#like the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum

[raspberry-gloaming]

For everyone ever interested in the "make the British and the museums give back what they stole" - did you know we have LITERAL LAWS that say that the big museums aren't legally allowed to give people back there stuff permenantly?

Like how fucked up is that

[snailspng]

Where I find images to make into PNGs

Museum / collection websites

Rijksmuseum • Metropolitan Museum of Art • National Gallery of Art • Europeana • Public Domain Review  • The British Library • Victoria & Albert Museum • Wellcome Collection • Risd Museum • Phoenix Ancient Art • Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden • Georgian National Museum • Internet Archive • Getty Images • Louvre • Statens Historiska Muséer • Museum of Applied Arts • Royal Collection Trust • The Walters Art Museum • Science Museum Group • Kunst Historiches Museum Wien • The David Collection • MAK collection

+ pretty much any museum site with a virtual collection

Auction websites

1stDibs • Sothebys • Ruby Lane • Live Auctioneers • Christie’s • Timeline Auctions • Heritage Auctions • Auctionet • Hindman Auctions

Various

My pinterest • Worthpoint • Etsy • Shoplook • Wikimedia Commons • Replacements

Any site with a search-by-image function (Google Lens, Yandex etc) > “find image source��� > “visually similar images”

Other PNG blogs

goobersplat • gooberscollage • vile-things • encyclopaedia-ornithonesiae • oceantoyz • transparensies • png-magician • whizpurr • adjpngs • transpareats • transparentstickers • transparenzz • pngtrash • fruit-prince • honeyrolls • bleedingthroughteeth • png-heaven • dolldmg • starrypngs

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(I will be updating this list! If you have suggestions or would like to add or remove your blog from the list, message me)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi! Do you have tips on describing architecture? (Art nouveau style in particular)

Writing Notes: Art Nouveau Architecture

Art Nouveau - (French for ‘new art’) style of art that flourished between about 1890 and 1910 throughout Europe and the United States.

It is characterized by its use of a long, sinuous, organic line and was employed most often in architecture, interior design, jewelry and glass design, posters, and illustration.

It was a deliberate attempt to create a new style, free of the imitative historicism that dominated much of 19th-century art and design.

About this time, the term Art Nouveau was coined in Belgium by the periodical L’Art Moderne to describe the work of the artist group Les Vingt and in Paris by S. Bing (byname of Siegfried Bing), who named his gallery L’Art Nouveau. The style was called:

Jugendstil in Germany,

Sezessionstil in Austria,

Stile Floreale (or Stile Liberty) in Italy, and

Modernismo (or Modernista) in Spain.

The distinguishing characteristic of Art Nouveau is its undulating asymmetrical line, often taking the form of:

flower stalks and buds,

vine tendrils,

insect wings, and

other delicate and sinuous natural objects;

the line may be elegant and graceful or infused with a powerfully rhythmic and whiplike force.

Characteristics of Art Nouveau

Here are a few examples of the characteristics of Art Nouveau work in the visual arts, decorative arts, and architecture.

Natural shapes: Art Nouveau work is full of biomorphic shapes—or non-geometric, organic forms—that resemble flowers, insects, and other elements of the natural world.

Ornamental lines: Art Nouveau artworks—like the Paris Metro signs—frequently incorporate curvy, sinuous lines that mimic the swirling forms of plants or stems.

Flat, decorative patterns: In paintings and graphic arts, Art Nouveau artists tended to emphasize the flatness of the medium by creating small, densely packed patterns, like William Morris’s fabrics and wallpaper patterns, and the gilded motifs in Gustav Klimt’s paintings.

Byzantine influences: Artists like Gustav Klimt, with his mosaic-like gilded paintings, and Alphonse Mucha, who often painted the subjects of his paintings like Byzantine queens, drew influence from the ornate, embellished style of Byzantine art. Decorative artist Louis Comfort Tiffany presented his first Tiffany lamps in a Byzantine-influenced chapel at the World’s Colombian Exhibition in Chicago.

IN ARCHITECTURE and the other plastic arts, the whole of the three-dimensional form becomes engulfed in the organic, linear rhythm, creating a fusion between structure and ornament. Architecture particularly shows this synthesis of ornament and structure; a liberal combination of materials—ironwork, glass, ceramic, and brickwork—was employed, for example, in the creation of unified interiors in which columns and beams became thick vines with spreading tendrils and windows became both openings for light and air and membranous outgrowths of the organic whole. This approach was directly opposed to the traditional architectural values of reason and clarity of structure.

PUBLICATIONS such as The Grammar of Ornament (1856) by British architect and theorist Owen Jones (1809–1874), advocated nature as the primary source of inspiration for a generation of artists seeking to break away from past styles. The unfolding of Art Nouveau’s flowing line may be understood as a metaphor for the freedom and release sought by its practitioners and admirers from the weight of artistic tradition and critical expectations.

AFTER 1910, Art Nouveau appeared old-fashioned and limited and was generally abandoned as a distinct decorative style. In the 1960s, however, the style was rehabilitated, in part, by major exhibitions organized at the Museum of Modern Art in New York (1959) and at the Musée National d’Art Moderne (1960), as well as by a large-scale retrospective on Beardsley held at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London in 1966. The exhibitions elevated the status of the movement, which had often been viewed by critics as a passing trend, to the level of other major Modern art movements of the late 19th century. Currents of the movement were then revitalized in Pop and Op art. In the popular domain, the flowery organic lines of Art Nouveau were revived as a new psychedelic style in fashion and in the typography used on rock and pop album covers and in commercial advertising.

Examples of Art Nouveau Style in Architecture

Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudí: In 1883, Antoni Gaudí took over the construction of Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia basilica when architect Francisco de Paula del Villar y Lorzano resigned from the job. Though the project is still not completely finished, you can see Gaudí’s influence in the cathedral’s facade, accented with naturalistic moldings that almost look like they’re melting.

The Old England Building, Brussels, Belgium: Designed by architect Paul Saintenoy, the Old England building was constructed in 1899 and is considered one of Brussels’s Art Nouveau gems. The former department store now houses the Museum of Musical Instruments. Fittingly, the exterior is adorned with multiple panels showing musical phrases, as well as the standard Art Nouveau touches such as a floral motif and swirling iron details.

Casa Fenoglio-Lafleur, Turin, Italy: It was designed by architect Pietro Fenoglio in 1902 and it became his private residence. Fenoglio’s “home studio” was created to be an aesthetic model of the Art Nouveau style. Its most prominent features are the polychrome glass and intricate wrought iron bow windows, and a sinuous overhang above the terrace. The building’s history is rich; soon after the building was finished, the architect and his family left the house and sold it to a French businessman named Lafleur. He lived there until his death and it was passed on to La Benefica, an orphanage and charity in Turin. It survived bombing during World War II but then went into a state of disrepair. In the 1990s it was sold to a private client who restored it carefully to its original splendor and now it is home to private residences and some office space.

Majolikahaus, Vienna, Austria: Architect Otto Wagner was a key figure in the reinvention of Vienna at the turn of the 20th century. One of his most beloved works is the Majolikahaus apartment building, which was completed in 1898 and is decorated with a vibrant floral motif. The façade is comprised entirely of ceramic tiles known as majolica.

Casa Batlló, Barcelona, Spain: Gaudí brought his exuberant take on Art Nouveau to Barcelona, creating many of the city’s architectural landmarks. Casa Batlló, situated on the Passeig de Gràcia, is one of his best-known works and features allusions to the legend of St. George and the dragon. Its exterior is sheathed in colorful pieces of broken ceramics, while the roof is covered in scalelike tiles.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Choose which of these references are most suitable, considering the setting of your story, if historical accuracy is a high priority. Hope this helps with your writing!

[jarofstyles]

Reaper 13

This is SUPER LONG and dirty but enjoyyy it for as long as it lasts hehe.

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive writing

Warnings- possessive behavior, aggression, threats, mention of murder, stalking, illegal acts  we do not Condone, knife play, impact play (slapping x spanking), daddy kink if you squint, breeding kink mention, degradation, dom/sub dynamic, dumbification if you squint, choking, bondage w belt, hair pulling.... you get the gist everything is filthy as per usual 

WC- 11.3k

------------------

Tourist attractions really weren’t Harry’s thing, especially in his own city. He thought it was all a bit underwhelming, he’d rather look at a photo and be over it. He never thought he’d ever step foot in the Victoria and Albert Museum, Kensington was no place for someone like him. Yet there he was, watching his own work of art, Bunny, read the plaques by each painting.

The way her eyes lit up this morning when he told her they’d do whatever she wanted, he didn’t have it in himself to say no. So he let her drag him along to all the sites, even going as far as taking photos with her. If she were anyone else, he would tell her to stuff it- but that smile made it worth every moment of internal suffering.

“I’m getting hungry,” Bunny whispered to him, wanting to be respectful of the environment. Her arm had snaked its way under his, her hand curling around his bicep for comfort.

Harry chuckled when he felt her squeeze at the muscle, mindlessly going to place a kiss on the top of her head. The mindless affection had become more and more common. “You okay to head back towards the hotel? The options around here are a bit shit.” Harry continued in a hushed tone, guiding the two of them towards the stairs to begin exiting. “Plus, there are a bunch of pubs back that way… can get you some of that authentic food to try.”

“Authentic food?” She raised a brow. “You mean beans on toast? Egg in the hole?” There was teasing in her tone, a giant grin on her face as he looked down at her. She was taunting him, but it was good to see her really fucking smile after these last few weeks.

A scoff sounded from his throat, eyes rolling as they continued. “Lucky you’re cute. Or I’d toss your ass into the Thames, and that is particularly unpleasant.” He retorted, lightly pinching her side to make her squeak.

“Oi! Precious cargo here.” Her hip bumped into his as they walked, looking at her fake wedding ring. Although it wasn’t real, seeing it and what it represented made her stomach flutter. Would that be a possibility? Would he ever actually propose? What ring would he actually choose? He’d probably do it somewhere very private and secret, just the two of them. Shaking herself out of that thought, she continued. “What I was saying was, yes. I’m happy to head back. Your arm must be tired from holding all of my stuff.”

It wasn’t too bad. A few bags with the very tacky and overpriced London swag, things he knew she would probably stick on a shelf and not use- but part of him felt some sort of happiness that she liked it enough to buy souvenirs. “S’fine, darling. Snow globes and tee shirts and magnets are surprisingly lightweight.”

“Right, so you don’t mind if I drag us into the gift shop?” Bunny teased and squeezed his arm, tripping over her feet a bit as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Harry had never thought he’d experience this type of relationship. It almost felt juvenile with how they clung to one another and got shy at each other's teasing ocassionally. It felt so out of character for him, but then again, it came naturally with her. He thought, if his life had been different, that maybe that’s how he was meant to be.

“Thought you said you were hungry?”

———

Pubs were a quintessential part of the British experience. You could go just about anywhere in the UK and there would always be a pub to welcome you in. Sure, the decor was a bit outdated, but Harry always thought it made them more charming. No two pubs were exactly alike. Some had different stools.

“What do you fancy? Fish and chips? Bangers and Mash? Gonna take you for a roast at the weekend.” Harry’s speech had already adjusted, his accent thicker than she’d ever heard it before. It made Bunny smile fondly, she’d never seen him in a mood like this and she was cherishing every second.

“Fancy, huh? You’re sounding incredibly British today, Mr.Davidson.” She winked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and looping them as they settled at the end of the bar. The mood was just so good today, and she was relishing it.

“Fancy, yes. Like I fancy you.” His voice was quiet, a tiny smirk on the corner of his lips as she felt her heart stutter in her chest. His hands came to hold her hips, cuffing them with his cool skin and making her shiver. Her outfit wasn’t particularly thick- which was why she had stopped to buy the coat she’d hung up when they walked in. If someone stole it, oh well. It was pretty cheap.

“You do?” She peered at him through her lashes, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Gonna make me blush. Look at you, flirty man.” Harry had been exceptionally affectionate today and it had almost taken her off guard. Like he could finally let go a bit and give her the proper boyfriend treatment, loved treatment, whatever it was called. It made her all fuzzy and hot in her stomach.

“Good. Like making y’shy.” He tugged at the ends of her hair. “Soon as a table opens up we can sit down and properly eat.” But he didn’t mind standing here. He soaked in every second of her leaning into him, playing like a proper couple on a ‘honeymoon’. He liked the feeling of the ring on that finger.

Bunny nodded along, letting her eyes wander around the dimly lit space. The place wasn’t too packed, though as the clouds drew in it seemed everyone was looking for shelter.

“Y/N? No fucking way.” A familiar voice interrupted Bunny from her train of thought. Her head snapped in the direction the voice was coming from, swallowing thickly. Fuck. Not here- not now.

“Ian?” She hadn’t seen him in years, not since he moved away for college. She had been so devastated back then. Sterling’s departure had taken a toll on her and well, Ian wasn’t man enough to tell her he too would be leaving her.

“Are you stalking me?” He joked, taking a step towards her. It seemed as though he hadn’t noticed just who she was there with.

Harry was quick to place himself between them.

Who the fuck is this? And why the fuck did he know Bunny? His jaw clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack, feeling fingers gently pressing against his arm as he looked down at the shorter man.

Was this some sort of sick joke?

