#early modern playwrights

[leonardcohenofficial]

think i've finalized my syllabus for next quarter for the early modern class and both the rover and tartuffe are nowhere in sight love this for me <3

[anghraine]

I'm usually irritated by the people sneering about fanfic insisting it is just intrinsically inferior to early modern writers raiding Ovid or Chaucer or the news or each other or whomever. I've never seen anyone have a decent rationale beyond early modern writing is intrinsically Art and fanfic is intrinsically Not Art, because of reasons (the artistic purity of working within early modern patronage and censorship, I guess?).

I'm not talking Shakespeare specifically (though Lear <3). He was by no means alone in borrowing characters and plots from previous sources and then doing his own thing with them. A lot of my favorite plays of the time re-purpose established stories in this way.

But also, it comes around to kind of funny when people are not only insisting that fanfic is definitionally Not Art and in some way totally different from the usual kind of borrowing that goes back millennia, but also that fanfic is somehow morally degenerate and harmful and unhinged in a new and shocking way.

Because if early modern English literature is defined by anything, it's being absolutely fucking unhinged.

I mean! The Revenger's Tragedy?? The White Devil (borrowed directly from the murder headlines)??? My best beloved 'Tis Pity She's a Whore (pretty obviously a spin on Romeo and Juliet But Now With Incest and Even More Murder)? These things are batshit. And fantastic! I love them! But holding them up on some pedestal of artistic and moral purity is just bizarre IMO.

There are differences between what they did and contemporary fanfic because we live in different eras and cultures, in some ways radically so, because copyright and intellectual property work so differently now and have affected storytelling so much, because of the effects of things like genre romance and the Internet and AO3, because patronage and censorship now work very differently in a lot of ways, because educations and literary norms are so different, and so on.

But is fanfic in some way uniquely trashy and shocking by contrast to what those men were thinking up? Nah.

[demeterdefence]

my energy has been low lately so i've stuck to just liveblogging chapter releases, but i was thinking earlier about why lore olympus really nettles me and it's truly indicative of a wider issue.

it's disappointing that a major ancient religion that is still practiced by some people today has been reduced to a caricature of itself, and i say this knowing that there are thousands of reinterpretations of the greek myths, there will always be a new opinion or retelling of them. retelling the myth of hades and persephone isn't necessarily the issue, so much as the constant and dripping disdain to the cultural roots. we don't need to be greek to appreciate the story, but why remove everything greek from it? why westernize every aspect and remove ties to the cultural roots? why whitewash everything from a myth thousands of years old?

part of the reason these myths continue to resonate with us is because the themes are still relevant today. the loss of a child, the struggle against impossible forces, the (often patriarchal) powers against you, a mothers love. these stories hold power, they gave hope and inspiration, they created meaning and connection, and they were vital to the people who lived in that time, in that place. they will resonate with us for many years still, but stripping the roots and core of it out only makes it a hollow, shallow imitation. it's reality tv with neon colours, no love or heritage present; it's cold and shiny and plastic, and it insults what it claims to portray.

[burningvelvet]

btw this is now a christopher marlowe stan account <3 give it up for the tudor era's greatest and most mysterious gay spy playwright. i'm just getting into his work but i'm already blown away by how much more modern he sounds than shakespeare sometimes (imo) and how absolutely undeniably queer and rebellious much of his work is. of course like any other elizabethan writer he's not perfectly up to our modern philosophies or lacking in period-typical points of contention, but he really does fascinate through what little of his writing and biographical evidence we have...

[shakespearenews]

Shakespeare's Contemporaries Infographic

[brechtian]

do u read early modern drama n do u have a fave?

I mean yes & like. Look I’ve read the other big ones like I’ve read Molière’s plays and Life is a Dream and even some Thomas Middleton but like. Nothing really has anything on Shakespeare like as far as early modern drama goes there’s no real competition. My favorite Shakespeare is King Lear, though :)

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Shakespeare's Globe Theatre.

The story of Globe Theatre started with William Shakespeare's acting company, Lord Chamberlain's Men.

William Shakespeare (baptized 26 April 1564 – 23 April 1616) was a part-owner or sharer in the company, as well as an actor and resident playwright.

From its inception in 1594 AD, Lord Chamberlain's Men performed at Theatre, a playhouse located in Shoreditch.

However, by 1598, their patrons, including Earl of Southampton, had fallen out of favour with the Queen.

Theatre's landlord, Giles Alleyn, had intentions to cancel the company's lease and tear the building down.

While Alleyn did own the land, he did not own the materials with which the theatre had been built.

So, on 28 December 1598, after leasing a new site in Southwark, Cuthbert and Richard Burbage led the rest of the company of actors, sharers, and volunteers in taking the building down, timber by timber, loading it on to barges, and making their way across Thames.

Working together, the actors built the new theatre as quickly as they could.

The ground on the new site was marshy and prone to flooding, but foundations were built by digging trenches, filling them with limestone, constructing brick walls above stone, and then raising wooden beams on top of that.

A funnel caught rainwater and drained it into ditch surrounding the theatre and down into Thames.

The theatre was 30m in diameter and had 20 sides, giving it its perceived circular shape. 

Structure was similar to that of their old theatre, as well as that of the neighbouring bear garden.

The rectangular stage, at 5ft high, projected halfway into the yard and circular galleries.

Pillars were painted to look like Italian marble, sky painted midnight blue, and images of gods overlooked balcony. It could hold up to 3,000 people.

By May 1599, the new theatre was ready to be opened.

Burbage named it Globe after the figure of Hercules carrying the globe on his back — for in like manner, the actors carried Globe's framework on their backs across Thames.

A flag of Hercules with globe was raised above theatre with Latin motto: 'totus mundus agit histrionem' ('all the world's a playhouse'). 

Shakespeare's plays that were performed there early on included: 

Henry V, Julius Caesar, As You Like It, Hamlet, Measure for Measure, Othello, King Lear, Macbeth, and Antony and Cleopatra.

Here, the Lord Chamberlain's Men enjoyed much success and gained the patronage of King James I in 1603, subsequently becoming The King's Men.

During a fateful performance of Henry VIII on 29 June 1613, a cannon announcing the unexpected arrival of the king at the end of Act 1 set fire to the thatched roof, and within an hour, the Globe burned to ground.

Everyone escaped safely, save for one man whose breeches reportedly caught fire. Two different songs had been written about it by the next day.

Globe was rebuilt by February 1614. The company could then afford to decorate it extravagantly, and it had a tiled roof instead of thatched.

However, by this point, Shakespeare's influence had lessened. He was spending more and more time back in Stratford-upon-Avon.

Disaster struck again in 1642 when the Parliament ordered the closure of London theatres.

In 1644-45, Globe was destroyed and the land sold for building.

In 1970, American actor and director, Samuel Wanamaker CBE (born Wattenmacker; 14 June 1919 – 18 December 1993), set up the Shakespeare's Globe Trust to pursue his dream of reconstructing the original Globe Theatre.

