#COMMISSIONS ASKING FOR THE NAKED DEPICTION

[lesbianfanfictionenthusiast]

im so glad spotify doesn't include local files in wrapped because i could not handle the whiplash of seeing the terrible influence song at the top

[tojicide]

FRENCH BOYS! ☆ RAFAYEL.

summary. when your paintings were featured in the same gallery walk as rafayel’s, he can’t help but commission you with an oddly cheeky request — ❛ paint me like one of your french boys. ❜

warnings. fem!reader, artist!reader, body appreciation, reader paints rafayel in the nude, terms of endearment, oral ( m. receiving ), cowgirl, p in v, unprotected but he pulls out. wc. 3.6k. portrait inspo!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

❛ Paint me like one of your French boys. ❜

You feel like you’ve read the line enough to have it engraved into your skull by now. You were still having trouble assessing whether or not the words were actually printed on the page or if you’d somehow misread them a million times over.

After all, who in their right mind would add that at the end of a memo for an art commission? Rafayel, you learned. That’s exactly who.

Rafayel has heard of you in passing, of your astounding professionalism and the unique ways in which you depict your subjects. He didn’t know you personally though. In fact, he’s only ever seen you at the art exhibitions that your promoters put on for you.

And even then, you never truly gave him the time of day. Why should you? In the grand scheme of things, he’s a stranger.

Rafayel has never been the biggest fan of the unknown, which was why it surprised him that he was such a big fan of yours.

Call him crazy, but he wanted to get to know you. He’d even reached out to your studio a few times on the basis of collaborating on an art piece together, but when he was met with the generic excuse of your busy schedule preventing you from meeting with him, he was left to resort to the extreme.

He was quite familiar with the art style that you possess. He thought that your knack for figure painting made you interesting, made you admirable. Paying homage to the Renaissance period was a lost art in and of itself, and you managed to do so with nearly every single piece you created.

Now, here’s why he would absolutely understand if you called him crazy…

He would even understand if you called him self-concerned, if you called him vain—if you called him anything your heart desires, because all adjectives of the like are spectacular words to describe him… especially after he sent you that forsaken commission.

A commission that piqued your interest enough for you to accept, but a forsaken commission nonetheless. He knew that it made him look like an arrogant fool, because all things considered, who commissions a nude portrait of themself?

He tried not to dwell on it, because that was exactly how he ended up here, in your presence. Sure, he was posing nude in front of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, but at least you were here…

“Soooo… how’s it going?” he asks, desperately trying to fill the silence between you two that only the sound of your paintbrush scraping against the canvas interrupted.

You peek your head out from behind the canvas, catching another glimpse of him sitting on the grand throne that he had custom made just for this moment.

(He was paying good money for this, alright? If he was going to have a painting of his naked body lying around, he wanted it to depict him in his godliest form.)

“Pretty good,” you shortly answer, sweeping your tongue over your bottom lip as you paint the shadow of a particularly sharp line on his abdomen. Seriously, he was absolutely jacked. At least you had that to keep you from growing bored.

Rafayel smiles as you keep your answers to his questions brief. That’s about the third ‘pretty good’ he’s gotten out of you in the last hour, and don’t even get him started on the sheer number of ‘alright’s you’ve given him.

So, he presses on.

“Not much of a talker, are ya?” he asks, absentmindedly tilting his head to the side as he speaks, only for you to quickly lean around the canvas to look at him. “Uh oh. Am I in trouble?” he asks with just about the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen.

You sigh. “Yes. You should really stop talking.”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you, his smirk still tugging on his lips. “Should I? Here I was, thinking that you were enjoying this dazzling conversation of ours.”

That earns an eye roll from you, which is about the most expression he’s gotten out of you thus far. “You’re too expressive when you speak, Rafayel. You’re a horrible subject.”

He huffs at that, knitting his eyebrows together. “Am not. You mean to tell me that this body of mine makes for a horrible subject? Tsk tsk.”

“That body of yours?” you echo with a small breath of laughter. “Please. Am I supposed to be fawning?”

Rafayel gives you a sulky expression. “Puh-lease,” he mimics you, “I have abs, okay? I’m not saying you have to do anything with that information, but if you were to fawn, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You think quite highly of yourself,” you say, tucking behind the canvas as you stroke the paintbrush over the area that you were currently working on.

He rolls his eyes at that. “Jeez, woman. Sue a guy for being confident.”

When he’s met with your silence and the sound of your paintbrush splashing in a nearby cup of misty water, he sighs. “I’m just joking with you. I’ll—”

“Even when I give you the silent treatment,” you lean out from behind the canvas to look at him, “you still won’t stop your yapping.”

Rafayel furrows his brows, cocking his head to the side as he gives you a deadpan expression. “Lady, please. I was about to tell you that I was going to shut up from now on, but come to think of it, I don’t wanna.”

You found it ironic that your own inability to shut up is what led you to this position. You bite your tongue, shifting to sit behind the canvas again, but his voice is what reminds you that he’s still there.

“Anywho,” he continues. “You’re a hard woman to track down. What made you accept my commission?”

“Good pay,” you deadpan, though a smile curves on your lips. “And the final line of the memo you sent me.”

Rafayel is doing his best to keep his stoic demeanor, but once he finds out that his risky behavior has paid off, he’s internally celebrating. Very much so.

“Tell me,” you continue, peeking at him. “Are you even French?”

He shakes his head, the soft strands of blue hair that hang just above his eyes moving just the same. “No,” he admits. “But my tiny fib got you here, didn’t it?”

You press your lips into a line as his movement ruins the stillness of his pose, but you try not to scold him for it. “Sure it did,” you answer. “Some nerve you have.”

“The nerve,” he echoes through a soft chuckle.

However, the nerves that he’s truly concerned about right now are the ones in his cock that are very quickly waking up. He does his best to not shift around in his seat, but once you disappear behind the canvas again, he does just that.

He really hadn’t thought this through. How embarrassing. Not only is he erect, but he’s erect from purely talking to you. What a mess he is.

The bright side is that there’s a thin layer of silk fabric draped over the lower half of his body, but with the rapid swelling of his erection, he’s realizing that it’ll do very little to help him out.

“Uh…” he clears his throat. His ears are as red as a fire truck, he’s sure of it. “Can we take a quick break?”

You don’t look at him from behind the canvas as you answer. “I’d prefer it if you gave me a bit longer. I’m almost done with this section, I don’t want to disturb the pose just yet.”

He curses himself for hiring such a professional. “Alright,” he murmurs.

You continue working for a few seconds before you speak up this time. “What made you seek me out, Raf? I mean, you’re a pretty good painter yourself.”

Raf. He didn’t think that he’d done enough to earn that level of familiarity to get you to give him a nickname, but he’ll gladly take what he can get.

“I dunno,” he lies. “I guess I just wanted to be the muse for once,” he adds. That time, however, he was being truthful.

He’s always wanted to be the subject, the one in front of the easel, the one who is paid attention to. Call him an attention whore if you must, because he’ll gladly claim that title. Especially if it’s attention coming from you. He’ll pull out all of the stops to get it, just like he has today.

“That’s almost poetic,” you joke.

“Almost?” he repeats. “Alright, you’ve really hurt my feelings now.”

You shortly hum. “If that’ll get you to stop talking and sit still then I’m glad.”

He huffs quietly, sitting still and silent for a grand total of two minutes. He tried to keep it up, but the silence was gnawing at him.

“What are you currently working on?” he eventually asks.

To answer his question, you’d have to blatantly say that you’re painting his crotch… so instead, you stand up to turn the easel around entirely.

Rafayel takes a moment to gaze at the canvas, his eyes blown wide in wonder. You really were talented, and you’ve managed to make him look absolutely unreal in a way that he believes only you can.

His eyes settle on the section you painted last, judging by how most of the wet paint conjugated in that area. He swallows the growing lump in his throat, studying the way you even painted the faint outline of his length beneath the silk cloth.

“You’re finished with it?” he asks, raising his eyes to meet yours. “That part, I mean.”

You nod, turning the easel around to face you again. “Yeah,” you answer.

Rafayel clears his throat as he glances down at his crotch, which was sporting a full erection beneath the silky fabric. That had changed since you began to paint him, which wasn’t exactly your fault, but he curses his horny brain for what he says next.

“You got it a little wrong,” he tells you.

Your eyebrows raise as you drop your gaze down to the part of the canvas he’s currently correcting. “What? No, I…” you say as you peek at him from behind the canvas.

He shifts a bit under your gaze, watching quite intensely as you eye compare your painting to how he looks right now.

“Hm. I guess I did get it a little wrong, yeah,” you murmur, more so to yourself than to him.