“Who the fuck are you?” His words were cold, his molten relaxed nature from before cooling quickly before shattering like glass on the pavement. His eyes were sharp and hard as he looked down, feeling her peek over his arm and try and move closer but he extended it to keep her behind him.

Whoever the fuck this Ian was, he was in London. A place where she knew no one. The world couldn’t possibly be that small, and he was on edge all over again. “Are you following her?”

Oh god. Bunny stepped forward, clutching Harry’s arm in her grasp to try and chill him out. It looked bad, it definitely looked bad and she could understand his irritation, but-

“H, it’s okay-“

“No. It isn’t.” His harsh tone stung his own ears as he approached further, eyes zeroed in on him. “I’ll ask again, How the fuck did you find her here?”

“Find her?” Ian looked like he had seen a ghost. He had remembered Reaper, very very well. How could he forget all the times he’d come over and he’d be outside working on his bike? The death stare he gave was enough to have him rushing inside without turning back. He was aware of the reputation Reaper held, to say Ian was scared was an understatement.

“Dude, I swear I wasn’t trying to make any moves, just surprised she’s here— I live here man.” Ian was in a rush to finish his sentences, attempting to clear the lump forming his throat.

“Baby, you know that, remember? I was dating him before Sterling left.” Bunny peeped up from behind him, her heart beating out of her chest. The last thing she needed was for Harry to cause a scene when they were trying to lay low. While the coincidence was shocking, she knew full well Ian was too stupid to pull off what her stalker was pulling.

“Where?” Harry barked, preparing to grill the man for all he was worth. If he couldn’t tell him a way a Londoner would understand, he was worried he would do his head in right here on the bar. His stomach had already been turning at the mere mention of him dating her before, but the thought of being face to face with someone who could possibly be part of this ongoing torture of his girl? He was seething.

“Canary Wharf, a few stops on the DLR. I’m not giving you my address, sicko.”

“Sicko?” He laughed without humor. “I’m not the one following girls around. How’d you know she’d be here?” He took a step closer, the hair on the back of his neck prickled as he tried to scan the man’s face for any hint of lying.

He was scared shitless, as he should be, but Harry was thrown right back into the paranoia that he usually felt back home. The hesitation and distrust of anyone who got around her. How perfect would it be for her obsessive ex to be the one following her around?

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t, bro. I’m just as surprised as she is- t-tell him, Y/N. Please!” He was backing up slightly as Harry took another step forward, making her grab his arm and try and tug him back.

“H- Hey.” She gently dragged her fingers down his arm. “Please. It’s okay. He’s been here for a while, he left a while back. I didn’t know where he was moving to.” Trying to diffuse the situation was unnerving. She’d seen Harry get like this a few times, but she didn’t want to make a scene here. “Look at me, please. He’s not the person you think.” Meaning her stalker. She could see the cogs turning in his mind, the nervousness from how he worked his jaw, how his other hand had slipped behind him to have a hand on his gun if he needed it. They couldn’t afford to have that happen in such a public place, but it was well known that Harry, when he was Reaper mindset, didn’t care. He would take out a threat and deal with the consequences. As much as it warmed her that he was that dedicated to her safety, it wasn’t any good if he went down for taking out the wrong guy.

“Babe.” Her stern tone cut through the tension, her hand moving to squeeze over his hand tightly. This couldn’t happen. Bunny’s heart was beating out of her chest, looking between the two of them as she tried to figure out what her next move was. “Ian, you remember Harry yeah?” She began, her fingers rubbing gentle circles over the wedding band on her boyfriend’s hand. It would be hard to explain it to Ian, so she figured it was best to keep them hidden. “He brought me here to London to show me around, we’ve been together for a while now so it felt like a good time to see where he came from.”

Harry was still sizing Ian up, chest heaving slightly. Focusing on the sound of Bunny’s voice, he could still hear the faint sound of blood pumping in his ears. This guy was harmless, she had ruled him out but Harry’s brain was still on high alert.

“Anyways, we were just leaving,” Harry interjected, no longer wishing to be in this idiot's presence. He needed to be back in a safe space with his Bunny.

“We don’t have to-“

“I just remembered our reservation. Let’s go.”  The tone of his voice had taken her off guard, unfamiliar with the sweet one he usually held specifically for her, but she would let it go despite how it stung under her skin. He was wound up and nervous, and he had just had a scare in the one place he had seemed to key his guard down. She had to remember that. He had just been knocked over, metaphorically speaking.

“You don’t have to run off,” Ian said with a laugh, feeling a bit bolder and wanting to reclaim that stupid masculinity he had felt was stripped of him from the interaction. “I’m not going to try and steal her-“

Before he could finish, his shirt was fisted in Harry’s hand, his body whipped around and pressed to the bar as the cocky look on his face faded to fear. His eyes were dark and cold, though the anger was simmering under the surface of his skin.

“You can’t have her. She isn’t an item to be stolen. I’ve heard about your puny cock and the lack of care you’ve given my girl. Bold of you to assume she’s mentioned more than her dissatisfaction over you.” He did indeed remember this dickhead. It made him want to drag him to the back alley and use the silencer on his gun to take him out. But he was in public. So threats would have to do. “If you breathe a word of her being here, if you try to contact her, if you even look at her again tonight, I will end you. Make your life a living hell, and end it with your body sunk in the Thames.” His words were quiet, but so matter of fact that Bunny’s eyes widened. The pub noises would filter out anyone else hearing, but she could.

“I know the people from the deepest depths of the underground here. One fucking call and I’ll have your entire flat ruined, your bank account drained, and your body strung up in an abandoned building before they dispose of you. So heed this warning very, very carefully.” He got closer. “You’ll stay here, order a pint, and forget that this night and my woman has ever existed. If I hear a word of this breathed out -and I will- I’ll make good on my phone call.” Eyes traced him in disgust. “And you won’t make very good fish food, either.”

Finally, he dropped the guy and pulled Bunny with him, trying to be mindful of how hard he pulled so her shorter legs wouldn’t make her fall. But he was livid. Angry, his face blank and nostrils flared as he grits his teeth.

She decided to stay silent, following him and wrapping her arm around his, their connected fingers an anchor for the both of them. “I’m sorry.” Her voice peeped, looking up at him. “I-didn’t know he would be there. I swear I haven’t known anything since he moved.”

He froze. Why was she apologizing?

Harry could hear the sound of his teeth grinding, though it seemed he felt no pain. His focus was purely on getting her back to the hotel as safely and quietly as possible. Stupid fucking idiot had to choose this pub of all pubs in London to walk into and ruin the perfect end to the day for his perfect girl.

“S’ fine, Bun.” Harry tried his best to reassure her, though his breathing was still heavy and his mind was still racing. He was on high alert as he guided the two of them through the busy crowd of Leicester Square, no one paid much attention to them there. Only one more turn and they’d be safe in the street right by their hotel.

Bunny wasn’t sure what she was expecting as they entered the hotel and made their way up. She chose to stay quiet, her arms wiggling their way around his waist as her head rested against his chest in an attempt to soothe them both. His heart was pounding, though his muscles were noticeably less tense than they had been at the pub.

She didn’t think she’d be able to eat much now, her main concern was tending to Harry. It’d been a good while since he’d snapped back into his protective state, they’d worked so hard to get him to actually relax on this trip. She had been worried it was all for nothing.

“Talk to me.” She murmured as they entered the safety of their room, the sound of Harry double-checking the locks behind them had her eyes squeezing shut. She wished he didn’t have to go through this. If only they didn’t go to that pub.

His throat bobbed as he scanned the room again, only broken out of the trance when her hands gently grabbed his face, cradling his jaw. All she did was gentle. She treated him with a softness no one else ever had, one that he had never even thought of himself being able to have.

There was a moment he stood without a word, looking down at him as he tried to gather himself. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her or make her feel neglected like he had the time before, but it was really fucking hard to do that. His body was taught, tense and he held back tremors of both rage and fear. It was a false alarm, sure, but he had felt all the feelings he imagined surfacing from finding the son of a bitch stalker. His uneven breathing filled the room as she continued to try and soothe him, her soft and concerned gaze killing him. How the fuck was she being so good with him even after what he had done? How he had shut down?

“I was terrified.” He admitted into the silence of the room. “That it was him. I’m still not convinced he isn’t involved.  I was letting myself get too relaxed. You’re in danger.” He stressed, head tilting back as he ran his hands over his face. There was obvious regret and self anger in his tone, breaking her heart just a bit more. “I was selfish for not letting my head be on a swivel.  I could never forgive myself if I let you get hurt. Ever.” Hs hands peeled off his cheeks so he could look at her, the seriousness of his words bleeding through.

“I promised to protect you. Not only to your father, to your brother- but to myself. This whole thing, you and I? It isn't just sex to me, Bunny. You’re- you’re mine. In every fucking sense of the word. The one person that means anything to me and if I fuck up because I want to- I want to be selfish and just let go? I’d die. If you hurt, I hurt. I can’t ever let it happen.” He felt the intensity in his stomach rise, the feelings he had been trying to keep in check boiling over in the pot. Frothing over the edges, he couldn’t stop himself from falling for her, no matter how many times he had stirred and tried to keep the overflow at bay.

“You mean the most to me. I’ve never cared this much about a person. I felt so much rage… not only at him but at myself. I’m so angry.” He growled. “He looked at you. He touched your arm. How much fucking clearer does it have to be?” Slowly backing her up, Bunny trusting him as her back bumped against the door and her head tipped up to look up at him. Her angry knight. So passionate about protecting her. “Do I have to get you a sign to tell people you’re mine? That I’m yours and I will rip their hearts from their chest, I will slice off any finger that touches you?” His eyes blazed, Harry’s discomfort obvious. He meant every word. AS gruesome as he could be, she hadn’t seen the whole of it yet. This girl got to see the good parts of him and he was convinced that she would be the only one they were reserved for.

Bunny’s eyes searched his, trying to find some kind of sign. Sure, his emotions were on high, but he meant each word he was saying. She could feel it— never once did his words falter, his gaze never leaving hers as his fingertips delicately began to push her jacket off of her shoulders.

“Say something.” Harry breathed, his eyes too scanning hers in an attempt to anchor himself in the moment. When he was with her nothing else mattered, he didn’t have to be anyone he wasn’t. With her he was free. “I mean every word—“

“I know.” Bunny’s voice had been so quiet she wasn’t even sure if he heard it. The words she had wanted to say were hiding just under her breath, if only she felt brave she would tell him. Profess that she loved him and that she trusted him more than anyone else in this world. “I keep thinking,” She started, her sentence interrupted by the thump of her jacket falling on the floor. “You’re the only one I’d want to be here with. The only one I want…” Her words trailed off with a soft moan. God, she was sick.

Cold fingertips dragged up along her arm, Harry’s other hand finding the warmth of her lower back just under her top. He really couldn’t help himself, she was the only thing that could get him to relax.

His stomach heated with a different sort of passion. A flick of a candle, a switch of a blade, a single moan. Her soft body melted into his own as her eyes bore into his own, that calming energy sinking into his skin and melding into arousal that he couldn’t help. She was aroused by this?

Yes. She was. The woman was affected by his words, by his protective nature. Even as deprived and awful, inhumane as his version of justice could be perceived as, she was excited by it. Flattered. His face got closer to hers, bracing with his arm against the door.

“I mean it.” His words were a shaky exhale. “I mean every fucking word.” His hands slipped further under the fabric, her hot skin melting his icy interiors yet again. “Anyone touches you… anyone even thinks about stroking this perfect skin… tasting your mouth…. Harming a single hair on your head. I’d end them.” He pressed closer, fingers finding the nape of her neck. “I’d kill for you, baby. D’you know that?” Harry doubted that she would ever actually know the full extent of what he would do for her. How close she had him to being on his knees at her wish.

She nodded, their noses brushing together. Harry smiled, not a normal one but what she could consider almost feral. Hot. Her thighs trembled as she couldn’t recall anyone else who had been able to gain such a reaction from her body. Their interactions were always something she felt fully, but his intensity was ringing in her ears, throbbing through her body. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that he would.

“I almost did tonight. I meant every word. And I’ll do the same back in Vegas. I’ll find who is tracking you… I’ll send them to meet Hades myself. And then… then I’m going to take you on a proper vacation. I’m going to take you to a beach and fuck you on the sand, I’m going to fuck you on my bike, I’m going to do everything you deserve.  I know I don’t deserve you. But I’m a selfish son of a bitch, Bunny. I’m mean, I fight, I do illegal shit, I’ve got blood on my hands and targets on my back, but I’m keeping you anyway.” Their breathing mingled as he tried to control himself but it was slipping.

His lips pressed against hers hard, feeling her fists on his shirt to pull him closer. It was no use.

“I will burn the entire fucking city down to make sure you’re safe. I’ve never been afraid of anything. Death, fire, pain. But I’m fucking terrified of losing you.”

Time stood still as the two of them stood barely a step into their hotel room. Harry cradled her with his arm, unable to get enough of his skin on her own. Her shivers only drove him all the more insane, he was hypnotized by the feeling she brought him, the comfort of her existence was something he felt himself continuously getting drunk on. He didn’t want to stop himself, he couldn’t. Not when every moment felt like it could be their very last.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I’ll always find you.” Bunny knew there was very little could do, but on the off chance that this fucker managed to find her she would leave as many clues for Harry as she possibly could. No way would she let some monster get in the way of this beautiful blossoming relationship. “Even if it hurts me.” She whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips. She was hungry to taste them again, it was the perfect remedy for the comedown of shock. What if she wanted it to hurt?

