#tales from the embassy

[enchantress-emily]

Happy Webcomic Day!

I'm not actively posting a comic at the moment, but you can read my completed webcomic, The Shifting City, HERE. It's a fantasy adventure about a group of friends (scholarly, single-minded Rosana; street-smart, mischievous Sage; gentle, levelheaded Corbin; and curious, stubborn Elidor) assigned to map a city where the streets constantly shift position.

(Left to right: Sage, Rosana, Corbin, Elidor)

The theme of this year's Webcomic Day is sharing your creation process. This post got more rambly than anticipated, so details about my process, as well as a sneak peek at the new comic I'm planning, can be found under the cut!

I work traditionally, using a Pentel .05mm mechanical pencil and Prismacolor Premier fine line markers in various widths. This handout I made for a talk about making comics is a good illustration of the steps that go into drawing one of my pages:

Before the actual drawing happens, the script and thumbnail sketches need to be worked out. For The Shifting City I wrote the script on notebook paper, then made rough thumbnails for each page. Here's a comparison of the script, the thumbnails, and the finished page for the first page of chapter 2.

For the comic I'm working on now, Tales from the Embassy, I decided to combine the scripting and thumbnailing process, as seen below. I'm a visual thinker, so having a sense of what the overall page is going to look like helps me with figuring out what happens on that page.

Tales from the Embassy focuses on the people who work behind the scenes of a huge complex where members of various magical races meet up to do business. Each chapter will be a self-contained story starring a different set of characters, although since they all live and work in the same place, readers will see familiar faces popping up here and there in later chapters.

Chapter 1, The Clerk's Tale, follows Elsiné as she finds her feet in her new job as a clerk in one of the Embassy's offices; navigates her complicated relationship with the birth mother she only recently met (who also happens to be the head of the Embassy); and discovers a different kind of family with Galen, a bubbly mural painter, and Feneree, a kindly aide to the Elven ambassador.

(Left to right: Elsiné, Galen, Feneree)

I'm hoping to finish the script for The Clerk's Tale and start drawing pages by the end of the year. Watch this space for more news!

[enchantress-emily]

This is extremely useful! Thank you!

I love your Derkholm art! Do you have any tips on drawing griffins? I’m planning a webcomic that includes some griffin characters, and I don’t have any experience with A) drawing them in the first place and B) making them look like individuals. Thanks!

Thanks for being so patient for this reply - had a pretty busy couple of weeks preparing stuff for artist conventions. Anyway, was a lot of fun to ruminate on - here are a bunch of things I've thought about (and am still thinking about) when drawing the griffin kids! Heads up that I'm still practicing myself, and there are definitely a lot of aspects of creature design I could work on (the wiiiiiings gah), but hopefully this helps give you some direction on designing your own bird-lion-cats.

[sugurugetos]

And thereupon the middle door of the Black Gate was thrown open with a great clang, and out of it there came an embassy from the Dark Tower.

At its head there rode a tall and evil shape, mounted upon a black horse, if horse it was; for it was huge and hideous..., and in the sockets of its eyes and in its nostrils there burned a flame. The rider was robed all in black, and black was his lofty helm; yet this was no Ringwraith but a living man. The Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-dûr he was, and his name is remembered in no tale; for he himself had forgotten it, and he said: 'I am the Mouth of Sauron.' But it is told that he was a renegade, who came of the race of those that are named the Black Númenóreans.... And he entered the service of the Dark Tower when it first rose again, and because of his cunning he grew ever higher in the Lord's favour; and he learned great sorcery, and knew much of the mind of Sauron; and he was more cruel than any orc.

ARAGORN II & The Mouth of Sauron RETURN OF THE KING — 2003

[dontforgetukraine]

Samchykivsky painting (or samchykivka) is a form of decorative and applied art that originated in the late 19th – early 20th centuries in the village of Samchyky, Khmelnytskyi Region. It spread to southeastern Volyn, on the border with Podillya. Talented craftswomen painted houses with unique patterns, creating talismans with fantastic floral ornaments. One of the most beloved and widespread ornaments is a painting of a flowerpot symbolizing the universe and the “tree of life,” as understood by our ancestors. This fairy-tale tree can be based on the pysanka, symbolizing the beginning of the genus, or acorns from which the tree sprouts. The trunk represents the continuation of life and family, often depicted with birds, integral companions of life, near or within the crown of the tree. This is how the painting organically intertwines floral ornamentation with elements of the animal world, celebrating the rich heritage and artistic tradition of Samchyky. —Embassy of Ukraine in Malaysia

[enchantress-emily]

Thank you! This is giving me some really interesting things to think about, especially the bit about idioms.

Linguistics worldbuilding question for you!

I'm planning a webcomic set in an embassy where various magical races meet up to do business. The races I've planned so far are humans, fae, dwarves, goblins, sea-people, dragon-people, and gryphons.

Do you have any thoughts on ways to distinguish the speech patterns of the different races so they don't all end up sounding alike, especially the non-humanoid ones like the gryphons? I think some of them have nonverbal elements to their languages as well, which the visual webcomic format will help with.

By the way, there's going to be a translation spell either on the building itself or on some sort of amulet that everyone carries with them, so they can communicate with reasonable ease (and yes, I know about some of the problems with the universal translator trope).

Hello enchantress-emily!

This sounds like a fun idea for a webcomic 🙂 Speech patterns can be interesting to play with, and I think you can utilize the magic universal translator to help you with that.

The first thing you can do is figure out what types of metaphors and proverbs and idioms each of these species would have. What’s important in their culture? What would common touch-points be for the sea-people – what would their equivalent proverb be for, say, “we have bigger fish to fry” (there are bigger problems)? (Because frying doesn’t work well under water, right??)

Another thing you can think about is sentence structure. For example, German sentence structure is different from English, and nearly half of German sentences don’t start with the verb. German also allows you to construct massively long nested sentences that REALLY don’t work in English unless you separate them into 2 or more sentences. So maybe one of the species will have more complex sentence structure (even translated) because that’s how their language works, and maybe one of them will be more like English. (Not all languages in the world allow you to have dependent clauses (your which or who ones)! You can’t say I saw the man who lives next door at the supermarket; you have to break it down into I saw the man at the supermarket. He lives next door to me. (Or just I saw my neighbor, of course.))

There’s also formality. Maybe the fae have Court Language that’s more formal, and this formality gets carried over in translation. (But how? You decide if you want them all to sound like Jane Austen characters or like Aragorn son of Arathorn or whatever 😉)

Since you’re using magical translation, you can have the sea-people’s idiom for “we have bigger problems” come out as a literal translation of whatever they actually say. Think about The Little Mermaid a second – Sebastian sings to Ariel, “The seaweed is always greener in somebody else’s lake.” This is obviously a nod to “the grass is greener on the other side of the fence,” but grass doesn’t exist under the sea, and lawns and fences don’t either. So they use seaweed (like grass but in the sea) and lake.

You could do fun things like have the translation spell get hung up on a nested sentence (maybe the fae like to go on like the Germans), then everything comes screeching to a halt and the speaker has to start over but speak straightforwardly.

Speaking of straightforwardly… how does the spell handle lies, falsehoods, half-truths, white lies, and other forms of obfuscation? Is it impossible to lie because of some part of the magic that detects speaker’s intent? Are some species better at lying than others because they can say (for example) “I didn’t hate it” (a true statement, but omits “but I didn’t like it either”)? This would be a TON of fun to play around with, especially for people who like writing twisty political stories.

