#18-19th century painting

[venustapolis]

Ilustraciones para la Divina Comedia de Dante (Donn P. Crane)

[murderballadeer]

mutual 1: got a basket of apples at the grocery store today

mutual 2: do you think they ever... [picture of joan crawford and barbara stanwyck]

mutual 3: i need to quit my job

mutual 4: i'm crying i wish i was his best friend [photo of phil ochs circa 1964]

mutual 5: [joan baez spotify link]

mutual 6: [picture of a sunlit kitchen]

mutual 7: i need to fuck that old man so bad it makes me look stupid [picture of woody guthrie]

mutual 8: need to fuck that old man so bad it makes me look stupid [picture of vincent price]

mutual 9: all those posts about how it's holy or whatever to drive your friends to the airport are so stupid stop trying to make everything sound fake deep

mutual 10: driving your friends to the airport is holy

mutual 11: he's like a grandpa to me [picture of leonard cohen circa 2010)

mutual 12: i want him so bad [picture of leonard cohen circa 1969]

mutual 13: [salman toor painting]

mutual 14: [ursula k. leguin quote]

mutual 15: i think i'll spend $300 on a banjo today

mutual 16: [townes van zandt spotify link]

mutual 17: men should be crying and covered in blood

mutual 18: every time a girl shaves her bush an angel dies

mutual 19: i need to trap him in a maze like a lab rat [picture of bob dylan]

mutual 20: he's not a character from a 19th century russian novel he's my best friend

mutual 21: he's like a lesbian to me [picture of bruce springsteen wearing denim on denim]

mutual 22: [entirety of the lyrics to so long marianne by leonard cohen]. if you even care

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 18

Apricot jam calms the Eighth Doctor down.

The Fifth Doctor once shot the Master in the chest.

Once while under attack by space amoeba, the Fourth Doctor briefly reverted back to the Third Doctor.

Once when the Eleventh Doctor took River Song out for her birthday, she somehow cloned herself in an incident the Doctor fought hard to forget about.

The Thirteenth Doctor and River Song co-wrote The Dark Times Times.

Over his life, the Doctor has had many fears, including fire, heights, spiders, receiving healthcare, the dark, being imprisoned or kept in tight spaces, and many more.

The Sixth Doctor is critical of the Thirteenth Doctor due to her vocabulary.

Even though the Fifth Doctor would sometimes hide from Tegan in the Cloister Room, he told her that he couldn't "bear the thought of not having her around."

River Song gifted Amy a tube a hallucinogenic lipstick for Mother's Day one time.

At first, River thought the Eye of Harmony was a nightclub.

The Third Doctor once spent a summer on a narrowboat with Mary Berry.

The Fifth Doctor does not like being referred to as sweet.

Clara Oswald has been known to phone the TARDIS to get to school on time if she overslept.

The Eleventh Doctor didn't immediately banish himself to the 19th century after Amy and Rory were taken by the Weeping Angels. He eventually decided to stop meddling after he was tricked by the Dalek Time Controller.

Just as the Eighth Doctor's favorite number is 8, the Eleventh Doctor's favorite number is 11.

The people of Trenzalore observed on many occasions that the Doctor had "occasional moments of insanity."

Clara Oswald was the model for Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. The Twelfth Doctor thought da Vinci captured Clara's smile perfectly even though the painting did not portray her exact likeness.

When shown evidence of Peri's 'death,' the Sixth Doctor felt a pain so sharp it was like dying himself.

In an alternate timeline, River Song and the Doctor began a passionate romantic relationship beginning when he was the First Doctor and married by the time he was the Fourth Doctor. In this timeline, she and the Third Doctor would meet up without the Brigadier's knowledge to practice one-legged Venusian aikido while blindfolded on a tightrope.

While on Trenzalore, the Eleventh Doctor lost his leg due to nasty business involving a Tsunami Snake.

The Eighth Doctor notably has a fetish for pink bunny slippers.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[thatswhywelovegermany]

The Easter Bunny / Easter Hare

In German Easter tradition, the Easter Bunny is an imaginary rabbit or hare who paints eggs at Easter and hides them in the garden. Children search for Easter eggs on the morning of Easter Sunday. The motif of the Easter Bunny has recently spread in the popular culture of Easter, also through its commercial use, and has largely replaced earlier bringers of the Easter egg.

As far as is known, the Easter Bunny was first mentioned in the dissertation of the Frankfurt doctor Johannes Richier, who received his doctorate in 1682 under the respected Heidelberg professor of medicine Georg Franck von Franckenau with his treatise "De ovis paschalibus - von Oster-Eyern". The son of the pastor Jean Richier, who had fled France for religious reasons, describes a custom in Upper Germany, the Palatinate, Alsace and neighbouring regions, as well as Westphalia, according to which an Easter Bunny lays the eggs (ova excludere) and hides them in gardens in the grass, bushes, etc., where they are eagerly searched for by children amid laughter and to the amusement of the adults (cum risu et iucunditate seniorum). He calls the Easter Bunny hiding the eggs “a fable that is told to simpletons and children” (fabula, que simplicioribus et infantibus imponunt).

According to cultural studies, the reason for the strong upswing that belief in the Easter Bunny experienced in the 19th century can be found in the industrial production of cheap beet sugar, which made the production of affordable chocolate bunnies and eggs possible in the first place.

The connection between the Christian Easter festival and the egg as a symbol has been known in various European countries since the Middle Ages at the latest, and may even date back to earlier. There is also an older interpretation of the rabbit as a symbol of resurrection since Ambrose. The diverse Christian symbolism of the rabbit found expression in many works of art in the Middle Ages, see Rabbit in art. The connection between the rabbit and the Easter egg tradition is still unclear, however, even if the fertility of rabbits in itself has a close connection to spring. The following hypotheses are often put forward:

Some early painted Easter eggs show the three-hare image, a depiction of three hares with only three ears in total, but each hare having two ears due to the "double use" of ears; this is a well-known symbol for the Holy Trinity. It is possible that this depiction may have given rise to the idea of ​​the hare as an egg supplier.

In one passage in the Bible, Psalm 104:18, older translations speak of "hares". The reason for this was the Latin translation of Proverbs 30:26, in which Jerome translated the Hebrew "schafan" (rock hyrax) as "lepusculus" (hare). Since late antiquity, this passage has been interpreted as a symbol for the weak human (hare) who seeks refuge in the rock (Christ). This interpretation established the symbolism of the hare in Christian iconography.

It is widely considered harmless to tell young children that the Easter Bunny brings eggs and sweets for Easter. Psychologists believe that this illusion stimulates the imagination and supports cognitive development. However, children's critical questions and doubts should be supported so that their belief in the Bunny eventually disappears by itself, also through interaction with other children.

The Easter Bunny was spread outside of Europe by German-speaking emigrants. It has gained a certain popularity in the USA in particular. In English, the term "Easter Bunny" predominates over the literal translation "Easter Hare", so the figure is often understood to be a rabbit.

In Australia, the "Easter Bilby" has been placed alongside the "Easter Bunny" since the 1970s. The aim is to draw attention to the endangered species of the greater burrowing bandicoot ("Bilby"), not least due to the spread of European rabbits, and to raise money for a conservation fund by selling chocolate bilbies.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Madame Marzi I must defer to ur wisdom

Recently you rb’d a painting with some younger ladies and in the tags talked a bit about short hair in Victorian Times

Do you have any reference for how shorter hair was styled at the time? I’ve seen plenty of paintings and such with VERY short hair (post illness or perhaps childbirth) where all you can really do is smooth it back, but what about that awkward, past the shoulders sort of stage where it’s too long to just brush back but too short to do much to? Surely they had some styling guides..?

(Also, a side question— how old would one be before going from shorter skirts to adult/full length ones?)

The two little girls in the garden (probably preteens-young teens)? Yes, I did!