“Please let go just for tonight… just take me how you want to.” She would do just about anything to get him back to a relaxed state again. This feral look on his face awakened something in her, he’d previously mentioned he’d been holding back. There was something about the dark breathy chuckle he let out that had her mind reeling.  “I’m serious.” Bunny felt her heart rate picking up as he toyed with the delicate skin of her neck. “Please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He whispered, trying to keep that curated delicacy he had reserved for her at hand- but failing. Failing miserably.

“I do.” She whispered back, arching into him. “You’re upset. You want to prove that I’m yours?” There was danger in taunting him. The girl knew that. But she wanted him to break down, to give in to those urges again. The last time had been so, so good. She could still feel the slight ache but she wanted more. Greedy. She was so incredibly greedy for every lick and drop of affection, his real self she could get. Her hand reached for his, pulling it towards the front of her throat to collar it.

“Fuck me, Harry. Own me. Use my body, mark me, make everyone know.” She bleated, eyes wide for him. “Please?” Her lips pressed against his. “Please, please, please. Just for tonight- make me ache. You know my limits. Push them.”

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry breathed through his nose, trying so hard not to give in to her even though she was offering herself up on a silver platter. The feeling of his hand around her throat was something that’d felt natural, her kiss tempting him even more. She knew just how to get him to succumb to her desires but there was still that bit of fear.

Sure, the other night they dabbled into the territory. A few good slaps, her slipping into subspace. This, however, was a whole other beast. Harry could be truly sadistic, relentless in the way he fucked women. While his girl had proven to be the perfect slut for him, he still worried that he would lose himself. There would always be more caution in this because he cared about her, he adored her, her life meant something to him. It just made him worry a little about self control when she taunted him. Especially when he was in a mood like this. Where he knew he wouldn’t stop himself from absolutely ruining her.

“I want you to.” Bunny was confident that she could take it. The slaps yesterday were manageable, hot, even and with the right aftercare, she was positive there was nothing he could do that would truly hurt her. Harry in his feral state was terrifying, yes, but a thrill that made her sopping wet. She was the object of his desire, surely the aggression he would lay upon her would translate differently than it had with anyone before her.

“Want you to show me the real you… want to know what it’s like, I can handle it.” She had opened up for him so nicely, let him see her slip into the softest of spaces. She had hoped to see him enter his own headspace, one where they could interact together.

“God….” Harry rolled his head back on his shoulders, his erratic breathing amplified by her fingers pressing over his own, making him squeeze. It got his attention right away. Damn it all to hell. The woman had a road map to the paths to drive him wild the quickest, the buttons installed in the tips of her little fingers.

She moaned. The vibration of it stung his palm. She was serious. Her head rolling back on the door as she hated herself to him with her eyes fluttering at the feeling. She was showing him, taunting him, and Harry could feel the tether to his rational being fraying.

“You… can handle it?” His lips curled up in one of the most cruel little smirks she had ever seen. “The soft, sweet little slut can handle it? Just a bit of slapping has you slipping. You really think you can manage it? When I make a mess out of you?”

Her nod made him narrow his eyes, watching as she blinked up at him. Did she?

He tested the waters, gathering saliva under his tongue and spitting it right on her closed lips, getting a surprised gasp from her. A flinch. “Lick your lips. Clean it up.” He stood straighter, seeming to loom over her. She stood with wide eyes, looking like she was going to speak before he took his fingers from behind her and lightly smacked her cheek.

“I didn’t fucking ask you to speak.  Did I?” Her head shook, a tiny whimper making him laugh before continuing on. “No, I didn’t. I know you get a little brainless when I touch you, all you can think about is cock… but I gave you instruction. Try again.” He hissed, feeling his cock throb at how quickly she let her tongue rub over her lips. Pink brushing over the glistening pair of lips wet with his spit, she slowly dragged the muscle over the pout.

“There we are. Pretty little pet does have some sense floating up there.” He cooed, thumbing the rest she couldn’t get over the rest of her chin and rubbing it into the skin.

There was a pause, his eyes softening for a moment as he checked in. “My messy baby. Are you sure you can handle it? Y’know I adore you.” He pressed a soft kiss to her wet mouth, a direct contrast to his previous actions. “You’re my girl but… I’m gonna be mean to you. You know how to get me to stop, yeah?” It had to be abundantly clear. There wouldn't be unnecessary risks of losing her trust.

Bunny nodded her head, not wanting to risk speaking and making him unnecessarily angry. Just one word, that’s all it would take for him to stop. She decided to take his word for it and behave while she was still grounded in reality, god knows what she’s getting herself into when she was drunk on him and his cock. He’d given her a taste of it last time, blown her expectations out of the water, but she was his greedy girl after all.

His actions had shaken her up just enough for wetness to start pooling in her panties. She loved seeing him in this state, it was so animalistic. He was only focused on one thing and that was pleasure— in this case, his own. She would happily give herself to him a million times over if this meant he could get it out of his system. If it was anything like before she knew she’d enjoy it.

He’d never been mean to her before, it would definitely be a new feeling. However, it was all in the name of sex. Sex makes you say all sorts of things, it’s part of its nature. It’s a connection people can’t properly put into words. Bunny was eager to explore their connection even further and prove their trust.

“That’s a good girl.” He sighed, stroking over her hair before wrapping it around his fist. “Come.”

There was no other option- but Y/N didn’t mind. She followed, relishing in the slight prickling pain on her scalp as he stayed true to his word and led her like a naughty pup over to the bed.

“You’re such a nice girl. It really is such a shock to me that you love acting like a depraved whore.” He said with a chuckle. “Y’know, I thought… the first time we saw each other again, you were so sweet looking. Grown up, not a little girl, but sweet. That big smile and sparkling pretty eyes, bouncing on your feet. And then, later in the night… you crawled up on my lap. Tried to tempt me, with your brother just feet away. That’s when I knew there had to be something with you. Something that made you dirty, just like me.”

He undid his belt with his free hand, the sound of the leather snapping out of the belt loops making her whimper. His start was intense, intently on her eyes as he released her hair. “Wrists in front of you.”

There was no second request. She did it quickly, letting herself feel the warm leather wrap snugly around her wrists and through them. There was a shot of jealousy when she realized she was not the only one he had done this to. No- Harry must have done this dozens of times because of how well he did it, but she kept her mouth shut as he secured her.

“There.” One last tug and she was secure enough to not escape, but easy enough for Harry to be able to undo it quickly. “What a fucking vision you are, darling. Look at you.” His voice aired out, walking in a circle around her. Reaching into his pocket, he steadied himself behind her. His nose brushed her neck, inhaling the scent of her. This was enough to get him drunk. The perfume, her soap, the scent that could only be her…. Biting down on the flesh in a nip to make her yelp.

“Too good. Too fucking good for me, and yet…. You let me do such filthy things to you. I wonder what everyone would think if they knew how eager you were to get my cock in your mouth. So quickly after we agreed I’d be your boyfriend… taunting me. Almost crying because I didn’t give you my cum. And now? Now you want it dripping down your thighs.”

There was a metallic slice in the air, Bunny stiffening as she felt cool metal brush her chest. The flag of his pocket knife. “If they knew you shivered in anticipation while having a knife held to you. You know how nasty you’ve got to be, darling?” He laughed, the heat of it making her shiver again. “Oh, that’s why you’re so perfect for me, little Bunny.”

She gasped as he sliced through the upper part of her top in a swift motion, using his hands to rip the rest off. “But what good is having a beautiful slut at my beck and call if she’s clothed?”

The anticipation was killing her, all her senses heightened. She’d been waiting for him to bring the knife out again, but the unexpected action had her feeling warm. There was something that washed over her, a feeling reminiscent of embarrassment but was much more pleasurable. Sitting there exposed to him, clothes cut, unable to move her hands. The danger of it all was too appealing, Harry played the part well. Though, he wasn’t playing at all.

Harry noticed her breathing pick up, the way her chest was heaving made his cock stir in his jeans. He let the blade of the knife trace down her denim-clad leg, teasing her with the sensation before the tip met the zipper. “I bet you’re soaked under these, my perfect whore. Always ready for me to stuff you.” He was debating cutting the jeans off of her but decided against it, using one hand to unbutton them and pull them down.

Harry wasted no time in slicing her panties off, a dark laugh leaving his lips at her gasp. “Always liked that move, hm? Filthy slut. Open.” He commanded, waiting for her jaw to drop down before stuffing her mouth full of her panties. “Don’t trust you to stay quiet so I think this will do.”

It was degrading, absolutely, but there was just something about the way Harry could make it feel good. The humiliation swam in her stomach pooling down to her cunt, the damp spot on the fabric pressed against her tongue.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” He ran the cold metal over her thighs, over her mound ever so carefully to get it wet before moving in front of her. His eyes were dark, tongue licking up the flat of the blade and groaning at the taste. “Yeah. You can see why I love being parked right between these gorgeous thighs. If you weren’t such a baby, you’d stop complaining about being over-sensitive and let me lick you up. But…” he tossed the knife to the side. “I think….” His hand pushed her to fall on the bed. “It’s time for a proper taste. I’ve got you gagged, bound… I can lick you up, and prepare you for my cock. How does that sound?” He turned his back towards her to the drawer beside the bed, where he had left the cleaned and unpackaged toys. “Oh, that’s right. Y’can’t reply.” The snarky reply somehow left her feeling a bit more hot. How did he manage that?

“Gonna make you so sensitive, and you’re just going to lay there and take it. You loved being my fucktoy last time, so let’s see.” Standing between her legs, he tugged her by the ankles toward the end of the bed while he ignored her muffled squeak.  “Three kicks with your foot if it’s too much. Otherwise? Don’t complain.” Establishing a safe system was imperative regardless of verbal ability.

Bunny felt her cunt throbbing but resisted the urge to squeeze her thighs together. It wouldn’t do her any good, not when Harry was standing there looking down at her cunt as if it was his first and last meal all at once. He took his sweet time, picking up one of her legs so he could kiss and bite his way down to her core.  He loved the way she reacted to him, her sensitivity made him crave her that much more. Her scent had him forgetting what he had initially planned to do, eyes zeroing in on her puffy slick folds. Harry’s hands gripped around her thighs, lowering himself till he was kneeling on the floor.

With the panties gagging her, Bunny assumed her moans would be silenced. Instead, she was met with muffled sounds that only elevated the feeling of Harry’s tongue lapping her up. It was an erotic blend, the sound of slurping and sucking making her legs twitch. He was so good at this. Creating environments built to break her down little by little.

He was relentless.

Of course that was a given, but it seemed he was even more desperate tonight to get her, to get every bit of her slick on his tongue and she couldn’t keep quiet, even with her gag. He wasn’t holding back, licking up from her entrance to her clit before spitting back down and using his hand to gently smack over her.

When she squealed, Harry’s wet mouth grinned, filthy promise written in his eyes as he smacked harder over her clit and watched her hips buck up. “Slut for pain. Like when I do that to you?” He shook his head, picking up the toy and dragging up her wet folds. “I hope that extends to some overstimulation. I want you to cry for me today. Good tears. Tears only I can ever get out of you.”

Turning it on he felt her jump, the lower setting making her squirm as he situated it right on her clit whilst his finger slipped into her cunt. “Drooling little hole you’ve got… you’re lucky you love this so much. It’s going to make it far easier for us when I’m fucking you.”

The woman’s breathing was staggered, her stomach clenching at the tension he was creating. It hurt so good, the burn paired with a deep lull of pleasure creeping throughout her body. The gentle vibration of the toy was tormenting her, if only he had turned it up even just one degree she swore it wouldn’t be as agonizing as this.

Whimpers managed to push through the fabric lodged in her mouth, her thighs twitching in his grasp. She was trying her best not to squirm, breathing heavily through her nose as she mentally coached herself through the pleasure. Her cunt squeezed around his fingers, desperate to be filled by his cock once again. He said he was being mean, there would be no point begging. She did tell him he could do what he wanted. Bunny would be good.

“What a perfect fucking whore, I can feel you squeezing me. Want more?” Harry mocked, rubbing the pads of his fingers over her precious g-spot. He was slow with the movements, coaxing more of those delicious little moans out of her. “Should’ve known you could take it— don’t you dare cum before I say so.” He didn’t want to stop touching her, he intended to flood her senses for a good while before giving her her first of many orgasms.

Harry clicked the toy up a speed, chuckling darkly at the way her body jolted. “So sensitive, so greedy…” He just about growled into her thigh, teeth sinking into the skin enough to satisfy him. The man could tell she was gone, but he didn’t want to stop it. Not when she was taking it so well, not when she so clearly wanted more.

She yelped against the fabric, body jerking as his teeth marked her. He hadn’t been joking when he had said he was going to go for it. While he’s bitten her before, this one was a claiming one. Dark and hard and a promise of more, making her drip for him.

“So-ee.” The poor attempt of ‘Sorry’ was muffled through a gag, apologizing from her jolt. His eyes glazed up at her, shaking his head but continuing his slight torture.

