#the dance 1856

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

William Adolphe Bouguereau (French, 1825-1905) La Danse, 1856 Musée d'Orsay

[lionofchaeronea]

The Dance, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1856

[classicalcanvas]

Title: The dance of the nymphs

Artist: Édouard Bisson

Date: 1856 - 1939

Genre: Mythological Painting

[thehmn]

I made a post some time ago (LINK) about how trolls are more nuanced creatures in Scandinavian folklore than in modern English speaking pop culture and are often used as sympathetic allegories for people who just can’t fit in with mainstream society, be it because of their disability, gender or sexuality.

I realized I forgot about the Danish 1856 ballet A Folk Tale (you can watch it on YouTube here LINK) despite it being an excellent example because in modern times it has been reinterpreted to fit this new view of trolls. (Because it’s an older ballet it has less dancing and more miming and acting than you’re probably expecting)

The story to help you better understand the ballet: The human girl Hilda and the troll girl Birthe are swapped as infants.

Many years later during a picnic Birthe is flirting with the nobleman Sir Mogens even though her fiancé Junker Ove is present. She enjoys toying with both of them, much to Ove’s dismay and Mogens’ delight. It all ends in Ove and Birthe having a fight resulting in Birthe leaving with Mogens and Ove staying in the forest past sundown to collect his thoughts.

Suddenly a nearby hill opens and reveals the troll sorceress Muri and her adopted daughter Hilda. Muri tells Hilda to lure Ove closer and get him to drink from an enchanted cup but he refuses, spills the drink and won’t give the cup back. As revenge Muri summons the elves who dance him into madness and leave him scared, confused and half naked in the dark forest (if you only know fantasy elves this is a perfect example of what the original elves are like in Scandinavian folklore)

In the underworld we learn that Hilda has been told she’s an elf girl but she senses something is off. Both of Muri’s sons, Diderik and Viderik, are in love with her but Muri has decided that Diderik should marry her because he’s the oldest. During the engagement party Hilda and Viderik get the guests drunk and run away.

They end up near a sacred spring where they see a priest feed the healing water to sick people. They try to cheer the sick and poor people up with music and dance but suddenly Ove shows up. He still has the elf madness and scares everyone. Mogens happens to walk by and thinks Ove is attacking people so he runs to get help, secretly plotting to get Ove out of the way so he can marry Birthe. Meanwhile Hilda feeds some of the sacred spring water to Ove and dance him back to sanity. Mogens returns with soldiers, hunters and farmers and trap Ove. Viderik helps him escape using his magic music and sends Mogens and his men on a wild goose chase.

Back at the mansion Birthe is terrorizing her servants and even goes as far as to threaten to throw her mother out of the house. Hilda who had been running from Mogens’ men makes her way into the mansion where she is recognized as the true heir to the estate. Because of her horrible treatment of the household Birthe is immediately thrown out onto the street and runs to Mogens for help only to find him under a troll spell. Instead of being horrified she’s delighted. Viderik realize she’s his real sister and while they talk it out other supernatural creatures come out and trap Mogens. Muri and Diderik have been looking for Hilda and Viderik and arrive just as Birthe is starting to come around to the idea that she might be a troll. Muri sees an opportunity and asks Mogens if he wants to marry her daughter Birthe. He’s too terrified and refuses until Muri offer him treasure. When Birthe realizes her troll family is even richer than her human family she immediately accepts that she’s a troll and together Birthe and Mogens follow the trolls into the underworld.

Back at the mansion Hilda and Ove have been reunited and are celebrating their wedding. Mogens and Birthe arrives which at first scares people but they’ve come in peace and to show their good will they’ve bought a dance troupe and preform for the newly weds. The ballet ends on a freeze frame of Hilda and Ove standing in the light, looking towards the human world, and Birthe and Mogens in the dark, raising their arms towards the supernatural world, both couples getting their happiest possible ending.

Now, the original version took place during the renaissance and had a strong Christian theme. Hilda wanted to return to the human world because she longed for Christian values and Ove was like a beacon of purity for her to follow. At the end all trolls left Denmark, symbolizing Christianity finally taking hold of the country.

The updated version takes place in the time it was written and the Christian themes have been severely downplayed. Trolls and all supernatural creatures are still very much present, even watching the wedding from a distance. It is now a personal story about people feeling misplaced and longing for a community that understands and accepts them.