For what would be almost the next 30 years, he and his team worked and fought to obtain the permissions, funds, and research necessary for a project of this scope. 

Historians, scholars and architects all worked together in their efforts to build the Globe in the same way Lord Chamberlain's Men did, down to the green oak pillars and thatched roof.

Their work and dreams were fulfilled when the new Globe Theatre opened in 1997, one street away from where original stood.

Globe stands today as a living monument to Shakespeare, greatest English playwright, home to productions of his plays and many other new ones every season.

[burningvelvet]

literally kit marlowe and will shakespeare

no homo but like do you want to become so textually intertwined that future historians have no idea where i end and you begin

[moltengoldveins]

@clingyduoapologist made a really cool “what if DSMP were a stage play” post and basically the instant I saw it I was struck by the muse but I don’t want to just chain reblog the dang thing or make one huge reblog with all my thoughts so instead here are all my thoughts on this concept

i don’t think it’s a musical. I think the tone of the story doesn’t fit. But if it were, it would have a Lot of scenes of unsung dialogue, and that dialoge? Would be rhythmic poetry. It’s Shakespeare Appreciation Time baby.

i do however think there would be a live score and an orchestra. A lot of the music would need to be recorded but there’s at least be a few musicians.

different characters speak in different poetic styles at different times to communicate character and plot development.

to elaborate on that: Characters switch from loose ABBA or ABAB rhyme schemes and vaguely rhythmic meter when chatting back and forth to strict perfect iambic pentameter for tense scenes or political speeches.

Techno speaks exclusively in unrhyming dactylic hexameter, an extremely common poetic form for Greek and Latin poetry. It’s what the Iliad was written in. This has the interesting effect of making Techno sound, at first glance, unpoetic. His speech doesn’t rhyme, and doesn’t follow a common English rhythm scheme, so it wouldn’t immediately register as structured. However, dactylic hexameter is actually significantly harder to write in English than expected because of our syllable stress patterns. Speaking like that would be, objectively, a sign of extreme intelligence, but could easily be overlooked as coarse uncultured behavior.

Techno’s chorus - composed of audience members, background extras, and people (in safety harnesses) sitting in the theater rafters - speak largely in Greek and Classical Chinese, quoting sections of the Art of War and Homer’s work. The major exceptions to this are ‘Blood for the Blood god,’ ‘no,’ and ‘do it.’ They all wear a hat or some form of headband that has a glowing LED eye, hidden, but activated when they speak. The audience plants are all in dark clothes, and when the lights go down they don medical masks/sunglasses. Anything to obscure their faces.

The Chorus, a group of robed masked people who broke the fourth wall and often entered the audience, was a vital part of early Greek theatre. I am an intolerable nerd, and the thought of sitting in a dark theatre only to hear an low distorted voice beside you start to comment on the play as a whole choir of voices echo around you, then turning to see your seat neighbor is a masked person with a glowing red eye in your forehead? Literally incredible.

Dream is the only character dressed in even remotely modern clothes.

Dream is first seen as someone (again, in modern clothes) sneaking around backstage in a black hoodie: most of the audience probably assumes he’s a stagehand and not meant to be seen. Then, at some point, he moves from behind a set piece and enters the scene as an actual character, revealing his mask.

interestingly, this is really similar to what I believe is a bit of myth about why ninjas are dressed in all black in modern media. They wouldn’t have been irl, they would’ve dressed like civilians. But stagehands in Japanese theatre would dress in all-black, and were often completely visible onstage moving sets - it was common courtesy to ignore them. Then one day some playwright had the brilliant idea of having one of the stagehands enter the story as an assassin, and suddenly every actor in all-black was a threat. For the life of me I can’t remember where I read that but it’s a cool thought :D

Dream canonically can interact with set pieces, lighting, and curtains.

Dream actively directs lighting in scenes he is not in, sitting above the stage kicking his feet.

Dream is often used to hand off props to characters instead of having them pull them from a pocket and pretend they were pulled from their ‘inventory.’ This begins to get confusing when Dream is acknowledged later on as the he person giving, say, TNT to Wilbur, or wither skulls to Techno.

characters address the audience as ‘Chat,’ (English’s first fourth-person pronoun my beloved) almost constantly, especially for comedic purposes- most of their monologues are addressed directly to the audience as well. For Wilbur, it’s a sign of instability when he stops addressing ‘Chat’ and start addressing the sides or back of the stage.

philza enters from the lower audience, right by the stage, probably after pooping up from the orchestra pit and taking a reserved seat halfway through so no one sees the wings.

Tommy has by far the least structured or rhyming dialogue - if it weren’t for how carefully crafted it was it would sound like normal prose.

Tommy speaks to the audience by FAR the most. Wilbur only addresses them when soliloquizing. Techno barely addresses them at all: they address him. Ranboo speaks to the audience only when alone, and it’s usually phrased like he’s writing in his memory journal. Tommy speaks to the audience at first like a loud younger brother. As he gets older, it sounds more and more like a plea for help, a prayer for intervention that will never come. Exile is one long string of desperate begging aimed our way.

Tommy stops speaking to the audience so much after Doomsday. He starts again when Dream is imprisoned. He stops for good when he dies in there, beaten, alone.

Sam and the Warden are meant to be played by different actors, ideally siblings or fraternal twins. They wear identical stage makeup and costumes, but the difference is there. None of the characters acknowledge this.

the Stage would need to be absolutely massive and curve almost halfway around the central audience, largely because it should be able to be split at times into two separate stages to show different things happening at the same time. This could possibly also work if there were two stages, but getting people to easily turn from one stage to the other without loosing sight of what was happening would be rough.

Doomsday taking advantage of the scaffolding in the rafters and using them as the ‘grid’ for the tnt droppers.

actual trained dogs for Doomsday my beloved. Would cost a fortune but could you imagine.

the entire revolution arc ripped off Hamilton, we all know that, I think we can afford to have a stagehand step forward in that frozen moment in time when Tommy and Dream have that duel, grab the arrow, and carry it slowly across the stage right into Tommy’s eye. For morale.

throughout the execution scene Techno keeps slipping out of poetic meter, especially when he sees/is worried about Phil. After the totem (which would be freaking amazing as some sort of stage effect with like lights and red and green streamers or smthn dude-) he stops speaking in poetry. The scene with Quackity is entirely spoken dialogue. Chat is silent. It’s only when he gets back and sees evidence that his house has been tampered with that Chat starts up again (kill, blood, death, hunt, hunt, hunt-) and he starts speaking in rhythm again.

Every canon death, Dream marks a tally on something in the background. Maybe it’s in his arm? Like a personal scorecard. Or maybe it’s on the person themselves, a little set of three hearts he marks through with a dry-erase marker or something.

phil and techno have a lot more eastern design elements and musical influences than the rest of the cast, except for Techno’s war theme which is just choir, bagpipes, and some sort of rhythmic ticking or thumping. Phil’s also got a choir sting but it’s a lot harsher, the ladies are higher and them men lower, and the chords are really dissonant (think murder of crows)

Tommy’s theme has a lot of drums, but its core is actually a piano melody. The inverse of Tommy’s theme is Tubbo’s, but Tubbo’s is usually played on a ukulele. Wilbur is guitar, obv, and Niki’s is on viola.