It's hard to find images of women with in-between hair lengths, and I'm not sure why. Possibly because they'd find ways to put it up with false hair, whereas hair too short to put up is more obvious in photos. This could also have to do with the type of woman who has pixie- or bob-length hair voluntarily vs. mid-length: the latter is more likely to be attempting a grow-out, and thus to try her darndest to do The Culturally Accepted Long Hair StylesTM where a lady who chose a much shorter look wouldn't care. If that makes sense? Because, indeed, some of the women with very short hair were not ill or postpartum: ladies could, and did, choose to eschew long locks back then. It wasn't very common, but it happened.

(Nicole Rudolph has an excellent video about localized short hair trends for ladies during the Victorian era.)

You see a lot of these bob-type looks in photographs where the hair is center-parted and either naturally curly or curled on purpose, around the mid-19th century:

(1850s or 60s)

(Author, feminist, and abolitionist Anna Elizabeth Dickinson- no relation to Emily that I know of, though Anna was also a queer female writer around the same era -c. 1860s. She wore her hair short all her life, so it was voluntary in this case.)

(Also 1860s.)

Pre-Raphaelite muse Fanny Eaton frequently appears to have chin-to-shoulder length hair, though given that she was Black with a corresponding hair texture, it's hard to tell what the actual length is- it may be long and looped up in the 1850s-60s styles popular when she was most commonly painted (most free Black women in England and the US wore styles also popular with white women, to the best of their abilities given that fashion plates assumed European-textured hair as the "norm"):

(Fanny Eaton, 1861. Also worth noting that we have no images of what her hair looked like when she wasn't posing for fantastical paintings.)

I've never actually seen an image of a Victorian woman with mid-length hair outside the context of theatrical or artistic images from the end of the century, now I think of it. Huh. It's a mystery, I suppose!

As for skirts, while in earlier periods children had basically worn miniature adult clothing, it became fashionable around the 1830s-40s to dress girls in short skirts and boys in short pants. The usual rule was knee-length until around age 10, then mid-calf-length until somewhere between 16 and 18 when skirts would be "let down" and the girl would start wearing her hair up, becoming a young adult in the eyes of society. (Contrary to popular belief, this had nothing to do with marriage- while you were theoretically eligible for it when you started dressing as an adult, girls/women younger than 20 were still often considered a bit too immature to marry. It wasn't forbidden, but many people thought it unwise. And yes, unmarried young women did still wear their hair up and their skirts long.)

...unless she preferred her hair short, which as you can see, was an option!

[sugaimhome]

country house setting - kth - part one

pairing: 19th century taehyung x reader

minors do not interact!!!

warnings (this part): age gap (10 years, readers 18, he’s 28), masturbation (v brief), loads of smut in the next chapter hold ye horses, yandere (? he’s very obsessed with her and her innocence lol), hints towards previous abuse, distant father figure, the messed up society of 19th century britain, biscuits.

part summary: taehyung wasn't looking forward to the isolation of his fathers manor, when you knock his door, that isolation is shattered, he has a new obsession. When taehyung visits your father to introduce himself as his a new neighbor, he makes you an offer you just can not decline.

words: 4.4k

series summary: your isolated manor house has nothing interesting going on. but when the abandoned manor near to yours has a new occupant, things change. taehyung is obsessed with you from the day you first knock his door. he’d do anything for you, even if it meant going against your father’s wishes, even if it meant you losing something very important to your future marriage on the way, something that would force your fathers hand.

part one  part two  part three  masterlist 

explanation of the title: a literacy genre where fictional characters are often isolated and alone living in a country house.

A/N: i’ve been so excited to post this, then suddenly, min yoongi decides to post a picture with the same vibes... least to say I changed some names around to better suit next chapters 😫😫 he will be appearing more than once in this story. this hasn’t been proof read by anyone but me so sorry about that 😶‍🌫️ i love reader so much i just want to protect her 🥺 also the writing on the banner is jane austens writing, what a queen. I did try and copy the speaking of the time a little but I think I failed 😀

“A ball?” you ask, hope filling every inch of your heart, you’d never been to a ball, you were dying to go “Oh, father, we must go” It had been over two months since you’d properly left the house, and that had only been to the local market. You could only paint the garden so many times before going mad.

“We won’t be going to Min Yoongi’s ball” he replies, not looking up from the letter he’s holding. He sounds so resigned you wonder if he even heard you. 

“But father-” you begin, hoping to say your piece to him.

“No Y/N” his answer is blunt, you know it was final; there's no point arguing with him when he’s in one of these moods, it will only end with you getting hurt. 

“Okay”. This had been the third ball invitation this week and the third rejection from your father. You sigh. How were you ever to find a husband if you didn’t socialise? All the rich men would have found young brides now, and you, at the age of 18 would be seen as too old. The two of you stand in awkward silence for a while as he flips through his letters. 

“Someone is making residence in the manor beyond the brook.” he tells you, licking his finger to separate two pieces of paper from each other. 

“Really?” you ask. “I hope it’s a family, I would love a friend so close!”

“It’s a single man, according to the Park family, they are acquaintances with him in London.”

“London!?” you exclaim, you had been disappointed by the lack of friends the move in would bring but a new excitement had begun with the aspect of the man being from London. You had so many questions about the place. It was another world to you. “When does he move in?”

“You must not bombard him with your incessant questions.” he complains, wiggling a finger at you without looking up at you.

“I only wish to make him a cake, or maybe some biscuits” you admit, trying to lace honesty into your voice.

Your father sighs, putting down his papers and turning to you. “The 10th”

“But father, that is today!” you think he’s playing with you. “Don’t be mean”

“Read the letter if you do not believe your own father.”

The letter did in fact say the 10th. You’re almost jumping on your feet, but that would be impolite so instead you pull the letter, signed by the park jimin your father had always spoken about to your chest. “What great news” you say, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. “If you don’t mind, father, I will begin to make biscuits for him now”

“Do as you please” he replies, not really listening, still flicking through the pages in front of him. Curtsying you leave the room, the letter balled up in your fist. You make a bee-line for the kitchen, you’d get Annie to put the oven on straight away.

*** 

Taehyung had been hesitant to move back to the country. When his father had died 4 years ago he’d left his childhood home in his inheritance. Taehyung had decided that after so long it was time to return home after nearly 10 years in London. Home was a loose term. The manor had been miss kept, the garden overgrown, the surfaces dusty. Upon his early morning entrance to the house he had been ushered in by an elderly maid, Victoria was her name, he only vaguely remembered her. Apparently, he'd been paying her a monthly wage to maintain the place since his father had died. She hadn't been doing a too-great job. Though he was grateful that the house wasn't entirely empty when he arrived. Victoria had made him tea, lit his fire and explained to him that she was happy someone was living in the house again. She left, explaining she lived in the town across and had a family now. He granted her a smile as she went.

With the door locked shut and Victoria gone the only sound the house offered was the low snapping and crackling of the flames. It was so different to London, there was always something going on, someone coming to visit him, a servant cleaning or, even in the silent moments, the sound of the street at the end of his carriage-way. He missed it already. 

Yet the quiet of the house offered an odd privacy and an odd tranquility that he had missed. It dawned on him that he could do anything here and the only witness would be the flames of this fire and the wildflowers that had overtaken the garden. It gave him a sense of freedom.

Leaning back in his chair, cup of tea in one hand the other lying across his thigh. He relaxed in the blissful, slightly creepy, silence until the door knocked. He sighs. Maybe he wasn't as isolated as he thought. Nearly forgetting that no one is here to open the door for him as he had been so used to in London he quickly shoots from his chair. For a moment he struggled to open the front door, Victoria had locked him in it seemed. 

"Give me a moment!" he shouts, hoping his visitor hasn't already left.

He finds a key hanging from one of the plant pots. What an odd place. The door unlocks with relative ease and as he pulls it open he peeks his head around the door.

A teenager. He has opened the door to an unaccompanied female teenager who seems to have a box of biscuits. "Good Evening" she curtsies, the too small corset she's wearing almost over spilling her breasts. He gulps. "I live in the manor across the brook" she explains to him, he can hear the unease in her voice. The naivety and innocence. "I brought you biscuits."