Rafayel nearly smiles at your tone of indifference. “I hear that visual learning is the most efficient,” he suggests, cocking a brow at you. “Gets you well acquainted with the… material.”

“And by visual learning do you mean physical learning?” you counter.

…So yeah, physical learning definitely sounded more appealing to the both of you, which is exactly how you wound up kneeling in front of him with his cock in your mouth.

Your tongue flattens on the underside of his shaft as you sink lower, prompting him to collect a bit of your hair in one of his hands. “Gods, woman, are you trying to kill me?” he huffs, a sly grin on his face as he keeps his eyes closed.

Unsurprisingly, he can’t bear the thought of seeing your beautiful face be made of a mess of. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way, that he’s the reason you’re in this position, but he still does.

His large hand on the back of your head guides your movements as you suck him off, his head tilted back as you use your tongue on him. His stomach muscles are taut, and you’re finding yourself fawning over him after all, because his abs truly are that magnificent.

“Holy shiiiit,” he pants, finally cracking his eyes open to look down at you. He really shouldn’t have done that, because now he feels like he’s about to cum in your mouth. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, pretty,” he stammers, closing his eyes again. “Can’t… can’t help it. Feels too good.”

You don’t think he has anything to be sorry about, and if anything, you should be assuring him of the opposite. It was one thing to stare at him from afar, but it was another to look at him from this angle—with his eyes screwed shut while his forehead glistens with sweat especially.

He almost feels embarrassed for how loud he’s moaning, his thick thigh tensing as you rest your hand on it to brace yourself. You’re making him feel like a virgin with the way you take him in, the sensation of your tongue making him feel fuzzy.

“Just like—shit—just like that, cutie, yeah,” he babbles, hardly sure of what he’s saying anymore. All he knows is that if he opens his eyes and sees your gorgeous mouth stuffed with his cock, he’s going to cum.

You pat his hand on the back of your head as a means of getting him to guide your movements to his liking, noticing the way he so clearly hesitates with you. You can’t blame him. He doesn’t know you well enough to know that you actually like this sort of thing.

But with the way your mouth feels around his cock, he’s in absolutely no rush to deny you or himself this wish. He pushes your head a bit faster now, listening to the lewd sounds of your spit sloshing around with every thrust he gives you.

“Too fucking good,” he rasps through a moan. He’s almost too lost in you, his lips permanently parting as he lets his vocal cords roll out the most filthy words you’ve ever heard. “Mm-hmm, use that—fuck—pretty mouth of yours, gorgeous.”

As if the sight of him reacting so visually to your mouth wasn’t enough, the words he gives you are more than enough to have your heat pooling between your thighs. You’re both a mess here.

He flings his head back, his eyes shutting even tighter as your nose brushes against the tufts of dark purple hair at the base of his cock. It was safe to say that the curtains certainly matched the drapes…

You gag as he pushes you a bit too far on his length, his eyes snapping open almost immediately. “Oh, honey, ‘m sorry,” he huffs out, releasing your hair to let you off of him.

You shake your head as you cough, pulling your mouth off of him for a brief moment. A thick string of saliva still connects your bottom lip to the base of his shaft, and that alone has his cock twitching right in front of you.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes as he shakes his head, almost dumbfounded by the sight in front of him. He may be out of breath, but he’s still very in tune with his abundant attraction for you. “Come up here, gimme a kiss.”

Rafayel is pulling you and you’re complying, and his lips are slotting against yours within seconds. He holds your jaw in his hand, his other moving to the small of your back to pull you closer until you’re kneeling between his spread thighs.

The kiss is sloppy, the saliva on your face immediately transferring onto his skin, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Not one bit. Instead, he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth, gathering more of your taste on his tongue.

“Don’t think I’m well acquainted enough,” you murmur against his lips, planting your hands on the back of the throne while you shift to straddle his lap. “Do you?”

He shakes his head without thinking. “Nuh-uh. Think you need a little more,” he replies, running his hands along your thighs until they slip beneath your dress.

One of his hands cup your mound while the other rests on your hip, and he nearly moans at the feeling of the sopping wet fabric clothing the needy area between your legs.

“This all for me?” he asks with a lopsided grin, his eyes hooded as he looks at you. You nod your head, a soft whine leaving you as he pulls the fabric to the side, running two fingers along your slick pussy. “Mm, I wanna taste her.”

You shake your head, your hand reaching to stroke his throbbing cock, brushing your thumb along the tip as a spurt of pre-cum leaks from it. Denying head isn’t exactly your go-to, but you can’t help it. You want to feel him inside of you.

He follows your hand down to his shaft before he raises his eyes to meet yours again, giving you the sweetest smile imaginable. “Alright, silly girl. Pussy’s all mine next time though, promise?”

“Promise,” you whisper with a smile.

Rafayel seems pleased with that, so he gives your thighs a light squeeze as he shifts to stand up, only for you to gently nudge him back down.

He raises a brow at you, a smirk quickly growing on his face. “Oh? Pretty baby wants to ride me, is that it?”

His pet names for you nearly make you buckle, and you’re not sure how considering you’re already sitting down, but it almost happened—you’re positive.

“Yeah,” you answer, slowly rubbing the head of his cock along your folds. “Look me in the eyes this time?” you tease.

He’s too drunk on the feeling of your pussy teasing his tip to realize that you’re joking with him. “Huh? Oh right, yeah, cutie, whatever you want.”

If you thought he was whiny there, it was no match for the man he became once the head of his cock pushed into your hole.

“Holy shit, woman, you really are trying to kill me,” he moans, resting his head back. “I was only joking before.”

You chuckle as you slowly lower yourself on his length, feeling the way his girth stretches you out, earning a whine from your lips in return. He smiles at you, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“You feel so good, pretty,” he whispers, his other hand resting on your hip as you begin to bounce on his cock. Up and down, up and down. “Shiiiiit, baby. Fuck me like that, yeah, just like that.”

A smile stretches across your lips as you watch his expression go from one of eagerness to one of absolute bliss, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you.

“Gods,” he breathes as his cock slides between your walls. “Pussy’s so tight—fuck,” he gasps out as he grips onto your hips, slowing your movements. “Gonna want more if you keep doing me like that.”

And by more, he means he’s going to start fucking up into you. He really didn’t want to, not with how pretty you looked riding him on your own, tits bouncing in his face and all.

You whine as he slows you down, and you come to a complete stop for a moment as you sit in his lap, cockwarming him. “Is that not the point?”

Rafayel raises a brow at you, a lazy grin on his lips. “Pfft. Alright, woman, you asked for it.”

You really did ask for it, though when he grasped onto your hips to make you slightly hover over him, you’re quickly realizing that his words were anything but empty.

His cock rams into you before you can even register that he’s moving beneath you, his thrusts hard and fast. You moan nearly every time the tip of his shaft reaches the back of your walls. Without much thought, you lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder as he continues to fuck into you.

“Ah-ah,” he playfully scolds, leaning forward to nip at the neckline of your dress. “Pull ‘em out for me, cutie.”

You do it without hesitation, shrugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders just enough for your tits to be revealed to him. He moans at the sight, leaning in to press a kiss on your perked nipple.

“Such pretty tits, honey,” he murmurs against your skin as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, the pace of his cock pushing into you not letting up whatsoever.

It’s your turn to moan embarrassingly loud now, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel heat pool in your lower stomach. He’s far too preoccupied with sucking on your tits to notice, but once he does, he nips at the sensitive skin of your breast.

“I thought we were looking each other in the eyes this time,” he says, leaning up to press a kiss on your cheek. And when you open your eyes, he smiles. “Thaaat’s more like it, pretty.”

You return the smile, but not for long. Another moan rips through you, your forehead moving to rest on his, though you keep your eyes open.

“Oh… ‘m gonna cum,” you choke out, earning a chaste kiss from him.

He nods. “Let me have it, baby. Need you.”

And it’s not like you had a choice in the matter. You’re shaking in his lap as your orgasm washes over you, another airy moan leaving your swollen lips as you find your release on his cock.

“So perfect, so beautiful,” he coos, leaning forward to kiss you again, slowing the pace of his hips down as he fucks you through your high. “Mhm, so sweet for me too.”

A soft whine leaves his lips as he pulls out of you. You watch as his hand strokes along his cock, a guttural sound leaving his mouth as he paints his own stomach with thick, white ropes of cum.

He pants as he keeps his eyes on yours, leaning forward to press another kiss to your cheek. You lean into his touch while your other hand threads into his hair.