Quackity is a little saxophone lick. He and Schlatt both have a strong big band/jazz influence.

None of the instruments that play dream’s theme play anywhere else in the music. I’m thinking harp, music box, and some kind of low wind instrument.

[spookyserenades]

not trying to rush or anything! i was just wondering when we’ll get a taste of sanctity 👀

hehe! I'm working on the first chapter already, it's up to 4k words. I've made a banner (not a swanky one LOL my strengths are not with graphic design) but I'll copy paste my notes about the boys that I've come up with so far. And give you the banner 💕

Seokjin 

Born 1145 - Turned 1176 (Goryeo) 879 years old, physically 31

Manipulative type yandere 

Taeja (crown prince) of a monarch, third-born son; focused on studies, arts, humanities, and would assist in conversations surrounding war and foreign relations

Speaks Korean, Mandarin, Japanese, Arabic (most ancient languages as well)

Power: Compulsion, he can influence minds, wipe memories, make suggestions to control someone

Yoongi

Born 1476 - Turned 1507 (Renaissance Period) 548 years old, physically 31

Obsessive type yandere

Apprentice of Leonardo Da Vinci, created some of his art then went on to have his own famous career, patron of arts 

Speaks Latin, Greek, and all other Romance languages

Power: Paralysis, he can paralyze someone using his mind, rendering them unable to move

Hoseok

Born 1607 - Turned 1637 (Early Modern Period, Piracy’s Golden Age) 417 years old, physically 30

Possessive type yandere

Buccaneer, captain of a ship that would sail around the Caribbean. Plundered and burned cities, owns many fine things, well-traveled

Speaks all Romance languages, Dutch, Haitian Creole

Power: Tracking, he can find anyone with his senses without fail, can predict target’s moves in advance

Namjoon

Born 1630 - Turned 1659 (Joseon) 394 years old, physically 29

Sadistic type yandere

Ruthless military general that led men during the Qing invasion of Joseon. Later became an assassin (sword for hire, essentially) 

Speaks Korean, Mandarin, Japanese, and most other Asian languages

Power: Pain Illusion, when focused on target he can create the illusion that the target is being burned alive

Jimin

Born 1796 - Turned 1824 (Regency Era, 20 years post America’s Independence) 228 years old, physically 28

Clingy type yandere

Famous playwright of romantic tragedies, owner of a theater in England that was extremely popular

Speaks all Romance languages

Power: Hypnosis, he can convince targets that they’re in love with him/can’t live without him

Taehyung

Born 1841 - Turned 1869 (Victorian Era, 20ish years before Industrial revolution) 183 years old, physically 28

Stalker type yandere

Basically Vanderbilt vibes. The coven lives in the Breakers mansion, Taehyung built it. Owned railroads, reclusive business tycoon

Speaks English and French

Power: Glamoring, he can disguise his appearance and his presence itself

Jeongguk

Born 1900 - Turned 1926 (Roaring 20’s, Prohibition Act, Al Capone mafia) 124 years old, physically 26

Overprotective type yandere

Ran with Al Capone crime family, mostly as a booze smuggler and bodyguard. Was turned when the North Siders targeted Capone at the Hawthorne inn

Speaks English

Power: Telepathy, can read minds

[sarafangirlart]

Andromeda’s race/ethnicity and why it’s not inaccurate to interpret her as black/African

Now you’ve seen how I draw my babygirl as Afro Palestinian Egyptian so you know where I personally stand on the subject. However, my interpretation isn’t the only one, ancient authors, from mythographers to historians to poets to playwrights, have proposed various different locations for Andromeda’s homeland, often times contradicting each other, what I’m trying to do here is correct some misinformation as well as argue that even if Andromeda isn’t black/ethiopian, she still wouldn’t be considered white or ethnically European.

I would like to reiterate like I did with my Hephaestus/Aphrodite post that I’m not a mythology or history expert, I just read a lot. So do your own research and come up with your own conclusions.

Let’s go.

The etymology of “Aethiopia”

Aethiopia means "of burned face" which yes is pretty racist be modern standards but basically means that its inhabitants are dark skinned, so even if you go by sources that it isn’t in Africa, the inhabitants still wouldn’t be white or Greek.

Location of the Kingdom

You’d hear the statement that the Aethiopia in mythology is not the same as Ethiopia the modern country, which is true. You’d also hear that it’s a completely fictitious location, that’s only partially true, while Aethiopia existed mainly as a mythological location (mentioned as early as the Iliad) that didn’t stop ancient historians, mythographers and poets from placing it in real locations or calling pre-existing nations Aethiopia. It’s hard to pick which one is more “accurate” bc they all contradict each other, not only that, but these writers didn’t actually visit these locations and ancient ppl weren’t as well versed in geography as we are today so they’d be weirdly vague or confusing about these locations, I mean just look at an ancient map and you’d see what I mean.

So personally, I think you can go with any version you personally prefer, the options are quite limitless, she could be from the Arab peninsula, the Levant, North Africa, Persia, hell maybe even India if you are like Ovid.

Andromeda’s genealogy

(I just realized that these are the Waterson kids color palette while writing this lmaooooooooo)

Yes Andromeda is descended from Zeus (no family tree can escape that man lol) and she’s also the great granddaughter of Poseidon, which adds a whole new layer to the fact he tried to kill her.

Now for a bit of history: The Trojan war (which didn’t happen irl obviously) was dated as taking place in the 12th or 13th century BCE by some ancient writers, that war happens a few generations after Perseus’s story, which means that Egypt was in the New Kingdom era, also called the Egyptian Empire, when Nubians (who would be considered black by today’s standards) were a very important part of society, even becoming Pharaohs. Ancient Egypt was a lot more diverse than modern ppl give it credit for, there were multiple ethnic groups living there. Not to mention that you can’t get more Egyptian than being descended from the god of the Nile River lol

Libya is (obviously) the personification of the region of Libya, not the modern country Libya, but the general area in North Africa west of Egypt. The name Libya comes from the Libu, a berber tribe. So once again, even if Andromeda wasn’t black, even if you interpreted that her kingdom is placed in Asia, she’d still be of African decent.

Cassiopeia is a tricky one, her origins are obscure, she’s called a nymph by Nonnus, while Stephanus of Byzantium (a very late source) states she’s from Ioppa and that the city takes its name from her. However, Ioppa/Jaffa was identified as Andromeda’s home much earlier in Periplus attributed to Scylax, which was composed in the late fourth century bc.

Conclusion

You can make Andromeda black it’s ok. Ancient writers couldn’t agree on her country’s location but we can still speculate. Anyways ummm… I think that’s it? Maybe I’ll add to this if I find or remember more interesting information.

Have a great day.