You mentioned body language and other nonverbal communication, so I want to touch on that briefly. Nonverbal communication varies around the real world, and you can have different species with different NVC (and maybe it gets mis-read! Maybe a normal gesture in one culture is offensive in another! Maybe the magic doesn’t cover NVC!) There are so many things you can play with here. Good luck with your project! It sounds fun.

If you think this is interesting, consider backing my Kickstarter, where I’ll be writing a book about how to use linguistics in your worldbuilding process. Or if tumblr ever sorts out tipping for my account, leave me a tip.

[seramilla]

So how would Vaggie react to learning she’s now wrapped up in an arranged marriage? And since this is before she falls…does that mean Charlie is in her emo phase still??

Vaggie is really intimidated at being betrothed to the literal princess of Hell. Of course, she knows who Charlie is -- there isn't a person in Heaven or Hell who doesn't. Some years past, however, in her late teens, Charlotte Morningstar had gained somewhat of a reputation for being a rebel. Before she graduated from Hell High School, the Heaven tabloids used to publish stories of Charlie with a lot of unflattering photos of the young demon, wearing her hair and wardrobe black, reporting that she'd been running around with some wild characters, going to raves and parties, getting in trouble, and generally causing a lot of debauchery, even by Hell's standards.

Charlie has managed to stay out of the public eye for the last few years since she's come of age. Honestly, it's anyone's guess what the princess is really like these days. Only Sera, the High Seraphim of Heaven, and the one primarily responsible for finding Charlie's betrothed, assures Vaggie that the princess is nothing like what the media says. She doesn't do anything so rebellious now, and a lot of those tales were highly exaggerated anyway. Charlie is a perfectly delightful, upstanding citizen, and she assures Vaggie she will love her to pieces!

They ultimately meet at a party. One of those swanky, posh soirées that the nobility of both realms like to hold at the Heaven embassy in Hell. Sera is in attendance with her own wife, Carmilla, and they are off doing their own thing. Vaggie stands there in her white gown and fancy shoes that Sera bought her for the occasion, with her hair tied up in an elaborate bun. She stands next to some other highbrow angels, feeling completely awkward and out of her element. No one is talking to her.

She stays near the punch bowl and snack table, nibbling on things throughout the night to curb her own anxiety. She feels so out of place. She hasn't even been introduced to anyone, let alone Charlie! She's starting to wonder why she's even here at all.

It's not until a very beautiful, very coquettish woman in a red gown comes up to stand beside her, holding out her hand to be shaken. Vaggie looks down at her hand, and then up at her. She's tall. Very tall. Maybe around Carmilla's height, or a little less. The woman looks nervous, and she's blushing slightly, unable to meet Vaggie's gaze directly. Her other hand moves up to push stray locks of hair from falling in her face.

"H-hi!" the woman says, with a genuine smile. "I'm Charlie! You must be Vaggie! Carmilla has told me so much about you. I wanted to come say hello earlier, but I don't get to meet many angels. And you're just so... so pretty. Oh, shit, did I say that out loud? Forgive me! I admit, I was a little intimidated at meeting you. But I didn't want to be rude."

Vaggie looks at Charlie again. The princess is still holding out her hand, now biting her bottom lip in anticipation of Vaggie shaking it. Vaggie does. Charlie's fingers grip hers tightly, manicured red nails grazing lightly against Vaggie's hand. Vaggie maybe shakes Charlie's hand a little too hard, and takes a little too long to pull away.

"Va-vaggie. Yes, my name is Vaggie. Please! The pleasure is all mine, princess, I assure you."

That gets a laugh out of Charlie. She's beaming brightly now, like a light illuminating the otherwise dull illumination of the room. Like a morning star. Now Vaggie is the one blushing, as she listens to her talk about nothing in particular.

Oh, this! This...Vaggie thinks she could get used to this. She could get used to this very well!

[royalty-nobility]

Teresa, or Teresia Sampsonia, Lady Shirley (1589–1668)

Artist: Sir Anthony Van Dyck (Flemish, 1599-1641)

Date: 1622

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Trust Collections, United Kingdom

Description

Teresa Sampsonia (born Sampsonia; after marriage Lady Shirley, 1589–1668) was an Iranian-English noblewoman of the Safavid Empire of Iran. She was the wife of Elizabethan English adventurer Robert Shirley, whom she accompanied on his travels and embassies across Europe in the name of the Safavid King (Shah) Abbas the Great.

Teresa was received by many of the royal houses of Europe, such as English prince Henry Frederick and Queen Anne (her child's godparents) and contemporary writers and artists such as Thomas Herbert and Anthony van Dyck. Herbert considered Robert Shirley "the greatest Traveller of his time", but admired the "undaunted Lady Teresa" even more. Following the death of her husband from dysentery in 1628, and due to impediments from grandees at the court, and the authorities, during the reign of Abbas's successor and grandson Safi (r. 1629–1642), Teresa decided to leave Iran. She lived in a convent in Rome for the rest of her life, devoting her time to charity and religion. As a pious Christian, and because of her love for her husband, Teresa had Shirley's remains transported to Rome from Isfahan and reburied; on the headstone of their mutual grave she mentions their travels and refers to her noble Circassian origins.

Thanks to her exploits, Teresa has been described as someone who subverted patriarchal gender roles common to the Muslim and Christian cultures of her time. Due to their hybrid identities and adventures, Teresa and her husband became the subject of several contemporary literary and visual works. Nevertheless, the story of Teresa as an important woman of the 17th century has been largely overshadowed and obscured by the tale of her husband Robert and his brothers.

Together they made two extended voyages across Europe. In 1611 they travelled to England where Teresa gave birth to their son, Henry. In 1613 they returned to Isfahan on an East India Company ship. The Shirleys continued to travel over the next decade to India, Portugal, Spain and Italy. They went to Rome in 1622, and this picture and the pendant portrait of Robert can be dated to Van Dyck's first visit to the city.

Van Dyck’s training with Rubens had sharpened his eye for the enriching effect offered by sumptuous garments such as those worn by Lady Shirley. Van Dyck had also recently begun to absorb the lessons of Titian and the other great Venetian colourists.

Teresa was a gifted linguist and spoke more than half a dozen languages. Historian Bernadette Andrea recounts how she saved her husband’s life on at least two occasions: ‘once as they set off on their first journey when his Persian enemies sought to kill him, which earned her the accolade "a true Amazon" and again when the couple encountered hostile Portuguese traders on their way to Goa.’ (See the entry for 'Lady Teresa Sampsonia Sherley' in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography).

After Robert’s death, Teresa was accused of the capital crime of apostasy and her property was confiscated. She became a fugitive, hiding in an Augustinian church in Isfahan and an Armenian convent just outside the Safavid capital. She received a special permit to travel, went to Istanbul for three years and then on to Rome where she settled and remained for more than three decades until her death in 1668.

[claireverlasting]

One thing in the Iliad I haven’t seen a lot of people talk about is the story Phoenix told at the embassy in book 9. Basically once upon a time, the Calydonians and the Curetes were at war, and on one side there was this guy called Meleager, who was a really good warrior but refused to fight for his people because he was pissed. (totally do not sound familiar) Nothing could change his mind, not even when people promised him riches and his relatives and closest comrades begging him to help. It wasn’t until the enemy had set fire to the city and his wife, Cleopatra, begged for him to fight that he took up arms.

Sounds like a classic cautionary tale from Phoenix right? Yeah.

The thing is, “Cleopatra” means “glory of the father”. Kléos (glory) + patḗr (father).

You know who else’s name also means “glory of the father”? Patroclus, patḗr + kléos. It’s the same fucking name.

Hey Phoenix. Do you have something else to share with the class. Hello. Hi.

