Chris M Hill

@romantasychris.bsky.social

447 Followers 169 Following

Just a dumb flamboyant disaster queer, writing queer love stories with magic and adventure in fantastical worlds. (trans & polyamory inclusive narratives!) https://chrismhill.com/ https://ko-fi.com/romantasychris/shop ECRW Member 💚📚

A bedraggled black Muppet enjoys his third favorite pass time (after walks and tug-o-war): watching the street for pedestrians suspicious enough to bark at.

A picture of a black golden doodle with a poodle-like curly coat of fur, except all that fur has been cut away for a summer short hairdo. He's sitting against a photo backdrop with a field of sunflowers, and looking slightly morosely at the camera because haircut day is his least favorite day, and the groomer (out of frame) is probably holding a dog treat to get him to stand still when she really should just give it to him already for the hardship he's endured.

A photo of a red, black, and holographic sticker that says "PROUD MEMBER OF THE INDY PUBLISHING CULT." The illustration features a book above a heart shaped summoning circle, with spooky candles in the background.

The sticker is a spoof off of the "self publishing cult" comments made in the romancelandia and self publishing booksky community as part of some discourse-of-the-week stuff, but tbh it just sounded metal as fuck and I love it.

A screenshot from Stripe's customer service docs, with the phrase "banking partner" highlighted in orange. The screenshot reads:

Financial accounts
You can use the Treasury endpoints of the Stripe API to create financial accounts, and attach them to connected accounts in a one-to-one relationship (unless you’re enrolled in the Multi FA beta).

You can fund the financial accounts of your platform’s connected accounts and move money between them. Your connected accounts can also fund their Treasury financial accounts using a bank external to Stripe. If your platform uses Stripe Issuing, you can provide payment cards linked to the financial account balance of your connected accounts.

Treasury financial accounts have routing numbers because they’re backed by US banking partners, and balances are eligible for FDIC pass-through insurance.

Flat graphic horror style poster in red and white on a black background that reads "PROUD MEMBER OF THE SELF PUBLISHING CULT" in sick ass spooky fonts. Below the text an open book floats above a heart shaped pentagram with candles in the background.

A screenshot of the last paragraph from the linked article. It reads:

To move forward, it helps Okinyi to think of ChatGPT’s users that he has protected. “I consider myself a soldier and soldiers take bullets for the good of the people,” he says. Despite the potential for bullet wounds to stay forever, he considers himself a hero.

A series of scribbled thumbnails depicting a very large bird, a door, and an an airship. Song lyrics are noted along the bottom of frames.

A letter typed in a font resembling neat handwriting. The letter reads:

Reynaud,

(The following is transcribed from morse code)

I can only write this because I know you will never read it.

We approach not only a battle, but The Battle, and you’ve never been one to focus on little puzzles when the big picture requires your attention and your blade. By the end of these fights, I assume this page will be long since lost or destroyed.

So I can say, to you, but mostly to myself:
I love you.

As family? As a vassal loves their lord? As a disciple loves their religion? It’s hard to say. Maybe yes to all three. Maybe more. Certainly not less. It’s not an emotion that requires a response. No acceptance or rejection required. It simply is. And it is mine.

You bear yourself with honesty and integrity, in any given situation, even when it’s dreadfully stupid to do so. You believe in the best in each person, even when it is not present. No, it’s more than that - the worst of a person doesn’t even occur to you as an option, such is your optimism.

In anyone else it would come off as naive. For you, it’s not. It’s a reflection of the most genuine warmth I have ever seen blaze. Where others may harbor an ember, your faith in humanity ignites a bonfire.

And when I walk a step behind you, I can see the world through your eyes. Your light crowds out the shadows that haunt every corner of my perception, so bright they simply can not survive.

When I see your vision of the future, I want nothing else in the world more. It’s infectious. Slightly intoxicating. I don’t care if that dream is impossible, when I’m with you I know someone has to try.

A screenshot from the dating sim game "OZMAFIA!!". Caramia, a romance option who the player character has spurned, dunks on the player character by telling her: "You have awful taste in men."

"NO KINGS, YAS QUEENS" graphic in white on a black t-shirt.