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit - part 6

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which you invite tara over for dinner

warnings: smut, 18+ (minors DNI), fingering, cunnilingus

word count: 3600+

author's note: one of the longest pieces i've ever posted...

previous part | next part

Chad (4:10pm): wtm tn bois

Mindy (4:11pm): movie night @ t's place?

Anika (4:11pm): down

Ethan (4:12pm): sounds good! i'll bring snacks! :D

Tara (4:12pm): yea just invite urselves over why dont u

Tara looked up from her phone, glaring at Mindy from across the living room. "Who says I'm free tonight?"

Mindy scoffed. "Please. We all know Y/N has been visiting her parents this weekend because you won't stop whining about how much you miss her, and who else do you hang out with?"

"I do not whine!" Right? Tara thought. Right. "And I have other friends!"

"Oh yeah?" Mindy raised an eyebrow. "Who? Name them right now."

"Uh..." Tara furrowed her eyebrows. Does Sam count? "Oh! Quinn, obviously."

"She doesn't count! She's friends with all of us!" Mindy chuckled, shaking her head. "Face it, T--you've got us and you've got Y/N, and with Y/N gone, we all know you're not doing jack shit tonight."

Tara huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I fucking hate you."

"Don't hate the player," Mindy said, holding her hands up in surrender. "Hate the game."

"Oh, I'll hate the player, because the player's a pain in my ass--" The rapid vibrating of her phone cut her off and she glanced down, eyes widening at your contact name showing on her screen. She scrambled to pick it up, nearly declining the call as she held it to her ear. "Hey, baby!"

Mindy pretended to gag herself with her finger at Tara's words, and the brunette flipped her off.

"Hi, Tar," you said, and Tara could hear your smile. "What're you up to?"

"Just hanging out with the biggest pain in my ass."

You giggled. Tara grinned at the sound. "Say 'hi' to Mindy for me, then."

"Definitely won't do that."

There was some shuffling before you asked, "What're you doing tonight?"

Tara hummed. "Tonight? Oh, nothing important." She stuck her tongue out at Mindy, who gave her middle fingers with both of her hands. "Why?"

"I'm back early from my parents' house. Nate and Eddie were way too much for me to handle this weekend." You chuckled. "Nate's got the lead role in the school play, and you'll never guess what they're doing."

"Some sort of Shakespeare?" she asked, knowing of your younger brother's own love for the playwright.

"Yup! They're making it PG-rated, obviously, but he's running around only talking in Early Modern English and I just couldn't take it anymore." God help me on the day that I meet this kid, Tara thought. "And then Eddie, well, he's going fucking insane from it, so he was off the walls, and--" You sighed. "That's not what I was calling for."

She laughed. "What's up, then?"

"Do you want to come over tonight? I can cook your favorite!" Tara was barely given the chance to respond when you added, "And I miss you."

This fucking girl. She blushed, turning her face so that Mindy couldn't see."I miss you, too, babe. And yeah, I'll come over tonight."

Mindy whipped her head toward her. "What about movie night?"

Tara waved her off, but you had overheard the other girl. "Oh, if you're busy tonight, then--"

"No!" Tara exclaimed. Stupid Mindy. Trying to ruin my plans. "No, it's fine. There will be other movie nights."

"We could just have dinner tomorrow night, baby," you said. "I don't want to pull you away from your friends."

She shook her head even though you couldn't see it. "They'll be okay without me for one night. When should I come?"

There was a pause. Tara guessed that you were looking at the time. "Is seven o'clock good? I just need to run and grab some things first, and shower, because I'm kind of greasy." There was a little shuffling. "I don't know what it is about those boys, but every time I come back from my parents' place, I'm always, like, gross."

Tara giggled. "Seven's perfect. I'll see you then."

"Okay, cool! Bye, Tar."

"Bye, babe." I love you, she thought, but she didn't dare say it. I can't. It's too soon.

Her phone clicked as you hung up, and she pulled it away from her ear, turning to Mindy. "I won't be here tonight."

Mindy stared at her like she was stupid. "Yeah. I got that. Can we still use your apartment for movie night, though? I don't even want to try fitting everyone on my bed again."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Sure. I think Sam's staying at Danny's tonight, so just don't wreck the place."

Mindy hummed. "Hey, have you guys said 'I love you' yet?"

Tara blushed, warmth rising from her collarbones to her ears. "No."

"Do you want to?"

So badly, Tara wanted to say. "What's with all the questions?" she asked instead.

Mindy shrugged. "I'm just wondering. I mean, you told her about what happened last year, right?" Tara nodded. "And she responded well, right?" Another nod. "Why haven't you said it yet?"

"Have you ever thought about the fact that I might not love her yet?" Lie. Lie. Lie!

Mindy scoffed. "Don't lie to me. Everyone sees how you act around her, and how you look at her, and we all hear how you talk about her, and--"

"Shut up."

"So, why haven't you said it?"

Tara sighed. "We've barely been dating a month, Minds." Though it's already felt like a lifetime.

"Okay, and...?" Mindy cocked her head. "Anika and I were dating for, like, two weeks when we said it." She stood from the armchair and moved onto the couch, laying Tara's feet over her lap. "Y/N already knows everything about you--or, at least, you know, the stuff that might scare someone away--and she's still here. Don't you think that means she probably loves you back?"

"You're not who I want to be having this conversation with," Tara grumbled.

"First of all, rude. Secondly, would you rather Chad? Or maybe Sam, or Quinn, or--"

Tara threw her arms out. "Okay! I get it. You're the most plausible one to talk to about this." She covered her face with her hands, groaning. "I just--I don't want to freak her out." She looked at Mindy. "I mean, she's dated people, but she's never really been in a serious relationship like this, and I don't want to rush her."

Mindy furrowed her eyebrows. "She got you for her first girlfriend? Poor sucker."

I hate her. I really do. "This is why I don't want to talk to you about this!"

"Sorry, sorry," Mindy rushed out, patting Tara's ankles. "I'll be nice. Do you think there's any other reason you might not be ready to tell her?"

"Like what?"

"Like...Amber?"

Tara clenched her jaw and shook her head. No, she thought. No, definitely not. "Mindy--"

"I'm just saying." Mindy shrugged. "Amber was your best friend, and she's the first girl you ever fell in love with. She may have been a psychopathic murderer, but that's not someone who's easy to get over. Could you...still love her?"

"No." Tara shut her eyes, hard. "No, I don't still love Amber." Her voice was shaking; she could feel the tears behind her eyelids just from talking about the girl. "I miss her, sometimes, and then I remember that she literally tried to kill me." Her eyes shot open and she gestured to Mindy. "She tried to kill you, too."

"I know, T, but--"

Tara shook her head. "There are no 'buts'. I don't love Amber anymore." I only love Y/N. Her heart fluttered at the mere thought of you.

Mindy narrowed her eyes. "So, it really is just the time?"

"Yeah," Tara said. "I'm gonna wait until I know she's ready."

"You're so whipped, dude." Mindy grinned.

"You're the worst."