[sesamenom]

I wonder what part of Rivendell's protection is Turgon/Gondolin-inspired, on top of the Bruinen basically acting as a proto-Girdle?

looking at the map, the actual valley is mostly enclosed by the Bruinen, with the Trollshaws on one side and the Misty Mountains on the other.

the Map of Wilderland gives a bit more detail in the region, particularly around Mirkwood/Beorn's house. from here, it looks like the Eyries were somewhere around the Misty Mountains a bit north of Rivendell:

for comparison, here's Gondolin and Doriath:

the FA-era eyries seem to mostly have been around the Crissaegrim/Cristhorn area enclosing Gondolin, while the Girdle followed the approximate shape of the rivers around Neldoreth and Region, and Lorien's Girdle seems to kick in at around the Nimrodel:

so it makes sense for a potential Girdle of Rivendell to lie around the Bruinen, especially given Elrond's apparent control over the river (despite having Vilya and not Nenya - maybe it's an Ulmo/Earendil's Star derived thing?)

I don't think we've explicitly seen anybody trying to get into Rivendell and just getting lost at the Ford, so it's probably more of a manual Girdle: it doesn't actually stop people from finding the river itself, but Elrond gets a mental notification or something and can flood the river to wash intruders away.

Beyond the Ford, it does definitely sound like the travel time to Rivendell varies. This (plus the varying road length/road time) can probably be attributed to the time warping effect of the Three, like a weaker but much larger version of Lorien's time related stuff.

so basically it seems like there's a combination of the Bruinen acting as both a manual Girdle, plus the time distortion between the Ford and Rivendell, as well as possibly hiding Imladris in a similar way to Ulmo hiding Gondolin?

A bit of a theory that I’ve struck on while rereading the start of FOTR. I think there’s something guarding Rivendell besides the Bruinen. I think Elrond has taken a leaf out of Melian’s book.

There are some hints that the distance to Rivendell varies depending on who you are. Frodo starts approaching the Ford in late afternoon; he is in desperate need of healing, and is brought to Rivendell midway into that same night.

In The Hobbit, in contrast, the dwarves and Bilbo cross the Ford of Bruinen in the morning, and the sun is down by the time they reach Rivendell. There’s lot of references to the journey being longer than Bilbo would expect:

They came on unexpected valleys, narrow with steep sides, that opened suddenly at their feet, and then looked down surprised to see trees below them and running water at the bottom. There were gullies that they could almost leap over, but very deep with waterfalls in them. There were dark ravines that one could neither jump over or climb into. There were bogs, some of them green pleasant places to look at, with flowers growing bright and tall; but a pony that walked there with a pack on its back would never have come out again. It was indeed a mich wider land from the ford to the mountains than you would ever have guessed. Bilbo was astonished.

Then there’s Aragorn’s line when Merry asks him how far it is to Rivendell:

“I don’t know if the Road has ever been measured in miles beyond The Forsaken Inn, a day’s journey east of Bree. Some say it is far, and others say otherwise. It is a strange road, and folk are glad to meet their journey’s end, whether the time is long or short. But I know how long it would take me on my own feet, with fair weather and no ill fortune: twelve days from here to the Ford of Bruinen.”

(By the way, it always amazes me, now I’ve noticed it, that the hobbits manage this journey - which Aragorn says would take him 12 days on the Road, with “fair weather and no ill fortune,” in only 14 days with Frodo severely injured, travelling mainly off the Road, and with some bad weather and wrong directions. Some of that’s due to the extremely fast pace Glorfindel sets for the last twoand a half days, but it’s incredibly impressive.)

If anyone should know the distance from Bree to Rivendell, it should be Aragorn, a Ranger of the North fostered in Rivendell, who has probably covered that journey dozens to hundreds of times. And the Road is fairly straight; it shouldn’t be hard for travellers to keep track of the general distance. And also, Aragorn only gives the distance to the Ford, not to Rivendell itself. What if the distance and difficulty of the Road from the Ford to Rivendell varies, based on how well a guest is known. Frodo is the Ring-bearer, in desperate need; he makes it there fast. Thorin & Company are vouched for by Gandalf, but are largely an unknown quantity; it takes them the better part of a day. Someone with hostile intentions might never find Rivendell at all, even after days of wanderings.

[denpatalestaff]

New Frisk OC : Denpa!Frisk

Frisk from Denpa!tale is an idol! But her main job is working as an administrative officer at an embassy, where she also takes on the role of a goodwill ambassador (ツ)/

This is about my fifth time creating motions like this. Adjusting the movements, especially the footwork, always takes a lot of time (･-･`) By giving her a "bad at dancing" trait, I hoped to practice creating more natural, human-like movements :P

Chord!Sans’s introduction

This text was written using a mix of machine translation and manual tweaks:)

[enchantress-emily]

Here's a little teaser for my new webcomic, Tales from the Embassy! It's going to be a series of interconnected stories about the people who work behind the scenes at the Embassy, a huge complex where representatives of various magical races meet up to do business.

These are the main characters from the first story, Elsiné (she/her), Galen (he/they), and Feneree (he/him). Elsiné is a newly arrived clerk in one of the Embassy's numerous offices; Galen maintains the decorative murals around the building; and Feneree is on the Elven ambassador's staff. Feneree and Galen are partners, and they end up folding Elsiné into their relationship, to everyone's satisfaction.

I still have a ways to go on the script for the first story, so it'll be a while till the comic launches, but I'll try to keep you posted!

[dominadespina]

THE FORTUNE OF THREE  

The life of Maria Gomez de Sotomayor: The Ottoman slave who had suffered great dispair in both Ottoman lands and outdoor lands. 

Early Life 

The date of birth nor origin of Maria is certain. Unlike Catalina, who has a fitted name for a Hungarian-origin woman, same for Angelina with her Greek/Byzantine influenced name, Maria’s name is too relatively common in both Hungarian and Greek areas to be certain of her origin, though it is possibly more likely that she is of Hungarian origin. 

Maria is often regarded by some historians as the sister of Angelina of Greece, both regarded as Hungarian ladies who were captured by Ottoman raiders. While some historians suggest they could be siblings, others argue that they may have been referred to as "lady sisters" in a more metaphorical sense rather than literally.

Their differing names, Maria being called “Maria de Ungría”(Maria of Hungary) and Angelina referred to as “Angelina de Grecia” (Angelina of Greece) add to the confusion surrounding their identities. Additionally, some theories propose that they might have different mothers, as in Castile, children were often identified by their mother's nationality/ethnicity. 

However, the odds that two sisters from different mothers could be captured in the same area at the same time and later reunited in an Ottoman harem is highly unlikely.

First Capture

Maria is believed to have been captured shortly after the Battle of Nicopolis in 1396. It is worth mentioning that she might have been captured at a different time and location, possibly during another raid by the Turks near their home borders.

She was likely a child when she was captured, as she would later be sent to King Henry III of Castile as a “gift” in 1402/1403, which suggests she could not have been too old (possibly in her mid-teens to early 20s by 1402).

Life in the Harem

Though captured and sent to the harem, Maria did not convert to Islam and remained a Christian throughout her enslavement.

Considering that all potential concubines of the Sultan had to be converted Muslims, it is safe to assume that Maria did not have to worry about concubinage duties.

Second Capture

Maria was either captured following the plunder of Bursa, five days after the Battle of Ankara, which took place on July 20, 1402, or sometime later in an unknown residence in Yenisehir, along with Olivera Lazarevic, her daughters, and other servants.

Payo Gomez de Sotomayor

Payo was one of the two ambassadors (the other being Hernan Sanchez de Palazuelos) sent from King Henry III of Castile to his correspondent, Timur, in 1402.