Birthe is aggressive, even cruel at times, but this version also implies her behavior is part nature and part nurture. She is described as spoiled meaning her parents had a huge hand in how she turned out, unable or perhaps unwilling to handle her condition and now her mother despise what she has become. This is evident in how Birthe behaves around her mother. She LOVES her wet nurse who took on the emotional parenting role but recoils at her mother’s touch. She also directs most of her abuse at the housekeeper because she most openly mocks Birthe’s clumsiness and inability to act refined. There’s a heartbreaking scene where Birthe gets so frustrated with her inability to dance and fit in that she screams at her own reflection until the wet nurse calms her down.

Only two people are able to calm Birthe down, her wet nurse who cuddles her when she gets upset and Mogens who is seen directing Birthe’s attention to himself which softens her demeanor because she likes him and doesn’t want to cause him more harm than he can handle.

Both her and Mogens are also more queer coded in this version. Birthe wants to be a dancer and gets very up and close with the female dancers. In the first scene Mogens can be seen flirting with the female staff and in the last scene he feels comfortable openly flirting with the male dancers. It’s worth noting neither acts jealous when they see their partner flirt, again shining a light on their alternative relationship.

And who could forget when Birthe tricks Mogens into kissing Ove. In the taped version he kiss Ove’s hand but in the version I watched live they kissed on the mouth which better explained why Mogens grabs Ove’s face later as if to mockingly say “You think I’m disgusting? Look at what you’ve become”

And you’d think Mogens had more reason to be mad than Ove but no, he’s flustered but gets over it almost immediately while Ove is so angry he rips his jacket off like the good pure boy he is.

And something that really stands out is Mogens’ worship of Birthe. The first time Birthe appears all the other characters run to the opposite end of the stage but Mogens doesn’t even flinch. He just bathes in her presence. When she asks him to push her on the swing he unprompted gets her whip.

In a later scene she’s seen using a bell to bully her servants and the final thing that makes her realize she has lost all power is when they ignore it, which makes it very symbolic that Mogens gives her the bell back in the final scene and holds her up high while she rings it. Boy loves his Dom GF so very very much.

It also says something about Mogens that he randomly appears in the bad part of town. He’s very good at playing the upper class game and seems to be quite respected but also seeks escape in the outskirts of society. When Birthe really gets going you can see Mogens acting shocked followed by pure joy at such a free and wild woman. The Danish translation of Shakespeare’s Taming of The Shrew is Troll can be Tamed and this ballet almost feels like a response to that. Trolls/wild women should not be tamed! They should be free around people who love them for their wildness!

Their behavior is perfectly in line with what we see in the underworld. Muri is played by a male dancer to give her the proper imposing height and it’s left up for interpretation if older female trolls are just bigger than the males or if she’s a trans mommy. The engagement party is risqué from the start and quickly turns into a drunken sex orgy (Good luck to Mogens when he is engaged to Birthe. All I’m saying is as a human he’s going to be very popular with the other creatures) It might seem like an evil world but this version of the ballet really tries to make it clear that this is normal and expected behavior in the underworld. They act like that because they like it and are all happy with the way their society works. Even the more gentle troll Viderik prefer the underworld to the human world. It’s not bad just different.

Birthe and Mongens almost come of as lower level money-happy Disney villains, deserving of a fitting punishment for their treatment of the people around them, but certainly not death and the story is overall sympathetic to them as people who have been mangled by a society that mistreated and punished them for something that was out of their control which is why they get a happy ending. Definitely worth a watch.

[sparklingchan]

Echoes|| Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Hyunjin

Word count : 5.8K+

Warnings : Blood, death, weapons, fire.

Genre : Romance, time-travel AU, royal AU, suggestive, mentions of death

Description: One day, you’re a college student, barely making it through your finals. And the next, you wake up in a palace, married to the most beautiful man on earth. What the hell is happening?!

A/N : HELLO MY TUMBLR FAM! I know its been way toooo long. And I’ll be honest, I missed everyone and I missed writing more than anything. I’ll try to post regularly and I hope my stories reach out to you as much as they did before.

Also, in other news, if this story gets a good response then imma write a mini series of royal stories for the other members as well(the stories will not be interrelated tho)

I hope y’all like this! I put my heart and soul into it!