* * *

"Hey, Carmine," Tara greeted as she walked up to your doorman. She had become friendly with the man over the past few weeks, since, more often than not, the two of you hung out at your place rather than hers.

"Miss Carpenter," he said, nodding. "Miss Y/L/N ran through here about an hour ago looking a bit...disheveled."

Tara chuckled. "Yeah, well, you know our girl."

He hummed and gestured toward the door. "After you."

"I'll see you on my way out," she said, lamely saluting him. Why the fuck did I just do that? she thought. However, he quelled her anxieties quickly as he saluted back to her before turning away, his attention focused on some random man walking up to the door. Okay, Carmine. You're officially cool.

Tara made her way into the building and up to your apartment, knocking on your front door when she finally arrived. She patted down her hair and straightened out her clothes, making sure she looked perfectly presentable, and beamed up at you when the door opened.

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she looked at you. You were wearing a sheer, white button down, your black bralette visible beneath it, and your pants were...well, they hugged you nicely. Girlfriend looks hot. Might explode. "I didn't realize we were dressing nice," she said, gulping.

You glanced down at yourself with a blush before looking back at her with a shy smile. "Just thought it might be fun," you mumbled.

She nodded. "You look..." Pretty. Say pretty. "Hot." Damn it, Tara. You're too gay for this bullshit.

"Thanks." You opened the door wider. Tara stepped inside, giving you a quick kiss. "You're not too bad yourself," you said, grinning.

Tara, for as much as she wanted to say she knew you, had not been expecting what you had set up inside your apartment. The lights were dimmed, there were rose petals on the floor, and the table was set with a candelabra in the middle (which she knew you had never used before because it was centuries old).

She turned to look at you. "I--You--What?"

"I originally wanted to take you out to a nice restaurant tonight, but I couldn't get a reservation anywhere." You shrugged and gestured to the room. "So, I had to make do."

"It's not an important date, is it?" No, not our one month. It's November, so it's not Valentine's day.

You shook your head. "No. I just wanted to do something a little more special tonight." You bit your lip. "Is it okay? I mean, I could turn on the lights and vacuum up the petals, and we could just order pizza or something if you wan--"

"It's perfect." She's perfect, Tara thought. Absolutely perfect in every way, and I love her.

You sighed with relief. "Oh, good, because the rose petals were kind of expensive." You placed your hand on the small of her back and led her to the table, pulling out her seat for her. "Sit. I'll get the food."

Is this real life? Did she actually set up a romantic dinner and is now bringing me food? This is--I'm dreaming, aren't I? Tara blinked as though to wake herself up, but she was still in your kitchen when she opened her eyes. Nope, not a dream. How did I get someone so perfect?

You returned with two plates of food in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. You placed a plate down in front of Tara and one in front of your own seat before waving the bottle at her.

"My parents sent me two bottles of that '61 Merlot I gave Sam, so I thought we could have it tonight," you said, pouring her a glass. You stopped suddenly, freezing. "Wait, do you like wine? I have, uh, water, too, if that's better?"

Tara chuckled. "Wine's fine. Thank you, baby."You nodded and continued to pour before giving yourself a glass as well. You set the wine down next to the candelabra and then sat, smiling at her.

"I hope you like it," you said, pointing at the food. "I'm not the best cook. We grew up with private chefs, so neither of my parents taught me to cook, either, but I tried my best, and--"

Tara ate a mouthful of the pasta you had set in front of her, and her taste buds exploded. Her eyes widened as she moaned at the taste, and you gulped, watching her. "This is amazing!" she said, her voice somewhat muffled from the food. "Holy shit, Y/N." She can cook! Thank god, 'cause I'm horrible at it.

"Really? Oh, perfect. I was nervous I'd actually have to end up just ordering us a pizza," you said, starting to eat.

Tara hummed and reached for her glass. "You need to teach me how you did this one day."

You nodded. "Sure! Any time. It was pretty easy, actually."

She took a sip of the wine, smiling at the taste of it. Jesus, I can tell this was expensive. "This is also amazing. Thank your parents for me, would you?"

"Sure, Tar." You grinned. "They asked about you, actually."

What. "Oh?" No fucking way.

"They wanted to know if you were also into literature like I am, to which I said no, of course, and I think my mom was actually a bit happy to hear it." You chuckled. "The literature comes from my dad's side, mainly. She's...not stoked about it."

"I think your mom and I are going to get along great, then," Tara giggled.

"They wanted to know when they could meet you, actually," you said, glancing up at her sheepishly. Her eyes widened. "I know we haven't been dating long, but they want to meet the woman that has their daughter 'so captivated', as my dad put it."

"Captivated, huh? I'm sure they meant they want to meet whoever turned their daughter into such a simp," she teased.

You glanced down, blushing. "We're not starting this tonight."

"If you would just admit you're a simp for me, then I'd never bring it up again." Her voice was soft as she stared at you. She looks so pretty in the candlelight.

"I'll never admit that, since it's just not true," you said, looking up. "But I will admit that...I'm in love with you."

A shiver ran through Tara at your words, butterflies stirring in her stomach. She loves me, she thought. She loves me back. "I--"

"You don't have to say it back," you started. "I know it's kind of soon, but I just...I wanted to say it." You inhaled deeply. "I love you, Tara."

Say it, you idiot. Say it. "Y/N," she breathed out. She stood and crossed the length of the table, pulling your seat out from beneath it so that she could stand in front of you. She grinned down at you. "I love you, too."

Tara leaned down and kissed you with as much passion as she could. She tried to pour every ounce of what she felt for you into the kiss, and she smiled against your lips when you stood up, never breaking contact once. You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her into you.

"You love me," you said when you pulled back just enough to speak, your breath brushing over her lips.

"I do." I really do. More than you know. Her hands found the back of your neck as she leaned up to kiss you again, her tongue swiping over your bottom lip. Your hold on her tightened. She never wanted you to let go.

You whispered, "Is this...I mean, should we--"

"Bedroom?" Tara asked. You nodded slowly. "Yes, please."

You giggled as you took Tara's hand, leading her to your bedroom. There was nothing fancy happening there--no rose petals or candles or dimmed lights--but she didn't care. She liked knowing that you hadn't planned to sleep with her, that you were doing all of this simply because you loved her.

She shut the door behind her as you sat on your bed, waiting patiently. Perfect. Painstakingly perfect. She climbed onto your lap, straddling your legs, and kissed you again. This time, it was less slow and calculated; it was filled with more want, with more lust.

You nipped at her bottom lip, and she whimpered, her hips rising a little and brushing against you. You grinned, hands slipping beneath her shirt and holding her by the waist, your thumbs rubbing over her bare skin.

She shivered, pulling away. "You're--This all okay, right?" she asked. You nodded, and she leaned in to kiss you again before pausing, her eyes catching on something across the room. You furrowed your eyebrows at her, turning around to see what she was looking at. "Sorry. I need to..."

Tara stood and crossed the room, turning the statue bust of Shakespeare around so that he was facing the corner. Much better, she thought. I don't need Mr. Shakespeare watching me have sex.