After their mission ended, Timur tasked the embassy with escorting Christian maidens from the harem of Sultan Bayezid I, which he had decided to send to Henry.

As a result, Catalina, Angelina, and Maria were given to and escorted by Payo and his partner. It is unknown when exactly they left, but they were certainly in Castile by early 1403.

The Incident In Jodar

According to a folk love tale, upon passing through Jodar, Payo, who had been traveling with Maria for some months, realized his feelings for her by a fountain in Jodar.

Argote de Molina, a Spanish historian, quoted a somewhat unknown poem which seems to be from the point of view of Payo:

“Beside that fountain at Jódar,   The maid with beauteous eyes I saw.   I died by the wound they gave me,   And not one hour could I survive.”

This is likely nothing more than Argote’s attempt at romanticizing the true story, which caused a scandal, especially considering the anger that fueled Henry upon learning this information.

Whether in a soft poem or not, a relationship with a maiden who was entrusted to you is completely inappropriate. Additionally, it is unknown what the extent of their “relationship” was, nor if it was even consensual.

Arrival In Castile

Upon their arrival at the court of Henry III, Payo had to face the wrath of the King, who highly disapproved of his inappropriate relationship with Maria.

Wishing to avoid the consequences of his actions, Payo fled to his lands in Galicia and later to France.

In the meantime, some nobles did their best to mediate some sort of reconciliation between the two, a mediation which ultimately succeeded, as Don Payo Gomez de Sotomayor was recalled to court and married Maria by order of the King.

The Death of the King

King Henry, who acted as the guardian of Maria and her companions, passed away in 1406. With the King gone, Payo planned to annul his marriage to Maria on the grounds of “forced marriage,” since the late King had ordered him to marry her to rectify his actions.

He set his sights on a relative of an archbishop, a woman named Maior de Mendoza; a marriage with her would elevate his reputation and status.

It is unknown when the annulment was finalized, but it is certain that it was from Dona Maior de Mendoza that Payo welcomed his eldest son and future heir.

Later Life

Some historians believe that after her “divorce,” Maria worked as a servant in her former husband’s household, based on a document released by Payo in 1453.

In his will, he names a certain Maria as his servant:  

“…regarding my estate, that both the legitimate heirs of my wife Dona Maior and Doctor Diego Albrea, who has received gains from Maria Gomez, my servant who has passed away…” - *Colección Diplomática De Galicia Histórica, Volumes 1-2

Considering “Maria” and “Gomez” are extremely common names in Spanish areas, and that Maria was buried in a convent a few leagues away from her former husband’s burial place, it is possible that he could be referring to a completely different Maria Gomez.

There was no true reason for Maria to end her life as his servant; upon annulment, it was his duty to return the dowry, which was likely sponsored by King Henry, allowing her to care for herself or even remarry if she wished.

It is much more plausible that upon her “divorce,” Maria’s dowry was returned to her at some point, and she might have used her resources to support herself and the convent in which she would later be buried in.

(Sources: Two Christian princesses offered as Timur’s present  for King Henry III  of Castile, the analysis of the introduction to Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo’s narrative (1403-1406) by Lukasz Burkiewicz. Colección Diplomática De Galicia Histórica, Volumes 1-2 by Antonio Lopez Ferreiro. Revisión y estudio de la obra poética de Micer Francisco Imperial by UNIVERSITAT DE VALÈNCIA. EMBASSY TO TAMERLANE, The Broadway Travellers. Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları by Necdet Sakaoğlu.) 

[clavissionary-position]

Ikeprinces Ranked By How Well They Park

God Tier

CHEVALIER . He parks so well that it’s unfair even having him on the list. He can mentally visualize and predict where all the empty spots in any parking facility are long before ever going in. He knows local parking customs no matter where he goes. There is no style of parking he cannot flawlessly execute just from reading about it. Legend has it he never even took his driving exam; they just gave his license to him.

SARIEL . There’s never been a parking space that’s looked Sariel in the eye and lived to tell the tale. His side-parking alone makes you want to squeeze your thighs together while biting back lewd cries. As he shifts the gears to park, he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, gives you that devilish smirk and tells you he hopes you're ready to show him what you've learned.

JIN . Watching Jin park one-handed while casually sucking on a lollipop is like watching a 3-star Michelin chef prepare a world-class dinner right in front of you. You can’t help but want to thank him for the visual food. He keeps it classy and casual at the same time, and being in a car with him at all makes you feel like seat-belts and air-bags are totally unnecessary.

Valet Tier

RIO . His parking is already outstanding, but it’s the added customer service you get on top that truly makes him shine. You find yourself talking to him as if you’ve been friends for years, and it’s only once the conversation is over that you realize you’ve been sitting parked for over half-an-hour.

NOKTO . It’s almost surprising how good of a parker this Klein is. But it’s not like you can regularly show up to foreign embassies and expect to be treated with respect if you butcher their parking area. He's probably the prince you see drive/park the most because of his fondness for long, aimless late-night drives.

LICHT . He’s also a Klein that parks well. Must run in the family. His back muscles flex beautifully underneath his shirt when he reaches through the window to get parking tickets. He still does the awkward open-the-door-a-crack-to-double-check thing, but he's never, not once, had to readjust his parking.

Heart Attack Tier

ALTER-KEITH . It’s simply erotic how confidently he parks. He surprises you with unexpected maneuvers every now and then, mostly to tease you, but always so he can study your reactions. And the way he uses his free hand to entwine his fingers with yours; and then how he moves your connected hands to shift the gears instead of letting your hand go to do so... *clutches chest in pain*

LEON . Makes you feel like you’re riding along with a golden-age movie star, what with his flashy maneuvering. If High-Octane Parking were a thing, Leon would be the posterchild. Half the time your heart is all the way up your throat, but It. Is. Fun. As. Hell. You almost don’t want to get out of the car, and you can tell just how much fun he has showing off as his laughter coasts atop every rev of the engine.

SILVIO . It’s impossible to fully judge Silvio’s parking or even driving capabilities while also nursing a nosebleed (because you can’t stop staring at his sexy forearms when his hands are on the steering wheel). His wealth, connections and status give him access to the best parking spots, so it’s safe to assume he’s not burning bridges by parking like an animal. Also, he’s Silvio! Why would he be bad at parking? Unless he happens to catch you staring like that and then oh fuck oh fuck oh fu—

GILBERT . Prefers to let you drive, but he gets so unbelievably jealous when you interact with parking meters and ticket-dispensers, that he either shoots the offending device on sight or cleverly manipulates you into parking elsewhere. If that ‘elsewhere’ has an excruciating walking-distance to your destination, he’ll manipulate the situation and then somehow you’re both back home, on his bed, doing kissy-bitey things. So instead of letting him boss you around, be sure to put your foot down on the brakes and tell him he needs to suck it up (he will). If he’s driving, he’s a god-tier parker.

CLAVIS . He has made it a personal goal to invent a new type of parking every two weeks. He’s never been able to beat Chev at those silly parking mobile apps, or even Tetris, so he’s decided to one-up him in the most ridiculous, real-life way using cars. Clavis parks the way you can sometimes find two or three jigsaw puzzle pieces stuck together in unholy ways. Every sound that comes out of a car operated by Clavis Lelouch is symphonic chaos in the best and worst ways. No one has a higher monthly car-insurance premium than Clavis fucking Lelouch. Except for Yves.

IDGAF Tier

LUKE . He parks diagonally, taking up multiple parking spaces. His backseat is an amateur’s collection of unpaid parking ticket stubs. A wave of honey-scents floods out whenever he opens his car door. He unironically listens to Nickelback, so the combination of Nickelback and honey smells coming out of a parking lot can only mean one thing.