“Well, won’t you look at that. Guess you’re your own muse after all,” you joke, giving him a suggestive wink. “Y’know, since you painted your own—”

“Mhm, I got the joke, gorgeous,” he deadpans, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips. “You’re just hilarious, aren’t you?”

“…Yeah, I think I’m pretty funny.”

note. helloooooo! i really enjoyed writing this lol, i like the lightheartedness of it all. i might write a pt2 for the hell of it buuuuut i hope you enjoyed reading <3 all interactions are greatly appreciated :)))

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[argonometra]

Skippy's List seems relevant to the SDU...

3. Not allowed to threaten anyone with black magic.

8. Not allowed to add pictures of officers I don’t like to War Criminal posters.

12. Not allowed to join any militia.

13. Not allowed to form any militia.

19. May not call any officers immoral, untrustworthy, lying, slime, even if I’m right.

23. Must never ask anyone who outranks me if they’ve been smoking crack.

30. Not allowed to wake an Non-Commissioned Officer by repeatedly banging on the head with a bag of trash.

33. Not allowed to chew gum at formation, unless I brought enough for everybody.

34. (Next day) Not allowed to chew gum at formation even if I *did* bring enough for everybody.

40. I do not have super-powers.

50. Not allowed to sell magic beans during duty hours.

58. The following words and phrases may not be used in a cadence- Budding sexuality, necrophilia, I hate everyone in this formation and wish they were dead, sexual lubrication, black earth mother, all Marines are latent homosexuals, Tantric yoga, Gotterdammerung, Korean hooker, Eskimo Nell, we’ve all got jackboots now, slut puppy, or any references to squid.

59. May not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command.

65. There are no evil clowns living under my bed.

70. I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication.

75. May not conduct psychological experiments on my chain of command.

82. May not form any press gangs.

84. Must not use military vehicles to “Squish” things.

86. May not challenge anyone in my chain of command to the “field of honor”.

101. I am not allowed to mount a bayonet on a crew-served weapon.

105. I am not allowed to bum cigarettes off of anyone under twelve.

106. I may not trade my rifle for any of the following: Cigarettes, booze, sexual favors, Kalishnikovs, Soviet Armored vehicles, small children, or bootleg CD’s.

119. I cannot arrest children for being rude.

126. Two drink limit does not mean the drinks can be as large as I like.

132. The loudspeaker system is not a forum to voice my ideas.

133. The loudspeaker system is not to be used to replace the radio.

134. The loudspeaker system is not to be used to broadcast the soundtrack to a porno movie.

140. I am not authorized to sell mineral rights.

141. Not allowed to use a broadsword to disprove “The Pen is Mightier than the sword”.

151. The proper way to report to my Commander is “Specialist Schwarz, reporting as ordered, Sir” not “You can’t prove a thing!”

158. The revolution is not now.

175. We do not “charge into battle, naked, like the Celts”.

178. I am not “A lesbian trapped in a man’s body”.

188. May not challenge officers to “Meet me on the field of honor, at dawn”.

191. Our Humvees cannot be assembled into a giant battle-robot.

192. The proper response to a briefing is not “That’s what you think”.

198. Not allowed to lead a “Coup” during training missions.

201. Must not valiantly push officers onto hand grenades to save the squad.

206. Not allowed to get shot.

[who-is-evelyn-m]

"Watson and The Shark" -- a great painting of which there is a ridiculous number of copies (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watson_and_the_Shark doesn't list them all -- I saw at least four versions when I was last in the North East US). Amused by the fact that the original was commissioned by man depicted as being in the water (many years after the event) -- I wonder if he asked to depicted naked, or if that was a surprise when he first saw the finished work.

[captainswife]

I actually had a funny conversation once with a coworker about sexualizing catholic priests and the saints and they kept saying it was a sin for people to be nude and sexual in the first place so sexualizing the church is wrong.

So I asked them to explain why Adam and Eve are always depicted as being naked in the Garden of Eden and why the church commissioned the Sistine Chapel to have naked people on the ceiling and never had it painted over if nakedness was a sin.

This coworker no longer debates me on the sin level of sexualizing priests and naked people.

okay TO BE FAIR most of the depictions of saints and such that we DO have are from the renaissance, and you know what renaissance artists were? horny. that's what. so i DO partially attribute the nakedness to that

HOWEVER

that is an excellent point, why are all the people at church allowed to look at half-naked sexy saints and god with his cake out and men and women wearing nothing but loincloths??? like??? father, is that what you are looking at so intently during prayer? hmmmm???

of course, there can be a point made about how nudity does not have to be sexual, if it's not in a sexual context. which is one of the points i really like, when it comes to discussions of artistic nudity, actually.

ALSO i feel like most of the people who complain about the internet sexualising priests and such assume that we would want to like... dunno, make them stray from the path of god or something? like, do they think we are going to walk up to a priest at church and get freaky with him??

that's not what this is about, man. it's about the FANTASY, it's about THE AIR OF THE FORBIDDEN, exactly BECAUSE celibacy exists. it's about the DRAMA, it's about the SECRECY, it's about the mixture of emotions between guilt and lust. like, those are so fun to explore in a fictional environment???

and also like... fuck, do people really expect we will take our silly little fantasies to actual religious people and stick them in their faces? hello???

in conclusion, i am thinking about this too much. i just think most strictly religious people(especially christians) are a bit silly and need to chill out and have a little fun, yanno?

not like what we do is any worse than what the catholic church has ever done, just sayin... they can take a little silly sexy fun thrown at them, it's fine

[pashterlengkap]

Art gallery removes lesbian founder’s nude drawings

The 78-year-old founder of a community gallery in Philadelphia is accusing the nonprofit’s board of directors of homophobia after members removed two of her drawings from public view while she was out of town. “The more I thought about it, the more I was upset,” Arleen Olshan, a cofounder of the Mt. Airy Art Garage (MAAG), told the Philadelphia Inquirer of the unauthorized removal. --- Related Stories Movie theater manager calls police on woman for taking autistic son into the women’s room He shouted that it was “not a transgender bathroom” at the mom and her son. --- Now she’s filed a complaint with the Pennsylvania Human Relations Commission, alleging harassment, wrongful pressure to leave the gallery, and random censorship of her artwork.  Get the Daily Brief The news you care about, reported on by the people who care about you. “My responsibilities as executive director at MAAG have been usurped by the Board with no notification,” Olshan writes in the complaint. “I no longer feel this is a safe space for LGBTQ+ artists.” “The ongoing attacks against me,” Olshan states, “citing safety of children and family values are homophobic code words. I have begun moving out of my studio as of July 3, 2023.” The artist founded the nonprofit with her wife in 2009.  After she was diagnosed with lung cancer last fall, Olshan took a sabbatical from her art practice in April. Before she left, she says she moved portable display walls around her studio and hung the two drawings there. One of the pencil drawings, titled Academy Days, depicts three nude women lounging on a couch and brings to mind a life-drawing class. The second drawing, Kissing in the Summer Sun, shows two women lying in the grass in an embrace. Neither artwork could be considered pornographic. Both date back to the 1970s. According to the complaint, filed on July 9, in Olshan’s absence three board members turned the walls in front of her studio around, removing the drawings from public view. On her return, Olshan complained to the board and was shocked by the response. “Who wants to see naked women?” asked the board’s director, Patricia Smith, according to Olshan. “When you hung your artwork of nude figures on the outside wall, three Board members felt they were not appropriate for children to see in a commonly used space,” a letter to Olshan from the board stated. “I don’t want my 5-year-old grandchild seeing this,” Smith said in a subsequent meeting. “Even gay people don’t want something like this right in their face,” another board member stated, according to the complaint. Olshan was despondent. “I’m very sad about all of it,” Olshan told the Inquirer. “These are labors of love — to just talk about them in such awful ways is really terrible.” She filed her complaint days later. “We’re going backward in a lot of states regarding our human rights, and I don’t want to see that happening. Certainly not in Mount Airy.” In a statement posted to the MAAG website, the board denied the allegations and claimed Olshan’s “communication contains misinformation, exaggerations, and several statements not based on facts.” “MAAG has always been intentionally inclusive and diverse,” the statement continues. “The Board values freedom of expression, diversity, and the inclusion of all voices, including the LGBTQ+ community.”   “There has been an ongoing argument about my work — citing children and family values,” Olshan says in her complaint. “My work is also the only artwork focused on feminist and lesbian themes. Why now? No one’s work has ever been censored at MAAG.” “To me, this is homophobia,” Olshan writes, “cloaked in ‘protecting the children.’” http://dlvr.it/SsrGDJ

[denimbex1986]

'Christopher Nolan's much-anticipated latest film tells the story of the man who created the atomic bomb. It's boldly imaginative and his most mature work yet, writes Caryn James.