She extends the box to him at arms length, squeezing her breasts together in the process. Was she doing this on purpose? "Thank you," he smiles, taking the box from her. "Would you like to come in?" When she nods he pulls the door open entirely, displaying the very dusty entryway. "Do excuse the disorder, as you can imagine it hasn't been well looked after" 

"I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't said" she admits, purposely keeping her eyes away from the dust. He appreciates the small action. She scans the reception hall, obviously waiting for him to lead her through to a social area. "My name is Y/N" she tells him as he leads her into the living area. When he doesn’t immediately reply she asks, "Would it be impolite to ask yours?"

She's oddly quiet, he probably wouldn't have heard her voice if he were in the hustle of London "Taehyung" he replies. "My father used to own this manor. He died four years ago, would you have known him?" 

"I would have been 14 then, with little consideration of what was going on around me" Y/N replies. "I am sorry for your loss"

She was 18. Many questions filled his head. "Is your father a respectable man?" He asks her. "Is that whom you live with?"

"Oh, yes, as respectable as yours once was I should imagine" she replies, he turns to look at her, a little blush covers her cheeks.

"Then you would have been in London for the season this year" he asks, wondering if he had ever crossed paths with her.

"I have never been to London," she replies. "Though, I have heard it is exquisite."

An Eighteen year-old who has never seen London. "Then you must have an arranged marriage with a local man. I hope that is going well for you"

There is a pause between his statement and her reply. "My father does not have time to threat over my marital arrangements"

He is shocked, he had not heard of such a scandalous thing in his life. He feels sorry for her. Puzzled, he leads her into the living room where she gently sits down on a sofa he desperately hopes is not dusty. When no little particles rise to meet the sun he assumes he is safe. "I assume you'd like one of these biscuits" he asks her, turning around to place them on the small, delicately decorated table. When he turned around she'd moved, as quietly as a mouse, to the fireplace. Her dress was so close to the flames. Y/N's attention does not seem to be upon the fire though but more towards the painting placed above him. 

"This is not an appropriate place for such a lovely painting." she turns to him. Instinctively he walks up beside her, looking at the painting. "The heat will ruin the watercolour" 

There's a pout on her lips, this was obviously something she was very passionate about. "This is Thomas Girtin" she comments, reaching out and ghosting the frame of the painting with her fingers, above her finger is the signature of this Thomas Girtin. "It is a rare and expensive piece."

Taehyung is no longer staring at the painting but rather at her. He was surprised at her confidence to come into a strangers house and advise them on both the placement of their paintings and the stupidly of it. He smirks. "I'll have it moved at soon as possible, Miss Y/N. I am sure it will look a lot nicer in your premises"

"No, sir" she exclaims, stepping back from the painting and turning to look at him. "That is not what my intentions were when telling you about this piece."

"Perhaps it will persuade you to bring me more of those biscuits," Taehyung replies. He thought of his moment on the chair earlier, when he had the small epiphany of the freedom this house would bring him, how he could get away with anything. He places a hand on the small of her back and leads her back towards the front door. Grabbing two biscuits on his way past and passing one to her. With the hand on her back, she seems to have silenced a bit. "It's nearly dark, I would like to walk you back across the brook." 

"You do too much, Sir. I grew up here. I know quite well my way across the brook" Y/N defends. Taehyung is adamant as he places his boots on, and his overcoat. 

"So did I. I insist" he replies. "I left only 10 years ago, at your age. I'm sure I will find my way back quite safely." She doesn't reply, just stands in front of him with her arms crossed. "If you'd had a season in London you'd know well this is what a true gentleman is supposed to do." 

She blushes at the mention of a season in London. It only gives Taehyung an inflated feeling of power. It is clear that this young woman had no idea how to navigate herself around men, or perhaps other humans. She was as isolated as he was when he had lived in this place. He felt an unwelcome feeling of wanting to show her everything.

*** 

Taehyung had, clearly, known his way around the grounds of both his and your land. As he left you at the bottom of the steps to your mansion, offering you a little smile and a wave as you climbed the steps, he had mentioned something about the biscuits running out soon, his maid had family and once he had shared with them, he'd need more in at least two days' time. You reached the top, turning to see if he'd moved away, he had not. He bows and you curtsy before you slip into the warmth of your home.

As soon as you close the door you place your back against it, as if to block him out. That was not what you had imagined him to look like, you had expected a man in his early forties, perhaps a similar age to your father. You had not expected a young man, a man who's waistcoat fit snugly around his figure, a man who had beautiful fluffy hair. With eyes as dark as the chocolate you so rarely had. Your heart had been beating too fast the whole time you were there, that's what happened to all the women in the books you read when they loved someone, but surely that was over dramatic? Too soon? You wished you had someone to ask but it was just you and your father here now and you doubted he had the answer to this. 

The real problem did not lie in your beating heart, nor in the new strange emotion you felt but rather in the fact that when he had asked you if you'd bring more biscuits, you'd said you could bring some the very next day. And after all of that, you hadn't asked him a single question about London. Sighing, you make sure your door is locked before heading up to your chamber. The rest of the house is dead quiet, you can’t bring yourself to care anyways. You didn’t particularly want to see your father. You'd get up early in the morning and make more biscuits.

***

When Taehyung woke up the next morning he realised two things.

that it would be rude of him to not go introduce himself to Y/N's father, they were neighbors now after all.

that he had some very interesting dreams last night and the majority of them involved Y/N. He had woken up with a very prominent erection. He would need to see her again and soon.

He sat up in bed, having disregarded the bedclothes last night. He was alone, it wasn't like there was a risk of being indecent, plus he'd needed to touch himself. Taehyung could see his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. Whilst looking at himself he wonders if she'd be able to handle the size of him. He places his hand around his dick, dragging it up and down in a loose grip- pretending his hand is Y/N. He assumes she is a virgin - only tightening his grip with this thought. He tries to imagine how she'd sound, but that's something he won't be able to tell until the moment comes, he would make that moment happen, he'd do anything to insure it. What would he have to do, and to what extent, to make Y/N his? The movement of his hand along his dick is almost painful now. Balls tightening more and more with every thrust his hips make into his hand. He cums, shooting white liquid up his stomach. It runs through the valley of his abdominal muscles like a river between two mountains. He would never look at Y/N the same again. In less than an hour he would be introducing himself to her father with the traces of his cum on his stomach the thought of it oddly turned him on. Instead, he headed for the bathroom where he would wash it off. There were times for such things and they weren't for when he was introducing himself to an elder.

***  

An hour after you'd baked the biscuits you were standing in your chamber, paintbrush between your teeth, painting a figure into one of your old landscape photos of the house across the brook. You hated to admit that the figure was Taehyung, but it only made sense, you hadn't stopped thinking of him.

You step back from the painting, wondering what it was that was missing exactly. There was Taehyung in his blue overcoat as he had been yesterday. It doesn’t seem enough. You can hardly tell it's him in the picture but if you had studied his figure, as you had plenty of times in the hour you had with him, you would know it was him.

There's a knocking at the door downstairs, it echoes around the whole mansion like the chiming of bells. Climbing over the pots and brushes you have thrown across your room, you hang your head from the open window. From this angle you can't see the front door but you can see the carriage drive. It's empty. Who would visit who didn't have a carriage?

Not caring much about your paint splattered dress you step from your room. Vaguely aware of the paint on your face, you choose to ignore it as you race down the stairs. At the door is your father, who is just opening it as you make it to the landing. However you're much more interested in what's behind the door. Your father obviously doesn't connect the dots as he sees the young man standing at the top of your steps. You, however, become much more worried about the current state of your appearance. "Good morning sir, I'm Kim Taehyung" 

Your father stares at him blankly as Taehyung offers his hand to shake. "The new gentleman across the brook?" He asks. Nodding Taehyung smiles at your father, perfectly white teeth on show. From where you're standing he can't seem to see you. You debate running back upstairs before your father lets him in. But you're too late, your father's shaking his hand and pulling him through the door at the same time. There's no hiding now. "My God Y/N!" your father exclaims at seeing you. "I told you not to wear such disgraceful garments out of your room! you'll have to excuse her" he turns to Taehyung, "she's not very well socialised."