RIP Tier

KEITH . (After finally arriving at the parking location two days late) It’s not that he’s a poor-parker, he’s just one that overthinks the hell out of it. Is he going too fast? Is he going too slow? Is there enough of a gap on your side for you to get out? Is there enough of a gap that people can comfortably get into their cars on either side of his? Is his car so tall, I mean big, that it creates an eyesore when someone’s looking down the line? Should he just park directly inside that ditch?

YVES . He’s not the one bumping into cars, they’re the ones bumping into him!! Ranking him this low for something beyond his control is SLANDER!! Though this is largely only the case when he's driving by himself or with people who aren't you. If you're in the car, his Luck Stat goes through the roof, which makes it easier for him to show off just how much of a careful and dexterous parker he is. And his bangs do a cute little forward-backward swish just as he finishes (in sync with his ear ring).

[city-of-ladies]

“Women were included in the ranks of this fully mobilized society. Prokopios, aware, of course, of the legends of the Amazons whose origins he traces to the region of the Sabirs, reports that in the aftermath of "Hunnic" (i.e. Sabir) raids into Byzantine territory, the bodies of women warriors were found among the enemy dead. East Roman or Byzantine sources also knew of women rulers among the nomads. Malalas, among others, mentions the Sabir Queen Boa/Boarez/Boareks who ruled some 100,000 people and could field an army of 20,000. In 576 a Byzantine embassy to the Turks went through the territory of 'Akkayai; "which is the name of the woman who rules the Scythians there, having been appointed at that time by Anagai, chief of the tribe of the Utigurs." The involvement of women in governance (and hence in military affairs) was quite old in the steppe and was remarked on by the Classical Greek accounts of the Iranian Sarmatians. It was also much in evidence in the Cinggisid empire. 

These traditions undoubtedly stemmed from the necessities of nomadic life in which the whole of society was mobilized. Ibn al-Faqih, embellishing on tales that probably went back to the Amazons of Herodotos, says of one of the Turkic towns that their "women fight well together with them," adding that the women were very dissolute and even raped the men. Less fanciful evidence is found in the Jiu Tangshu which, s.a. 835, reports that the Uygur Qagan presented the Tang emperor with "seven women archers skillful on horseback.” Anna Komnena tells of a Byzantine soldier who was unhorsed with an iron grapple and captured by one of the women defenders as he charged the circled wagons of the Pecenegs. Women warriors were known among the already Islamized Turkmen tribes of fifteenth century Anatolia and quite possibly among the Ottoman gazfs (cf. the Bacryan-z Rum "sisters of Rum")”.

Golden Peter B., “War and warfare in the pre-cinggissid steppes of Eurasia” in: Di Cosmo Nicola (ed.), War and warfare in Inner Asian History

[sol-consort]

Protocols - Kaidan

[Heavy smut, choking, facesitting, bdsm undertones, use of military titles in bed, sub Kaidan, dom Reader, power bottom reader, gentle end, AFAB!reader, femshep]

Kaidan helps his commander manager her anger in more healthy ways that involve you sitting on his face.

There was only so much noise the walls of the Normandy ship could muffle.

It came to no one's surprise when their commander's voice grew louder and louder. A powerful yell after another as the heated argument between you and the ambassador of humanity went on in the comm room.

Your crew have witnessed you keep your cool even during the most panic-inducing situations, hold your tongue against the most scummy of people as you diplomatically sway them to your side.

They haven't seen you snap this way, not in so long, at least. The last time it happened, Captain Anderson was still in charge, and he swiftly resolved it. 

After all, there was only a single man in this galaxy that commander Shepard would ever bow to.

Yet, they'd be lying if they said they hadn't seen it coming, you despised people like the ambassador and he never understood the concept of taking a step without crushing someone's toes while looking them in the eyes.

The clash between you two was never a matter of if, but a matter of when.

Kaidan just never expected it to happen so soon after the defeat of Saren. He thought politicians were meant to be smart, so why would Udina keep holding this grudge even after Anderson was appointed to the council.

Was the only report you've given anyone when you came back from your most recent council meeting, Garrus and Liara toeing carefully behind you with their tails tucked behind their legs, walking on eggshells around this new side of humanity they witnessed today.

“That son of a bitch stabbed me in the back, lieutenant, no one crosses me and lives to tell the tale. No One.”

Storming your way to the helm of the ship next, your hand slammed down against the smooth surface of the deck as your presence demanded attention. “Patch me through to the human embassy, Joker.”

“Uh…commander, do you wanna go for a walk before that? Take up yoga, maybe? I've heard it does wonders for the-” Joker's failed attempt at humour was put to an end as he met your stern eyes.

“Do I have to repeat my command, pilot?” 

He didn't seem phased by your temper, more bored with having to play military officials for a while. “No, ma’am. Patching you through, ma'am.”

You disappeared into the comm room afterwards, and the screaming match followed shortly as the ambassador connected to the line. 

By that time, Kaiden had already gone back to his usual station below the navigation deck.

If traces of your wrath managed to trickle down to the lower decks, Kaiden could only imagine what the upper decks are going through right now, wondering if anyone will get any sleep tonight.

But you see, that's where the benefits of having a crew you're very acclimated with shine through. Captain Anderson was never known for his lack of temper either, just like captain like commander.

Although some of the newer recruits are probably lost on what to do, why is everyone treating what seems like an unusual anomaly as a slight change in the weather. Some are nervous, others indifferent, while some approving, most likely Ashley. if it was up to her, she would hold down the ambassador for you to lay the punches on, only if you'd only say the word.

Kaidan was fidgeting with the computer screen just behind the railings, leading to the sleep pods. opening and closing apps, checking the task manager just to stare at the cpu going up and down with every action he performed, you know what people do when they want to look like they're busy, when something is clearly distracting them.

Or a specific someone, in this case.

Old habits die hard, he thought he outgrow his juvenile's self affinity for certain military themed erotica sites that held less than ideal videos about just how…adventurous and…authoritarian military women tended to be.

He tried really hard, you never made it easy with your low voice ordering him to come close by, the various times you've lifted someone up by their throat with a single arm just to threaten their whole existence, the weapons attached to your back bringing attention to your god-like sculpted body under that skin tight shiny armour.

God, even the specific manufacturer of your armour had a branch where they made latex replicas for the use of the general public when it came to certain private hobbies.

He is thirty two, he thought he left those youthful lustful fantasies back in his twenties and yet they're creeping back from under his skin with each yell of your voice, each audible slam of your hands down on a hard surface, each time a curse word slipped past your diplomacy painted lips that usually held nothing but honeyed smooth promises of help, strumming the heroics lyre like it was your second nature.

Why did your voice have to sound so hot throwing insults at people who outrank you? 

Oh how much he'd kill just to be a fly on that wall, witness your wrath first hand in all of its glory, hope he may never end up on the receiving end whilst wishing you'd bear your fangs over more people to keep them in line.

He's too lost in the fantasy of you standing over him, boot against his chest as you push him onto the ground. Eyes filled with fury, ordering him to strip.

Would it be corny to imagine a whip in your other hand? Well, it's his imagination. He deserves to get a little self-indulgent, no matter how corny it might be. 

Your sweat makes your hair stick to your forehead as you crack the whip just next to his face, sending a shiver down his spine as a small cut forms on the side of his cheek. Kaidan wonders if you'd bend down to his level and lick the blood droplets away before crashing your mouth into his mouth, teeth, and all tugging at his lips.

Or maybe you'd press your thumb painfully against his cut until it burns, making him hiss in pain while resisting the urge to pull away from the hand cupping his cheek, arousal drowning out the pain as you coo at him for being such a good boy for his commander, a perfect soldier toy for you to use however you see fit.