Harry loved to see her wet like this. To see the wet juices of her cunt coat his fingers and drip down her folds, all the way down to her ass. Soon enough it would mark the bedcover, and he couldn’t wait for that. His cock was aching, pulsing in his briefs but he was satisfying a different urge.

“Sorry? Mm… Slutty thing is sorry she can’t take a bite. What are we going to do with you?” Adding another finger, her legs twitched as her toes curled, the sloshing, wet sound of them fucking into her the music he needed to hear to his ears. “Don’t fucking cum.” He warned, pressing the vibrator harder against her clit. “Don’t do it. I know you’ve got a filthy set of holes back here, but have some self control.” He could feel it, the beginnings of clenches around his fingers and her thighs trembling as she began to protest behind the gag.

She almost did it. The pain had buzzed on to pleasure as his joined fingers curled right against a spot that had her stomach jumping, but he could tell. Immediately, her muddled moans were disrupted by a screech. His hand yanked away the toy, his fingers pulling out and the wet palm of his hand coming rough roughly onto her cunt.

“What did I say? Did I not just fucking tell you to hold it? You were going to do it anyway.” Again, his hand came down right over her clit, the sharp sting making her writhe under him.  Again. And again. The stringing of slaps to her most intimate area hurt, but they felt good. So good, and Bunny could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

With a glare, Harry’s fingers pulled her spit soaked panties from her mouth and held her jaw roughly, speaking to her through a cruel smile. “Does it hurt too bad?” He cooed, shaking her head back and forth before he narrowed his eyes. “Or…Did you like that? Did my pretty little pain slut like having her cunt smacked around?” He asked, wiping his wet fingers on her cheek. Y/N was stupified, eyes wide and wet and mouth open as she tried to find the words. “Yes or no, Bunny. Use those words. Or did Daddy take them away from you so quickly?”

“Yes, I liked it, Daddy.” Bunny could feel her face heating up as she breathed out her answer. Admitting it to him always made her feel so shy, even more so than being spread out like this. Her body belonged to him, she never wanted to hide from him after the first time. But saying she liked his twisted methods of domination was another story.  She used all the strength she had to hold herself up, using this opportunity to take in his expression. His face was wet—covered in her arousal, and his eyes were dark with pure lust. Primal desire, he couldn’t help himself. Every bit of her struggle to manage the immense pleasure sent him further into the headspace. He swore he could swallow her whole if she’d let him.

“Yeah? You like it, gorgeous?” Harry cooed, noticing the floaty look in her eyes. She was just as far gone as he was, he was glad she had convinced him to give in. His perfect girl, she really could take it.

“I do... I do, I love it.” She mewled, seeking his approval as she looked at him with glassy eyes and pouty lips. “Love e-everything you do to me. I want to make you happy.”

Harry felt that tiny bit of softness leak through the primitive layer, making him pet over her face softly before it melted away. She was dazed, looking like a baby deer- his helpless little Bunny. “I know you do. I could do anything I wanted and you’d thank me for it.” He sighed, shaking his head before pressing his lips to hers. A hint of softness before he had her.

“I could take this little toy….” He took the vibrator, switching it back on to a higher setting and placing it on her clit as he loomed over her shivering body, her mouth open and wet as she took uneven inhales. “And I could tape it to you. I could keep this little thing connected to your poor little clit and make you cum over and over for me until you can’t take it. And you’d thank me.”

A tear dripped down her cheek as she tried to hold back, the orgasm quickly rising as he had found the perfect spot, the perfect pace. “H-sir, sir- please let me cum, please, please, please.” She wrung her hands in the belt, the bite of the leather making her moan. “I can’t hold it, I can’t hold it, I wanna be good-“

And then, it was gone. A sob left her throat, frustration raising as Harry’s smirking face was her only vision.

“That was a cute beg. I liked it.” His smile resembled a wolf. Hunting her down, playing with his food. “Let’s try it again.”

Edging.

“No, no, no— Please!” Bunny cried, thrashing slightly in disapproval. “Please, please, please, please—“

Smack.

“Quiet,” Harry commanded, his voice stern as his hand roughly gripped her face. With furrowed brows he stared down at her, daring her to look away. “You were doing so well, what happened?” He kissed his teeth, dropping her from his grip. “If you want to cum you have to listen to me, brat.” He was testing his own patience. Hearing her beg was a weakness of his, but he wanted to prove a point.

Bunny simply nodded, bottom lip quivering for a moment. She wanted to cum so bad she could cry, the smack he placed across her cheek only fueling the fire in her core. “I’m sorry, sir.” She squeaked, blinking away her needy tears in hopes that he would touch her.

“Can I have a kiss? Please.” Her voice changed momentarily, needing him to ground her and remind her that she was doing well despite his harshness.

It was a moment of clarity, her shaky voice bleeding into a slightly unsure tone that had him softening up nearly immediately. It was good to know that his body truly could tell a difference. His fingers stroked her cheek where he had smacked, eyes gentle as he tipped her chin up and pressed their lips together for a loving kiss. “Doing so well for me. Can’t believe how well you’re taking this.” He murmured against her lips. “You’re okay?” The last thing he wanted to do was upset her seriously.

Thankfully she nodded, puckering her lips for a few more kisses which he readily gave to her before he could sense her melting back into position. “There. Good girl. Just tell me if you need me to stop, you know the safe word.” He gently tapped the tip of her nose before he let that dark mask take back over.

She was in awe of how he could do it. How he could be so loving and tender to her and then call her all the names in the book- and even more so because she loved it. Ate up every single piece of it

Without a word, he slipped his hand under her jaw to keep her eyes on him while the other flipped the vibrator back on. “You can cum this time. Then I think you’ll be nice and open for my dick. I want to see you be the pretty, needy little brat. Talk to me. Because as soon as I’m inside you, you’re not going to be able to.” He nudged their noses together. “Because you get so dumb on my cock. I love every bit of it. But someone’s got to remind you who you belong to.”

She belonged to him.

Everyone in this hotel would know that by the end of the night, Harry would make sure of it. Granting her permission to make noise, he knew there was no reason for her to hold back. He himself was tired of the muffled sounds, he wanted to hear her loud and clear.

“Thank you, sir, I-aH” Bunny’s breath hitched, relaxing into the feeling with a low whine. He had started it off deliciously slow again, though the pain from his previous torment had built up. She was sensitive.

“Just wanna cum, wanna show you how good you make me feel.” Bunny’s hands instinctually went to cup her tits but forgot about her bound wrists. She cursed him in her head, quickly losing herself in the pleasure as he turned the toy up another speed.

“Please slap my tits, want you to bite me again— I wanna cum for you over and over and over like you said, sir.” She was gone, far gone.  “I’m your good girl, I promise.”

Harry loved this. He loved every bit of it.

This woman called to every single part of him, making him feel slightly feral as she spoke. This was his best friend’s little sister, the woman he was supposed to protect, and yet she was here telling him to slap her tits, bite her, to make her cum. It was wrong in many senses of the word but Harry had found that part of that made it feel even better.

He growled under his breath, doing exactly as he wanted. “That’s what I wanted.” He chuckled, slapping her bare breast before pinching her nipple. The noise that came from her swollen mouth was unlike what he’d heard before, but it continued when he pulled on it. It was visible in her face, she was wrecked already and he wanted to get her there. Make her babble again, her shaking legs struggling to stay open as he leaned down to bite right on the swell of her breast.

Bunny let out another desperate mewl, the bite hurting so fucking good she was close to seeing stars. “Please, please, I’m a good girl. I’m a good girl for you, I’m yours, keep biting me- M’gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna….” Her frantic squeaks were paired with a dark noise from Harry’s throat, moving to her neck to bite down on the soft curve of her shoulder. As soon as his teeth dug in, she lost it.

The vibrations, the pain of them, his fingers twisting and pinching her breast, the perfect mixture to make her cum. A wail left her plushy mouth as Harry rutted slightly against her thigh, pulling his teeth away to watch her face scrunch in pleasure.

She could feel pins and needles in her legs, crying as she came. The work up to the orgasm, the restraint, his closeness, she was greedy and got one of her wishes.

Bunny sighed in satisfaction, her body convulsing as she rode out the orgasm. “Fuck! Ah-“ She hissed, finally feeling the buzzing of the vibrator on her clit. It seemed that Harry wasn’t satisfied with just the one. “It hurts, Daddy.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him to turn it off though.

“Shh, give it a few moments, pet…” Harry mumbled against her skin, knowing if she waited long enough the pain would turn to pleasure. It took a few more moments and whines from her till he felt her hips buck up against the toy. “That’s it, give me another one like the greedy little whore you are.” He let his mouth move back down to her chest, sucking at the skin before finding another perfect patch to bite.

Her skin was so warm and smooth against him, though he was starting to get annoyed at the layers he still had on. He hadn’t even bothered to rid himself of his clothes, getting carried away in the moment. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of her either.

“Can I? Fuck— can I cum again? It feels so good, can I, can I, can I—“ Bunny’s breathing was picking up again, eyes squeezing shut as if that would stop the quickly building climax from ripping through her. “I can’t hold it, please say yes, please—”

Pulling off her nipple, his hand smacked against her breast before he barked out the order.

“Cum.”

She felt like she wasn’t in her own body, on her way out. Halfway in. She was hot, sweat on her brow as she shuddered under him. It was fuzzy, her eyes clenching shut as her mouth opened in a silent screech.

Harry loved watching her cum. How her body arched, how she shook, her jaw clenching and her chest heaving. He was going to make sure he could keep this vision exclusively his for the rest of his life.

“That’s it, that’s my fucking girl.” He praised, laughing in disbelief as he felt her gush a little on his hand that held the toy. Messy, wet, everything he had been going for. He knew when it was starting to get too much, her squirm and whine signaling him for the right moment to stop. Pulling it off, he tossed it to the side and pressed their lips together, peppering filthy praises between the kisses.

“My fucking girl. So pretty when you cum for me. You drive me crazy. I’m so obsessed with you.” He panted, pulling back and taking her bound hands, and untying the belt off of her wrists.  They looked a little irritated, making him take a second to stroke over them and bring them together to kiss the irritated skin. “M’not sorry, precious. You loved it.”

He was quick to dispose of the rest of his clothes, kicking them whenever they landed. He just wanted her. She was boneless on the bed, his gorgeous woman, panting as she looked at him with wet cheeks and clenched thighs he had to pry back open.

“C’mon,Baby. Up.” He lifted her towards the top of the bed. settling her onto the pillows, her hair haloed across the linen pillowcases, her bitten lips plump and dark, cheeks wet with her tears from the pleasure. His angelic picture with a frame sent from hell.

“You can touch me now, but I need to be inside of you.”

“I want you,“ Bunny’s hands immediately flew up to his hair, tugging at the roots with vigor. She had been itching to do it since the minute his tongue swiped over her clit, her grip so tight she swore her knuckles were white. “Inside. Right now.” She was still breathless, lifting her head to connect their lips once again.

She loved to kiss him. She would be happy just kissing him forever, but why would she want to when he could fuck her like this? “You’re so hot,” She whined against him, “please put your cock in me. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Bunny let one of her hands trail down his back, nails digging into the skin to inflict a bit of pain and emphasize her words. She needed his cock. “Call me greedy, I don’t care, I want it so bad— I wanna make a mess all over you. Want to feel you,” She trailed off, her eyes glazed over with desire. Her hand moved to grab his, placing it over the softest part of her belly. “Here.”

He had definitely broken her a bit. That shy, soft spoken spirit with a hint of tease had gone full blown need, showing her hand as she broke,  egging him for it. Whining. She liked to be manhandled, she liked how regardless of his rough actions he took time to praise and check in and it drove her mad.

His hand flexed on her stomach, a fire flaring through his body.  His Bunny begging him for it, not a hint of hesitation- it did something for him. A new wick lit inside, engulfing the rest of him in flames.  It triggered a thought. One that would have repulsed him had it been quite literally anyone else…but the girl under him had a way of making him completely and utterly ruin any walls he had up. Rubble on the pavement.

He obliged, settling between her legs and brushing the dripping, ruddy tip of his engorged cock through her slick and puffy lips. It was so easy to get wet enough, wasting little time as he began to push in.

“Then take it.” He whispered, sliding his hand under her neck to hold her there. Right at the nape, eyes watching as hers watered at the stretch. “You want me in your belly, baby? Want to be full of me?” Lips brushed hers. “You are such a needy, desperate little bitch. Y’know that? I adore every part of it. Makes me even more glad that you’re mine… but…” he hissed as she welcomed him in, finding his home deep seated in her cunt with his balls up against her ass. “When you do things like that, makes me want to breed you.” Their mingled breathing paused as Bunny’s caught in her throat. “Ought t’knock you up. Keep you full….. because you’re mine. You know it… but the world should know too, shouldn’t it? Should know *exactly* who you belong to.”

Y/N whined, wide eyed looking at him as her body reacted to the ultra possessive claim. He’s always been a domineering man, but something about such a permanent claim had them both hot. It would be the worst timing, but her legs tightened around him to keep him close.

“Please.” The bleated word hit his lips. “I- yes. Yes. I want it, I want you in my belly. Please do it.”