You blush, Taehyung must notice you backing away. "It's really not a worry sir, I am already acquaintances with your daughter, she brought me biscuits yesterday evening, I suppose under your instructions"

If your father was to take credit for your ideas, you would have cried, instead your father explodes "I did not advise such an act! I apologise for her rogue mannerisms." You knew he had not been listening to you yesterday. As the pair walk past the bottom of the stairs, therefore past you, Taehyung rolls his eyes and then winks at you. 

"I very much enjoyed the biscuits" he announces, it's a response to your father, but he's looking at you as he says it. Tickling erupts on the inside of your stomach. You place a hand on it, having never felt this feeling before. Taehyung watches your hand as it lands on your abdomen. You don't understand why but he's smirking as he follows your father into the study. It dawns upon you that you do not have a great understanding of the outside world nor the feelings that Taehyung has brung with it. The two men disappear behind the study door, and you run over to place your ear to the key-hole.

“Does she paint?” he asks your father, why this isn’t a question he can just ask you is unbeknownst to you.

“I believe so” your father mumbles, the topic of his daughter seems to put him in a foul mood.

“You believe so?” Taehyung sounds upset, as if the response he had received wasn’t enough.

“There becomes a stage in a man's life when he stops caring about the women around him. He stops caring about silly things like paintings. You understand me don’t you.”

“I don’t believe I do, sir,” Taehyung replies. There's a harshness to his voice you had yet to have heard. You bring a hand up to cover the huff of surprise your mouth admits. If you were to talk back to your father like that you’d be slapped and denied food for a day. When your father doesn’t reply Taehyung continues. “I would like to view her paintings if you would permit it.”

“Of course,” Your father replies, annoyed. Then he asks Taehyung a question using so many business words you give up trying to listen to their conversation and focus more, or panic more, on the fact Taehyung was coming to view your paintings. There seems to be no other option than to sprint up the stairs and at least try to tidy it up a little. 

You’re in the middle of stuffing an old awful painting under your bed when the door knocks. “Give me a moment father and I’ll be out!” you shout, trying to be oblivious after eavesdropping.

“It’s Taehyung,” he replies. “May I come in”

You pause before answering. You could probably tell him to go away and he would. “Oh! Come in!” You’re up from under your bed now. Currently the main painting on display was the one with him in, you figured that he wouldn’t have looked in a mirror long enough to tell that it was his figure anyway. It was still slightly embarrassing. The door knob twisted and he filled the doorway with his figure.

“This is your chamber and workroom?!” was the first thing he asked, you blush, embarrassed both with the fact he was in the only place you stood naked each night, and that he was judging your way of life.

“It’s not ideal.” you reply, deciding to go for the truth. “I tried painting in the parlor but father was not best pleased.”

He nods his head but doesn’t reply to you, beginning to walk around your room of paintings. Wildflowers. Your father at his desk. A deer in snow. The view of the fields beyond from your window. You're shaking. Stopping at the painting you were most dreading, he tilts his head.

“Are they...” he pauses and his lip curves to the side, “kissing?”

"Um" you begin. "Is it off?" no longer caring that it's him and more concerned with your painting. "Her neck is at the wrong angle isn't it!" you exclaim, you're next to him now contemplating the painting together, as you had done with the portrait over his fireplace. This had been one of your very first paintings of people, you’d read from a men's guide to kissing that you had brought from one of the second hand stores in the town. It was the best you could do, you’d never seen two people kiss before. 

Taehyung moves on from that painting to the next, your most recent painting, the one with him in it. You daren’t look at him to see his reaction, instead you wipe a little paint off the bottom of the frame, hoping to distract him from, well, himself.

“I like this one” he smiles, “though I think it's missing something”

You’re too scared to reply to him so instead you just nod your head. It’s funny how he thought the same as you. “You capture the house really well, and the blue of my coat.”

Hands shaking you go to apologise to him. It wasn’t fair of you to paint him without his permission, but he’s moving back to the kissing scene again. Following behind him like a shadow you both end up staring at the painting. You’re aware of him looking at you from the corner of his eye. Your breath catches in your throat. Down the stairs you can hear your father moving about in his study. The rest of the house seems to be in an anxious science, holding its breath, as if it expects something to happen. Do you expect something to happen? He fully turns to you, his focus no longer on the painting, placing one of his hands on your shoulder. Your body freezes, though warmth spreads down your arm and into your body where his hand touches your dress. “Taehyung?” you're aware that your voice sounds so quiet in the greatness of the room. 

He pushes your shoulder slightly so you’re facing him. The whole room blurs and it's only him that you can see. He's like an angel sent from God, his bright light blinds you. “I could show you, Y/N”

Show you what? There's so much in this world that you want to see, want to experience. “Show me what?” you ask him, your brain is too innocent, too behind to pick up on what Taehyung really means. 

“How to kiss, then after that” he pauses, looking at his small figure in the picture behind you. “I could show you anything” lessening the grip he has on your shoulders. You feel no pressure in your answer, you could say no, he’s so close to you. 

“I’d like that” you reply, your mouth staying slightly agape at the eagerness in your tone, you hadn’t realised you were so keen. Smiling, Taehyung brings his thumb up to his mouth, he runs it between his lips, as if to wet them with his spit, then he’s bringing it to your face. This wasn’t how you imagined a kiss to be and, instinctively, step back. 

“Don’t worry Y/N, this isn’t a kiss, I am wiping paint off your cheek” his thumb makes contact with your skin and a blush rushes up to your cheeks. Why were you so responsive to his touch? “I won’t kiss you today”

Your lip sticks out in immediate disappointment, “I want you to think on it more” he admits. “You only get one first kiss.” 

“How long do I have to think about it?” you ask, you were hit by the insufferable feeling of being so naïve, so behind where you should be in the experience of your life, that it was embarrassing. You’re sure a kiss will solve this. You’re sure Taehyung will solve this.

“Tomorrow” he has removed his thumb from your cheek now, but his other hand is caressing your face. He runs slow circles between your eye and your hair and, nature guiding you, you lean into his touch further. This, you realise, is what intimacy was. You had once read the definition in a dictionary

close familiarity or friendship.

When you had first read it, you had realised that you had never had any intimacy with anyone. It was as foreign to you as flying was to a dog, or walking was to a baby. Your eyes are wide in shock, your legs only just holding your weight up. Taehyung is smiling at you softly when he removes his hand. Your body is as attached to this area of your floor as a tree to soil. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow” he steps over a paint brush and pot, you want to stop him but your tongue has been stolen from you. He’s at your door now, pulling it shut behind him. He’s hidden behind the near closed door when he softly says “I’ll show you everything, Y/N”

Then he’s gone. 

You hear the front door shut. 

Without his biscuits. 

thank you for reading!

[upennmanuscripts]

A handsome lizard skulks across page 8 of Ms. Codex 3, three volumes of paintings or hand-colored sketches depicting mainly insects, fish and other marine life, birds and flowers. We don't know much about these books except that they were made in Japan, probably in the 19th century. If you know more, let us know!

🔗:

[ofmdjanuaury]

Welcome to OFMD AU-gust! Check out the prompts and start creating 💙

Rules and text version under the cut!

RULES:

Any OFMD fan creations count! Fic, art, dioramas, bakes…

You can do one day or all of them, and use as many prompts from the day as you want!

Tag everything #OFMDAU-GUST

Every time you post something, try and comment on someone else’s, too!

You can post any prompt any day AFTER that prompt’s official day! So you can post Improv fics any day after 8/1, but you can’t post theatre fics till 8/31.

