn did on how she wanted her son to be free of his father in all ways, snapping at Oak when the boy tried to teach him magic before he knew how to properly walk and forbidding her family to bring Fairyland up, she named him Renard.

Fitting, though not what she should have done. Maybe part of her can't let Locke go, not entirely. She knew he didn't particularly wanted the baby, that everything he promised her were pretty lies. But for a few months, it has been real. Their marriage, their love, their lives. She saw her dreams come true, one after another: the mistress of an important household, throwing parties for courtiers, motherhood.

Now that everything she wanted snaped broken in tiny little pieces carried away by harsh winter wind, Taryn Duarte couldn't phantom having her child become like his father.

"It has nothing to do with magic, for fuck's sake!" Vivi exploded once, after Taryn better than not threw Oak and Oriana - who came to visit - out of the apartment for trying to reach Renard's magic. "He won't become a sly, selfish fox if he can change appearance or grow horses out of leaves. It's all about his up-bringing!"

"I want him to be normal, Vivi! That's why I took him here!"

Renard has been barely one year old when the argument happened. But it was enough to take his mother's words to heart.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Four years old Renard and twelve years old Oak played outside, jumping in crusty piles of autumn leaves. The princeling hadn't given up his plans to teach his cousin magic. He refused to let go of such opportunity: a friend he didn't have to hide of, one he could play with like he used to in Elfhame.

"Hey, Ren-Ren," Oak said, "check this out!" The older boy held up his hand, brows furrowed in concentration, lip grazed between his teeth. Nothing happened for an alarming amount of time. And then... the leaves twirl around the two cousins, splashing then with guts of wind and scarce dew as it swept them up in a friendly tornado.

Renard chuckled in delight, stretching to catch some of the closer leaves. But as soon as he touched one, the whole thing fell apart. "No!" Do it again, Oak. Do it again."

"I'm sorry, Ren-Ren," Oak faked a yawned and laid on the ground. "Magic is very serious business. Very consuming. I'm too tired to even move." He let his eyes close dramatically, watching Renard between his lashes. Truth be told, every time he did magic Oak felt good. Vibrant. As if the earth itself reached out and gave him life. But Renard didn't need to know that yet. He can definitely learn it by himself if Oak's plan works out.

The younger boy pouted and dropped on the ground. "Not fair," he muttered to himself.

"You know, Ren-Ren, you're half fae. That means there's a pretty good chance you're magic too."

"No, I'm not."

"You can't know that. Come on, give it a try!"

"No, Oak! I'm not magic. I'm not like Father, I'm like Mom. Like Mom, just like that."

Oak straightened himself, but didn't rose from the ground. "Ok, Ren-Ren. Listen up. Magic is not bad. It's fun. Don't you think it's fun?"

"Yes!" Renard nodded enthusiastically. "It's super fun. When you do it, Oak." At that the named boy own enthusiasm faded away in an instant.

"Thank you, Ren-Ren," he deadpanned. "But do you know what's more fun than watching me practice magic?" Not giving the kid a chance to answer, to even take in the question, really, Oak said "To do it yourself."

"Do you really think I should try, Oak?" Clearly, the little boy was attracted to magic. And clearly something was stopping him. But his older cousin slowly made whatever that was seem less big and scary, dragging him along in his qualms.

"Totally!"

Renard pushed his lips forward with his tongue, sticking it out through the gap in his teeth. Caramel eyes shone with desire, his red hair flown around by a cold, pleasant wind. "Ok," he gave in, as expected. "How do I do it?"

The smirk that lightened up Oak's face can only be describes as evil. Though no ill intention hid behind it. Only the knowledge his plan worked out, just like his sister, Jude's.

"Listen to me very carefully, alright? There is not just one way to make magic, Ren-Ren. You have to find your own. But for now, try the basics. Think really hard on what you want to happen. Something easy. Got anything in mind?" Renard frowned, then his eyes landed on a tree which still had some green leaves on its branches and nodded.

"Perfect! Now, imagine whatever you want to happen. Imagine it happening. Are you imagining?"

"Yes."

"No!" Oak groaned. "If you're paying attention to me, then it means you're not focusing on magic."