"Oh," you said, laughing. "I didn't realize he'd bother you."

She frowned as she walked back to you, settling in your lap again, your hands retaking the position they had. "I didn't want him watching."

"I'm sure Shakespeare has seen worse things."

"Oh, shush. You're making me feel silly now."

You leaned up and kissed her. "It's a little silly."

"Whatever." She pressed her lips against yours again, silencing your teasing. Her tongue ran over your bottom lip and you gasped, allowing her the entry she so desperately desired.

You kissed for a moment more before she was dipping down, her lips dancing across your jawline, up to the little spot below your ear, and then down your neck. Her mouth was hot and warm against your skin, leaving you whining beneath her. I can do better than whines, she thought as she nipped at your pulse point. You moaned, your hand flying to her scalp when she sucked against the skin, sure to leave a pretty mark.

Her hands busied themselves with the buttons of your shirt, fingers fumbling in her haste. Stupid buttons. I hate buttons. Why do buttons even exist-- Your shirt fell open and she pulled back, gulping at the sight of you.

You were breathing heavily, your hair was mussed, the hickey on your neck was a magnificent red, and you were staring at her with half-lidded eyes.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," Tara mumbled. You turned pink at her words, looking away shyly. She cupped your jaw and softly pushed your head back to look at her. "Really, Y/N. You are."

"Thank you, baby," you said.

How can she be so cute yet so hot at the same time? Tara took your shirt off, leaving you in just your bralette, and pushed at your chest lightly. You laid back, your head on your pillows as you looked up at her, watching, waiting.

She leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin of your chest, and giggled when she felt your hips buck up. "Impatient," she muttered.

"Leave me alone," you grumbled above her.

She climbed off you, fingers working at the button of your pants. "Next time we do this, can you just wear a t-shirt and sweats? It'll make things a lot easier for me," she joked.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Next time?"

Tara huffed, the button finally coming undone, and she helped you out of your pants, pulling your underwear down with them. "Yes. Next time." She threw your pants somewhere behind her and hovered over you. "Unless you find me to be...unsatisfactory," she whispered, voice low.

You gulped. "M'sure that won't be the case."

She kissed you again before moving downward, planting kisses along your skin and creating marks on the plane of your stomach, until she settled between your legs. "You're dripping," she breathed out, and you whimpered at the air against you.

"Please, Tar," you whined, hips bucking ever so slightly. "Need you, baby."

She nodded, dipping down and licking a stripe through your folds, groaning at your taste. You moaned, the sound raw as it left your mouth, and Tara grinned. Beautiful, she thought as her tongue continued to explore you. Sounds so pretty.

She wrapped her lips around your clit, and she swore that the noise you made was the closest to heaven she'd ever get. She sucked lightly, then a little harder when your hand gripped her hair, pushing her against you.

"Fuck, Tar," you groaned. "Feels so good, baby."

She brought her hand up, slipped a finger into you, and hummed at the feel of your walls tight around her. Her tongue kept circling your clit, lips sucking at it, as she thrusted into you gently.

It didn't take long until you were writhing beneath her, the only sounds coming out of your mouth being broken moans and whines of her name.

"M'gonna cum," you whimpered.

Fuck yeah. She sucked harder, and you fell over the edge, crying out her name as your walls squeezed her. Your back arched, Tara following the curve with her eyes, before you lamely pushed at her shoulders. She pulled away and climbed up your body, grinning at the sight of your flushed face and closed eyes before kissing you softly.

"How was that?" she asked.

"Embarrassingly quick," you said, opening your eyes to look at her.

She giggled. "I'm good at what I do."

You hummed, hands finding her waist and flipping the two of you over. "Now let me show you that I'm good at what I do."

It was a whirlwind of color as you undressed her, and Tara barely got a word out before your lips were around her nipple, sucking at the hardened bud. She gasped, your mouth wet on her, and felt your fingers at her entrance.

"You thought I was dripping?" you teased.

"Shut up--" She moaned as you slipped a finger into her. Fuck, she thought. Long fingers.

You kissed her, lips pushed against her hard, before dipping down to her neck, sucking and kissing and licking while your finger worked at her, your thumb circling her clit.

Her mind was hazy and focused only on the way your finger curled against her just right. You slipped another one in, and she swore she saw stars.

Jesus, already? she thought briefly at the feeling of a pleasant knot tightening in her stomach. You mumbled something against her neck, but she wasn't paying any attention.

It only took one, two, three more thrusts before she was unraveling beneath you, a shuddering breath pushing past her lips as she came. You worked her through her orgasm, slipping out when she came down, and she pulled you into her, kissing you gently.

"I love you," you whispered.

She grinned. "I love you, too."

A moment passed before you asked, "Do you think I could turn my Shakespeare back around now?"

She's dead serious, isn't she? Tara rolled her eyes lightly and kissed you between your eyebrows. "Let me put my clothes back on."

[cartermagazine]

Today In History

Playwright August Wilson is one of the most important voices in modern theater. He has won acclaim from literary and theater critics for his plays, which portray the African American experience in the twentieth century, one decade at a time.

Wilson won Pulitzer Prizes for two of them: Fences (1987), and The Piano Lesson on this date April 17, 1990.

He grew up in Pittsburgh’s Hill District, where he was surrounded by the sounds, sights and struggles of urban African American life that would later fuel his creative efforts. But Wilson’s appreciation for the culture in which he had grown up did not bloom fully until he moved to St. Paul, Minnesota, in his early thirties. From that distance, he gained an appreciation of the richness of the culture and the language of the place where he had spent his youth.

“In the Hill District, I was surrounded by all this highly charged, poetic vernacular which was so much part and parcel of life that I didn’t pay any attention to it. But in moving to St. Paul and suddenly being removed from that environment and that language, I began to hear it for the first time and recognize its value,” he says.

CARTER��️ Magazine

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“Many of the women in Heterodoxy moved in corresponding circles and maintained similar beliefs. They were “veterans of social reform efforts,” writes Scutts in Hotbed, and they belonged to “leagues, associations, societies and organizations of all stripes.” A large number were public figures—influential lawyers, journalists, playwrights or physicians, some of whom were the only women in their fields—and often had their names in the papers for the work they were performing. Many members were also involved in a wide variety of women’s rights issues, from promoting the use of birth control to advocating for immigrant mothers.

Heterodoxy met every other Saturday to discuss such issues and see how members might collaborate and cultivate networks of reform. Gatherings were considered a safe space for women to talk, exchange ideas and take action.”

In the early 20th century, New York City’s Greenwich Village earned a reputation as America’s bohemia, a neighborhood where everyone from artists and poets to activists and organizers came to pursue their dreams.

“In the Village, it was so easy to bump into great minds, to go from one restaurant to another, to a meeting house, to work for a meeting or to a gallery,” says Joanna Scutts, author of Hotbed: Bohemian Greenwich Village and the Secret Club That Sparked Modern Feminism. Here was a community where rents were still affordable, creative individuality thrived, urban diversity and radical experiments were the norm, and bohemian dissenters could come and go as they pleased.