HAVE FUN!

Text version of the prompts:

1. Mechanic | Mail Carrier | Improv

2. Fantasy | Solarpunk | Fiber Arts

3. School Staff | Art Model | Taxidermy

4. Social Media | Tentacles | Identity Theft

5. Music/Band | Specific TV Show | Jumanji

6. Journalism | Specific Movie | Planetarium

7. Phone Operator | Rennaissance | Y2K

8. Sports | Ancient | Pacific Rim

9. Medicine | Aquarium/Zoo | Makeup Artist

10. Celebrity | D&D | Gig Worker

11. Science Fiction | Superheroes | Birdwatching

12. Coffee Shop/Bakery | Magical Girl (gn) | Influencer

13. Restaurant | Medieval | Eldritch Horror/Cryptid

14. Science | Place-Based | Weed Guy (gn)

15. Porn Star | Specific Book | Natural Disaster

16. Crime/Mob | Specific Cartoon | Drag/Burlesque

17. Farm/Rural | Time Travel | Polar Explorer

18. Small Business | Apocalypse | Stargate

19. Writer | 19th Century | Escape Room

20. Law | Nightclub | Professional Cuddler

21. Rebels | Zombie | Desert Island

22. Bar | Ghost Hunters | LARP

23. Transit | Daemon | Community Meeting

24. Archeology | Aliens | Paint and Sip

25. Epistolary | Public Access TV | Gas Station

26. Neighbors | Heist | Reality TV Hosts

27. Noir | Grocery Store | Blacksmith

28. Disney | Olympics | Sentinel/Guide

29. Boats | Non-Anglophone Place | Lumberjack

30. Canon-Divergent | Gardening | Kink Club

31. Theatre | Free Space | Someone Else's Universe

(Thanks to yerbamansa for reminding the mod to be accessible!!)

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {9}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Queue the fireworks...and the drama.

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Wife,

I am writing to inform you that I am prolonging my absence. I will write again when I know of my return date. It will be a fortnight at minimum. 

Sincerely,

Tomas Mandray

<.>.<.> Cassian <.>.<.>

Three days have passed since the ball and she’s all I’ve been able to think about. 

I feel foolish, utterly enraptured by this woman who can never be mine. Yet, I cannot seem to stay away, which is how I have found myself standing at her front door.

The sun has nearly vanished and the city of Velaris is painted in pink and orange. You would think that such a beautiful display of nature would calm me, but the serenity only has my nerves worsening. 

I knock before I can back out.

The head butler greets me although there’s nothing pleasant in his expression.

“Good evening, my lord,” he says, his voice low with a hint of confusion. “Lord Mandray is still in the north, I’m afraid.”

I try to put on my best disheartened expression. “I see. Is Lady Mandray home? It’s urgent.”

The butler hesitates but ultimately succumbs. “Yes, my lord. Let me show you to the drawing room.”

Hiding my relief, I follow him into the house and down the hall to the drawing room. He leaves me alone to fetch his mistress and I find my way to the floor length windows, staring out at the gardens that Nesta and I got lost in only days ago. Mere minutes pass before I hear her voice.

“That will be all, Alfred, thank you.”

As I turn around, the doors close softly behind her and we are alone. The room falls into silence and we stare at one another expectantly. I’m scared to say a word, afraid that the help is still standing outside the door, waiting to collect their gossip.

“Lord Cassian,” she says, at last.

“Lady Nesta,” I reply, with a nod of my head. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

“It is no intrusion,” she says, her voice louder than usual. I assume she is thinking of the nosey help, too. “Have you news for me to pass along to my husband?”

The word husband surges through me with a spike of jealousy, but I play her game. “Indeed. Shall we sit?”

“Please.” Instead of making our way to separate seats, we meet at the settee, sitting together. When she speaks again, it’s quieter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I had to see you,” I say, unable to hide it, unable to deny a damn thing, knowing we don’t have much time. “The other night felt…”

“I’m sorry I had to run off,” she whispers.

“Do not apologize,” I counter, longing to reach for her hand but refraining. “You did what you must.”

Nesta’s quiet for a moment, staring at her hands that are clasped together on her lap, on top of her pale blue skirts. When she does speak, she repeats, “Why are you here, Cassian?”

“I’ve already told you—”

“No,” she says, and when she looks at me, her eyes are blurry. There is regret there. Regret, and longing, and an undying sadness. “You are here to suppress me.” 

I blink, not understanding. “Pardon?”

“You are here to make me feel want, jealousy, for something that can never be.” A tear falls down her cheek and she angrily wipes it away. “And that is cruel.”

“I am not trying to be cruel—”

“Then what are you trying to accomplish?” she breathes a laugh that holds no humor. “The other night…” She shakes her head but her eyes remain on mine, dejected and yearning for something that is imaginative. “It was lovely. Our moment in the garden, with you, made me feel alive and for that I am grateful. However, it is good that we were interrupted. If we were to kiss, Cassian, there would be no going back. Not for me. And that is something that I cannot risk.” 

I am speechless. Foolish, too. I had no idea what I was thinking coming here, or what I had hoped to accomplish. I was only thinking of myself and not her. I was thinking of how she had been affecting me, and not how I would affect her by my presence here.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and when a tear slides down her face once more, I reach up to wipe it away.

She does not push me away. Instead, another tear falls at my touch. 

“I will leave you alone,” I say, and I mean it, but I will not go quietly. “I am sorry if I have made you feel any distress, but you have no idea what you have done to me. Since that first day we crossed paths, you have consumed me. Not a waking moment goes by when my thoughts do not drift to you, and I cannot sleep without you infiltrating my dreams. You are, without a doubt, the most intriguing woman I have ever met. You are stunningly witty and intelligent, and your beauty…” She swallows as I speak, hanging onto my every word. “You make me laugh. And you infuriate me at the same time. And I hate that I cannot kiss you, that I cannot hold you in my arms and make you feel as loved and appreciated and wanted as you should feel.” 

“Cassian—”

“I am irrevocably in love with you.” The words pour out of me before I can stop them, and the moment they leave my mouth her silent tears have turned into a downpour. “Even if you will never be able to return that love, I thought you should know that someone loves you as you deserve to be loved. Unconditionally. Without fault. Wholly.”

“We hardly know each other,” she protests, wiping at her eyes. Her words lack strength, as if she’s trying to convince herself just as much as me. 

“I know you well enough to know how I feel,” I promise, “and I know myself well enough to know that I have never felt this way about a woman, nor will I ever feel this way again.” I reach for her hands and she lets me. I cradle them in my own, brush my thumbs over her smooth skin. “Forgive my selfishness. I know my feelings make no difference, but I had to tell you. I had to let you know that you are loved, Nesta, and always will be.”

I wipe her tears away and my confessions turn into silence that she does not respond to. I do not expect her to. She is married. Yet, we sit there unable to keep our hands off of one another. My thumbs brush along her cheeks, her hands grip my wrists. I can feel the warmth of her body. 

I don’t know how much time passes, but I know that we are running out of that precious time. I force myself to stand up from the settee, force myself to look away from her tearful gaze. I force my feet to move, one foot in front of the other, until I reach the door.

I force myself to reach for the handle, but one word stops me.

My name.

“Cassian.”

By the time I turn around, she’s already in front of me, and before I can catch my breath, she’s throwing herself into my arms and her mouth is landing on mine.

For a moment, I’m stunned, lost in this moment that could never be replicated, but then I’m melting into her. My arms wrap around her waist and I draw her against me, as close as she can get, until I feel every inch of her body against mine. Our tongues brush and I am lost in the sweet taste of her. The help outside fades away, as does the fact that we are in her home that she runs alongside her husband. 

The second her lips leave mine, I feel empty. She escapes my embrace and takes two steps back, then three, then she’s so far away that I cannot touch her. We are staring at one another as if something monumental has just happened, something that cannot happen, something that should not have happened, something that changed everything. 