This is tethering dangerous territory, the Normandy crew uniform isn't the most subtle when it came to hiding the slowly rising heat between his legs and Kaidan fears what would happen if someone happened to be walking by.

“Lieutenant.” 

it takes him some seconds to register that your voice came from the outside rather than the inside of his brain. Kaidan quickly straightens his posture and turns to face you, hands casually clasped in front of him.

“How can I help you, commander?”

“Cut the act, Alenko, I'm here for you, not for my lieutenant.”

Kaidan's body visibility relaxed as he took a step closer to you, a light chuckle leaving his mouth before he said “you really gave it to Udina up there, huh Shepard, I've never seen you this…active since a long time ago.”

“He got what he deserves. I just hope it was enough to scare him off my back.”

“Me too, Shepard. So, uh, did you need something else. A shoulder to lean on, maybe?.”

“You could say it's something like that.” Your voice dipped in volume, took a sweeter, more smooth tone, one that only Kaidan is ever so familiar with.

His eyes widen slightly, and memory after another of that night, the two of you shared flashes back so quickly he almost swears he could still feel the heat of your skin against his naked body.

Swallowing down, Kaiden resists the urge to bring up the protocol against fraternisation as he tells himself it's okay. The two of you have earned it. Not to mention that you look like you really need it, so maybe it's not so bad to break rules every now and then.

“What…uh, did you have in mind, Shepard?”

“Kaidan” the temptation in your voice made him hold his breath, “how strong is your neck?” The way you cupped his face so gently with the most lustful half lidded look in your eyes.

Okay, who is he fooling? He is the one who desperately needs this. At times, he feels like he needs it more than air, the deep longing echoing in his body, the unfulfilled needs that never get sated no matter how much he tries. It's like you made it impossible for him to find release in anything that doesn't involve him moaning your name with your legs wrapped around him.

-

If someone asked Kaidan how he wished to meet his end, then at the line of duty, protecting the vulnerable would've been his answer on any given normal day.

but currently, nothing could convince him not to throw his life away just for another second between your thighs, another minute of your full weight pressing down on his face and burying his mouth against your aching cunt.

you're grinding down against his nose and harshly riding his face, powerful thighs that walked and ran the terrains of various planets like it was nothing, that held down against the knock-back of every heavy gun you've used, that kept you stable and grounded no matter who your foes were.

Are currently hugging his head, pressing against the side of his face and drowning him. narrowing his vision just to focus on you and your wet dripping heat that he eagerly laps up with every thrust of your hips, tongue chasing to catch every bit of your wetness so it may go down his throat where it belongs.

he has never felt more in his appropriate place in his life, under a powerful woman, tugging his hair and making use of him. not just any woman to boost, but The Commander Shepard, the hero of the human race, the person single handedly responsible for reducing this grown man into a desperate soldier, eager to please his mistress.

Your tight grip against his hair strands only makes him feel more used, pathetic in an addicting way. you could snap his neck in half with your big thighs, and he'd still thank you for it as you dragged him by the hair to the medical wing nearby.

The sound of your moans fill the captain's room, telling him how good of a job he's doing eating you out. Mercilessly fucking back into his face without a care as you test the limits of how resilient your subordinate is. 

Strong hands gripping your thighs, no doubt leaving prints behind as they pull you further down into him as if he just can't get enough of your taste, can't swallow down enough of your wetness. Taking clear pride in the amount of pleasure he's providing by serving under you.

without doing anything, all of your needs are accounted for as one of his hands lets go of your thigh and two fingers rub your clit to match the pace you're grinding down with, releasing in the arch of your back whenever he presses hard against the bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, keep going. Don't you dare stop soldier.” breathlessly you give him the order as your hand pulls harshed against his hair, making his mind melt in a mix of pain and pleasure.

And something about referring to him with a lower title than his rank makes his hips buck in frustration, the room air indifferent against his naked body while his hard cock leaks in neglect.

Using military titles in bed was never his forte, but like everything else you do, you manage to be the exception to every rule known to mankind. 

Suddenly he can't but crave to prove himself to you, remind you that he is your lieutenant and not just another soldier, that he has more authority than most people on this ship just so your eyes may stay looking at him and never wander away. He will be as powerful as you need him to be, and as submissive as you order him to, he will get on his knees every day for you if that's what his commander wishes for.

Just keep him by your side, let him have more of you, take up more of your personal time, and press his lips against your neck. 

He can't wait for shore leave when this routine mission ends. The idea of waking up next to you on a soft bed for once sounds like heaven. He has a nice apartment he will happily take you back to and spoil you rotten, show you just how much of a romantic he can be.

It's just another routine mission.

The way your thighs start quivering and pressing against him harder makes him think you're close, they're almost choking the air out of him but he doesn't pay it any attention and focuses on your own pleasure instead.

Tongue going deeper inside you before sliding out and licking a trail leading to your clit then going inside again, repeating this cycle and making sure he doesn't cut any corners when it comes to eating you out.

With a loud yell of his name, your whole weight finally collapses down on him as you reach your climax. Cutting off his breath and making him swallow down all of your cum and lap it up.

When you eventually pull away and scoot back to sit on his chest instead, you notice the mess you've made of his face. Your wetness staining his mouth and jaw as he looks at you eagerly for how well of a job He had done.

And Kaidan seems to share your relief, noticing how more relaxed he managed to get your body to be, how there is a hint of a smile in the corners of your lips, how all the anger and frustration fizzled out.

A sudden moan is forced out of him when you lean back and grip his aching cock in your hand, giving it a good pump to squeeze out the precum. 

Kaidan bites his lip with desperation in his eyes, silently begging for you to go on. Moaning out a small thank you when you move back until your wet heat is directly above his hard cock.

The head rubbing against your folds, making him lose his mind and use all of his self-control to not just thrust up. He can't even imagine the idea of disobeying you, so he surrenders to your will as you continue to tease and edge his poor throbbing cock.

Thankfully, you seem to be in a good mood, for the next thing he knows is the feeling of your heat fully wrapping around him and taking him inside.

Kaidan clutches the white sheets underneath him, Back arching as your silky insides squeeze His cock for all he's worth. 

“Think you can handle me, Alenko? Or should I go slow?”

you haven't even started yet, and he feels like seconds away from bursting, with a shake of his head, he manages to speak out. “Slow, have mercy, Shepard.”

“You got it, lieutenant.” Your words held more gentleness to them, leaning forward and peppering kisses against the corner of his mouth as your hips moved up and down slowly.

Gently rocking against him and moving at his own pace, Kaiden melted into your kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. chasing your mouth after you broke the kiss.

Focusing on his neck, you sucked and marked the tender flesh as he squirmed in pleasure underneath you. Keeping the slow pace and waiting for him to give you the signal to go faster.

By the time Kaidan was close, you made sure to hold him tight and against you and let him bury his face in your chest. Strong arms trembling as they hugged you for dear life while you fucked his cock in and out of you.

You felt his cum fill your insides, his release leaking out of you and down his cock as you stayed relentless and kept moving your hips until there was no more for him to give.

Cupping his face, You were met with his lovestruck eyes that stared at you in awe as if you were something phenomenal, as if he has never met a person like you before in his life.

and you let him catch his breath. Slipping his cock from Inside you as he laid back on the bed. 

You got up and headed to the private bathroom in your room, cleaning yourself and bringing a warm towel back to the bed to clean Kaidan with. Rubbing it against his skin gently and wiping off all the sweat, wetness and cum. It will do for now until he could regain his strength for a shower.