Bursts of fire fill the screen throughout Oppenheimer, at times making it seem as if a thousand volcanoes were about to engulf us. But they aren't the only fiery images in Christopher Nolan's magnificent film, as it tells the story of the man who helped create the atomic bomb and wrestled for the rest of his life with the deadly consequences. At times circles race across empty darkness or wiry orange strands of light appear, depicting the fears and the science occupying Oppenheimer's mind. Those artful images are sporadic in a film that never loses its sense of story and drama, but they reveal how boldly imaginative and sure-footed the film is. Oppenheimer is Nolan's most mature work, combining the explosive, commercially-enticing action of The Dark Knight trilogy with the cerebral underpinnings that go back more than 20 years to Memento and run through Inception and Tenet.

Cillian Murphy, staring with icy blue eyes, dominates the film, playing Robert Oppenheimer with a restraint that perfectly suits this charismatic yet chilly character. The story takes us from his student days in Europe, to his time as a professor in California in the 1930s, and then to the Manhattan Project, the top-secret US programme to build nuclear weapons in Los Alamos, New Mexico, where his team races to create a bomb to end World War Two. Murphy keeps us with him even when the character seems a bit opaque. Nolan based his film on the magisterial biography American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin J Sherwin and captures just what that title suggests: a tragic and profoundly American hero who helped shaped the modern world and became a victim of Washington politics.

The film is framed as a head-to-head battle between Oppenheimer and his nemesis, Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr), former head of the US Atomic Energy Commission. Throughout, Nolan's screenplay goes back and forth between two US government hearings in the 1950s which play like tense courtroom dramas, flashing back in long stretches to tell the story of Oppenheimer's life. By the 50s Oppenheimer is a lionised national figure, yet is being questioned by a panel determining whether to revoke his security clearance, based on bogus accusations that he is a communist threat.

Much of the film is from Oppenheimer's point of view, in bright colour, designed and shot with immediacy despite its wide-screen format. Black and white sections that feel deliberately claustrophobic show Strauss' perspective, as he appears before a US Senate committee voting on his nomination as Secretary of Commerce. Those sections eventually echo Memento, in which the story is not what it first seems. The fractured chronology effectively creates a sense of doom that haunts the earlier scenes.

The story builds gradually, but you hardly feel the film's length, just over three hours. In California, Oppenheimer begins an affair with Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh), a communist, emotionally volatile and unsettled. In one scene, after sex with Oppenheimer, she finds a Sanskrit copy of the Bhagavad Gita on his shelf and asks him to read from it. Oppenheimer delivers the line most associated with him, which came to him while watching Trinity, the first test of the nuclear bomb at Los Alamos, as he recalled in a TV interview years later: "Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds". Dropping that into a sex scene is another startling choice. In a later scene that hints at how good a Nolan love story might be, they sit naked in armchairs across the room from each other, an elegant image that suggests both intimacy and distance.

Like the rest of the large cast, Pugh is impressive in a small role. Even Emily Blunt, who plays Oppenheimer's wife, Kitty, spends most of the time in the background. Late in the film, in a couple of major scenes she displays why Kitty was a force of her own. Matt Damon is Leslie Groves, the down-to-earth army general who shepherds the Manhattan Project. Kenneth Branagh is the physicist Niels Bohr, Oppenheimer's sometime mentor and conscience. But Downey is the crucial supporting player, and he gives a shrewd, dynamic performance as the wily, insecure, powerful Strauss.

The film doesn't belabour or especially try to explain the science of the bomb, even as research physicists cluster around Oppenheimer to debate it. At Los Alamos, the tension ramps up as the story heads toward the inevitable test in the vast desert. There is a howling rainstorm the night before Trinity. When the explosion happens – Oppenheimer in a shack some distance away, others lying flat on the ground, shielding their eyes – the fire seems to roar at us from the screen, followed by sudden silence as the soundtrack cuts out. That jolting, immersive scene alone justifies shooting in the Imax format Nolan loves so much (and that shows every line and pore in the actors' faces).

The physicist Edward Teller (Benny Safdie) charges Oppenheimer with being more politician than physicist. Kitty tells him he plays the martyr. Nolan shows a man who naively believed he could speak honestly, urging President Truman to avoid a nuclear arms race. He also believed that it was necessary to drop the bomb on Hiroshima because, as he says, "Once it's used, a nuclear war becomes unthinkable". But he does think about it. Just after Hiroshima we see more images from his mind, including a photo-negative image of a young woman with her skin peeling off. As this inspired film suggests, Oppenheimer's greatest tragedy was that he wasn’t able to save the future from his own invention.

★★★★★

Oppenheimer is released internationally from 21 July.'

[coochiequeens]

Denmark - where the museums are progressive enough to erase woman from their names but the royal couple know who can be exploited for a baby.

A statue of a naked, bearded man attempting to breastfeed an infant is drawing disapproval on social media for what some critics are calling female erasure. The nude figure, constructed in 2021 as a self-portrait by Aske Kreilgaard, is depicted with exposed male genitals and breasts to which he is holding a feeding baby.

Despite having been created to commemorate International Men’s Day, the statue has now been placed outside of The Gender Museum (KØN) in Aarhus, Denmark, which was previously known as the Women’s Museum (Kvindemuseet). 

The facility was originally founded in 1982 to educate the public about women’s history, but in 2021 was renamed to reflect a shift in focus towards topics of gender and sexuality.

The Gender Museum justified the decision to change its name by claiming that gender roles had “changed significantly,” and that the emphasis of the museum would be focused to shift towards “freer expression” of all genders.

“A lot has happened in the relationship between the sexes since the Women’s Museum Association saw the light of day. Men’s gender roles and function in society have also changed significantly,” the museum’s website stated.

“The cultural heritage rests in places on old divisions between genders and roles, while the present expects freer expression of all genders. Just as women’s research at universities today is called gender research, the museum has followed the same development in its ongoing depiction and documentation of cultural history.”

The former Women’s Museum first began to incorporate elements of gender ideology into their education programs in 2016 and currently offers sex education for children in primary school “through a culture-historical and norm-critical view of sexuality and gender.”

“The societal norms that [children] experience on their own bodies are set against cultural history through objects from the history of sexual culture. In this way, we show the students that sex, gender roles and understandings of sexuality are rooted in our cultural history, and that ideas about gender, sexuality and sexual practices have changed over time,” reads the description of the course on the museum’s website.

The sculpture’s creator, Kreilgaard, has said in an interview with Fine Spinde that he titled the work Agape, a Greek word meaning “love.”

Just after the statue was erected, sculptor, photographer and writer Suste Bonnén sharply condemned the museum’s decision to commission and feature the piece in an article published by Kristeligt Dagblad titled, “Statue of breastfeeding man is a pedophile’s dream.”

“Isn’t Agape a pedophile’s dream? A grown naked man who enjoys putting a small child up to his nipple for him to suck is to me the epitome of what pedophiles dream of,” Bonnén writes. She further elaborates on how the area is an erogenous zone for both women and men, but highlights that whereas “the mother satisfies the child’s needs,” a man, being incapable of nursing, “only satisfies his own.”

Bonnén went on to describe the statue as flouting exploitation.

“I don’t see that the gender roles are being played with, as many others do. I see an exploitation of the little child, and a man playing with his own gratification. That is why I find it disturbing that both genders and audiences today welcome the message: The grown man can do whatever he wants with a small child, as long as we call it Agape.”

While the statue was erected outside of the museum in November of 2021, photos of it just began circulating in social media this week and prompting backlash. On Facebook, some Danish feminists noted that they had attempted to protest the name change of the museum in 2021, but found their concerns being ignored as museum officials reportedly felt shifting away from “women” and towards “gender inclusivity” was a better financial decision.

The photo of the statue that first prompted discussion on Twitter was posted by Michelle Uriarau of Mana Wāhine Kōrero, a Māori women’s group. Uriarau also referenced the name change at the museum, calling it “the erasure of women.”

Over one thousand people replied to Uriarau’s post, some of whom were expressing disbelief that the statue was even real. Many Twitter users were outraged at the symbolism, and the fact the statue was now housed outside of a former museum dedicated to women.

“The parading and exhibiting of the male sexual fetishist. Only women give birth and only women breastfeed NOT men,” user Elise Willows wrote beneath the photo.

“A nursing baby as the ultimate fetish accessory. Disgusting,” another tweeted.

Others in the replies referenced recent attempts to “neutralize” the language around motherhood and breastfeeding, something that has been shown to have a negative impact on maternal health outcomes. Some also referenced incidents involving trans-identified males attempting to breastfeed babies.