I want her. I want to take her away from here just as much as I want to lay her down on the table, strip her bare, and ravish her. Her eyes fall from mine and land on my heaving chest just before they land on my groin and the blatant display of my passion. 

Her lips are swollen. Her hair is falling from its pins. Her cheeks are rosy.

I have never seen her so beautiful. 

“You must leave,” she says, and although I knew it was coming I still feel like I’ve been blindsided. “We must never speak of this again.”

“Nesta—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes shining. “I am begging you, my lord. Leave.”

I nod, accepting our fate. I know she is going against her wishes, know that she is defying her heart. Nonetheless, I must listen. I have created enough inconveniences already. 

I swallow as I straighten my jacket and run a hand through my hair. “Goodbye, Nesta.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she says, and her voice breaks, tearing my heart out of my chest and leaving it irreparable. 

With nothing left to say, I open the door and let myself out. The hallway is empty as I make my way down it and to the front door where I rush past the butler and into the open night air. 

It’s peaceful outside.

But even the famous Velaris starlight cannot make me feel whole again. 

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … March 11

222 AD – Heliogabalus aka Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Roman Emperor, Died (b. c.203 AD); Heliogabalis, also known as Elagabalus, the boy emperor of Rome, appears to have been a total madcap, if not completely mad. His great love of swishing ceremony can only be suggested in the space available here.

Since even madcap Gay Roman emperors were expected to produce an heir, a suitable bride was chosen for him, and he went through with the motions of consummation, finding it all rather futile. But he was impressed with the ceremony itself and later went through it twice in one night, choosing as his "husband" a well-hung charioteer named Gorianus, and as his "wife" a boy named Hierocles. His wedding night with both was consummated in full public view. The Augustan History claims that he also married a man named Zoticus, an athlete from Smyrna, in a public ceremony at Rome. He lavished favours on courtiers popularly assumed to have been his homosexual lovers.

Cassius Dio reported Elagabalus would paint his eyes, epilate his hair and wear wigs before prostituting himself in taverns and brothels, and even the imperial palace:

Finally, he set aside a room in the palace and there committed his indecencies, always standing nude at the door of the room, as the harlots do, and shaking the curtain which hung from gold rings, while in a soft and melting voice he solicited the passers-by.

Herodian commented that Elagabalus pampered his natural good looks by wearing too much make-up. He was described as having been "delighted to be called the mistress, the wife, the Queen of Hierocles" and was said to have offered vast sums of money to the physician who could equip him with female genitalia. Subsequently, Elagabalus has often been characterized by modern writers as transgender, most likely transsexual.

He had the makings of a great theatrical producer and virtually invented the casting call by sending out his agents to round up for audition the men with the largest penises in the Roman empire. Eventually his enemies dispatched him with a sword up his bum and dumped his body in the sewer. He was just 18.

1544 – Italian poet Torquato Tasso was born on this date (d. 1595). Best known for his poem La Gerusalemme Liberata (Jerusalem Delivered) (1580), in which he depicts a highly imaginative version of the combats between Christians and Muslims at the end of the First Crusade, during the siege of Jerusalem. He died a few days before he was due to be crowned as the "king of poets" by the Pope. Until the beginning of the 19th century, Tasso remained one of the most widely read poets in Europe.

In the autumn of 1576 Tasso quarrelled with a Ferrarese gentleman, Maddalo, who had talked too freely about a same-sex love affair; the same year he wrote a letter to his homosexual friend Luca Scalabrino dealing with his own love for a 21-year-old young man Orazio Ariosto.

His poems barely hint at his homosexuality but his letters written to one Luca Scalabrino are very plain about his love of men. Here's a taste from the translated letters by Jill Claretta Robbins in the Columbia Anthology of Gay Literature:"You Lordship, in your last letter you ask forgiveness of me for not having revealed your sexual desire for me; and in your other ones that you wrote to me before, you have always shown that you believe that I am scornful of you, because you have not revealed to me this carnal desire of yours, and you express a very good reason for your secrecy and silence used with me....speak no longer of these things....In sum, I am all yours."

He suffered from what was most-likely schizophrenia, and spent several years in a madhouse. He died at age 51, having created his best work before he was 30.

1778 – Lt. Gotthold Enslin is the first recorded U.S. soldier to be dismissed for homosexuality.

1938 – Hans-Joachim Müller, born in Bitterfeld, Germany, is a German historian who specializes in the academic analysis of the persecution of homosexual men during the Nazi era.

Little is known about Müller's career. In 1959 he moved to West Berlin, studied in the Federal Republic and returned to West Berlin with the "teaching qualification for the intermediate level".

Later he belonged to the "Homosexuality Discussion Group" of the Protestant Church in Berlin-Brandenburg , in which persecution under National Socialism, not only of homosexuals, was an important topic.

Since 1984 he has been committed to the recognition of homosexual men as victims of National Socialism. During this time he began researching the history of gay men in sub-camp brickworks .He made his long-term research on the history of the previously taboo group of victims of homosexual men in Sachsenhausen concentration camp public for the first time in 1992.

He was one of the initiators of the first memorial event for homosexual prisoners at the Sachsenhausen Memorial. Joachim Müller worked at the Schwules Museum in Berlin and was a member of the international advisory board of the Brandenburg Memorials Foundation from 1993 to 2001 . At the suggestion of the Foundation, he was awarded the Cross of Merit 1st Class of the Federal Republic of Germany for his services on April 5, 2013.

1963 – David LaChapelle is a photographer and director who works in the fields of fashion, advertising, and fine art photography, and is noted for his surreal and often humorous style.

David LaChapelle was born in Fairfield, Connecticut and lived there until he was nine years old. Then he moved to North Carolina with his family, where they lived until he was fourteen. He was bullied in his North Carolina school for being gay. When he was 15 years old, he ran away from home to become a busboy at Studio 54 in New York City. Eventually he returned to North Carolina to enroll in the North Carolina School of Arts.When LaChapelle was 17 years old, he met Andy Warhol, who offered him his first job as a photographer at Interview magazine. Warhol reportedly told LaChapelle "Do whatever you want. Just make sure everybody looks good." His photographs of celebrities in Interview garnered positive attention, and before long he was shooting for a variety of top editorial publications. LaChapelle's friends during this period included Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat.

LaChapelle has four published books of his photographs, Heaven to Hell and Artists and Prostitutes (2006), LaChapelle Land (1996) and Hotel LaChapelle (1999 featuring his vivid and sometimes bizarre portraits.

"Kissing Sailors" - Diesel Ad

In 1995 David LaChapelle shot the famous 'kissing sailors' advertisement for Diesel. It was staged at the peace celebration of World War II and became one of the first public advertisements showing a homosexual couple kissing. Much of its controversy was due it being published at height of the Don't ask, Don't tell debates in USA, which had led to the U.S. Government to bar openly gay, lesbian, or bisexual persons from military service. On a CNN interview LaChapelle admitted to being a gay escort at the age of 18.

LaChappele's gay "Last Supper"

LaChapelle directed singer Elton John's show, The Red Piano at Las Vegas' Caesars Palace, which premiered in 2004. The show features extensive use of video technology on an LED screen backing the show that, when built, was promoted as the largest and brightest of all time. Several of John's songs during the performance are accompanied by short films by LaChapelle.

He has directed advertisements for major stores. In 2006 he directed 'Romeo and Juliet', a 5 minute long commercial for H&M's new denim brand and 'Tis the Season to be Gorgeous', a humorous Christmas commercial for UK retailer Boots showing very glamourous self-indulgent women doing relatively mundane Christmas tasks. Also in the UK, he directed the surreal Lost trailers for Channel 4, which show the cast dancing in 1920s costume amongst the burning wreckage on the beach.