You're not sure if you're awake anymore or just a frozen sack of meat staring at a painting like your life depended on it.

"See? I told you, y/n! She looks like you." Your friend, Lia squeals excitedly. You wish you could share even half of her enthusiasm.

You knew this trip to the museum was a bad idea the moment you got on the bus. This entire trip has just not been clicking with you the way you'd expected it to.

You were always a history lover, though. You'd read pages and pages about kings and queens and ancient politics and everything along those lines. This trip was supposed to be equally enlightening but you'd spent the entire day trying shake off an odd, eerie feeling that seems to have latched on to your back.

"Yeah.." you mutter to Lia.

Your eyes run along every single stroke of the painter's brush. The red hues of the curtains, the golden shine of the crowns, the green frills on the Prince's overcoat and the brown contour of the Princess's face.

The face that somehow mirrored yours.

"Maybe she's a far, far ancestor of yours?" Lia suggests, "Who knows, y/n!"

There's no way a Princess from the 1800s could be your ancestor; you'd know if you had even a bit of royal blood coursing through your veins.

And in that one possibility out a million, even if you did have a royal ancestor, there's no way she'd look exactly like you. No way.

"Or it could be your past life, y/n." Lia's voice goes into a whisper, her eyes widening behind her square rimmed glasses, "Maybe you were the princess."

You only sigh in response.

You walk closer to read the placard placed near the foot of the painting.

Hwang Yeji

Painter, 1795-1856.

Portrait of His Royal Highness Prince Hwang Hyunjin and the Royal consort

1827

Oil on canvas

Her Royal Highness princess Hwang Yeji was born in 1795 to His majesty King Chung and the royal consort Her Majesty Queen Sayuu of the then kingdom of Clé. She also has a twin brother, Prince Hwang Hyunjin who is believed to be older than her by a few minutes.

“It is said that the Crown Prince and Princess have had quite a tragic story, and Princess Yeji had gathered strentgh to complete this painting a long time after her brother and sister in law were tragically killed.” Lia reads out the rest of the sentences.

"I'm taking a picture, oh God! This is so fucking awesome." Lia fishes out her phone and starts clicking pictures of the painting, muttering how the similarity between these you and the Royal Consort is giving her goosebumps, "Should I make a video too?"

Her voice drains out into the background as a throbbing pain spreads across your head and eyes and you see odd flashes like the scenes of a movie playing without any particular order; castles, ball dances, a crown colored in blood and a boy wounded in your arms.

An unexplainable force pushes you closer to the painting and the moment your fingers touch the rough wooden frame, your headache stops.

"Y/n, you're not allowed to touch the pai-"

Lia's voice gets quieter and quieter till your vision goes black and your body goes limp.

*

When your eyes flutter open after god knows how long, you find yourself in a rather unexpected place.

The room is bright. Too bright for your liking. Yet the sparkling white marble of the walls and floor look beautiful against the dark brown vintage furniture of the room.

You stir against the feather soft mattress of the bed when a concerned voice calls you from across the room.

"Oh my darling! You're awake!" The voice is gentle, "We were so worried about you, y/n."

Your vision is still hazy but you see the figure of a lady walking toward you.

"Um, where am I?" You ask, rubbing your temples.

Until a while ago, there was unbearable pain but now you feel fine.

"Oh dear," the lady sits at the foot of your bed, "You're home. Do you not remember?"

Home? Since when did home go from a 3 BHK apartment in the heart of the city to this huge, fancy room?

"There..there has been some kind of mistake, ma'am."

When you try to sit up, she pushes you back down. Gentle but insistent.

"Dear, you need to rest. The physician will be here in the evening and I am to stay here with you until Hyunjin arrives, okay?"

She smiles at you and finally, you are able to take a closer look at the woman. Her hair is graying but long, a silver crown rests on her head gracefully and she wears the most beautiful silk gown you'd ever seen. Her face is wrinkled yet when she smiles, one can tell that she must have been quite a beauty back in the day.

"W-who might you be, ma'am?" You ask, nervous, heartbeat in your throat.

You were excited when you saw the fancy room earlier but now it's getting real creepy. Why is this random woman talking to you as if she knows you?