Putting your military casual wear back on, you leaned back against your desk as you watched him doze off on your bed. Naked skin glistening and a heat colouring his face.

[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 25

1800 – The Commonwealth of Virginia reduces the penalty for free peoples who commit buggery down from the death penalty to one to ten years in prison, but did not remove the death penalty for slaves who commit buggery.

1874 – British novelist and playwright W. Somerset Maugham (d.1965) was born in Paris, where his father Robert Ormond Maugham was an English lawyer who handled the legal affairs of the British embassy.

Maugham was sent back to England to be cared for by his uncle, a Vicar, in Kent. The move was damaging, as Henry Maugham proved cold and emotionally cruel. The boy attended The King's School, Canterbury, which was also difficult for him. He was teased for his bad English (French had been his first language) and his short stature, which he inherited from his father. Maugham developed a stammer that would stay with him all his life.

Miserable both at his uncle's vicarage and at school, the young Maugham developed a talent for making wounding remarks to those who displeased him. This ability is sometimes reflected in Maugham's literary characters. At sixteen, Maugham refused to continue at The King's School. His uncle allowed him to travel to Germany, where he studied literature, philosophy and German at Heidelberg University. During his year in Heidelberg, Maugham met and had a sexual affair with John Ellingham Brooks, an Englishman ten years his senior.

On his return to England, the local doctor suggested he enter the medical profession and Maugham's uncle agreed. Maugham had been writing steadily since the age of 15 and fervently wished to become an author, but as he was not of age, he refrained from telling his guardian. For the next five years, he studied medicine at St Thomas' Hospital in Lambeth, London.

Maugham kept his own lodgings, took pleasure in furnishing them, filled many notebooks with literary ideas, and continued writing nightly while at the same time studying for his medical degree. In 1897, he wrote his first novel, Liza of Lambeth, a tale of working-class adultery and its consequences. Liza of Lambeth's first print run sold out in a matter of weeks. Maugham, who had qualified as a doctor, dropped medicine and embarked on his 65-year career as a man of letters. He later said, "I took to it as a duck takes to water."

The famous playwright was twenty-one when Oscar Wilde was put on trial. It was enough to make him "publicly straight." Frightened by the Oscar Wilde trial, Maugham avoided treating homosexual themes and characters in his novels and plays. He later said that his biggest mistake was "I tried to persuade myself that I was three-quarters normal and that only quarter of me was queer — whereas it was the other way around."

By 1914 Maugham was famous, with 10 plays produced and 10 novels published. Too old to enlist when World War I broke out, Maugham served in France as a member of the British Red Cross's so-called "Literary Ambulance Drivers", a group of some 23 well-known writers, including the Americans John Dos Passos and E. E. Cummings. During this time, he met Frederick Gerald Haxton, a young San Franciscan, who became his companion and lover until Haxton's death in 1944. Throughout this period Maugham continued to write. He proofread Of Human Bondage at a location near Dunkirk during a lull in his ambulance duties. Maugham also worked for British Intelligence in mainland Europe during the war, having been recruited by John Wallinger; he was one of the network of British agents who operated in Switzerland against the Berlin Committee. Maugham was later recruited by William Wiseman to work in Russia

Although Maugham's first and many other sexual relationships were with men, he also had sexual relationships with a number of women. His affair with Syrie Wellcome produced a daughter named Liza. Syrie's husband Henry Wellcome sued his wife for divorce, naming Maugham as co-respondent. In May 1917, following the decree absolute, Syrie and Maugham were married. Syrie and Maugham divorced in 1927-8 after a tempestuous marriage complicated by Maugham's frequent travels abroad and strained by his relationship with Haxton.

The gap left by Haxton's death in 1944 was filled by Alan Searle. Maugham had first met Searle in 1928. Searle was a young man from the London slum area of Bermondsey and he had already been kept by older men. He proved a devoted if not a stimulating companion. Indeed one of Maugham's friends, describing the difference between Haxton and Searle, said simply: "Gerald was vintage, Alan was vin ordinaire."

Despite his wealth, his fame, and the love of his secretary-companion Gerald Haxton and later, Searle, Maugham died a bitter man but among the pantheon of the most prolific and read writers of the 20th century. And if you haven't read him, you've watched his stories. No less than 35 film shave been made from his novels and short stories including The Razor's Edge, Of Human Bondage, Being Julia, The Moon and Sixpence and Sadie Thompson (later called Rain.)

1892 – Lesbian writer Virginia Woolf was born in London (d.1941). The most celebrated of the Bloomsbury set, her writing is cerebral, and subtle.

Woolf was born Adeline Virginia Stephen on January 25, 1882, in Hyde Park Gate, London, the daughter of Leslie Stephen, a man of letters, and Julia Pattle Duckworth. Virginia's mother's first marriage ended with the death of her husband, leaving her with three children, one of whom, Gerald Duckworth, is known to have sexually molested Woolf as an adolescent.

Her adolescence was marked as well by a sequence of deaths and the first bout of a mental illness that would haunt her for the rest of her life: Her mother died in 1895; her half-sister Stella, who served as mother-substitute, in 1897; her father in 1904 and her brother Thoby in 1906. She experienced her first mental breakdown at the age of thirteen following her mother's death, while the final one ended with her suicide when she walked into the river Ouse on March 28, 1941.

Woolf developed her closest attachment to her sister Vanessa, what she called "a very close conspiracy." The two sisters functioned as co-conspirators in their alliance as women artists, on the one hand against the tyranny of the father who repeatedly sought to enlist their services as surrogate wives; on the other hand, against Victorian mores that considered marriage the only suitable profession for middle-class daughters.

Following Leslie Stephen's death, the four siblings moved to Bloomsbury, a section of London that would eventually give name to a group of artists and intellectuals, the Bloomsbury Group. This group began when her brother Thoby and his Cambridge friends moved back to London and met every Thursday evening to discuss art and literature, as well as pressing political issues such as pacifism and socialism. Initially, Virginia and Vanessa were the only two women present, as Thoby's sisters but also as intellectuals and artists. Several of the male participants were avowed homosexuals, including Lytton Strachey, who proposed to Virginia in 1909, although the engagement was almost immediately broken off.

Woolf's relationship to gay men remained an ambivalent one. On the one hand, she appreciated a lack of sexual interest that made it possible for her to have access to an intellectual environment based on an indifference to her gender; on the other hand, the absence of women meant a lacking female eroticism that for her prohibited creativity. Much later, on August 19, 1930, she wrote in a letter to Ethel Smyth: "It is true that I only want to show off to women. Women alone stir my imagination."

In 1912, she married Leonard Woolf, "a penniless Jew," also a member of the Bloomsbury Group, a political writer who had recently returned from service in India. This marriage is considered to have been a supportive although passionless one. In 1917, the Woolfs established Hogarth Press as an attempt to engage Virginia in more practical work in the hope of keeping at bay further bouts of mental illness. The Press published the works of several lesbian and gay writers, including E. M. Forster, Christopher Isherwood, and Vita Sackville-West.

Woolf had several intense friendships with women throughout her life. They often resulted in literary works, not always published, written as tribute to friendships that greatly fostered—but were ultimately confined to—writing. Often these women were older, unmarried, more masculine in appearance, and highly successful artists; often they offered Woolf some form of maternal protection as she struggled with another incident of physical or mental illness. None of these relationships is known to have had a sexual component.