His directing work includes music videos for many artists. In 2006 LaChapelle was presented with the GLAAD Vito Russo Award for outstanding contributions toward eliminating homophobia

Then in 2006, the already established LaChapelle abruptly quit the scene. He moved to a "...very isolated part of Hawaii in this forest. It's off the grid, bio-diesel cars, solar-powered, growing our own food, completely sustainable. I thought 'OK, I'm a farmer now.'" LaChapelle's change in path eventually brought him back to his roots. While in Hawaii, a longstanding colleague invited him to shoot for a gallery, which he hadn't done since his days as a fledgling photographer in New York. "I was really shocked", LaChapelle recalled. "I'm so known as a commercial artist, a big name as a fashion and celebrity photographer, I didn't think a gallery will take me seriously. It's like being reborn; it's like rebirth; it's like starting over. It's back to where I started, where I very first started in galleries when I was a kid. It's just come full circle."

1967 – Today is the birthday of Scottish singer, actor, and activist John Barrowman. Best known for his role as Captain Jack Harkness in the science fiction series Doctor Who and Torchwood. Born in Glasgow, Scotland, Barrowman and his family emigrated to the U.S. when he was nine. Growing up in the state of Illinois, his high school teachers encouraged his love for music and theatre and he studied performing arts at the United States International University in San Diego before visiting the United Kingdom and landing the role of Billy Crocker in Cole Porter's Anything Goes in London's West End.

In addition to appearing in several films and television series, Barrowman has featured on more than a dozen musical theatre recordings including cover tunes found on the certified gold album Another Side (2007), Music Music Music (2008), the second Top 40 album by Barrowman to reach the UK albums and singles charts, and his self-titled release John Barrowman (2010), the highest chart rating of any of Barrowman's albums to date.

Barrowman met his partner Scott Gill in 1993 and in 2005 they registered as civil partners under British law. They do not call their relationship a marriage: "We're just going to sign the civil register. We're not going to have any ceremony because I'm not a supporter of the word marriage for a Gay partnership." Barrowman explained later: "Why would I want a 'marriage' from a belief system that hates me?" A small ceremony was held in Cardiff with friends and family, with the cast of Torchwood and executive producer Russell T Davies as guests. The pair were legally married in the state of California on 2 July 2013, following the United States Supreme Court's decision to deny an appeal to overturning California Proposition 8 in Hollingsworth v. Perry.

In 2009, Barrowman published I Am What I Am, his second memoir detailing his recent television work and musings on fame. In the book, Barrowman reveals that when he was just beginning his acting career, a Gay producer told Barrowman that he should try to pretend to be heterosexual in order to be successful. Barrowman was offended by the incident, and it made him more aware of the importance of his role as a Gay public figure: "One of my explicit missions as an entertainer is to work to create a world where no one will ever make a statement like this producer did to me to anyone who's Gay."

To this end, Barrowman is active in his community supporting the issues that matter to him most. He worked with Stonewall, a Gay rights organization in the UK, on the "Education for All" campaign against homophobia in the schools. In April 2008, the group placed posters on 600 billboards that read, "Some people are Gay. Get over it!" Barrowman contributed his support to the project asking people to join him and "Help exterminate homophobia. Be bold. Be brave. Be a buddy, not a bully." In the same month, Barrowman spoke at the Oxford Union about his career, the entertainment industry, and gay rights issues. The event was filmed for the BBC program The Making Of Me, in an episode exploring the science of homosexuality

In 1998, Barrowman was nominated for an Olivier Award for Best Actor in a Musical, and in 2006 he was voted Stonewall's "Entertainer of the Year."

1978 – Christopher Rice, American author, born; an American author. Rice has written six best-selling novels: A Density of Souls, The Snow Garden, Light Before Day, Blind Fall, The Moonlit Earth, The Heavens Rise, and his latest book, The Vines, which was published in 2014.. His parents are Anne Rice, who died recently. and the late poet Stan Rice; his aunt, Alice Borchardt, is a noted writer.

Rice is gay; when asked in 2002 about "being pegged a 'gay writer'", he replied:"That's not what I do. I might be more open to that label if I hadn't introduced ensemble casts of characters. Granted, " A Density of Souls" is as close to a gay book as you can get. It revolves around a character's homosexuality and others are described in terms of their reaction to the one character's sexuality. In that sense it's at the core of the book. "The Snow Garden" is about identity. With this book, I'm trying to shrug off the term "gay" author."

Nonetheless, Rice is proud of his large following in the gay community, explaining "it was incredibly rewarding when I got a huge positive response from the character Stephen in "The Density of Souls". More than a thousand young gay men contacted me and said that I captured what it was like for them going through those years. That means everything to me." Rice also writes a regular feature for The Advocate called "Coastal Disturbances," in which he discusses various topics and he is currently the President of the Board of the Lambda Literary Foundation.

Christopher Rice Near-naked Selfie

In 2012, Rice launched a streaming Internet radio show called The Dinner Party Show. Eric Shaw Quinn, his partner and co-host, was known for having ghost written two books by celebrity Pamela Anderson and a 1992 novel about gay adoption called Say Uncle. The show describes itself as "the Internet's first live comedy variety show" and became known for its hard-hitting satire. After a year on the air, the show dropped its run time to one hour and focused on celebrity interviews and scripted specials. Guests have included Patricia Cornwell, Dan Savage, transgender activist Chaz Bono and Tales of the City author Armistead Maupin.

In 2013, Rice made his first entry into the supernatural thriller genre with The Heavens Rise. It was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a Novel but lost to Dr. Sleep by Stephen King.

In 2014, Rice announced through his social media channels that he was scheduled to publish several works of erotic romance. The first of them, The Flame, was published in November 2014 as part of the 1,001 Dark Nights series.

He is now married to fellow actor/dancer Clay Thomson, and goes by the name Chris Rice-Thomson.

2010 – The direct action group GetEqual has gained attention as a result of its bold action, including civil disobedience, on behalf of the struggle for equal rights.

The organization was founded on March 11, 2010 by young activists Robin McGehee and Kip Williams. It was established to continue the message of anger and frustration presented at the National Equality March of October 11, 2009.

The National Equality March was born out of frustration with the loss of referenda on same-sex marriage and other rights; frustration with the alleged co-opting of the gay rights movement by the Democratic Party; and frustration with the failure of President Obama to fulfill the promises he made in his 2008 campaign for the presidency.

The march was called by veteran activists Cleve Jones and David Mixner, but those who responded to the call were primarily young people who had been angered by the passage of Proposition 8 in California.

Their disappointment with the loss of the campaign against Proposition 8 was compounded by their disillusionment with the Obama administration's failure to end the Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT) policy, to pass the Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA), and to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA).

The march attracted some 250,000 participants and featured speeches by such new activists as Academy Award-winning screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, actress Cynthia Nixon, DADT protester Lt. Dan Choi, and pop singer Lady Gaga, as well as Jones, Mixner, and civil rights icon Julian Bond.

GetEqual was founded in order to fulfill this need for assertiveness in the fight. Its mission is to empower the glbtq community and its allies "to take bold action to demand full legal and social equality, and to hold accountable those who stand in the way."

GetEqual uses the tactics of nonviolent civil disobedience of the 1960s civil rights and anti-war movements and those utilized by ACT-UP in the 1980s: sit-ins, pickets, disruptions, and a great deal of political theater.

The organization has sponsored actions that range from sit-ins in former Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi's office, disrupting traffic in Las Vegas and New York City, picketing the Ugandan embassy in Washington, D. C., heckling President Obama at fundraisers, to "glittering" politicians such as Republican Presidential candidates Newt Gingrich and Michelle Bachmann and, most dramatically, to chaining protesters to the fence in front of the White House.

It was the direct actions on behalf of the repeal of DADT that first brought GetEqual to national attention, especially the arrests of McGehee, Lt. Dan Choi, Captain Jim Pietrangelo, and others who chained themselves to the White House fence on several occasions, most notably in November 2010 when it appeared that the long-sought repeal of DADT would fail.

Although GetEqual has been criticized by establishment figures for its tactics—Congressman Barney Frank called them "tacky" and counterproductive—it is almost certain that DADT would not have been repealed in 2010 without the pressure applied by GetEqual through its demonstrations and civil disobedience.