A flat graphical image. The top half says NO KINGS in black on a red background, in blocky sans-serif font with the "o" turned into a no symbol. The bottom half has YAS QUEENS in the colors of a pride flag rainbow on a black background. The Q in Queens is wearing a crown in the colors of the trans flag.

A colorful sketch of a bunch of queer, dork ass lover friends in bickering yet companionable friendship.

From left to right: A pretty and seemingly innocuous girl with curly hair in a ponytail and a Lolita dress, a typical priviledged white boy in a bomber jacket, a punk rocker with spikey hair and ripped jeans and a studded denim jacket, some busy body nerd in a sweater vest, a tall glass of buff golden retriever boyfriend in a t-shirt that says "JUICY" with a graphic of a slice of lime, and a slender, needlessly polite mafia boss in an English suit with wire rimmed glasses.

Fanart of Yu from Lost In Amber by Maz Maddox. Anime style art in brush pen and greyscale marker with red and gold highlights, featuring a Chinese man with long hair, sticking out his tongue with a hard candy like a sexy bitch mofo.

White text on a dark grey background. It reads:

“When I’m with friends, there's always a gap. Like a weird bubble, between me and everyone else. They still like to have me around. I think. But they're always compensating for the gap, and it makes me feel like - like no one is really seeing me as a person. Like I'm a mascot. Or a pet. Or a child.” She drinks deeply at that, almost in defiance, the bottom of her glass surprisingly close, her head a little light, a little giggly in the background. “Lots of other reasons it's nice to be around you. Lots of them. You're straightforward and fun and your humor is *wicked…* But I think you're asking about self-interest, and I think that's it. When I'm with you, I'm a person.”

Black text on a white background that reads:

“That’s not what - Jarvitz, why th’fuck did you let a fucking witch on board, and now worse than that, now she’s here, why th’fuck are you telling people?”

“I’m not telling people, I’m telling you, Mechael, because you’re First Mate.”

“I! Am! People! And I didn’t wanna know ‘bout this fuckery!”

Jarvitz seems to be at a loss for words as the silence stretches out between them.

“I see,” Jarvitz says eventually, “I hadn’t considered that it would be an issue for your morale. Thank you for telling me.”

A shot of Herbie, a sentient racecard and classic V.W. Bug from the movie Love Bug, speeding down the highway. The car has been cleaved in two right down the middle, and the back half of the car is barely hanging on.

A screenshot of a page from Lost in Amber by Maz Maddox from an e-reader app, White text on a black background reads:

“I’ll go with you.”

I forced my eyes open and looked at him. He continued, searching my eyes for answers I didn’t have.

“Ask me to go and I will. I’ll follow you across the world like I should have done in Mongolia,”

A digital watercolor stylized illustration of two drag queens, Candy on the left rocking a bubblegum pink with a beehive wig and knee high boots with raptor feet drawn on the side. Sera Bottoms on the right is in all green, with horns built into her wig, stiletto heels, and a long glitery dress with ivy leaves and a high slit up the thigh.

A screenshot of the Wikipedia table for "Longest filibuster in the U.S. Senate since 1900", with Cory Booker listed triumphantly as number one, and his time amazingly still listed as "ongoing". The youtube stream of Cory Booker's still ongoing speech is floating in the bottom left corner of the screen.

A screenshot of the Wikipedia table for "Longest filibuster in the U.S. Senate since 1900", with Cory Booker listed as number three, and his time listed as "ongoing". The youtube stream of Cory Booker's ongoing speech is floating in the top left corner of the screen.

Black text against a parchment background, overlaid on top of a photo of an ocean sunset. The yext reads:

“The man I remember was a boisterous force of the cosmos, but there was pain in his heart no words and no touch could ever heal. When I see you now, I see a woman who smiles and it shines from every corner of her face.” Tully’s hand cups her cheek, his thumb caresses the many laugh lines at the corner of her lips, “I want nothing more than your joy, my darling.”

Her fingertips trace up his arm, feeling the taught skin of familiar battle scars long since healed to the faintest lines, then she gently wraps those fingers around his wrist, and pulls his hand away from her face.

“But?” Vivian asks, with the resolve of a war hardened general, and the resolve of a woman who knows what’s coming.

He grips her hand so tight the knuckles turn white.

“But I have never felt a flicker of passion for the feminine form.”

“Poetic, but blunt.” She wipes at the corners of her eyes with the hand she has free of his terrified grip, “And honest to a fault. The same man, give or take thirty years.”