Last year, Reduxx reported on a Reddit post featuring photos of a trans-identified male user breastfeeding his wife’s newborn baby.

The post, titled “Oh my God I’m breastfeeding my daughter,” detailed how the user worked with a lactation consultant and his gender physician for several months prior to his female partner giving birth. Immediately following the baby’s birth, the user said he had begun breastfeeding the child to supplement formula feedings. The user also included a link to a photo gallery showing snapshots of himself “breastfeeding” the baby.

In 2018, an endocrinologist from Boston Medical Center claimed that breast feeding was an important method of validating a trans-identified male’s gender identity.  

In an interview with The New Scientist, Dr. Joshua Safer said: “Many transgender women are looking to have as many of the experiences of non-transgender women as they can, so I can see this will be extremely popular.”

Reports of trans-identified males seeking support from lactation consultants have increased. On social media, many new and breastfeeding mothers have also stated they’ve noticed an increase in men attending breastfeeding groups.

According to the Danish Agency for Culture and Palaces, of about 2,500 monuments nationwide, only 28 commemorate women. The nation’s lack of female-focused memorials was the subject of a 2022 sculpture project that highlighted the lack of visibility of women in public art.

Reduxx contacted the Gender Museum for comment, but did not received a response at the time of publication.

By Genevieve Gluck

Genevieve is the Co-Founder of Reduxx, and the outlet's Chief Investigative Journalist with a focused interest in pornography, sexual predators, and fetish subcultures. She is the creator of the podcast Women's Voices, which features news commentary and interviews regarding women's rights.

Prince Gustav of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg and his wife, Princess Carina, are expecting a baby. However, the princess lacks the usual baby bump. Instead, another woman is carrying her child.

Both the prince, who is a nephew of the Danish queen Margarethe and his wife are 54 years old. They had to wait almost 20 years before they could get married due to an inheritance rule from Gustav's grandfather Prince Gustav Albrecht, who was a Nazi, Daily Mail writes. Now, they are becoming parents in their fifties with the help of a surrogate mother.

Royal fans have already claimed that the baby is a boy and is due to be born in May. Official sources have not confirmed the announcement yet. According to a press release from Berleburg Castle, the residence of the royal couple in Germany, the baby is due in the summer. The prince and princess state their thanks in the same press release "to everyone who has helped to find a legal path to follow."

According to Kristeligt Dagblad, the baby will be the first royal child born via surrogacy. It is unknown whether the couple has paid the surrogate mother for her service (commercial surrogacy) or whether they found someone who offered to carry the baby altruistically, the Danish newspaper reports.

Debate

The royal surrogacy baby may renew the discussion about surrogacy in Denmark. Currently, it is legal to have a child via a surrogate mother, but there are quite a few requirements that have to be fulfilled. It is, for example, illegal to get help with insemination, and third parties may not communicate with the surrogate mother.

Leif Vestergaard Pedersen, chairman of the Danish Ethics Council, finds the rules too restrictive. Last January, the council proposed to make surrogacy a standard fertility treatment, Kristeligt Dagblad reports. At the same time, Vestergaard Pedersen warns against commercial surrogacy "because it can in many ways be equated with trade in children."

Age limit

Another concern about the royal baby is the age of its parents. Being 54 years old is a relatively high age for first-time parents, Kristeligt Dagblad states. However, Vestergaard Pedersen thinks this is not something the Ethical Council is concerned with. "There is an age limit in fertility treatment, probably primarily for the sake of the woman giving birth. Regarding more general considerations, parents' age is a consideration. Still, it is not something we have discussed or have immediate plans for", he says.

Fertility doctor Malene Tanderup Sørensen points out that there is no biological age barrier regarding surrogate parenthood. "However, the fact that they are older is one of the things that can help put the debate on surrogacy at the forefront."

Happiness

In any case, the royal family welcomes the baby with happiness. Lene Balleby, a spokesperson for the family, says that the royals "are very happy on behalf of the couple."

Historian and royal house commentator Lars Hovbakke Sørensenpoints out that the royal house is usually more conservative than the general population. However, he thinks the difficulties the royal couple overcame to get married "can help to create more understanding around their decision about surrogate motherhood."

They could have gotten married earlier but he would have lost his inheritance due to the will his Nazi grandfather left.

[arielseaworth]

When they came ashore at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush to begin their conquest of the Seven Kingdoms, with them came a black-eyed, black-haired bastard named Orys Baratheon. (The World of Ice and Fire)

But what is a memorial, when you come right down to it, but a commemoration of wounds endured? Endured, and resented. (The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood)

The man – no, the king – depicted in the tapestry had long, streaming black hair and a full black beard. If not for his eyes, which were deep pools of blue instead of black, he could have passed for an ancestor of Orys Baratheon. A great-grandfather, perhaps, staring out proudly at his descendants from the wall covered with faded and not-quite-faded tapestries depicting illustrious Durrandons throughout the ages, beginning with Durran Godsgrief and his beloved Elenei, who were pictured locked in an embrace as a vicious storm was assaulting the ill-fated predecessor to Storm’s End.

Argella’s voice cut through Orys’ reverie like a hot knife slicing through butter. “My father, in his glory and his youth, or his glorious youth, some would say,” she said, her gaze lingering on the signet ring on her father’s finger in the tapestry, the signet ring bearing the seal of House Durrandon. The last Storm King had not been wearing this ring when he was slain.

The ring had been passed to his daughter before King Argilac departed Storm’s End for the last time, according to Rhaenys’ spies inside Storm’s End.

The ring was lost when the traitors and the betrayers who would deliver her to Orys’ camp had stripped her naked and put her in chains, claimed Argella. “One of them might have stolen it, and is currently hiding it, my lord. Should you not try to find it? Who knows what mischief they could achieve with such a ring?”

Argella remembered. Remembered the name of every man who had laid hands on her, who had dared to lay hands on the royal person of the Storm Queen. The list was long, but she recited the names as if each and every one had been carved with a knife on her bloodied flesh.

Might it not be you yourself, my lady, who is hiding this ring? wondered Orys from the start. He investigated the men on her list nonetheless, before trying to search through every nook and cranny of Storm’s End.

He searched, but never found it. It being the ring, it being the truth, it being any semblance of reconciliation.

“I said it is a portrait of my father. Did you hear me?”

Orys nodded. “I know. His eyes …”

His eyes I see in my dreams still. His eyes follow me every step of the way in Storm’s End still. His eyes judge and scorn, though not as severely as another pair of eyes, ones not depicted in any tapestry I see on this wall.

It was absurd, beyond absurd. Orys had slain many men in battles both before and after he slew the last Storm King, but none of the others had ever haunted his dreams. Why should Argilac Durrandon be any different?

But of course, he had not married the daughters of the other men he had slain. He had not moved into the castles of the other men he had slain. He had not –

Usurped the position of the heirs of the other men you had slain? demanded Argella, with her gaze.

“Would you like a woven portrait of yourself to be hanged in Storm’s End, next to the tapestry depicting my father?” asked Argella, with her courteous-sounding words that often felt sharper than any sword to Orys, even a Valyrian one.

“Hanged?”

“Forgive me. I misspoke. To be hung, I mean.”

Did you? Did you truly misspeak?

He doubted it. Doubted it very much indeed. His lifeless body hanging on that wall beside her father’s woven portrait would not displease Argella overmuch, he’d wager.

“I would like,” said Orys, “to commission a tapestry depicting the Lord and Lady of Storm’s End.”

They would not be portrayed locked in an embrace like Durran Godgrief and Elenei, certainly, but perhaps it could be the first step towards some kind of reconciliation, thought Orys. Reconciliation between the last Durrandon queen and the first Baratheon lord, between husband and wife.

Argella saw it very differently. “You would like to commission a tapestry depicting the ruling Lord of Storm’s End and his consort, you mean. I am more than aware of my current position, my lord. You need not remind me of it with a permanent memorial on this wall.”

[a-briefexposure]

For over a month I have failed miserably to post anything here, proving once again that I can't have good habits. Or at least not yet. Here is something interesting that mostly speaks for itself: a gallery of photographs I took inside Saint Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church in Millave, Pennsylvania (not exactly Pittsburgh, but part of the Diocese of Pittsburgh). These murals were commissioned to Maxo Vanka, a Croatian immigrant artist, in the 1930s. Vanka was the son of aristocrats, though he was born out of wedlock and placed in a peasant home until one of his grandparents found out that he existed and paid for his education in Zagreb. Vanka met Margaret Stetten, a wealthy Jewish New Yorker, while she was doing a tour of Europe; they married and moved back to the US in 1935, as antisemitic sentiment rose. Vanka tried to rebuild his fine arts career and eventually showed work in Pittsburgh, where he caught the eye of the priest of Saint Nicholas. An urban legend (told to me by the friend who took me to this place) says the priest actually dreamt that God ordered to ask Vanka to paint the inside of the church, which was totally white then.