Woolf's first passionate friendship was with Madge Vaughan, the daughter of the well-known writer and sexologist, John Addington Symonds, whom Woolf met at the age of sixteen and who was to serve as a model for Sally Seton in Mrs. Dalloway (1925). Violet Dickinson, almost twice Woolf's age when she nursed her during the mental breakdown following the death of her father, was an unmarried Quaker for whom she wrote "Friendship Gallery" (1907), a spoof biography that anticipates Orlando (1928). Much later Woolf looked back on this friendship as the one that enabled her to say for the first time with confidence, "I am a writer." The final of such friendships was with Ethel Smyth, a well-known composer, whom Virginia met in 1930, when Woolf was forty-eight and Smyth seventy years old.

Woolfe's greatest love was probably Vita Sackville-West, with whom she had the only intense friendship to include a physical relationship. Although married to Leonard Woolf, the ethos of Bloomsbury discouraged sexual exclusivity, and in 1922, when Woolf met poet and novelist Vita Sackville-West, after a tentative start they began a relationship that lasted through most of the 1920s. The sexual affair began in 1925, the point at which Woolf wrote in her Diary, "These Sapphists love women; friendship is never untinged with amorosity" (December 21), and is thought to have lasted until 1928. During that time, Vita took two trips to Persia to visit her husband who was working in the British embassy in Tehran. The second time she traveled in the company of another woman, which began to create a rift as Woolf became less and less tolerant of Vita's other affairs.

In 1928, Woolf and E. M. Forster wrote a letter defending Radclyffe Hall's Well of Loneliness, not as a good novel or because of its lesbian content, but in the name of free speech. Various members of Bloomsbury appeared at the obscenity trial prepared to testify as expert witnesses, including Woolf, who described her presence as a way of also defending Vita's Sapphism.

In 1928, Woolf presented Sackville-West with "Orlando," a fantastical biography in which the eponymous hero's life spans three centuries and both genders. It has been called by Nigel Nicolson, Vita Sackville-West's son, "the longest and most charming love letter in literature."

After their affair ended, the two women remained friends until Woolf's death in 1941.

1915 – Josef Kohout (d.1994), German concentration camp survivor and author, was born in Vienna. By age sixteen, he was already aware of his homosexuality. His love for the son of an Nazi party functionary led to his arrest in late 1938. Kohout served a seven-month prison sentence.

After a second arrest, Josef Kohout was sent to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp in mid-January 1940. Four months later, he was transferred to Flossenbürg. He worked as a Kapo in forced labor in the loading commando at the train station. His position as a Kapo was unusual for a homosexual inmate. He survived, as he himself explained, because of his good relations with other “green” Kapos. During the death march in April 1945, Kohout succeeded in escaping near Cham.

Male homosexuality remained a crime after 1945. For decades, Josef Kohout fought for recognition as a victim of National Socialism. The years of his concentration camp incarceration were not counted toward his pension until 1992. Using the pseudonym Heinz Heger, his experiences were published under the title “The Men with the Pink Triangle” in the 1970s. The unique testimony was accorded great respect within the gay movement.

Josef Kohout lived with his male partner in Vienna until his death on March 15, 1994. He never received reparations for his persecution.

Aaron Fricke (R) with Paul Guilbert

1962 – Aaron Fricke is an American gay rights activist. He was born in Providence, Rhode Island. He is best known for the pivotal case in which he successfully sued his high school for not allowing him to bring his boyfriend, Paul Guilbert, to the senior prom at Cumberland High School in Cumberland, Rhode Island.

At the age of 17, shortly after he came out in 1980, Frick decided to take a male date to the high school prom. "The simple thing would have been to go to the senior prom with a girl. But that would have been a lie — a lie to myself, to the girl, and to all the other students." When the high school informed Fricke he could not bring him to the prom, he filed suit in U.S. District court. The presiding judge, Raymond J. Pettine, ruled in Fricke's favor, ordering the school to not only allow him and his partner to attend as a couple but also to provide enough security to ensure their safety. He recounts the battle over that date in in "Reflections of a Rock Lobster: A Story About Growing Up Gay."

He later collaborated with his father, Walter, on a book about their relationship and of the elder Fricke's coming to terms with his son's homosexuality. That book, "Sudden Strangers: The Story of a Gay Son and His Father", was published in 1989.

The suit brought by Aaron Fricke against his school is considered a major milestone in the history of gay rights. Each year cases of young same-sex couples being discriminated against by their schools happen around the world, and when these cases are brought to court, the suit first brought by Aaron Fricke and Paul Guilbert is invariably cited by the plaintiff's counsel.

1963 – Don Mancini is an American screenwriter, producer, and film director. Mancini is best known for creating the character of Chucky, and writing all of the films in the Child's Play series. Mancini was also the executive producer of Bride of Chucky, and he directed, Seed of Chucky, as well as the latest installment in Child's Play franchise, Curse of Chucky.

Along with Michael McDowell and Clive Barker, Mancini is one of the few openly gay writers in the slasher film genre.

In 2007, he won the EyeGore award for career contributions to the horror genre. He sometimes goes by the pseudonym Kit Du Bois (also spelled Kit Dubois).

1970 – Stephen Chbosky is an American novelist, screenwriter, and film director best known for writing the New York Times bestselling coming-of-age novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower (1999), as well as for screenwriting and directing the film version of the same book, starring Logan Lerman, Emma Watson, and Ezra Miller. He also wrote the screenplay for the 2005 film Rent, and was co-creator, executive producer, and writer of the CBS television series Jericho, which began airing in 2006.

Chbosky was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He was raised Catholic. As a teenager, Chbosky "enjoyed a good blend of the classics, horror, and fantasy." He was heavily influenced by J. D. Salinger's novel The Catcher in the Rye and the writing of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Tennessee Williams. Chbosky graduated from Upper St. Clair High School in 1988, around which time he met Stewart Stern, screenwriter of the 1955 James Dean film Rebel Without a Cause. Stern became Chbosky's "good friend and mentor", and proved a major influence on Chbosky's career.He wrote, directed, and acted in the 1995 independent film The Four Corners of Nowhere, which got Chbosky his first agent, was accepted by the Sundance Film Festival, and became one of the first films shown on the Sundance Channel. In the late 1990s, Chbosky wrote several unproduced screenplays, including ones titled Audrey Hepburn's Neck and Schoolhouse Rock. In 1994, Chbosky was working on a "very different type of book" than The Perks of Being a Wallflower when he wrote the line, "I guess that's just one of the perks of being a wallflower." Chbosky recalled that he "wrote that line. And stopped. And realized that somewhere in that [sentence] was the kid I was really trying to find." After several years of gestation, Chbosky began researching and writing The Perks of Being a Wallflower, an epistolary novel that follows the intellectual and emotional maturation of a teenager who uses the alias Charlie over the course of his first year of high school. The book is semi-autobiographical; Chbosky has said that he "relate[s] to Charlie[...] But my life in high school was in many ways different."

The book, Chbosky's first novel, was published by MTV Books in 1999, and was an immediate popular success with teenage readers; by 2000, the novel was MTV Books' best-selling title, and The New York Times noted in 2007 that it had sold more than 700,000 copies and "is passed from adolescent to adolescent like a hot potato". As of May 2013, the number of copies in print reached over two million. Wallflower also stirred up controversy due to Chbosky's portrayal of teen sexuality and drug use. The book has been removed from circulation in several schools and appeared on the American Library Association's 2004, 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2009 lists of the 10 most frequently challenged books. As of July 2013, The Perks of Being a Wallflower had spent over a year on the New York Times Bestseller list, and is published in 31 languages.

Chbosky lives and works in Los Angeles, California. He is an active gay rights supporter, and he continues to work on films.

1993 – South Africa adopted its post-Apartheid constitution. The breathtaking freedoms declared in this document made South Africa the first nation to bar discrimination based on sexual orientation.