Harry snickered at her pleading, feeling his cock grow impossibly heavy inside her. She was begging for his load, to have his child. Part of him knew she was just spacey, but he decided he’d let himself imagine she truly meant it for the moment. Would hurt right?

“Asking so nicely, like a good little slut.” He purred, the same feral smile returning to his face. His hips pulled back only to snap back inside her with a guttural moan leaving his throat. “Fucking love your cunt,” He set a slow pace for himself, wanting to meld his cock into every part of her walls. “Think I could spend days inside of you and still never get enough…. And you’re squeezing me so tight, you still aren’t satisfied?”

“No, too slow.” Bunny breathed, at her wit's end. Feeling full of him wasn’t cutting it in this state, she was feigning. Her hips bucked up on her own, her back arching to lean further into him. Her bratty self wasn’t taking too well to this position. He was still going easy on her. “Don’t tease me anymore, know you want to fuck me stupid. Make me hurt. Show me how you want it.”

What she hadn’t expected, though, was the sting in her scalp as he gripped her hair and kept her face still as he filled her to the brim, stopping the thrusts.

No. No, she needed more.

“I think you forget who’s in charge here.” He snarled. “No matter how good your cunt is, I’m the one who owns it. Making demands?” He laughed through his nose. “I’ll do as I damn well please.” His cock pulled back out to the tip before slamming back in, making the bed lurch and hit the wall.

She swore she saw stars, a scream leaving her lips as he repeated it again. Deep, so fucking deep that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“Where did my good whore go? I love that beg but-“ he gave another devastating thrust, making her pant, nails digging into his back roughly. “You turned into a brat. Lucky I need to empty my balls and you’ve got a perfect hole for it, or I’d take it away from you.”

Her grip was strong enough to break skin, nails clawing down the length of his back with primal need.

Harry groaned at the feeling, the burn adding to his arousal. He liked the pain she was inflicting upon him but needed to be closer, deeper.

Without much of a warning, he pulled out and flipped her around, slamming back into her with such force the bed frame smacked against the wall again.

“No more words, Princess? Already gone dumb on my cock?” Harry couldn’t stop his hips from pistoning in and out of her with force. The feeling of her milking him was far too good, he’d teased himself enough and it was time to give in. “Take it. Every, last, bit.” His voice grew dark, pushing himself up off of her so he could take in his view.

Beautiful supple skin ready to be marked in any way he pleased. Her ass was something he couldn’t resist. “Wanted to plug you up today, make you squirm till you begged for me to fill both of your holes.” Thwack. Harry paused to admire the trace left over on her skin. “I couldn’t wait. I knew you couldn’t either— filthy little slut. You’re dripping f’me.” He smirked, placing another heavy handed smack on the opposite cheek.

She didn’t know how good it would feel.

There had been a feeling. With how he had smacked her before, how he had held her a bit rough. She knew that she liked pain and liked to see him in a darker, dominant headspace- but she hadn’t expected to feel the stinging prickles on her cheek and have it travel down to her cunt, showing clearly now as he fucked into her. His smacks had made her moan, the garbled noise fueling him further. His fingers brushed over her hot skin gently and massaged the flesh as his cock pounded into her. A contrast to the heavy thrusts stealing her breath and the slamming of the headboard into the wall behind them.

“Fu-uck. I can’t- I….” She choked on her words as he shifted, one leg over her hip while he stayed between his thighs with the other one. Her ass was spread open with his hand, thumb pressing into her hole as she squealed and thrashed under him.

It was too much. Both her holes being filled, the jostling of her body, being tossed around with her face in the sheets, she came without permission. Screaming muffled into the fabric as her face was stained with sweat and tears, noises punched out of her as he didn’t let up.

If anything? It spurred him on.

The steady sound of the headboard smacking against the wall kept the two of them anchored in reality. They paid no mind to the slow cracking in the bed frame, instead, Harry found himself sinking deeper into a new headspace.

“Greedy girl,“ He growled lowly, his voice settling in the thick air of the room. The smell of sin was enough for him to feel high. “Can’t wait for permission?” Another smack reverberated throughout the room. “You‘ll give me another.” He demanded.

Bunny opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Unable to form a single sentence, she screamed while writhing beneath him. Everything felt fuzzy, her vision blurry, her body completely open. His words made her cunt clench, surprising herself with how much she could take. Her body was begging for more. Her head turned so she could catch her breath, attempting to stabilize herself with her grip on the sheets and mattress. It was no use.

“Knew you’d shut up.” Harry was feral. “Keep screaming, slut. This is exactly what you wanted wasn’t it?”

It was, it was exactly what the both of them wanted- and they wouldn’t be stopping.

Not until it was 3 in the morning, the bed had broken, and their muscles ached.

And a hole in the wall from the bed frame- but that would be a problem for when they woke up. So would Harry’s raised and bleeding scratch marks, the bruising on Y/N’s hips and wrists, the lack of voice she was going to have from screaming when he hit it just right- but that was tomorrow’s problem. Right now, it was time to relish in their unfiltered, unadulterated passion.

Who knew when they’d get this opportunity again?

[caedmonofwhitby]

Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop's Ground, 1823 (detail)

John Constable (1776-1837)

Oil on canvas

Victoria and Albert Museum.

Dr John Fisher, Bishop of Salisbury and Constable's friend, commissioned this painting in 1820. The figures at the gate are the bishop and his wife Dorothea, or one of their daughters. Constable added a dark cloud to bring contrast and a sense of depth, but Fisher did not like it. This painting entered the South Kensington Museum collection (now the Victoria and Albert Museum) from the British manufacturer John Sheepshanks, one of the art collectors who championed Constable's posthumous reputation.

[threadtalk]

Muslin, that diaphanous cotton of India, is steeped in a bleak history of colonialism, Imperialism, and human atrocity. That's a way to start a Monday, isn't it? But that's the thing about fashion history.

Looking at a gown like this, which dates from the late 1840s, it's easy to get lost in the beauty: the pattern, the layers, the absolute Romantic gorgeousness.

It is, undoubtedly, a work of art, making use of that thin, breathable fabric, with delicate ruching, a genius use of pattern, and a shape that's reminiscent of the 18th century.

The demand for muslin fabric was immense, bolstered by the impact of the British East India Company, beginning in the 18th century. The finest muslins were from the Dhaka region and 2000 thread count *made by hand*. Starting with Marie Antoinette and her famous chemise a la reine, the craze for muslin among the elites of Europe came at a devastating cost--eventually contributing to the loss of the art and the death of millions of people in the regions.

Because once Europeans figured out how to manufacture muslin on their own (as they did with silk, paisley, pashminas, etc) they stopped all trade with India.

And of course, the great irony is that Europeans didn't just take the art and design, but directly appropriated patterns, styles, and more. There's a reason "question beauty relentlessly" is the Thread Talk motto. Lots more info on the subject over at my blog.

© Victoria and Albert Museum, London

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … January 8

or

In Memoriam of Cecchino Bracci - Hockney, David. Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza

1544 – Italy: Cecchino de Bracci, a teenage pupil of Michelangelo (and nephew and lover of Luigi del Riccio) dies. His death inspires Michelangelo to write 48 funeral epigrams.

1860 – The American author and art collector Edward Perry Warren , better known as Ned, was born on this date (d.1928). Independently wealthy, he left his native America and spent most of his life in England with his lover of 50 years, John Marshall, who he had met at Oxford in 1884 and who he called "Puppy." The two set up house together at Lewes House, a large residence in Lewes, East Sussex where they became the centre of a circle of like-minded men interested in art and antiquities. Under the pseudonym "Arthur Lyon Raile," he wrote a three-volume 60,000-word Defence of Uranian Love. He also wrote poetry and novels on the same subject, notably Itamos: A Volume of Poems, and A Tale of Pausanian Love, about homosexuality at Oxford.

Front and rear views

Warren is perhaps best known today as the purchaser of the Roman silver drinking vessel known as the Warren Cup, which he did not attempt to sell during his lifetime, because of its explicit depiction of homoerotic scenes; both sides show males making love. The front depicts a bearded man having anal sex with a beardless youth while a Peeping Tom looks on; the reverse shows a beardless man having anal sex with a young boy. It is now in the British Museum. The pieces he and Marshall collected during their tours of Italy and Greece later formed the bases of the classical collections of the Boston Museum, where his brother chaired the board of trustees, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

In 1900 Edward commissioned from Auguste Rodin a version of his "The Kiss", and he particularly specified that the male genitals should be visible and pronounced. Perhaps disappointed that the very heterosexual Rodin had modeled a vague sausage and not the distinct dick required, Warren offered the sculpture as a loan to the Town of Lewes but such a fleshy monument was not considered suitable for public display (it was rejected as "too big and too nude") and it stood in Warren's coach house until his death in 1928. It is now in London's Tate Gallery.

Ned and John lived together at Lewes House in East Sussex, for a time with John’s wife, Mary. On February 15, 1928, John retired for the evening, saying that he was not feeling well. Ned gave him a kiss and joined him in bed, but John died during the night. Marshall took his last breath while Ned sat at his bedside. Servants reported that Ned's final words to the dying man were, “Goodbye, Puppy." Warren died less than one year later. Mary, John and Ned were buried in the non-Catholic cemetery in Bagni di Lucca, Italy, a town known as a spa in Etruscan and Roman times.

1864 – Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence and Avondale (Albert Victor Christian Edward); (d.1892), was the eldest son of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII), and the grandson of the reigning British monarch, Queen Victoria. From the time of his birth, he was second in the line of succession to the British throne, but never became king: he died before his father and his grandmother, the Queen.

Albert Victor was known to his family, and many later biographers, as "Eddy". When young, he travelled the world extensively as a naval cadet, and as an adult he joined the British Army, but did not undertake any active military duties. After two unsuccessful courtships, he was engaged to be married to Princess Mary of Teck in late 1891. A few weeks later, he died during an influenza pandemic. Mary later married his younger brother Prince George, who became King George V in 1910.

Albert Victor's intellect, sexuality and mental health have been the subject of much speculation. Rumours linked him with the Cleveland Street scandal, which involved a homosexual brothel, but there is no conclusive evidence verifying or disproving the rumours or his sexual orientation. Some authors have argued that he was the serial killer known as Jack the Ripper, but contemporary documents show that Albert Victor could not have been in London at the time of the murders, and the claim is widely dismissed.

In July 1889, the Metropolitan Police uncovered a male brothel operated by Charles Hammond in London's Cleveland Street. Under police interrogation, the male prostitutes and pimps revealed the names of their clients, who included Lord Arthur Somerset, an Extra Equerry to the Prince of Wales. At the time, all homosexual acts between men were illegal, and the clients faced social ostracism, prosecution, and at worst, two years' imprisonment with hard labour.

The resultant Cleveland Street scandal implicated other high-ranking figures in British society, and rumours swept upper-class London of the involvement of a member of the royal family, namely Prince Albert Victor. Though none of the male prostitutes in the brothel had ever named Eddy as a client, there was a great deal of talk that seemed to suggest his frequent presence there. It is suggested that Somerset's solicitor, Arthur Newton, fabricated and spread the rumours to take the heat off his client. Letters exchanged between the Treasury Solicitor, Sir Augustus Stephenson, and his assistant, Hamilton Cuffe, make coded reference to Newton's threats to implicate Albert Victor.

The Prince of Wales intervened in the investigation; no clients were ever prosecuted and nothing against Albert Victor was proven. Although there is no conclusive evidence for or against his involvement, or that he ever visited a homosexual club or brothel, the rumours and cover-up have led some biographers to speculate that he did visit Cleveland Street, and that he was "possibly bisexual, probably homosexual". This is contested by other commentators, one of whom refers to him as "ardently heterosexual" and his involvement in the rumours as "somewhat unfair".

1910 – (Richard) Dick Cromwell was an American actor, born LeRoy Melvin Radabaugh (d.1960). His family and friends called him Roy, though he was also professionally known and signed autographs as Dick Cromwell.

Cromwell was best known for his work in Jezebel (1938) with Bette Davis and Henry Fonda and in The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (1935) where he shared top billing with Gary Cooper and Franchot Tone. The Lives of a Bengal Lancer earned Paramount Studios a nomination for Best Picture in 1935, though Mutiny on the Bounty instead took the top award at the Oscars that year.

Cromwell was born in Long Beach, California. While helping his young widowed mother to support the family with odd-jobs, Cromwell enrolled as a teenager in the Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles on a scholarship. As Cromwell developed his talents for lifelike mask-making and oil-painting, he curried friendships in the late 1920s with various then-starlets who posed for him and collected his works including Tallulah Bankhead, Joan Crawford, Greta Garbo, Claire Dubrey, Ann Sothern, and even Marie Dressler (whom he would later share top-billing with in 1932's Emma). Other patrons of Cromwell's life masks included Broadway actresses Lilyan Tashman, Katharine Cornell, and Beatrice Lillie.

The young Roy Radabaugh, as he was then known, had dabbled in film extra work on the side. On a whim, friends encouraged Roy to audition in 1930 for the remake of the Richard Barthelmess silent: Tol'able David (1930). Radabaugh won the role over thousands of hopefuls, and in storybook fashion, Harry Cohn gave him his screen name and launched his career. Later, Cohn signed Cromwell to a multi-year contract based on the strength of his performance and success in his first venture at the box-office.