“I don’t want to lose you again.” His voice cracks with choked back tears that threaten to fall from burning, watery eyes.

“You won’t lose me, love.” Vivian’s words are so soft as she pulls Tully in close, tucks his head under her chin and hugs him tight. The large man crumbles into her embrace, and his shoulders shake as those tears threaten to fall, “You’re stuck with me. You don’t want to bear it. I couldn’t. I’d just up and die from the heartache.”

His shoulders shake more, now from equal parts tears and laughter, “Dramatic lout. Same person, give or take thirty years. And a few other particulars.”

Black text against a background that looks like a sheet of parchment paper, with the word "lungs" highlighted in bright blue. The text reads:

Hands on Kanat’s shoulders, rough, shaking him, he cries out, he swings with all his might, his fist is caught in fingers gripping too strong and it hurts and he swore he won’t be hurt again -

Kanat has a well of power ready to pull the air from their lungs when he opens his eyes and sees light skin, sandy blond hair, blue eyes like the seas staring back at him. The incongruity confuses him, that’s not who hurts him.

“Kanat, it’s okay!”

Jean. It’s Jean. He almost killed Jean.

He stops fighting. His arms fall limp in Jean’s restraining grasp.

He doesn’t want to kill Jean.

Captain Jean, he reminds himself. The crew would kill him if he killed Jean. That’s why he doesn’t want to kill Captain Jean.

Black text on a white background that reads:

“I can tell you don’t know why it’s true, but you still believe it. Because he told you, and you trust him. That’s who you are, Jean. That’s what he loves. That’s why you won.”

“I didn’t win anything. We’re both-”

“Important. Irreplaceable. Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been aware, while you had to learn it.”

Jean physically recoils as the impact of that truth hits him squarely in the chest. He should respond, but there’s no refuting honesty. The silence where he should reply lapses for several seconds too long before Victor snaps his glasses case shut and turns back to the rack of map scrolls, thumbing through them as he begins to talk again.
“But Jean, you got him to stay. And for that I will always owe you a debt. So I’ll take you to the Alarin Capital, and take on your wyvern’s den of bad decisions. For him. And for you, because you love him.”

A fat little borb of a duckie stuffed animal holds out a blunted, pink toy knife threateningly. Under the duck a text message bubble says: "i said put the cuddles in the bag"

Black text on a white background that says:

“Um. Excuse me. Um, I’m sorry,” The door to the locker room opens just wide enough for a head to peek in from the lobby, long dark hair falling in front of the junior supervisor’s face, “There is a crazy man waving a stick around in the lobby. Leeah was going to write him up for obstructing traffic, but apparently he’s with the University? And he demanded to be brought here instead? Do you want me to… um… Do? Something?”

The youth very much looked like they hoped with every ounce of their being that the answer was no.

Marina sighs.

“No, it’s fine, Wilt. I’ll take it from here.” She stands, and a customer service smile slams closed over her face.

“Oh, that’s good.” Wilt says, glancing behind themself, “Because, he’s on his way right n-”

They don’t make it any farther before a shorter, stout man in foggy round glasses and a very puffy coat pushes the door the rest of the way open, with what appears to be a notched, ceramic yardstick touted over one shoulder. Eyes wide, smile stretched in a way that Jeseph would understand being described as ‘grinning like a lunatic’ - although that’s not what it looks like to him.

To Jeseph, it was the self-assured, adrenaline filled grin of victory. For a ludicrous second it felt infectious, and Jeseph ached to join in on the winning side of that grin.

Then Marina steps between them, and Jeseph remembers that victory belongs to a man demanding to speak to someone’s manager.

A low resolution, poorly cropped meme for "Inside of you there are two wolves"

On the left is a black wolf with text over it's face that reads "ONE IS GAY", on the right is a white wolf with text that reads, "THE OTHET ONE IS GAY".

A large, pink mug of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, sitting on a marble texture kitchen counter top.

Screenshot of the D2D website. Text reads:

Will every store accept erotica titles?

Not all of D2D's partner stores will accept erotica titles. At this time, we cannot distribute erotica titles to public library systems via OverDrive, cloudLibrary, Hoopla, BorrowBox, or to Odilo. If you select Erotica for your book's BISAC category, or if your book is flagged as containing erotic content, it will not be included in distribution to library systems.