Such a neighborhood was the ideal breeding ground for Heterodoxy, a secret society that paved the way for modern feminism. The female debating club’s name referred to the many unorthodox women among its members. These individuals “questioned forms of orthodoxy in culture, in politics, in philosophy—and in sexuality,” noted ThoughtCo. in 2017.

Born as part of the initial wave of modern feminism that emerged during the 19th and early 20th centuries with suffrage at its center, the radical ideologies debated at Heterodoxy gatherings extended well beyond the scope of a women’s right to vote. In fact, Heterodoxy had only one requirement for membership: that a woman “not be orthodox in her opinion.”

“The Heterodoxy club and the work that it did was very much interconnected with what was going on in the neighborhood,” says Andrew Berman, executive director of Village Preservation, a nonprofit dedicated to documenting and preserving the distinct heritage of Greenwich Village. “With the suffrage movement already beginning to crest, women had started considering how they could free themselves from the generations and generations of structures that had been placed upon them.”

Unitarian minister Marie Jenney Howe founded Heterodoxy in 1912, two years after she and her husband, progressive reformer Frederic C. Howe, moved to the Village. “Howe was already in her 40s,” says Scutts, “and just got to know people through her husband’s professional connections, and during meetings and networks where progressive groups were very active at the time.”

Howe’s mindset on feminism was clear: “We intend simply to be ourselves,” she once said, “not just our little female selves, but our whole big human selves.”

Many of the women in Heterodoxy moved in corresponding circles and maintained similar beliefs. They were “veterans of social reform efforts,” writes Scutts in Hotbed, and they belonged to “leagues, associations, societies and organizations of all stripes.” A large number were public figures—influential lawyers, journalists, playwrights or physicians, some of whom were the only women in their fields—and often had their names in the papers for the work they were performing. Many members were also involved in a wide variety of women’s rights issues, from promoting the use of birth control to advocating for immigrant mothers.

Heterodoxy met every other Saturday to discuss such issues and see how members might collaborate and cultivate networks of reform. Gatherings were considered a safe space for women to talk, exchange ideas and take action. Jessica Campbell, a visual artist whose exhibition on Heterodoxy is currently on display at Philadelphia’s Fabric Workshop and Museum, says, “Their meetings were taking place without any kind of recording or public record. It was this privacy that allowed the women to speak freely.”

Scutts adds, “The freedom to disagree was very important to them.”

With 25 charter members, Heterodoxy included individuals of diverse backgrounds, including lesbian and bisexual women, labor radicals and socialites, and artists and nurses. Meetings were often held in the basement of Polly’s, a MacDougal Street hangout established by anarchist Polly Holladay. Here, at what Berman calls a “sort of nexus for progressive, artistic, intellectual and political thought,” the women would gather at wooden tables to discuss issues like fair employment and fair wages, reproductive rights, and the antiwar movement. The meetings often went on for hours, with each typically revolving around a specific subject determined in advance.

Reflecting on these get-togethers later in life, memoirist Mabel Dodge Luhan described them as gatherings of “fine, daring, rather joyous and independent women, … women who did things and did them openly.”

Occasionally, Heterodoxy hosted guest speakers, like modern birth control pioneer Margaret Sanger, who later became president of the International Planned Parenthood Federation, and anarchist Emma Goldman, known for championing everything from free love to the right of labor to organize.

While the topics discussed at each meeting remained confidential, many of Heterodoxy’s members were quite open about their involvement with the club. “Before I’d even heard of Heterodoxy,” says Scutts, “I had been working in the New-York Historical Society, researching for an [exhibition on] how radical politics had influenced a branch of the suffrage movement. That’s when I began noticing many of the same women’s names in overlapping causes. I then realized that they were all associated with this particular club.”

These women included labor lawyer, suffragist, socialist and journalist Crystal Eastman, who in 1920 co-founded the American Civil Liberties Union to defend the rights of all people nationwide, and playwright Susan Glaspell, a key player in the development of modern American theater.

Other notable alumni were feminist icon Charlotte Perkins Gilman, whose 1892 short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” illustrates the mental and physical struggles associated with postpartum depression, and feminist psychoanalyst Beatrice M. Hinkle, the first woman physician in the United States to hold a public health position. Lou Rogers, the suffrage cartoonist whose work was used as a basis for the design of Wonder Woman, was a member of Heterodoxy, as was Jewish socialist activist Rose Pastor Stokes.

Grace Nail Johnson, an advocate for civil rights and an influential figure in the Harlem Renaissance, was Heterodoxy’s only Black member. Howe “had personally written to and invited her,” says Scutts, “as sort of a representation of her race. It’s an unusual case, because racial integration was quite uncommon at the time.”

While exceptions did exist, the majority of Heterodoxy’s members were middle class or wealthy, and the bulk of them had obtained undergraduate degrees—still very much a rarity for women in the early 20th century. Some even held graduate degrees in fields like medicine, law and the social sciences. These were women with the leisure time to participate in political causes, says Scutts, and who could afford to take risks, both literally and figuratively. But while political activism and the ability to discuss topics overtly were both part of Heterodoxy’s overall ethos, most of its members were decidedly left-leaning, and almost all were radical in their ideologies. “Even if the meetings promoted an openness to disagree,” says Scutts, “it wasn’t like these were women from across the political spectrum.”

Rather, they were women who inspired and spurred each other on. For example, about one-third of the club’s members were divorced—a process that was still “incredibly difficult, expensive and even scandalous” at the time, says Scutts. The club acted as somewhat of a support network for them, “just by the virtue of having people around you that are saying, ‘I’ve gone through the process. You can, too, and survive.’”

According to Campbell, Heterodoxy’s new inductees were often asked to share a story about their upbringing with the club’s other members. This approach “helped to break down barriers that might otherwise be there due to their ranging political views and professional allegiances,” the artist says.

The Heterodoxy club usually went on hiatus during the summer months, when members relocated to places like Provincetown, Massachusetts, a seasonal outpost for Greenwich Village residents. As the years progressed, meetings eventually moved to Tuesdays, and the club began changing shape, becoming less radical in tandem with the Village’s own shifting energy. Women secured the right to vote with the ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920, displacing the momentum that fueled the suffrage movement; around this same time, the Red Scare saw the arrests and deportations of unionists and immigrants. Rent prices in the neighborhood also increased dramatically, driving out the Village’s bohemian spirit. As the club’s core members continued aging, Heterodoxy became more about continuing friendships than debating radical ideologies.

“These women were not all young when they started to meet,” says Scutts in the “Lost Ladies of Lit” podcast. “You know, it’s 20, 30 years later, and so they stayed in touch, but they never really found the second generation or third generation to keep it going in a new form.”

By the early 1940s, the biweekly meetings of Heterodoxy were no more. Still, the club’s legacy lives on, even beyond the scope of modern feminism.