Cromwell appeared in a number of now mostly forgotten movies throughout the 1930s, aside from the aforementioned standout roles. Cromwell did another notable turn as defendant Matt Clay to Henry Fonda's title-performance in Young Mr. Lincoln (1939). He also made occasional appearances on stage.

During the freewheeling heydey of West LA nightlife in the late 30s, Cromwell is said by author Charles Higham to have carried on a sometime, though obviously very discreet, affair with aviator and businessman Howard Hughes.

Cromwell served admirably during the last two years of World War II with the United States Coast Guard, alongside fellow actor and enlistee Cesar Romero.

During this period, popular composer/lyricist Cole Porter rented Cromwell's home in the Hollywood Hills, where Porter worked at length on Panama Hattie. Director James Whale was a personal friend, for whom Cromwell had starred in The Road Back (1937), the ill-fated sequel to All Quiet on the Western Front. With the war's end, and upon returning to California from the Pacific after nearly three years of service with the Coast Guard, Cromwell continued his foray into acting in local theatre productions and Summer Stock in the East.

Cromwell was a fixture on the Hollywood social scene. Like many young, good-looking male screen favorites of the era, Cromwell experimented with the gay lifestyle. According to the book Cut! Hollywood Murders, Accidents and Other Tragedies, Cromwell was a regular at George Cukor's notorious 'boys nights'. Whatever his true sexual preference, Cromwell felt compelled to settle down for awhile, at least publically, and he got married.

Cromwell was married once, briefly from 1945-1946, to the British-born actress Angela Lansbury, when she was 19 and Cromwell was 35. It was nearly 50 years before Lansbury would candidly discuss her first marriage to Cromwell, and its demise due to Cromwell's bisexuality (though other sources list him as being gay).

Cromwell's break from films due to his stint in the Service meant that he was not much in demand after the War's end. Cromwell finally retired from films after his comeback fizzled: his last role was in a noir flick of 1948, entitled Bungalow 13. All told, Cromwell's film career spanned 39 films.

In the 1950s, Cromwell went back to his given name and studied ceramics. He built a pottery studio at his home. There, Radabaugh successfully designed coveted decorative tiles for himself and for his industry-friends. Radabaugh's original tiles as well as his large decorative art deco-style wall paintings of Adam and Eve can still be seen today in the mezzanine off the balcony of the restored Pantages Theatre in Hollywood, which is today considered a noted architectural landmark.

In July of 1960, Cromwell planned another comeback of sorts. Unfortunately, he fell ill and he died on October 11, 1960 in Hollywood of complications from liver cancer. He was just 50 years old.

1926 – Kerwin Mathews (d.2007) was a virile, dashing actor who will be remembered for his portrayals of such fantasy heroes as Gulliver and Jack the Giant Killer, and in particular for his performance in The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad (1958), which has achieved cult status due to its thrilling score by Bernard Herrmann and the sensational stop-motion effects achieved by the master animator Ray Harryhausen. The climactic battle between Mathews as Sinbad and a sword-fighting skeleton has become one of the iconic sequences in fantasy cinema.

Born in Seattle in 1926, Mathews was raised by his mother in Wisconsin, after his parents' marriage broke up. At Beloit College, Wisconsin, which was noted for its drama programme, he shone at acting, but after graduation he spent several years teaching English before moving to Hollywood, encouraged by friends who told him he had the looks and talent to succeed in motion pictures. While appearing at the Pasadena Playhouse, Mathews was spotted by an agent, who arranged for him to meet Harry Cohn, head of Columbia Pictures.

He made his screen début in the tense thriller Five Against the House (1955), as one of five students who plan a casino robbery for fun, but are then persuaded to carry it out. Guy Madison and Kim Novak were top-billed. His impressive showing won him a starring role in The Garment Jungle (1957).

His most famous role was in The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, as the intrepid adventurer seeking the egg of a roc (a giant two-headed bird) that will restore his miniaturised sweetheart. It was ultimately hailed as one of the best fantasy films since King Kong. It was one of the top moneymakers of 1958, and made another $6m when reissued in 1968.

He returned to fantasy with another collaboration with Harryhausen and Herrmann, The Three Worlds of Gulliver (1960), a pleasing diversion, though it diluted some of Swift's satire by concentrating on the Brobdingnagians and Lilliputians, and adding a romantic partner for Gulliver.

During this period, the height of his fame, Mathews rarely gave interviews, possibly because he did not want to talk about his private life, for it was a time when action heroes could not admit to being gay. In 1961 he met Tom Nicoll, a British display manager for Harvey Nichols, who was to be his life partner for the next 46 years until his death.

The same year, Mathews played a missionary in The Devil at 4 O'Clock, a tale of rescue work during a volcanic eruption that proved heavy going, despite a cast headed by Spencer Tracy and Frank Sinatra.

For the next few years, Mathews worked mainly in Europe or on television. His last feature film was the horror spoof Nightmare in Blood (1976), in which a horror star attending a convention turns out to be a real vampire.

In 1978 he retired from acting and moved to San Francisco, where he became an antique dealer. In latter years he enjoyed answering fan mail, which arrived consistently, and he attended film conventions. 'I have absolutely no regrets about my acting career,' he said. 'On balance, I think it was certainly worthwhile for me to have temporarily left the real world and become an actor.'

He died in San Francisco on July 5, 2007 at the age of 81.

Graham Chapman as King Arthur

1941 – Graham Chapman, English comedian, actor, writer, physician and one of the six members of the Monty Python comedy troupe. (d.1989) He was also the lead actor in their two narrative films, playing King Arthur in Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the title character in Monty Python's Life of Brian.

Chapman kept his sexuality secret until the mid 1970s when he famously came out on a chat show hosted by British jazz musician George Melly, thus becoming one of the first celebrities to do so. Several days later, he came out to a group of friends at a party held at his home in Belsize Park where he officially introduced them to his partner, David Sherlock, whom he had met in Ibiza in 1966, and subsequently raised their son, John Tomiczek, together.

After Chapman made his sexuality public, a member of the television audience wrote to the Pythons to complain that she had heard a member of the team was Gay, and included in the letter a Biblical passage calling for all homosexuals to be stoned to death. Already aware of his sexual orientation, Eric Idle replied, "We've found out who he was and we've taken him out and stoned him."

Chapman was a vocal spokesman for Gay rights, and in 1972 he lent his support to the fledgling newspaper Gay News, which publicly acknowledged his financial and editorial support by listing him as one of its `special friends.' Among Chapman's closest friends were Keith Moon of The Who, singer Harry Nilsson, and Beatle Ringo Starr.

Asteroid 9617 Grahamchapman, named in Chapman's honor, is the first in a series of six asteroids carrying the names of members of the Monty Python comedy troupe.

A memorial service was held for Chapman in December 1989 in the Great Hall at St. Bartholomew's. John Cleese delivered the eulogy; after his initial remarks, he said of his former colleague "... good riddance to him, the freeloading bastard, I hope he fries!", and then pointed out that Chapman would have been disappointed if Cleese passed on the opportunity to scandalize the audience. He explained that Chapman would have been offended had Cleese, the first person to say "shit" on British television, not used Chapman's own funeral as an opportunity to also become the first person at a British memorial service to use the word "fuck". Afterward, Cleese joined Gilliam, Jones, and Palin along with Chapman's other friends as Idle led them in a rendition of "Always look on the Bright Side of Life" from the film Monty Python's Life of Brian.

On December 31, 1999 Chapman's ashes were rumored to have been "blasted into the skies in a rocket.", though in actual fact, Sherlock scattered Chapman's ashes on Snowdon, North Wales on June 18, 2005.

Gilbert and George (R)

1942 – George Passmore is an English artist and is the George in Gilbert and George.

George was born in Plymouth in the United Kingdom, and first studied art at the Dartington Hall College of Art and the Oxford School of Art, then part of the Oxford College of Technology.

George first met Gilbert Proesch on 25th September 1967 while studying sculpture at St Martins School of Art, London. The two claim they came together because George was the only person who could understand Gilbert's rather poor spoken English. In a 2002 interview with the Daily Telegraph they said of their meeting: 'it was love at first sight'. It ihas always been widely assumed that Gilbert & George are lovers, although they always dismiss questions about their sex lives.

They were initially known as performance artists. While still students they made The Singing Sculpture (1970), for which they covered themselves in gold metallic paint, stood on a table, and mimed to a recording of Flanagan and Allen's song Underneath the Arches, sometimes for hours at a time.

A number of works from the early 1970s consisted of the two of them getting drunk, usually on gin. Smashed (1973) was a set of photographs documenting a drunken evening, while Gordon's Makes Us Drunk is a film of the pair drinking Gordon's gin and listening to Elgar and Grieg, occasionally saying 'Gordon's makes us very drunk' or a slight variant thereof. This work, in common with many others by Gilbert and George, is executed in a completely deadpan way.

The matching business suits which they wore for these performances became a sort of uniform for them, and they rarely appear in public unless wearing them. It is also virtually unheard of for one of the pair to be seen without the other. They refuse to disassociate their performances from their everyday lives, insisting that everything they do is art. The pair regard themselves as 'living sculptures'.

The pair are perhaps best known for their large scale photo-montages, such as Cosmological Pictures (1993), frequently tinted in extremely bright colours, backlit, and overlaid with black grids so as to resemble stained glass windows. Gilbert & George themselves often feature in these works, along with flowers and youths, their friends, and echoes of Christian symbolism. The early works in this style were in black and white, with red and yellow touches in later series. Later these works moved to use a range of bold colours. Their 2005 work, Sonofagod, has returned to a more sombre and darker palette.

Some series of their pictures have attracted media attention through including potentially shocking imagery, including nudity, depictions of sexual acts, and bodily fluids, such as faeces, urine and semen. The titling of their series, such as 'Naked Shit Pictures' (1995), has also contributed to media attention. In 1986 Gilbert and George attracted criticism from left-wing commentators for a series of works seemingly glamorising 'rough types' of London's East End such as skinheads, while a picture of an Asian man bore the derogatory title 'Paki'.

They have now settled the question of their relationship. In 2009, Goerge confirmed: "We got married last year at Bow register office. We thought it was probably about time." Yi Gangyu and Keith, their two staff, acted as witnesses. They celebrated afterwards at an Indian restaurant close to their Spitalfields residence.

The notoriously private duo had previously denied their intention to marry, with George saying, "We prefer to live in sin. We are the ideal feminist couple. We have equality in our relationship," when questioned on the subject soon after the Civil Partnership Act came to fruition.

1947 – David Bowie (d.2016), also known as "The Dame," became a leading light in 1970s "glam rock," going on to enjoy international superstar status. Bowie's career had a longevity matched only by such grand old men as the Rolling Stones, and his status as media icon is unmatched by any of his contemporaries. His fiftieth birthday was celebrated to international press and media interest; and in 2000 the BBC released a remastered CD of early studio sessions, which had acquired archival status. In the same year he headlined the equally iconic Glastonbury music festival, taking easy precedence over a younger generation of musicians.

Bowie was born David Robert Jones in the Brixton section of London, the son of a working class family that soon moved to Kent, where he grew up. A fan of Little Richard and jazz, Bowie began playing music at age 12, when his parents bought him a saxophone. He performed in a series of small-time groups while in high school. In 1965 he adopted the name David Bowie to avoid confusion with actor Davy Jones, who later became the "singer" for the made-for-TV band The Monkees.

Bowie's significance for queer culture is deeply contradictory, since his claims to be gay or bisexual were almost certainly never anything other than a publicity-seeking gambit. As a performer Bowie adopted a seemingly endless string of personae, from Major Tom to Ziggy Stardust and the Thin White Duke, and his theatrical stage presence owed much to early collaboration with gay mime artist Lindsay Kemp. Wearing elements of drag and heavy makeup was an intrinsic part of this theatricality, rather than the expression of any inner queerness.

It seems to have been Bowie's then manager, Ken Pitt, who decided to play the gay card. He arranged for Jeremy, the only gay publication in Britain at the time, to publish an article about Bowie in January 1970. This was followed in 1972 by an interview for Melody Maker in which the singer stated, "Yes, of course I'm gay, and always have been." In a 1976 Playboy interview he declared himself bisexual, rather than gay.

Such published statements were combined with such on-stage antics as mock-fellating guitarist Mick Ronson and some very public homoerotic partying with Mick Jagger, Lou Reed, and Iggy Pop. But Bowie's appropriation of a gay persona always existed alongside explicit warnings from the star himself that nothing he said was to be believed.

In 1971 he cautioned, "My songwriting is certainly not an accurate picture of how I think at all." This is just as well since close analysis of Bowie's "gay" lyrics reveals little gay pride. Lady Stardust sings, "songs of darkness and disgrace"; the gay seducer in "The Width of a Circle" has a "tongue swollen with devil's love," and after he "smelt the burning pit of fear" (you don't need to be Freud to spot an anal metaphor here!), the protagonist knows he will never "go down to the Gods again."

Admittedly, however, many listeners have found Bowie's most overly gay song, "John, I'm Only Dancing," reassuring and positive. The song in effect says that it is okay to be whoever you are sexually.