Vanka painted these murals in eight weeks in 1937, which is almost unbelievable. Someone in our guided tour said he was drinking a lot of Coca Cola (apparently it was basically cocaine back then). He returned in 1940 to do the "evil capitalist" one and a couple of others I couldn't photograph very well. The first mural he did was the peasant Virgin Mary, with her broad shoulders and strong hands. Below her Vanka painted two groups: on the left, Croatians in the home country, an idyllic landscape, and dressed in traditional attire; on the right, Croatian immigrants, many of them wearing their work clothes and tools, and one of them holding a miniature model of St. Nicholas itself––a gift of the community to the Virgin. One of the other murals depicts the Crucifixion, and there are portraits of the apostles in the upper walls and ceiling. The vibrant color palette (the royal blue!) and the elongated, expressionist faces and bodies are probably the most immediately arresting elements that stay consistent throughout all the scenes. However, the main attraction here are the anti-war and anti-exploitation murals in which groups of women mourn a fallen soldier in Croatia and a fallen miner in Pittsburgh ("Mothers offer up their sons for war" and "Mothers offer up their sons for labor"). In the first, several women in traditional white funerary dress surround the casket of a dead soldier. In the second, inspired by real events in Pittsburgh, women dressed in black surround the half-naked body of a man––ostensibly the son of one of them––who has died in a mining accident; in the distance we see other workers heading back into the mine to look for survivors. In another wall, a Rockefeller-like figure sits having dinner while ignoring a beggar at the foot of his table. An angel turns their head away in disgust, and a demon extends a bony hand into the scene.

Within the line of sight of churchgoers, so colorful and cinematic, these scenes become part of the wider experience of prayer or worship. I don't recall seeing something like this before. Some scenes (like the evil capitalist with the top hat and the monocle) maybe feel a bit too on-the-nose, but I suppose that's appropriate for the context. In contrast, a couple of these paintings are hermetic in a way that makes you stare. The Angel of Justice, for instance, which is not really "an angel" that we know of by any name (and which mirrors an Angel of Prudence on the wall across, an emblem I love). The ceiling was my favorite parts of the church, painted like literal heaven, in a beautiful blue with lighter patches, stars, and planets. It seems that some of the lighter blues or greenish patches were caused by water damage (because Pittsburgh gets hurricanes, believe it or not), but they actually look beautiful, like nebulae. On the opposite side of Justice is Injustice (again, very didactic), a strangely futuristic-medieval figure wearing a beaked gas mask.

Not a whole lot is known about Vanka's politics, as far as I've been able to search. He's often described simply as a "pacifist." But, of course, these murals clearly express how war disproportionately affects any working class. The tour guide in the church was also unable to tell us if Vanka had had any contact with Mexican muralists, but the timing is perfect and him being in New York for any period of time would make it likely. While these images most likely follow Eastern European mural traditions, to me they have undeniable echoes of José Clemente Orozco --so maybe it was the spirit of the times.

[seventfics]

A Wolf’s Promise

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: I didn’t keep your secret Relationships: Regis/Geralt of Rivia Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt spills a secret he didn't know was a secret.

Read on AO3

* * *

“You told him?”

“Of course.”

The moment Geralt says those two simple words, he knows he’s made a mistake.

His majordomo has already left the room, which is a testament to how incredibly receptive Barnabas is to things that fly over Geralt's head, witcher senses notwithstanding. He probably felt something off when Regis—who is nothing if not charming, normally—gave curt, tense replies to B.B.'s politely phrased questions. Geralt only noticed his souring mood after they'd been left alone, and he finally started piecing things together himself.

“He’s a good man,” Geralt explains, “I trust him to take care of my house and the people here.”

“You still told him, without asking me first.”

The true upset in Regis’ voice catches him off guard. “I…I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“Do you go about telling people about your vampire friends?”

Geralt makes himself small next to Regis. A bubble of guilt presses against his throat. “Just friends now?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He doesn't sigh, but he does cross his arms and look down at Geralt's fiddling fingers in front of him.

“Of course I don’t. It’s no one’s business, especially if I know what they’ll assume.” Like the Duchess. Like anyone living in Toussaint after the Blood Moon feast in which all manner of vampire participated in not a year past. There are scars that have not yet healed since. Many lost their homes, their loved ones.

He nearly lost Regis again—he nearly lost his heart, again.

Of course he wouldn't tell just anyone about him.

Gently, Geralt takes one of Regis' hands in his own. He looks up to deep eyes that stare back with deep dread, and he hates himself for putting that feeling in them. That mistrust, and fear for the slice of peace they've managed to nurture in an otherwise hostile land.

“I trust him, Regis." He squeezes the hand in his grip. "You can trust him too. You can trust my people here.”

He didn’t know it was a secret—not in this way. Regis means everything to him. Hiding that from the very people that keep him clothed and fed, it would be wrong. But he made a mistake. They’ve only just gotten to re-know each other. Things were becoming comfortable once more. Simple, warm. Easy. No one here would judge them for who they love—and what they are.

“I thought…this was like a home to you," Geralt says quietly, "that you would welcome this place as your own. Somewhere you didn’t feel like you had to hide anything.”

“Geralt…”

His heart beats painfully hard inside his chest, worrying that he's broken something between them. “I’m sorry. I assumed.”

Regis turns their hands over so that now he is the one tightly grasping Geralt's. “No, no, dear. I do want to share your home with you."

"You..." He blinks up and finds Regis looking up at all the paintings he's collected and hung up over the past year. Ciri's angry baby portrait. The ridiculous commission of him naked on horseback. Even Dandelion's self-indulgent, artistic depiction of himself as a warrior poised for battle, upright against a corner of the room. All things that make him chuckle and cringe, and that give the house so much character. "You do?"

The pain in Regis' face fades as he takes each decoration in. "I suppose I am too used to existing as an assumption. Our little hansa had been the first in a long time that I bothered to correct anyone. I made my own assumption—that such a circumstance would never occur again, and that I would have to return to half-truths and white lies.”

As he talks, his free hand lifts to touch Geralt's cheek. His thumb strokes back and forth, and it is so like him, to be kind and reassuring when he should be the one in need of it, that Geralt has to kiss him. He kisses his lips and his face and breathes in the anise and wormwood that seems permanently stuck to his robes, and he thinks no more half-truths, no more shrinking and hiding under his roof, ever again. This house is theirs and there will be no sadness in it.

And after he's satisfied by the smile felt against his lips, Geralt asks, “Come to the kitchen with me? I can properly introduce you to B.B. and Marlene.”

“Yes. I think I would like that. But," he interjects just as Geralt starts tugging at him to follow, "before any more decisions are made on either of our behalf, promise to consult me of them beforehand.”

In his head, Geralt thinks he sounds cool and serious when he swears by all the Gods, “I promise.”

Truthfully he's dazed and blushing, because Regis' smile is beautiful when he lets his sharp teeth show.

[scotianostra]

On May 1st 1590 King James VI and Anne of Denmark returned to Leith after their marriage in November 1589.

Anne was crowned Queen of Scotland later that month. James must have needed a hobby so he began a witch-hunt that would claim countless lives in the following hundred years.

In 1597 he published a dissertation called Daemonologie, or Daemonologie, In Forme of a Dialogue, Divided into three Books: By the High and Mighty Prince, James &c to give it's full title. The book asserted James’s full belief in magic and witchcraft, and aims to both prove the existence of such forces and to lay down what sort of trial and punishment these practices merit – in James’s view, death.

The book included ideas such as the witches’ vanishing/invisible flight, their raising of storms, dancing and chanting, sexual acts, their gruesome potion ingredients and the presence of animal familiars.

Witchcraft had been a criminal offence in Scotland prior to 1590 but action against suspected witches was limited. However after 1590 and in the last thirteen years of the reign of James, Scotland fully accepted the Christian witch theory so that when one witch was found, others were hunted out. Prior to 1590, it seems that witchcraft was seen as a minor issue by those in power. In 1583, the General Assembly complained that witchcraft carried no punishment despite being outlawed in 1563.