“These days, it’s so easy to dehumanize people when you’re only hearing one facet of their belief system,” says Campbell. “But the ability to change your mind and debate freely like the women of Heterodoxy, without any public record? It’s an interesting model for rethinking the way we talk about problems and interact with other people today.”

[blueiscoool]

‘Extremely Rare’ Roman Temple Discovered in Italy

Sarsina is a sleepy, rural town of barely 3,000 residents straddling the pristine Apennine mountains in Italy’s Emilia Romagna region, surrounded by stunning views and grazing sheep.

While it has a glorious past, as a strategic defensive outpost for the Roman Empire and the birthplace of the famed playwright Plautus, today there’s not much to do beyond hiking and birdwatching.

And though both locals and holidaymakers would agree that a rustic, slow-paced lifestyle is part of Sarsina’s charm, its residents were nonetheless excitedly awaiting the construction of a development including a new supermarket, fitness center and playground. But it was not meant to be — at least, not as originally planned.

That’s because workers at the site on the outskirts of town in December 2022 unearthed the ruins of an ancient Roman temple — or ‘capitolium’ — dating back to the first century BC.

In early July, a first look at the underground treasure came to light: a single imposing structure of horizontal sandstone blocks and marble slabs, 577 square meters wide, which researchers have identified as the podium above which the columns and walls of an ancient temple were built.

And what has come out of the ground so far could be just the tip of the iceberg.

“We have unearthed three separate rooms, likely dedicated to the triad of gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva,” lead archaeologist at the excavation site Romina Pirraglia said. “The excavations are still underway… and we have already identified an older, deeper layer of ruins dating back to the 4th century BC, when the Umbrian people (an ancient Italic tribe who predated the Romans) lived in the area. The entire temple could be even larger than what we now see.”

According to Pirraglia, the discovery of a capitolium — the main temple in an important Roman city, and a hub for trade as well as religious and social interactions — further confirms the strategic role Sarsina played during the Roman Empire. The town was built in a key mountainous area close to the Tuscan border and overlooking the Savio river, an important waterway connecting central and northern Roman cities.

The discovery of the temple has pushed local authorities to revise their building plans. Federica Gonzato, superintendent of archaeology, fine arts and landscape for the provinces of Ravenna, Rimini and Forlì-Cesena, which includes Sarsina, is adamant in wanting to preserve the ruins and further research its great past.

“We will not tear it down to make room for modern structures, this must be very clear. Previous urban plans will be changed, we will find new construction sites for recreation and sports,” Gonzato said. “The temple is an incredible finding that sheds light on how ancient Roman towns rose and fell across time.”

What makes the discovery exceptional is the temple’s unique state of preservation. “The marvelous quality of the stones have been spared from sacks, enemy invasions and plunders across millennia thanks to the remote location of Sarsina, a quiet spot distant from larger cities,” Gonzato added. “Temples such as this one (were) regularly plundered, exploited as quarries with stones and marble slabs taken away to be re-used to build new homes. But Sarsina’s capitolium podium structure is practically untouched, with its entrance staircase well-preserved, and this is extremely rare.”

Gonzato believes the discovery will further research on demography and urban transformations in ancient times. And there’s more to the site than just the temple’s podium. Pirraglia said there are signs that the building was reused in medieval times. An ancient water drainage system was found alongside medieval tombs and hearths indicating that locals likely inhabited it, or used the site for other social purposes.

“This is the beauty of Italy: wherever you dig, some hidden treasure comes out of the ground. Wonders never cease to amaze us,” said Gonzato.

By Silvia Marchetti.

[crepesuzette2023]

hello, I was wondering if you have any fics you like where Paul is the one pining?

Thank you so much for this question, and sorry to have taken so long to reply. I hope you still find these useful!

The lovely thing about J/P fic is that both John and Paul excel at pining. Scholarly tomes should be filled with arguments about who does it better. (Is Mutual Pining really the ultimate, or can something be said about the solo work of either man surpassing their 'collaboration'?)

As per your ask, it's Paul turn in these recs. I've decided to include fics in which they are in a relationship, of sorts, but where there's an element of Paul feeling that John is out of reach, or that Paul doesn't have enough of John — there's a distance to be bridged (but how?).

Early Days: Before the Fete

I've Just Seen a Face (sleepprettydarling): Five times Paul sees John before the Woolton Fete, one time he doesn't. G-rated, but the longing is *everywhere*.

Early Days

Two of us (burning matches) (@scurator). John corrupts/awakens Paul.

Above us only sky (candle_beck). "Paul is tired of being so good."

The first year (candle_beck). "They didn't get along, Stuart and Paul."

Lifting Latches/Sending Postcards (thinkpink20). Swapping clothes and becoming lovers...slowly. You can feel Paul's heartbeat when you read this.

On Menlove Avenue (thinkpink20). One of my favorite summaries ever: "It's a dark, dark night in Woolton."

Hamburg Era (roughly)

Mistletoe (thinkpink20). Paul observes John at Christmas, and finally takes action.

Like Love, the Archers are Blind (@dailyhowl). "He can’t ever be truly mad at him. Because his frustration melts like sugar on his tongue when he thinks about them sat across from each with their guitars and a notebook between them. Thinks about riding on the bus together with greasy packets of chips, stalking through record stores and strolling by the docks. How familiar and comfortable it feels to be together. What they have is too golden, too warm to ever stray from. And now he’s drowning in it." Come onnnn

Sinful (thinkpink20). "He tells himself it's just the grime around him, dirtying up his mind."

Beginning Fame

the touch of the velvet hand (downtothelastdrop). “Well then,” Paul countered, “you’ve not felt what I can do.”

I'm Telling You (aceonthebass). Paul pitches a 'soft' love song to John.

wouldn't it be nice? (@pauls1967moustache). John marries Cyn. What about John&Paul?

Geodesic Dome Era

open heart (@revollver). Vampire AU. Paul needs John—in more than one way.

Way up Top (@boshemians). The Beatles in Greece. "Underwater Paul snakes his arm around John’s wrist and presses their chests together, struggling for something."

1968

Days Like This (@eveepe). "His mouth was strangely dry, and he could feel his heartbeat pulsing in the scar on his lip."

Bad luck to talk (7intheevening). Paul is yearning for what he and John used to have—without being quite aware of his feelings. (Subconscious pining?)

Lost (@ohjohnnysblog). Paul needs a reminder of his and John's happier past. He goes to see Astrid...

Wings Era

Red Lights, Green Lights, Strawberry Wine (@savageandwise). Paul is with Linda and Denny, but waiting for John to call him back again...(Linda POV).

Later Days

Nude (@ohjohnnysblog). Paul buys nude pictures in a gallery and thinks of John.

Modern Love (caesdoublesteps). For a lighter touch: Paul negotiates with Yoko to give him Self Portrait, the movie about John's semi-erection. Yoko has a counter-offer.

AU

Sleeping Sand, Morning Moon (@dailyhowl). Playwright Paul grieves a dear friend and the end of a relationship. He escapes to a Scottish village and falls in love with resident eccentric John—but his heart is not ready. (It will be.)