"But how will I know what to do if I don't listen to you?"

"I told you! Magic is your own, Ren-Ren. It comes naturally. So, dig it up. Use your imagination."

Renard tried to shut out the world around him, picturing the sole tree in his mind. A warm pull tugged at him and he followed. His magic, he tried not to dwell on the joy, but instead focusing on his practice. His magic reaching out. Because he reached out first.

The boy allowed the warmth to take control, guiding him through it. The tree now carved in his mind by detail wasn't enough. He needed action. But just imagining the leaves to fall wouldn't do. Renard couldn't say how exactly he knew it. He just did. Something more tender was needed. The half fae kid had to imply what he wants and trust his magic to follow his lead.

So Renard made himself cold. Chilly. Feeling a breeze of wind creeping inside his clothes, whipping his skin gently. Enough to rip a leaf off a tree, though. Which it did. The wind he summoned couldn't be felt, not really. Only by himself and the green leaves that departed one by one from their branch as if plucked by an invisible hand.

Oak gasped. Then grinned. And then he laughed. Renard broke free of his concentration, pleased to see his magic didn't falter. Not until every and each green leaf from his chosen tree didn't fall. The sight made him still in awe for a couple of seconds. But soon enough he joined his cousin with a bubble laugh, jumping up and down and running to tackle Oak in a tight hug.

"I did it, Oak! I did it!"

"Yes, you did, Rem-Ren. Indeed, you did. Congrats!"

"Can we show auntie Vivi? And auntie Oriana?"

When Madoc and Oriana first came in the mortal world, Taryn wanted nothing to do with them. But years of being cared for by the blue skinned, white haired, pink eyes woman showed their tale. She agreed to see her, but only her. She could be part of her child life, if she wanted.

"Sure. But don't you want to show your mom first?"

"Mom and auntie Heather work a lot. We can show them later." Renard said, but he felt his magic shrinking at the thought of his mother. His Mom didn't like his father. And his magic comes from his father. Is that why his magic doesn't want to reveal itself near Taryn? He hoped it was just him overthinking it, because he loves his Mom and wants to share this with her.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Oak stayed with auntie Oriana, who was his mother, so Renard couldn't bring himself to be upset over it. He would want to be with his mother as much as he can as well. So he did a little trick for auntie Vivi, who told him to stay where he was, brought a camera and ordered him to glamour the tea cups again. Renard made them look like pumpkins, since the Halloween being over the corner made him impossibly anxious - in a good way.

Turns out even mortal technology can be fooled by fae's magic. Vivi showed the clip to Heather, who coed over him until Taryn came home.

"Hello, treasure. How was your day? Wanna give mommy a kiss?"

Renard jumped into his mother's arms, pressing a strong kiss on her cheek before starting to tell her about all the fun he had with cousin Oak. "And then he said I should try magic too."

Tamryn stilled. "And?"

"Look, Mom!"

Renard broke a vase, then, with a twitch of his fingers put it back together. "Auntie Vivi says I'm a natural."

"Does she? That's amazing, sweetheart."

But his mother didn't sound thrilled. In fact, her smile wasn't even a smile at all, but a thin line. "I'm sorry, mommy. I knew I shouldn't've done it, but I didn't know why. Now I know: you don't want me using my magic. It'll make me bad, like father."

Renard pushed his lips up front, scrunched his nose up, wiggled his toes, all in an atempt to stop the tears hurting his eyes from falling. When he realized it was in vain, he took off running to his room.

When Taryn entered minutes later she found her son curled on his left side in the middle of the bed, hugging a black goat plushie his uncle Cardan gave him on his birthday tight to his chest. She hated herself for causing the pain struck look on her son's face.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hi, Mom." Renard wiped his nose with his jumper's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Mommy was just scared, but that's not your fault. You could never be bad. Magic is not bad. Of course you can practice all you want, but we'll settle some ground, basic rules first. Ok?"

"Really?"

"Rules you can never, ever break. Really."

"Thank you, Mommy! You're the best! Just wait until Oak hears about it."

A/N: Renard means fox in french. Also: oops, guess I finished it earlier than expected and didn't really felt like waiting days to post it 😅