Mihaly von Zichy (1827-1906), “Romantic Encounter”.

Literally art would be nothing without nuanced homoerotic subtext and gay film hobbyists repressed enough to unearth it

Writing Commissions!!

Since it’s summer now, I’ve decided to open up full writing commissions! You can send me a message here on tumblr and we can further discuss details, plotting and planning either via there or via discord or email (whatever is preferred). Payment will be through PayPal in EUR.

Depending on interest, I might have to limit slots but probably not. We’ll see.

So, I can write fanfiction as well as original fiction, provided I am given detailed characterization for the latter. I prefer to write light-hearted fiction, but I’m open to almost everything as long as there is no romanticizing of problematic content (e.g. pedophilia, incest, abuse). I’m open to NSFW as well, as long as you can provide prove of age.

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Prices:

200-400 word drabbles: €3.-

1,000-1,500: €10.-

1,501-2,000: €15.-

2,001-2,500: €20.-

2,501-3,000: €25.-

For anything above 3,000 words there’s another €1.- for every 200 words on top of the €25.-. I’m going to save myself a headache and set a 5,000 word limit because anything above that is not feasible for me at the moment.

Anything that requires detailed research about subjects beyond my current understanding is an added €5.- charge.

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I could list a whole bunch of fandoms, but let’s be real, I will probably only have interest in Hetalia or Inazuma Eleven (and the latter honestly only platonic fiction).

What I can say is that I’ll write just about any ship unless it makes me uncomfortable (e.g. I.tacest) and I will absolutely write OCs as long as I have ample description. Naturally, if you wish to see a different interpretation from what I usually write for certain characters, this can all be discussed. Honestly, just discuss things with me; I’m a very open person.

Examples of my writing can be found on AO3

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The first half of the money will be paid beforehand, the other half after I’m finished writing, so we both have a sense of security. You’ll be sent regular updates on the progress, so you can have a say in the process should something not be to your liking.

Wood nymphs in the moonlight (Detail) - Julius Schmid

im in Rome for a few days with my family!

and heh, today was my birthday- so they let me eat ungodly amount of pasta. a perilous, grand mistake.

on trust and manipulation

Back in early high school, I knew a girl - we were kinda friends by virtue of having multiple friends in common, but in hindsight, she never much liked me - who had this purebred dog. I’d met him at her place, and he wasn’t desexed, which was pretty unusual in my experience, so it stuck in the memory. And one day, as we were walking across the playground, this girl - I’ll call her Felice - said to me, “Hey, so we’re going to start using my dog as a stud.” And I’m like, Oh? And she’s like, “Yeah, we’ve been talking to breeders, we’re going to get to see his puppies and everything,” and I made interested noises because that actually sounded pretty interesting, and she went on a little bit more about how it would all work -

And then, out of nowhere, she swapped this sly look with another girl, burst out laughing and exclaimed, “God, you’re so gullible. I literally just made that up. You’ll believe anything!”

And I was just. Dumbfounded. Because I was standing there, staring at them, and they were laughing like I was an idiot, like they’d pulled this massive trick on me, and all I could think, apart from why the fuck they felt moved to do this in the first place, was that neither of them knew what gullible means. Like, literally nothing in that story was implausible! I knew she had an undesexed, male, purebred dog! It made total sense that he be used for a stud! And it wasn’t like I was getting this information from a second party - the person who actually owned the dog was telling me herself! And I felt so immensely frustrated, because they both walked off before I could figure out how to articulate that gullible means taking something unlikely or impossible at face value, whereas Felice had told me a very plausible lie, and while the end result in both cases is that the believer is tricked, the difference was that I wasn’t actually being stupid. Rather, Felice had manipulated the fact that she occupied a position of relative social trust - meaning, I didn’t have any reason to expect her to lie to me - to try and make me feel stupid.

Which, thinking back, was kind of par for the course with Felice. On another occasion, as our group was walking from Point A to Point B, I felt a tugging jostle on my school bag. I didn’t turn around, because I knew my friends were behind me, and my bag was often half-zipped - I figured someone was just shoving something back in that had fallen out, or had grabbed it in passing as they horsed around. Instead, Felice steps up beside me, grinning, and hands me my wallet, which she’d just pulled out, and tells me how oblivious I was for not noticing that she’d been rifling my bag, and how I ought to pay more attention. This was not done playfully: the clear intent, again, was to make me feel stupid for trusting that my friends - which, in that context, included her - weren’t going to fuck with me. As before, I couldn’t explain this to her, and she walked on, pleased with herself, before I could try.