Biographer David Buckley's view of the period is that Bowie, "a taboo-breaker and a dabbler ... mined sexual intrigue for its ability to shock", and that "it is probably true that Bowie was never gay, nor even consistently actively bisexual ... he did, from time to time, experiment, even if only out of a sense of curiosity and a genuine allegiance with the 'transgressional'."

Biographer Christopher Sandford says that according to Mary Finnigan, with whom Bowie had an affair in 1969, the singer and his first wife Angie "lived in a fantasy world ... and they created their bisexual fantasy." Sandford tells how, during the marriage, Bowie "made a positive fetish of repeating the quip that he and his wife had met while 'fucking the same bloke' ... Gay sex was always an anecdotal and laughing matter. That Bowie's actual tastes swung the other way is clear from even a partial tally of his affairs with women."

After his death in 2016, many of his songs reached a new status on Billboard's hit lists, setting new records.

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1950 – Michael Kearns is an American actor, writer, director, teacher, producer, and activist. He is noted for being one of the first openly gay actors, and after an announcement on Entertainment Tonight in 1991, the first openly HIV-positive actor in Hollywood.

Kearns was born in St. Louis, Missouri. As a young man he attended the Goodman School of Drama in Chicago, Illinois, and graduated in 1972 and moved to Los Angeles. For more than 25 years he has been active in the Los Angeles art and politics communities, maintaining a mainstream film and television career with a prolific career in the theatre. His activism is deeply integrated into his theatre works, and he has received grants from the City of Los Angeles Cultural Affairs Department, the Brody Foundation, and PEN Center USA West. In 1984, along with playwright James Carroll Pickett, he co-founded Artists Confronting Aids (ACA), and is a current commissioner of Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG).

Long before coming out of the closet was considered a career move in the entertainment industry, Kearns was the first Hollywood actor on record to come out in the mid-seventies, amidst a shocking amount of homophobia. He subsequently made television history in 1991 by announcing on Entertainment Tonight that he was HIV positive, and then in 1992, as an openly HIV-impacted actor, guesting on a segment of ABC TV's Life Goes On in which he played a character who had the virus. He played Cleve Jones in the HBO adaptation of Randy Shilts' And the Band Played On, appeared in A Mother's Prayer, It's My Party and had a recurring role on Beverly Hills, 90210, a variety of shows that depicted HIV/AIDS.

Kearns is a regular contributor to a number of magazines and newspapers, including the Frontiers, Los Angeles Times, L.A. Parent, IN Magazine, and L.A. Weekly.

He is also author of five theatre books: T-Cells & Sympathy, Acting = Life, The Solo Performer's Journey, Getting Your Solo Act Together, and Life Expectancies. Both T-Cells & Sympathy and Acting = Life were nominated for Lambda Literary Awards.

In 1995, Kearns began proceedings that resulted in his adoption in 1997 of a child. In a March 2013 appearance on The Howard Stern Show on Sirius XM Radio, Kearns admitted to affairs with actor Rock Hudson and Barry Manilow. He presently lives in Los Angeles with his daughter who was born in 1994.

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Charlie Condou (R) with boyfriend Cameron

1973 – Charlie Condou is an actor and writer best known for playing gay sonographer, Marcus Dent, in the long-running TV series, Coronation Street.

He joined Coronation Street in 2007, but left it in 2008. Speaking of his departure Condou said: "I have had a fantastic time in Coronation Street, but as a jobbing actor I believe it is time to move on."

In March 2011 he returned to Coronation Street after an absence of almost three years. He had been promised that Marcus will become a leading character on the show following reports that Coronation Street was to have its first gay wedding in 2011 when Marcus Dent tied the knot with former flame Sean Tully. However the plot failed to materialise reflecting his growing unease with his on-screen pairing with Sean Tully, played by Antony Cotton. Coronation Street sources initially indicated that he would enjoy a much more prominent role in the show, possibly at the expense of Cotton

He is a supporter of Manchester Pride, a Patron of the charities Diversity Role models and the Albert Kennedy Trust, and a volunteer for the Terrence Higgins Trust. He also works closely with Stonewall. In October 2012, he was named in the British gay publication, Attitude, as the magazine's "Man of the Year" at the inaugural Attitude awards and was their cover star for the November issue of the same year.

Condou divides his time between Manchester and Islington where he lives with his Canadian boyfriend, Cameron Loux and his daughter and son, Georgia and Hal, who split their time between Condou and their mother, the actress Catherine Kanter. In a number of interviews, Condou has revealed that the children were conceived through IVF treatment, following Kanter's 40th birthday and relationship breakup. He wrote a column for The Guardian newspaper on the subject of same-sex parenting which was discontinued in July 2012.

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1991 – Tadd Fujikawa is an American professional golfer. Playing as an amateur at age 15, he qualified for the 2006 U.S. Open, the youngest golfer ever to do so. In 2007, at age 16 and 4 days, he made the cut in a PGA Tour event at the Sony Open in Hawaii, the second youngest player to ever achieve that feat. As of April 2013, he is the third youngest. In September 2018, Fujikawa came out as gay, becoming the first male professional golfer to do so.

Fujikawa was born in Honolulu, Hawaii. He was born three months premature and doctors gave him a 50-50 chance of survival. He weighed 1 pound, 15 ounces and was so small that he could fit in his grandfather's palm. His parents worried that he would grow up with a mental disability. Partially as a result of his premature birth, at age 18 Fujikawa stood 5 feet 1 inch (1.55 m) tall. As of March 2007 he stated his weight was 150 pounds.

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Kevin Maxen and bf Nick Garcia

1992 – Kevin Maxen is an American strength and fitness coach who works for the Jacksonville Jaguars, a National League football team. He made history in 2023 by being the first male coach in men's professional sports to come out.

  Before he became a coach, he was also a successful football player for the Western Connecticut State University. As a standout linebacker, he led the team in tackles for two seasons and finished his career with 171 total tackles. During the three seasons and 30 games that he played there, he also became a team captain.

Kevin Maxen was also helped by Carl Nassib, who made history as the first openly gay active NFL player. He now joins the ranks of other coaches like Katie Sowers with the San Francisco 49ers and Curt Miller of the WNBA. But as a male in men's pro sports, he has made history. One hopes others will see his example and find the strength to live their truths.

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2011 – Daniel Hernandez Jr., another gay hero.

We all know the story of the Oliver Sipple, a decorated U.S. Marine and Vietnam War veteran who was thrust into world fame for saving the life of U.S. President Gerald Ford during an assassination attempt by Sara Jane Moore in San Francisco on September 22, 1975. The subsequent public revelation that Sipple was gay turned the news story into a cause célèbre for gay activists.

It happened again:

Daniel Hernandez Jr., a 20-year-old University of Arizona student who'd been working as an intern for Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords for only five days, is being credited with saving the Congresswoman's life after she was shot.

According to the Arizona Republic, Hernandez was standing about 30 feet from Giffords during the "Congress on Your Corner" event outside a Safeway store near Tucson. When the gunshots began, Hernandez ran toward them and began checking the pulses of people who'd been hit. When Hernandez got to Giffords, he used his hand to apply pressure to the entry wound on her forehead. He pulled her into his lap and held her upright so she wouldn't choke on her blood.

Hernandez, who confirmed that he is gay in an interview with Instant Tea , is a member of the City of Tucson Commission on Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Issues. "She's been a great ally to the LGBT community," Hernandez said of Giffords during the brief interview

[royalty-nobility]

The Marriage of Queen Victoria, 10 February 1840

Artist: Sir George Hayter (English, 1792-1871)

Date: 1840-1842

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Royal Collection Trust, United Kingdom

Description

The ceremony took place on the morning of 10 February 1840 in the Chapel Royal, St James's Palace. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert clasp hands at the altar rails, before the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The Queen had been pleased with Sir George Hayter's painting of her Coronation 'which we thought a fine thing', and commissioned him to paint her marriage, in particular the moment of the joining of hands.

Hayter had been to see the Chapel Royal a few days before the event, and sketched hard before and during the ceremony. Preparatory drawings survive in the British Museum. As in his Coronation, Hayter decided to alter dramatically the setting of the ceremony from what it actually looked like. The tall Gothic canopy and the panelling below are invented and only the details of the huge door behind the bridal pair may have been suggested by the much smaller door at the entrance to the Chapel Royal.

Hayter included portraits of 56 of those present at the occasion and sittings took place over the next year. The Queen sat for him in March in her 'Bridal dress, veil, wreath & all', and Prince Albert also posed for his portrait several times during the following months. Hayter's family too helped out with his son, Henry, modelling the Prince's costume, while his daughter Mary posed for the Queen's arm and wearing the veil. Victoria's aunt Queen Adelaide, however, was unwilling to co-operate and the artist had to refer to a miniature for her likeness. Hayter included himself in the painting, on the lower right, with his sketchbook and pencil.

By the end of the year Hayter was committing himself to a third large picture of the Christening of the newly-born Prince of Wales, and Prince Albert said that the Marriage picture should be hung at Windsor during the festivities. When Hayter went to see it, however, he was disappointed as it was hung between windows with its back to the light, unlike the new portraits by Winterhalter which were hung in a beautiful light. The artist returned to London 'heavy hearted'.

[theunderestimator-2]

Steel Pulse photographed for their 1978 single "Ku Klux Klan" by Dennis Morris: "I have taken many controversial images; this is one of them. The record company thought it was too controversial and it was never used.. It is now in the Victoria & Albert Museum in London!"

blackhistorymonth.org.uk: "Steel Pulse was formed in 1975 in Birmingham, England, specifically the inner city area of Handsworth. The founding members were schoolmates (…) from working class West Indian immigrant families, and none had much musical experience… They initially had difficulty finding live gigs, as club owners were reluctant to give them a platform for their “subversive” Rastafarian politics. Luckily, the punk movement was opening up new avenues for music all over Britain, and also finding a spiritual kinship with protest reggae. Thus, the group wound up as an opening act for punk and new wave bands like the Clash, the Stranglers, Generation X, the Police, and XTC, and built a broad-based audience in the process. In keeping with the spirit of the times, Steel Pulse developed a theatrical stage show that leavened their social commentary with satirical humor; many of the members dressed in costumes that mocked traditional British archetypes (Riley was a vicar, McQueen a bowler-wearing aristocrat, Martin a coach footman, etc.). Steel Pulse’s first single for Island was the classic “Ku Klux Klan,” which happened to lend itself well to the band’s highly visual, costume-heavy concerts. It appeared on their 1978 debut album, Handsworth Revolution, which was soon hailed as a classic of British reggae by many fans and critics.."

allmusic.com/ : "The number is tightly wound around a dangerously thumping bass line and David Hind's searing delivery. The extended version is even more musically militant, the instruments now weapons in the engineer's hands, the rhythm even more threatening. This remains Pulse's most enduring classic."

(via)

[blueiscoool]

Why These Imperfect Korean ‘Moon Jars’ Sell for Millions

Old, round, imperfect and beautiful — that’s how fans of Korean art describe the moon jar, or “dalhangari.”

These unassuming, plain white pots have entranced everyone from rapper RM, of K-pop sensation BTS, to philosopher Alain de Botton.

The former director of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, Beth McKillop, has called the moon jar an “icon of Korean identity.” And if price is any indicator of popularity, one recently sold for over $4.5 million at a Christie’s auction.

This month, a rare example from the late 17th or early 18th century will go on sale at Sotheby’s in New York, where it’s expected to fetch more than $3 million.

“A large moon jar has always been expensive, but I think the big uptick in prices and value is… because their appeal is now global,” said Angela McAteer, Sotheby’s international head of Chinese art for the Americas and Europe, over video call. “You’ve got an international cohort of bidders competing for them, so it’s gone beyond the traditional connoisseur collecting community of Korean art.”

Huge price tags also result from the jars’ rarity. Although made for over a century in the royal kilns of Korea’s last kingdom, the Joseon dynasty, few are thought to exist today. Estimates for the number of larger ones (those more than 40 centimeters, or 15.7 inches, tall and wide) that have survived over the years range from 12 to 30.

Having passed through auction houses and antique dealers across the world, several of these are now in the collections of institutions like the British Museum and Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, as well as in the hands of private collectors.

‘Owning a piece of happiness’

The first moon jars were created in the royal kilns in Gwangju (a city just outside Seoul, not the larger southern city of the same name) from 1650 to 1750. They were made from pure white porcelain and kaolin clay, and, following the neo-Confucian fashions of their day, the pots reflected values such as propriety, humility, frugality and purity. They were likely used at court and in upper-class homes as containers for food and liquids, or as decorative vessels.

In the mid-20th century, moon jars began gaining international appreciation thanks to influential admirers such as Japanese folk crafts scholar Yanagi Soetsu and British potter Bernard Leach, who bought one from a Seoul antique store in 1935. Leach once said that having a moon jar was like “owning a piece of happiness,” and would later give his to fellow potter Lucie Rie for safekeeping during World War II. It stayed in her studio until her death and was later acquired by the British Museum.

Charlotte Horlyck, lecturer in Korean Art History at the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies, wrote in the Art Bulletin journal that after World War II the moon jar “caught the attention of an early generation of postcolonial Korean artists and scholars who sought to restore Korean art history and national identity,” as the pieces “resonated with the visual language of international modernism and minimalism of the mid-20th century while remaining a distinctly Korean work of art.”