[venustapolis]

Fall of the Damned (Giuseppe Bezzuoli, 1784 - 1855)

[smallestapplin]

Can I please request a Brassius x female, chubby and short (5'1") but very very big chested Reader?

They are in a relationship since a while but Brassius takes it slowly for he thinks that reader is a shy person and self-concious for she is only ever seen in baggy shirts.

One day Brassius downright begs her to nude model for him for a portrait, to get her out of her shell.

Reader may be quiet but neither shy nor self-concious, she just didn't wanted to overwhelm her love this fast with what is hidden under her shirt.

But when Brassius begs her so sweetly, how can she deny his request?

It's up to you how spicy it becomes, but I hope for burning spicy (>///<)

Thank you very much in advance! ❤️

- Anon Germany

I hope you enjoy this! ^^;

🔞18+Only!🔞 MDNI🔞

Cw : fem afab reader, some groping.

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Brassius never had any issues with how you dressed, you express yourself however you wish! You are still his beloved, and he understands you just want to be comfortable. You’ve never acted shy, but he knows looks can be deceiving and never pushed the topic. Until now, that is.

“My Dear, please, let me paint you. You are my muse, and it would be an honor to draw your bare beauty in its rawest form.”

In the year he’s dated you, he’s never seen you without a jacket on, and he’d never pressure you out of your comfort zone, but what’s the harm in asking? By the stars, he’s glad he asked.

Brassius had no doubt you were stunning, but watching you easily strip with such grace, being graced with such a glorious sight of your bare body as you sit on a bar stool in his art room.

“Like this?”

You don’t care, but you’ve never posed like this before and have no idea what to do. He’s almost horrified you’d think this was it!

“Oh goodness no, let me get a better setup for you”

You stand there as the green-haired man runs around the room, pushing a very nice 19th-century daybed.

“Please, lay across this.” Brassius directs you how to lay, lent back on your side with your left arm under your large breast and resting on your right side, and your right arm up and behind the pillow you are elevated against.

Being naked like this isn’t what’s making you want to squirm, nor the cold air making your nipples pebble, but the hungry way Brassius looks at you.

Every glance he gives lingers across your chest.

You don’t mind, but it’s making you feel hot. Your thighs clench, rubbing together trying to ease the slowly building heat.

“Don’t move yet, my sweet.”

The dark desired filled look he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. You hold your pose, but can’t stop the occasional trembling, not with that heated gaze.

Brassius sighs, running his fingers through his hair before stepping away from his sketch, and towards you.

“Are you stiff? We can take a break if you’d like, as I’d like to truly capture your essence.”

You shake your head, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m fine, hon, honest.”

He doesn’t believe you.

You look at him as he kneels in front of you, his rough hands slowly sliding from your thick thighs, up the pudge of your stomach. He pauses for a moment, squeezing your love handles, before continuing up the sides of your chest.

“You truly are a goddess. They have made paintings, worshipping you, making sure such beauty would be preserved for generations to see.”

You can feel your face burning as you avert your gaze.

“B-Brassius, you don’t-“

“Shh, let me worship my goddess.”

Your breathing shakes as his thumbs rub over your nipples before gently squeezing the soft, supple skin of your tits.

“Such a stunning figure you’ve kept hidden from me, so much to love, such a stunning sight that simply must be shared!”

You lightly arch your back, keening as he pinches your nipples, lightly tugging on them. Brassius can feel the drool pooling in his mouth, watching your body jiggle and squirm from his touch.

“Please, let me worship you. Allow me just a taste.”

You lean your head back, panting, listening to his voice low in your ear.

“I am nothing but a devoted worshipper, a devoted follower. addicted to you like you're the finest ambrosia.”

A whimper escapes your lips, feelings his hard cock pressing against your thighs.

And with how he begs, with how he touches you, how could you say no?

[800-cherries]

18/19th Century Cat Paintings

[labellenouvelle]

CHIC COFFEE TABLE

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[gemsofgreece]

I sometimes will come across paintings of Acropolis and Athens in general from the 19th-20th century and i noticed it had in Acropolis painted a medieval tower which now is not there. What was the purpose of the tower and what happened to it?

Also were there rivers and other demolished monuments in Athens before like in the paintings?

You must mean the Frankish Tower, which was built during the Frankish Occupation around the 13th-14th centuries. After the Crusades, most of the Byzantine Empire was dismantled and many regions became Frankish or Venetian protectorates. Athens was one of them and became the Duchy of Athens. The dukes converted the Propylaea (the ancient gates to Acropolis) into their personal palace and that tower was built as part of that palace. During the Ottoman rule that followed, the Ottomans used this tower as salt store rooms and as prison. In 1874, the Greeks demolished this tower from the ancient site, so the paintings you have seen must be from the 18-19th centuries and not the 20th.

Here is a picture taken in 1870.

Some buildings around the Acropolis in the center of Athens were indeed demolished. When King Otto chose to switch the capital from Nafplio to Athens, Athens was but a tiny muddy village. Otto envisioned bringing Athens back to its former glory and he formed a plan to rebuild it as a neoclassical European capital. Therefore, buildings that did not agree with the Classical aesthetics were removed, mostly peasant houses, some Ottoman buildings and even a few Byzantine Greek churches (not all, some ruins / monuments of both styles remain). On the other hand, Ancient Greek and Roman monuments were preserved.

The river thing is going to be painful. This was something about which I was keeping a post in my drafts but I was getting mad about it every time and never completed it. Prepare for a shitstorm of painful facts. Athens is built on the Attican basin where many streams flow from the hills of the area and from the big mountains of Boeotia and Phocis in the west. In fact, Athens “used to” have 3 main rivers (Kifissós, Ilissós and Irithanós) and 700 (!) streams and creeks (i.e. Elásson and Kyklovóros, mentioning them for no reason other than that I like their names 😅). The former village come metropolis has been the target of an excessive urbanisation in various times in its recent history, most notably in the 60s to 80s time period. As the industries and economy developed, huge numbers of people started abandoning the harsh conditions in remote islands and big mountains for a more comfortable lifestyle in Athens. This caused urgent need for quick mass constructions. Especially during the military junta (1967-1974) uncountable architectural crimes were committed. The urgent need for fast and mass constructions, as well as the lack of scientific research, led to the filling and blockage of most of these rivers. Today only parts of the main rivers and only a handful of the streams are left to flow freely (around 50). Ilissós, the former sacred river of Athens, has been entirely covered and is running underground. We are not talking about Danube or Amazon but we are still talking about an overall waterway blockage worth of 800 km (~500 miles). This is also the reason even a moderate rain can make Athens flood all the time. This waterway blockage has also ruined the flora and fauna of the region. Many Athenians ask that the rivers are uncovered to run free again but the damage done is so excessive that it is too hard to undo at this point. There were “official plans” announced in 2019 about intending to free Ilissós but, you know, I am laughing. 

Edward Dodwell, The waterfalls of Ilissos, Athens 1801-1806. 

Ilissos river in 1955. 

However the war against the river had already started in the ‘30s.

Covering Ilissos, 1937.

Covering MORE Ilissos river, 1963. 

Once upon a time in verdant Athens (1910).

See more photos here.

[tail-feathers]

KIM (oil, 18 x 16, 1988) by the late, great master, Richard Schmid

Artist's statement: “This one-evening sketch, done in 1988 at the Palette and Chisel Academy in Chicago reminds me of the debt we all owe to the great Masters of brushwork (as distinguished from the colorists) of the late 19th and early 20th centuries… Not the least of the lessons I absorbed was that this kind of painting had to be learned under the time and circumstantial pressures of working from real life, and that the knowledge gained was far beyond any rules or special methods. It was driven instead by certain ideas and logical principles. 

The greatest lesson—the one I offer constantly in this book—is that painting from life itself is the greatest teacher of all. It is rather like sex or lethal combat in that there is simply no substitute for the real thing.” —RS