In the years leading up to his "masterpiece" on the subject over three hundred people, the majority being females were accused of Witchcraft and gathering to plot the murder of James. It is known that James had a morbid fear of violent death. Therefore these trials were of especial interest to him and he suddenly developed a very keen interest in demonology and witchcraft. Evidence for the ‘crimes’ remain patchy at best. Witches were accused of attempting to drown James by calling up a storm while he was at sea with his new wife. Other charges include trying to kill James by melting a wax effigy of him. They were also accused of performing perverted rituals in a church in Berwick – though it is not clear what this had to do specifically with trying to kill the king.

So where did this sudden interest in Witchcraft begin, in 1589 when he visited Denmark to meet his future wife. It was in Denmark that James met a number of intellectuals and philosophers including the astronomer Tycho Brahe. Witches were actively hunted out in Denmark where the theory of a demonic pact had been widely accepted. The king’s journey back to Scotland proved to be a very rough and stormy one and one ship was lost. Witches were blamed – working in both Scotland and Denmark. When the Danish court made a reciprocal visit to Scotland in 1590, the topic of witchcraft and sorcery may well have been a topic of conversation.

While attending a trial of a certain witch, Agnes Sampson in 1591, James was still a wee bit skeptical of the "evidence" of witchcraft, the evidence almost always included a confession gained under torture of the accused, when James expressed his doubt on the fantastical confession, Sampson asked James to come close so she could whisper something in his ear. She revealed private details about James’s and Anne’s wedding night that should have been impossible for her to know. That tipped the scales and from that point on, James was an avid believer in witchcraft.

Accounts of these trials were meticulously recorded to the point Edinburgh Burgh Treasurer's accounts itemise the cost of Agnes Sampson's execution, giving the date as the 16th day of January 1591 and the cost as £6 8s 10d. The naked ghost of a Bald Agnes, stripped and tortured after being accused of witchcraft, is said to roam the Palace of Holyrood House.

In 1597, having produced his book, James decided to end the standing commission that had been established to hunt out witches. However, the persecution did not end. By the time he left for England in 1603, witches were still being arrested and of those arrested, half were executed. Between 1603 and 1625, there were about twenty witchcraft trials a year in Scotland – nearly 450 in total. Half of the accused were found guilty and executed.

The first pic is from the Agnes Sampson trial in 1591 and depicts The Devil giving witches magic dolls, the others from the 1597 book on the subject and include suspected witches kneeling before King James, and the front cover of the book, reprinted in 1603 for the English after the union of the crowns.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

How Do Dragons Flirt?

Commission for the beauteous @ikeracity​ !!! A Cherik fic including dragon talk! I hope you like it, friend! Commission info is here!

~

Charles was reading another book about dragons.

Erik checked and re-checked that there was no one around, then walked over and asked, “May I sit here?”

Charles looked up, blinking. The entire student lounge was empty, and he had claimed the saggiest, oldest, shittiest couch that everyone hated. But Erik needed to get close for this.

“Ah—sure,” Charles said finally, and moved his enormous backpack. Erik sat in the corner furthest away from Charles. There was close, and there was too close; sharing a couch was on the edge of too close. He nevertheless turned a little, and asked Charles bluntly, “What’s that book about?”

A slow flush of shame filled Charles’ face, and he looked down, fiddling with the edges of the heavy paper. There seemed to be quite a few full-color illustrations as well as fancy script. “It’s… um… it’s about dragons,” he mumbled.

Erik bit the inside of his cheek, cursing at himself for already fucking up. He tried to make it better by saying, “Like contemporary ones or mythological?”

The flush deepened, and Charles looked away. “Mythological,” he answered softly.

Erik bit harder, cursed more viciously, and asked, “Can you tell me about that book?”

Charles’ head whipped around, and he stared at Erik with naked shock. Erik’s face went pink this time. “I like dragons too,” he explained, “But I don’t know any good books on them.”

The slow, brilliant smile that spread across Charles’ face was so beautiful that Erik was almost breathless. It really brought home how very fake his normal smiles were.

“Well… what books are you looking for?” Charles temporized, slowly relaxing and turning towards Erik. Maybe it wasn’t even a conscious decision. “There’s quite a difference between books about pop culture and books about dry medieval mythos.”

“I already have a basic grounding of pop culture,” Erik said, thinking back on the past three days of reading absolutely everything he could get his hands on. “Read a lot of essays. But I don’t know much about ancient depictions and writings.”

“Well, you are in for a treat,” Charles replied with something close to unholy glee.

Charles didn’t just like dragons, and he wasn’t just well-read. He was obsessed. Apparently his son was autistic (how the hell did baby-faced Charles have a child?) and his special interest was mythological creatures; Charles had started out just reading to him, and buying him books and watching videos. But then Charles had latched on to dragons, so while his son David researched griffins, Charles collected more and more material on fire-breathing lizards. It wasn’t as bad as his obsession with genetics and biology, but as Charles rambled on and on excitedly, Erik began to realize why people didn’t like listening.

But they were wrong. Because he’d heard so often that Charles was “boring”, but no one had ever mentioned how beautiful he was when he was excited. His eyes were wide and bright, his smile was the same, and his entire face came alive in a way it never did in class debates. He gestured emphatically and his voice got stronger and he looked so relieved.

Not to say Erik wasn’t listening. He was impressed by Charles’ knowledge, and the challenger in him wanted to learn just as much and more. So he listened, and asked questions, and soaked up Charles’ words like a sponge. He even got out his phone and noted all of the books Charles referenced and where to find them, and which sources they used. Charles was only too happy to add to the list.

By the time lights-out rolled around, Charles was hoarse and Erik was in a daze from the immense wave of talking that had just been aimed at him. He didn’t regret it. He found, to his own amusement, that he had enjoyed listening. But, well, he was already in love with Charles. No harm in enjoying his happiness.

They went to the stairs, silently. As they reached the landing where they split ways, Erik asked suddenly, “Can I sit with you at lunch tomorrow? I can probably dig up the essays I read, and we can compare.”

How could anyone think Charles was less than gorgeous when he was happy? “I’d like that,” he said simply.

~

So it became their Thing. If Erik was angry and wanted to be distracted, he sought out Charles. If Charles was upset in any way and needed to calm down, he went to Erik. They laughed together (when they were alone) about how it was great that, when either or both of them wanted to be alone, they just had to find each other and talk about dragons, and other people would avoid them.

Erik was labeled a martyr and insane for putting up with Charles, but he brushed it off, and in fact snapped at several people who acted like he was “brave” for “trying to be his friend”. There was no trying involved. As soon as they had found common ground, they had become friends. Natural arrogance, similar tastes, and true respect had made a friendship that Erik craved.

And it was fun talking to Charles. Even when conversation veered and they ended up debating politics or queer rights or which pizza chain made the best food (Erik insisted it was Pizza Hut, Charles refused to let go of Dominoes), it always came back to dragons, naturally, easily. Dragons as metaphors. Dragon stories as direct replies to various events in history. Dragons and their place in the human psyche.

It was only natural, really, to spend an evening talking about all the various descriptions of dragon mating behaviors. Erik was of the opinion that basing a dragon’s mating rituals on mammals was an insult to lizards and bats; Charles laughed and said if humans stuck to the mating rituals of lizards and bats, no one would find dragons romantic or powerful. They eventually agreed that birds were a good compromise, since they both detested birds.

Then things started… happening.

Erik immediately linked them to Charles. Gifts of food left at his door. Pretty rocks slipped into his backpack. Beautiful feathers tucked between the pages of his latest book on dragons that he was borrowing from Charles.

And then there was the nesting. The first time Erik visited Charles’ house, they ended up curled in a mess of pillows, cushions, blankets, and sheets, doing something Erik had never expected himself to be comfortable with: cuddling.

Charles’ son, David, was visiting. He was nonverbal, but knew a lot of sign-language; and since Charles had been teaching Erik, he was able to convey to David that he was a friend and he liked mythological creatures too. David looked at him somberly with his big blue eyes, then nodded and sat on a cushion a foot away from Charles, who beamed at his son with so much love that Erik’s heart ached.

But cuddling in a nest, watching movies together, sharing popcorn… it made Erik nervous, but excited. Was Charles flirting? Was this how flirting worked?

He decided to try some himself.

He bought Charles CDs because the silly man wouldn’t upgrade to a digital library, because birds sang to potential mates, didn’t they? Erik also tentatively offered to watch Dirty Dancing with Charles, because birds dance but he couldn’t, and the delight on Charles’ face was worth the fact that Erik disliked most of the movie.

He was stumped on pretty gifts, though. He didn’t have a lot of income, and Charles could afford literally anything he wanted. So Erik bought a ton of jump rings, a spool of wire, those little pliers jewelry-makers used, and pretty beads, and started making things for Charles.