The moon jar’s allure

When Sotheby’s announced its forthcoming sale, the auction house described its 44-centimeter (17.3-inch) moon jar as an object that inspired, astounded and soothed those who “stand in its presence.” It’s a funny thing to say about a pot, to speak as if it’s alive, but the jars’ visceral, emotional impact on people is something that comes up time and time again in the literature.

Choi Sunu, a former director of the National Museum of Korea, has described the museum’s moon jars as being like companions, or muses that have inspired his writing and stirred his creativity. Bernard Leach admired the pots for their “natural unselfconsciousness.” In 2012, South Korea’s then-Unification Minister Yu Woo-ik used the pot as a metaphor symbolizing a reunified Korean peninsula (moon jars are created in two hemispherical pieces and joined in the middle).

More recently the rapper RM, of K-pop group BTS, posted a picture of himself hugging a modern-day moon jar on Twitter, telling fans that the pots made him feel calm.

“It’s hard for someone to really comprehend how a pot can make you feel that way,” said McAteer. “It has this real meditative presence. If you’ve sat in front of a great (painting by US artist, Mark) Rothko and you feel this kind of palpable energy emanate from it, and you could sit for hours and just feel something in its presence — the moon jar has that too.”

“The more you look at it, the more there is to see. It looks different from every angle,” she added. “We had real issues with the photography and the catalog because it looks like a different piece every time you rotate it, or you change the lighting. The surface is just alive, you know.”

“You can see how the glaze coalesces; you see these spontaneous bursts of this blush color that’s happening in the firing. You can lose yourself in its surface.”

Modern masters

Modern Korean potters have been inspired by the jars, and a number have come up with their own homages. Ceramist Kim Syyong covers his pots with a black glaze, while Yun Ju Cheol’s versions look spikier like a pufferfish and Choi Bo Ram’s unvarnished, textured blue vases have a denim-like quality.

Others, like Kwon Dae Sup, have looked to closely recreate the process used by the potters of yore. The 71-year-old ceramist produces unadorned white jars and allows for all the beautiful imperfections produced to shine through. He works out of a studio in Gwangju, where the royal kilns that produced moon jars were once located.

There’s a great deal of preparation that goes into making a moon jar traditionally. It’s labor-intensive: washing, sifting impurities from the clay, kneading and rolling it to remove air bubbles, carrying around these large hunks, not to mention hand throwing the clay itself to that oversized bowl shape without collapsing, and the work keeping a pine wood fire burning for 24 hours while the pot hardens in the kiln. Kwon also built his own kiln to replicate the old process as closely as possible.

“I do this because it’s fun,” he said in a phone interview. “Every time I make something, it’s novel … The quality of the material is different every time. The conditions in which I make the pots is new every time.”

Kwon said he also feels an emotional connection to the moon jar. As a student he was so moved by a one he saw in a Korean antique store that he decided they would be his life’s work. “They feel alive,” he said.

In a 2019 book on his work by Axel Vervoodt Gallery the potter is quoted saying he tries to produce art that needs no addition or subtraction. “I wish to create work that has an imposing presence but harmonizes with its surroundings regardless of where and when it is displayed. It should give peace of mind and a sense of comfort to all who look at it.”

By Christy Choi.

[omgthatdress]

Cécile and Marie-Grace were released alongside the best friends line of dolls, and are a pretty transparent gimmick to get people to buy two dolls at once. That being said, I actually kind of love their collection.

Their story is set in New Orleans in 1853, which is a pretty great way to represent the Antebellum South without having a Scarlett O’Hara doll. New Orleans was one of the few places in the south with a robust middle class. Everywhere else had tremendous wealth inequality with absurdly rich plantation-owners, barely surviving poor Whites, and slaves.

Cécile is of the gens de coleur libre, that is, the free people of color, a class of New Orleans citizens born out of the plaçage system in which White men would take women of color as informal second wives. Plaçees held a really interesting position, as they could legally claim inheritance once their patron died, and the children born of plaçage could be named heir of an estate. Plaçees were also allowed to develop assets and run small businesses. All of this created a level of generational wealth that was unique among African-Americans at the time. Today, their descendants are known as Creoles.

As far as Marie-Grace goes, I don’t think she’s Cajun, just French-American. Cajuns are a specific group, the Catholic descendants of the French colonizers of Acadia, now called Nova Scotia, who were forced by the British out of the home. They settled mostly in the fertile Mississippi delta, and maintained a rural, somewhat insular way of life. Marie-Grace is the city-dwelling daughter of a doctor, so probably just the descendant of regular French citizens who settled in New Orleans.

Hair-wise, this is the era when girls tied their hair up with rags at night to have fat sausage curls in the morning. Most photographs and paintings that I’ve seen of Black girls in the era show them with their hair tied up, but there are a few who had curls.

Marie-Grace’s face-framing curls are a little bit more Jan Brady than 1850s, but it’s cute on her, so I’ll give her credit for that. The long hair isn’t inaccurate.

There’s something about Cécile’s dress that keeps saying “wrong” but I can’t quite put my finger on it. A more accurate dress would be more along the lines of something like this:

(The Victoria & Albert Museum)

(The Victoria & Albert Museum)

(New York Historical Society)

Marie-Grace’s dress seems to have been inspired by this portrait of Creole children:

(credit to @in-pleasant-company​ for finding it)

Cécile’s pillbox hat is a style that was adopted more in the late 1860s and 1870s. A more accurate hat would also have her in a “coal scoop” bonnet.

Her gloves, however, are accurate and adorable!

(The Met Museum)

Marie-Grace is wearing a kind of sun hat that was popular for children:

(The Met Museum)

Marie-Grace’s fan looks typical of the French fans that were popular at the time. They were usually painted with pretty pastoral scenes instead of flowers, however, although Chinese fans at the time frequently had floral themes.

(The Philadelphia Museum of Art)

(The Victoria & Albert Museum)

The shoes are definitely late Victorian rather than 1850s. Fine city ladies in the 1850s would be wearing boots made out of silk with leather soles:

(The Met Museum)

[scotianostra]

17th August 1871 saw the death in London of the Scottish landscape painter Patrick Naysmith.

Patrick was the eldest son of the more well known Alexander Naysmith, known as ‘the father of landscape painting in Scotland’. Patrick was named after his father’s friend Patrick Miller of Dalswinton. He was taught the rudiments of drawing and painting by his father before moving to London in 1807. He suffered from poor health and an accident to his right hand when he was young meant that he had to learn to draw left-handed.

He studied under his father, and travelled to London in 1807. Nasmyth was a landscape painter and although his subject matter was usually found in the countryside around London, his style was modelled on the Dutch seventeenth century artists, especially Meindert Hobbema, he was wrongly given the nickname “the English Hobbema, having said that from what I can gather he spent most of his life down south.

His landscapes are described as “pleasing and conventional” and achieved considerable success in their day, I’m not an expert, but enjoy some art, to me his work seemed boring and all the sameish, unlike others Scottish artist like Allan Ramsay Jnr, David Roberts or, in my opinion, the best of them all Henry Raeburn.

Naysmith exhibited at the Royal Academy, Suffolk Street and the British Institute and was one of the founder members of the Royal Society of British Artists. Many of his brothers and sisters were also painters, which led to much confusion about the family and their work he was one of eleven children, of whom Patrick was the eldest. Of the other ten Jane (b.1788), Anne (b.1798) and Charlotte (b.1804) were all landscape painters.

His studio sale was held at Christie’s 18th June 1831. Titles exhibited at the Royal Academy include “View of Windsor Castle”, “A View in the New Forest” and “A Windmill on the River Don, Yorkshire”. His works can be found in museums in: Cape Town; Edinburgh; Glasgow; Hamburg; Liverpool; London, National Gallery, Victoria and Albert Museum; Montreal; New York and Sheffield.

Pics are of the artist, Valley of the Tweed and Edinburgh from Craigleith

You can find a more detailed bio and more pics on him here http://www.thefamousartists.com/patrick-nasmyth

[aufgrundlagedeinerlikes]

Okay these are my recommendations

okay museums: you can do the Victoria and Albert, national history and science museum in one day (pre-book the free tickets online to avoid lines).

Hyde park, paddle or row boating are fun.

Borough market is good but overpriced, same with brick lane (food is good tho).

Camden is more of a miss than a hot (avoid most of the Camden punks at all costs)

British Museum is good but god is it busy. Good options in the museum aren't great but outside are a few food spots.

Richmond park is good if you like nature (Adams pond is nice)

I have more but I can't remember rn.

thank you!!! I really wanna visit the British museum (already convinced my step dad to join me god I love that guy) so that on the list, he also wants to see Hyde park but I'm not sure if we'll spend much time there, I'm gonna have to look up the other places you recommended

[mathsandwhiteroses]

Tiara Predictions: Japan to United Kingdom

Emperor Naruhito and Empress Masako will be in the UK on 25th to 27th July for a State Visit. The trip will focus on Japanese-British diplomacy, history, biomedical research, museums and biodiversity.

And now to the predictions…

The tiara I want Masako to wear: Imperial Chrysanthemum Tiara. This tiara is reserved for the Empress and Masako is yet to wear it so it’d be lovely if she debuted it today. It was last worn by Empress Emerita, Michiko in January 2012 for the New Year’s Reception.

My prediction: Meiji Scroll Tiara. Masako has only worn this tiara since becoming Empress so it’s a fairly safe bet. It was last worn by Masako in January for the New Year’s Reception.

The tiara I want Camilla to wear: Queen Alexandra’s Kokoshnik. I need this tiara to be worn! So stunning, it’s literally a wall of diamonds and I have a feeling it would suit Camilla so much. It was last worn by Queen Elizabeth in March 2015 for the State Visit from Mexico.

My prediction: Oriental Circlet Tiara. The only tiara that was designed by Prince Albert that still belongs to the British Royal Family (and my personal least favourite), I think this would be a suitable tiara for the State Banquet as it’s suitably large, historic and ornate for a visit from the Emperor. It was last worn by Queen Elizabeth in 2006 on a visit to Malta.

The tiara I want Sophie to wear: Aquamarine Ribbon Tiara. I will admit that I haven’t liked the way that Sophie has styled this tiara in the past so I just want to see it with big hair at the front to hide the gap or for Sophie to have re-worked it. It was last worn in October 2018 for the Dutch State Visit.

My prediction: Her wedding tiara. I’ve mostly chosen non-colourful tiaras for everyone else so Sophie’s only all diamond tiara matches that. It was last worn in June 2019 for the State Visit from the US.

The tiara I want Birgitte to wear: Iveagh Tiara. My favourite Gloucester tiara. Aside from Queen Victoria’s Sapphire Tiara, this tiara is probably the one that I wish Queen Mary would’ve kept within the main family line. It was last worn by Birgitte at the CHOGM reception in 2018.

My prediction: Cartier Indian Tiara. This tiara is large, sparkly and will suit the other tiaras on display. It was last worn by Birgitte in November 2022 for the State Visit from South Africa.

While I don’t think any of the following will be at the banquet, in the unlikely event that one of them does attend my predictions are as follows:

Catherine, the Princess of Wales: Lotus Flower Tiara (but I’d love it if she wore the Sapphire Sunburst Bandeau)

Princess Beatrice: York Tiara

Princess Eugenie: Greville Emerald

Princess Alexandra: Ogilvy Tiara

Princess Michael of Kent: Kent Festoon

[mybeingthere]

TOM HAMMICK (b 1963, British)

Artist Tom Hammick has described landscape in his work as a metaphor to explore an “imaginary and mythological dreamscape.” Drawing from a wide range of sources, from Japanese woodblock prints to Northern European Romantic painting and contemporary cinema, Hammick’s depictions of isolated human dwellings grounded in uncanny dream-like settings summon the uneasy atmosphere of a psychologically-charged thriller, or a dystopian suburban nightmare.

Hammick was the recipient of the V&A Prize at the International Print Biennale, Newcastle, UK in 2016.. His work is in many major public and corporate collections including the British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, Bibliotheque Nationale de France, Deutsche Bank, the Yale Center for British Art, and The Library of Congress, Washington DC.

hammick.com/

[quidam-sirenae]

More pictures of me. In Britain now.

There are more photos of me in this batch than I expected. Stonehenge was very pretty. I got to go inside the stone circle and I chatted with the tour guide for like a half hour and he told me sometimes people take off their clothes in the stone circle.

The British museum and the Victoria and Albert museum have been so far my favorite things but I also saw hadestown and another play called mnemonic which was very good so who knows. The most fun part of it is that I just go places and learn things and it’s going to be less fun to go back to school and translate Tacitus even if it is with my second favorite professor.

My welsh professor said I can ta for him if he gets enough students to need a TA. this would be good because I’d be working a good 25-30 hours a week if I got that job and I need these jobs to fund my travel. If I don’t get the job I’ll try to impress my greek professor enough to let me research for him.

I got to see an original Catullus manuscript and a Gildas manuscript the other day at the British library. The Gildas manuscript was fun because I got to see the marginalia and I’ve recently had a thing about marginalia and been very into reading it. It talked about the battle of badon hill in the Gildas manuscript which was possibly the second coolest thing I’ve seen on this trip. I’m going to Stonehenge again with my family today. Also the kernow coast is the prettiest thing in the world and it would be the best place to die.