A dark red book cover, the edges fading to black, for the book Incubus Caged by A. H. Lee, The Incubus Series, Book One.

The title text and author name are at the bottom of the cover in a siple serif font, and a black panther lies across the top of the title text. Behind the panther the back of a long-haired woman in a close fitting and elaborately embroidered dress appears in a white wisp of smoke, her arms raised above her head in a delicate, seductive dance.

The cover for The Mask of Mirrors by M. A. Carrick. Across the top of the cover in small text: "UTTERLY CAPTIVATING." - S.A. CHAKRABORTY.

Cover reactures a photo of an highly detailed and intricate mask in blue and gold featuring a feather motif worn on a dark skinned face against a black background.

Spotify Wrapped "Your Top Podcasts" list, in black text on a blue background. Graphic ranks top 5 podcasts with pictures of the album art for each:

1. Activated Authors
2. Writing Excuses
3. Worldbuilding fir Madochists
4. Smart Podcast, Trashy Books: A Romance Novel Podcast
5. Dear Hank & John

Image showing a flat graphic of a gold disintegrating crown on the left hand side, and medieval style black text on a parchment-yellow background on the right hand side.

The word "tightly" is circled in red in the block of text. The text reads:

“Oh, so fit for the crown prince, I presume?”

“That depends on what the crown prince is into,” Jaram arches an eyebrow, “Does it include floggers, chains, and knives?”

The question comes more as doubtful joking than any kind of intentional flirtation, but Toni’s mind goes white hot just thinking about it. He pulls his knees in a little closer, tightly hiding any reaction that may show lower on his body. Jaram’s renewed laughter means he’s still been given away by the heat rising to his cheeks, but those chuckles are warmer this time, closer.

When Toni steals a glance at him, Jaram is watching back in return.

“So that’s a yes.”

“I... I wouldn’t rightly know,” Toni admits in a voice that feels maybe a bit too high pitched, and it’s an almost entirely new emotion to feel this kind of flustered, “No one has ever invited me to find out. It must seem uncouth to offer to flog a prince.”

That smile on Jaram’s cheeks just grows wider.

“And now I know which side of the flogging you fantasize about.”

The cover of the book What Happened to Lani Garver by Carol Plum-Ucci. Under the author name: Award-winning author of THE BODY OF CHRISTOPHER CREED. In small text in the bottom right corner: "Gripping." - YM magazine.

The bottom left third of the cover features a slightly blurry sepia photo of half of the face of a nonbinary youth, staring directly at the reader, against a solid black background. The typography for the title and author name are in an all-caps distressed typewriter font.

Cover for the book "The White Dragon" by Anne McCaffrey, published by DelRay for $2.25. Across the top of the cover: "A Coast-to-Coast Bestseller in Hardcover"

The illustrated cover features a dragon rider in orange and purple clothes lounging in their saddle on the back of an albino white dragon perched on a cliffside. Three little dragons flit about, one resting on the dragon rider's gauntlet arm like a falcon, one flying in the foreground, and one sitting on the cliff next to the white dragon's feet.

Photo of a hand holding a paperback copy of A Pirate of Her Own by Kinley MacGregor. In small text across the top of the cover: "A DELIGHT. ROMPING GOOD FUN!" CATHY MAXWELL. In small text under the author name: USA Today bestselling author of Return of the Warrior.

The cover features an oil painting style illustration of man with windswept hair staring into the distance, with a white pirate shirt open to display chiseled abs. A woman in a green, low off the shoulder dress stands behind him, her hands resting on his arm and his shoulder. The background of the illustration is made of vaguely abstract paint strokes that give the impression that the two people are on the deck of a ship.

Image of an illustrated book cover for Magic's Pawn, by Mercedes Lackey, Book One of The Last Herald Mage (published by DAW Books).

In the center column of the book cover a distressed man with long wispy black hair in a pink cloak clings to the neck of a white horse with water blue eyes. Behind the horse is a sky of lighting, framed with the dark silhouette of evergreen trees.

Behind this center column image on the cover is a mostly black background. The bottom half of the black background pictures a bramble of pink flowers on thorny stems, and the top half shows a collage of minor characters from the book in grayscale swirling smoke.