The first thing he gave Charles was one of those bead-lizards, except he made wings to match. Charles almost cried, and hugged Erik so tight, which was… a nice feeling, surprisingly. Then Erik fussed and fiddled and managed to make three differently-sized hamsa, which Charles immediately hung by his front door, on his backpack, and in his room. David demanded a hamsa of his own, so Erik made a child-sized one and gave it to him for his birthday. David was so excited that he ran in circles, flapping his arms, and then shook Erik’s hand heartily. Erik actually found himself smiling.

Charles kissed his cheek so briefly before he left that night. It made him dizzy and warm, a feeling that lasted all the way back to his dorm.

They never talked about it. Not unless continued, hesitant mentions of dragon mating rituals counted.

~

It was a year after Erik had first approached Charles about dragons when he met Raven.

“Erik, this is my sister, Raven,” Charles said, beaming. “Raven, this is my friend Erik.”

“Nice to meet you,” Raven said neutrally with a lukewarm smile.

Erik nodded. “Likewise,” he said stiffly.

Charles was used to Erik by now, and was apparently used to Raven, because he didn’t seem upset by this standoff. If anything, he brightened further, and told Raven, “He likes dragons too.”

“Yeah, you told me,” Raven replied, taking Charles’ hand and squeezing gently. Then she turned back to Erik, narrowed her eyes, and asked, “What’re your intentions towards my brother?”

“Raven!” Charles gasped, immediately turning red with embarrassment. Erik was also pink, to his surprise.

“He’s my friend,” Erik said firmly.

“Then why are you flirting with him?”

Erik’s face got even warmer. “I… was not aware that I was,” he muttered, eyes glancing around to make sure no one was near.

“Hmph.” Raven turned back to a befuddled and sad—no, no, why was he sad—Charles. “He’s into you, dumbass.”

Erik looked at the ground, unable to hide how very red he was. Charles knew him now. He would know what his expression meant.

“Oh, hush, Raven,” Charles snapped, actually sounding angry. “You don’t know that.”

“Whatever. Did you want to get drinks or no?”

So the three of them went to get drunk. Erik was nervous about that; he was an angry drunk. But if he kept to a low amount of alcohol, he should be fine.

Raven and Charles were so hard-headed it made Erik a little afraid. Raven did eventually fall asleep on Charles’ shoulder, but she never acted drunk other than that; and Charles chattered on with his usual enthusiasm, his speech not slurred in the slightest. Erik was feeling a little woozy after maybe two beers and three shots of tequila.

“Do you like me?” Charles asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Erik said.

“Do you like me?” Charles repeated, looking very sharp and sober. “Raven said you did.”

“Well...” Erik rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the table. But, knowing that they would both forget in the morning, he felt safe in blurting, “Well, yes. I just… didn’t want to bring it up.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it felt weird. I like being your friend too much.”

There was a silence. Then Charles reached over and put his hand over Erik’s. “I like you too,” he said softly.

~

It was definitely mating rituals.

And Erik didn’t mind at all. Nothing really changed, except they started kissing in private, and then they got bold and kissed while drunk and in front of Charles’ friends, and after that it was just natural to hold hands and sit side-by-side and kiss each other on the cheeks or forehead. It was so natural that Erik forgot their reputations, and was honestly surprised the first time someone invited Charles to a party and asked Erik separately if he’d like to come.

Charles asked David if it was okay that Charles and Erik wanted to be boyfriends. David thought about it, and said his first sentence in six years: “Yes, because he makes you happy.”

“Thank you so much, Davey,” Charles said, smiling broadly with tears in his eyes. Erik felt a weight lift off his shoulders, too; so David wouldn’t mind Erik visiting more often.

Or moving in. Which Erik did, eventually. Because it was only natural. Dragons move in with their mates too, after all.

[scrapheapchallenge]

Cartoon time! I used to do a lot of horse cartoons, although I was never any good at humans. This is a commission from someone who wanted a horse cartoon style instead. They asked for Crowley in Ancient Greece learning to ride under the tutelage of famous equestrian author Xenophon. It isn’t going well and he’s about to eat dirt. For reference on clothing, I turned to the friezes from the Parthenon, which depict riders usually either naked or in a short kilt, so this is what I went with. The bridle and bit are based on Ancient Greek style as well. There were no saddles in evidence either. So poor Crowley is on difficult mode, learning bareback. As a retired professional equine educator myself (instructor, examiner & NVQ assessor), I loved being given this prompt to fill, even if my freehand stuff with no reference photos isn’t as good as my learning projects yet. Still not great with human anatomy! #cartoon #goodOmens #crowley #horse #horseCartoon #fanart #horseArt https://www.instagram.com/p/CFKODDtF1T0/?igshid=gzjo5l9ie2jm

[midlstrit]

Here’s some updated commissions my dudes!

-Any specific ideas/requests will have the price altered accordingly.

-Basic shading can include more stylized shading if requested.

-Landscape can include characters in the forefront of the image, interacting with the environment. Any characters in the background will have the price reduced.

RULES

-No NSFW: I’m an innocent internet artist pls don’t ask me to draw a naked person (or 70% naked person)

-No gore: I’m not gonna draw someone with their guts spilling out, but I WILL draw blood and injuries. Nothing too major, of course.

-Nothing uncomfortable: If the request makes me uncomfortable with how specific it is or if it depicts something I’m not cool with drawing, I won’t draw it.

I WILL be asking for HALF of the payment up front, and will ask for the rest of it once the picture is done.

Payment will be done via PayPal

I will email the full resolution picture to you once full payment is received

Unless asked otherwise, I will be posting the commission.

I’ll be sending my email to you if/when you message me

PM me if you want to commission me!

[firebirds-flaming-art-blog]

New special discount, followers get 20% off 10% off if your commission involves, Chaotic or Oddworld, yes this includes your OCs Along with any of my characters and work ((not sure if anyone would do that but hey, it's available, for 10% off no less :D))

Not shown above but I also offer... Icons: $5 CAD for designs, $10 CAD for more complicated designs Reference Sheets: $150 includes one shaded picture of your character fully dressed from the front. A picture of your character from the back fully dressed not shaded and another front and back image of your character naked or in underwear (if they're under 18 or don't feel comfortable with your character being depicted completely undressed. As well as the base colour pallet.

+$25 to add additional face studies of your character. Things I’ll draw:

Official Characters Fan Characters Couples (LGBT friendly) Anthro/Furries/Monsters/Aliens/Original species NSFW/Fetish (Please read NSFW rules below) Things I won't draw: Gore, torture, and cannibalism (small amounts of blood is okay) More things I won't draw are listed in the NSFW rules below NSFW rules:

Everything must be legal and consensual so that means no incest, rape, bestiality, or necrophilia among other things. This includes pokephilia. No gore, torture, cannibalism fetishes and the like. Biting with small amounts of blood are okay. Only will do specific types of vore. Furries and Fantasy monsters such as, but not limited to, werewolves, merfolk, Centaurs, tentacle monsters, and dragons are okay. If a character is young I can age them up into adulthood for the image but I won’t do any child porn or anything that could be mistaken for child porn. Such as a 100+ year old vampire that looks like a child. Regardless I’m free to refuse to take an NSFW commission. Contact: Use any of these methods to contact me PM’s on my Art Tumblr Instagram and Twitter Notes on my DA Or simply Email me at firebird123765@gmail.com Just make sure you have “Commission” in the subject box so I don’t think it’s spam Be sure to send your character(s) reference(s) (Visual references preferred) + Emotions portrayed for the image. Payment: PayPal Only You will only pay after you approve the sketch. After that, I’ll be able to continue the process in proper. Creative process: First, just Contact me about what you would like with references. I’ll draw a sketch and calculate the price based on what you want. Once a draft sketch is given and approved I’ll give you my PayPal address. From there you pay in full and once I get the PayPal notice I’ll begin the process in proper. Once the illustration is complete I will contact you for a final review. Your allowed 2 free edits. (Charge is applied for more edits) If everything is approved; I will provide you with an HD-PNG/watermarked final illustration and ask if I can post the finished product in my gallery. Copyright & Use: All commissions will serve non-commercial purposes. You can not print and resell the artworks as physical/Digital merchandise or claim it as your own. Full rights to original designs are for sale anywhere from the for mentioned $150-300 depending on the detail/size of the design.

Slots:

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If you like my art but my menu doesn’t have what you’re looking for? Send me a note/message/email and ask and see if I can do it. I’m always eager to try things out and maybe add it to my commission menu. If you have any comments, concerns, or just curious about what I’m offering please Note/Message/Email me and I’ll make sure to answer them as soon as possible.