The worst time, though, was when I came back from the canteen at lunch one day, and Felice, again backed up by another girl, told me that my dad had showed up on campus looking for me. By this time, you’d think I’d have cottoned on to her particular way of fucking with me, but I hadn’t, and my dad worked close enough to the school that he really could’ve stopped in. So I believed her, a strange little lurch in my stomach that I couldn’t quite place, and asked where he was. She said he’d gone looking for me elsewhere, at another building where we sometimes sat, and so I hurried off to look for him, feeling more and more anxious as I wondered why he might be there.

I was halfway across campus before I let myself remember that my mother was in hospital.

I felt physically sick. My pulse went through the roof; I couldn’t think of a reason why my dad would be at school looking for me that didn’t mean something terrible had happened to my mother, that her surgery had gone wrong, that she was sick or hurt or dying. And when my dad wasn’t where she’d said he would be, I hurried back to Felice - who was now sitting with half our mutual group of friends - only to be met with laughter. She called me gullible again, and that time, I snapped. I chased her down and punched her, and the friends who’d only just arrived, who didn’t know what had happened or why I was reacting like that, instantly took her side. Noises were made about telling the rest of our friends what I’d done, and I didn’t want them to hear Felice’s version first, so I ran off to the library, where I knew they were, to tell them first.

I walked into the library. I found our other friends. I was shaky and red-faced, and they asked me what had happened. I told them what Felice had done, that I’d hit her for it, that my mother was in hospital for an operation - something I’d mentioned in passing over the previous week; multiple people nodded in recognition - and how I’d thought Felice’s lie meant that something bad had happened. And then I burst into tears, something I almost never did, because it wasn’t until I said it out loud that I realised how genuinely frightened I’d been. I sat down at the table and cried, and a girl - I’ll call her Laurel - who I’d never really been close to - who was, in fact, much better friends with Felice than with me - put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me, volubly furious on my behalf.

And then the other girls showed up, and Laurel said, with that particular vicious sincerity that only twelve-year-olds can really muster, “Prepare to die, Felice,” and I almost wanted to laugh, but didn’t. A girl who was a close friend, who’d come in with Felice, took her side, outraged that I’d punched someone, until Laurel spoke up about my mother being in hospital, and everyone went really quiet. Which was when I remembered, also belatedly, that Laurel’s own mother was dead; had died of cancer several years previously, which explained why she of all people was so angry. I have a vivid memory of the look on Felice’s face, how she tried to play it off - she said she hadn’t known about my mother, I pointed out that I’d mentioned it multiple times at lunch that week, and she lost all high ground with everyone.    

Felice never played a trick on me again.

Eighteen years later, I still think about these incidents, not because I’m bearing some outdated grudge, but because they’re a good example of three important principles: one, that even with seemingly benign pranks, there’s a difference between acting with friendly or malicious intent; two, that ignorance of context can have a profound effect on the outcome regardless of what you meant; and three, that getting hurt by people who abuse your trust doesn’t make you gullible - it means you’re being betrayed. 

And I feel like this is information worth sharing.  

finally done with this painting!!! im always a sucker for my best boys in sweaters

i wanted to doodle new outfits for them,,

experimenting w my art style and feeling semi-pleased with it

riP this is a couple days too late for mermay but: au where feliks is a merman

request 2/5 to celebrate 100 followers on instagram: some ace Belarus pride art for ace icon @felicja-j !!

if you wanna see more instagram requests: my profile !

request 1/5 to celebrate 100 followers on my instagram: my best boys!! for @gnostic-heretic and @pollska , with optional pride colors before pride month is officially over. just in time for the anniversary of the Union of Lublin too!

if you guys want to see the rest of my instagram requests, i’ll be posting ‘em on my page over the next few days: here !

also since i am legally obligated to post art only at 5 am: matching twitter rusliet icons i finished today for @toadwaifu and @aphvanya !!

if you’d like to see more of my work: twitter | instagram

‘In 1778, two Irish gentlewomen put on men’s clothing and ran away together.  Lady Eleanor Butler had received several offers of marriage but was determined to share her life with her friend Sarah Ponsonby. […] They spent the rest of their lives in a black and white house called Plas Newydd outside Llangollen, cultivating their garden, improving their minds and filling the house with clocks, cabinets and “whirligigs of every shape and hue”.  [They also had] a little dog called Sapho.’

“Friend”

They literally named their dog Sapho

ruta graveolens 

talking heads was right

how

i do ask myself. how did i get here