Image showing a flat graphic of a gold disintegrating crown on the left hand side, and medieval style black text on a parchment-yellow background on the right hand side.

The word "ride" is circled in red in the block of text. The text reads:

“Toni. Like Fitz implied while shoving his foot down his throat, we’ve got a good guess to how far you need to go.” Jaram shoots Fitz a glare before locking eyes with Toni, an intense gaze where Toni just can’t look away, “You can’t walk that in half an hour, and you shouldn’t try to seat a horse until everything is out of your system. Can you survive a carriage ride?”

Toni’s face goes ghostly pale at the thought of every jarring rock and bump on cobblestone roads shooting straight through wooden wheels to his battered head.

“I’ll lend you the coin if you need it.” Jaram says, and Toni knows he means it, even though the cost for that kind of ride on Milificent Eve would be astronomical, and Jaram has no guarantee Toni could or would return to repay him. Jaram holds that prickling hot eye contact on Toni for a moment longer.

Toni looks away, at the damp cellar walls. There’s a spider web up in the corner near the stairs, a moth caught there with violently beating wings.

“No. I can’t.”

It was a funny thing. When he could have avoided all of this with a little caution, all Tony wanted was to play a little faster, a little looser, a little more dangerous. Now that he has every excuse to stay, all he wants is to go home.

Image showing a flat graphic of a gold disintegrating crown on the left hand side, and medieval style black text on a parchment-yellow background on the right hand side.

The word "wages" is circled in read in the block of text. The text reads:

Oh thank gods, he’s not dead! was the start of it, only to be muddied with the obvious realization. This man was a defensive mage. A defensive mage, in the Silvainan central city, in well tailored clothes of fine fabrics, with more money to burn on passing frivolities than most city folk would see in a week’s worth of wages. This was no rich merchant, or even minor gentry.

This was a titled member of nobility.

Face down in an alley gutter, robbed blind on his way to a seedy back alley bar.

Jaram chokes down the sudden, maniacal, urge to laugh

Forget low stakes drinks, no strings attached sex, and daydreaming about pitching business ventures over pillow talk. This man could have the entire street beheaded if he didn’t like their explanation for his headache when he woke up. This wasn’t a diversion, this was a time bomb.

It would be safer for everyone if he had been dead.

Image showing a flat graphic of a gold disintegrating crown on the left hand side, and medieval style black text on a parchment-yellow background on the right hand side.

The word "Accent" is circled in read in the block of text. The text reads:

“Maybe I should woo a lady of my own,” Antonison teases her, reaching for buttons to press that he knows will yank her back from the precipice of depression, “I could put all my efforts into winning the heart of a beautiful foreign dignitary. Perhaps a soft spoken lady with dark silken hair -”
“Antonison. You wouldn’t dare.” Eliza’s eyes narrow at him, filled with sparks again.
“-gray eyes that shine like moonlight on the brightest night, and the rolling accent of the eastern provinces, a sound like the tinkle of music upon my fair ears-”
“You’ve been reading my diary, you boar!”
Antonison barely has time to register the sharp pain before his wrists are twisted behind his back, straining the shoulders in the tightly tailored ceremonial jacket, his half mask digging into the bridge of his nose where her arm pushes his face against the marble column. He can feel her fury, but at least it’s about nothing serious, and he’s laughing. At least, he’s laughing until she twists his wrist just a notch farther, the press of her thumb against the soft tendons in his wrists, and he’s hissing in pain instead.
“Ow- 0w- Mercy, mercy lady-” the Prince stutters, “I swear I didn’t! I - ow! Eliza!”
His squirming does nothing to break her iron gripped leverage, but his pleas do, and she loosens her grip at the exact moment that he tugs harder - he feels the tearing pop from his jacket shoulder even before they both hear the tinkle of a row of glass beads falling to the stone floor.
“Shit.” They both swear in unison.

Simple black text on a white background:

[...] And so I am afraid, and that fear is so embedded in my bones that it has become indistinguishable from exhaustion.

But when I am too tired to stand on my own, there are those who will stand behind me. Community becomes vital in dark times like these. Together, there is strength. There is concern, understanding, and compassion.

We gather today to honor our dead. To stand for those who are no more, but also to stand together as the force who has made it through. We face what is coming for us with our combined strength.