"Oh, dear, y/n," She places a hand on your forehead, and you flinch, "I'm your mother in law. Queen Sayyu. Do you really not remember?"

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Queen Sayyu. You'd heard that name before. That painting in that museum you were in. Lia was right beside you. What the fuck happened after that?

"I think you're mistaken, ma'am. I am a student. I cannot be married." You mutter, "Did you find my phone when I was brought here? I could call my friend. She must be around." Because there's no way Lia would leave you alone with this creepy old lady with some serious personal issues, right?

But then again, Queen Sayyu was a real person. And for all you know, her daughter in law did resemble you.

Did you perhaps travel back in time? Or was it just your brain making you see weird things?

"Phone? What's that?" She asks.

You sigh, and tap your thighs where your pant pockets once resided but now, your fingers slide across the softest silk.

"Where are my clothes?" You jump out of the bed, getting worried by the second.

Why were you dressed in a blue silk gown? You don't even remember ever buying one.

Panic seizes you when Sayyu tries to touch you, "Ma'am, would you please tell me what’s going on? I'm genuinely confused!"

"I am telling you the truth! You, y/n Princess of The Northern Kingdom was married off to my son Hwang Hyunjin a few months back. " she sucks in a deep breath, "Did you perhaps lose your memories after the accident? Did you hit your head too hard?"

You are about to open your mouth to reply when you hear a gentle knock on the door.

"Y/n, it's Hyunjin. "

Sayyu passes you a worried look before she rushes off to let her son in.

"It's worse than I thought, " you hear her whisper as the front door opens, "She has amnesia!"

You sit on the edge of the bed, running a frustrated hand through your hair.

As if the mother wasn't enough, the son is here too. Brilliant.

"Please talk to her. She is saying peculiar things like some thing called phones and some girl called Lia and she kept asking who I was!" Sayyu continues whispering to Hyunjin, with no active reaction from the latter.

You wonder if Sayyu was really stupid enough to think you couldn't hear her.

"I'll talk to her." A male voice finally replies, "You should rest, mother. You've been here all day."

For some reason, you cannot bring yourself to have a look at your supposed husband.

You have a fleeting memory of the painting you'd seen back at the museum but you weren't sure if the Prince really did look as attractive in real life.

You hear the front door open and close, and then heavy footsteps approach you.

"Is this some new plan of yours? Trying to get attention again?"

Wow. What the actual hell!

You snap your head to look at him, "Excuse me?"

But oh, boy was he beautiful. Long blonde hair, golden eyes and blue silk robes, he carried it all so elegantly.

"Y/n, please. I know you didn't actually lose your memories. So stop pretending and tell me why you are doing it."

For a second, you almost feel bad for yourself.

Well not you you but the princess you.

It must have been hard marrying someone like this. But then again, good looks hardly ever guarantee good behavior.

"I am not pretending. I genuinely do not remember anything, Hyunjin! Why do you have to be so mean?"

"If you really do not remember anything then why are fighting with me like you do always! See, I was right. You are lying."

You clench your jaw, frustrated, " I am fighting because whether I remember you or not, you're still a piece of shit!"

Hyunjin's eyes widen in shock. Of course he never expected his graceful wife to ever use such profanities. He looks betrayed.

"Now get the hell out of my room."

You climb back into the bed, cover your head with the quilt and shut your eyes.

Before you know it, you are sleeping soundly with no idea that your poor husband is spending the night on the sofa in your room

*

The next morning, you are woken up by your maids followed by the most delicious breakfast ever.

They prepare a bath for you, chose a gorgeous gown from the closet, and even style your hair. You do not even have to lift a finger to get these things done.

And all of a sudden, your odd reality doesn't feel as horrible anymore.

You remember the placard placed near that painting, and all your fears vanish. It was written that Prince Hyunjin and his wife would be killed in a few years and you are positive that when you die in this world, you will wake up in your original world.

Yes, the dying part is scary but might as well enjoy the luxury that comes with the fear.

In the afternoon, you find yourself sipping tea and breathing the fresh air of the rose garden behind your palace quarters.

"So you are...Nabi. My lady in waiting?"

Nabi is a cheerful, smiley young woman. She also seems to be closer to the princess version of yourself than most other maids.

"Yes, your Highness, " she sighs sadly, "It breaks my heart to see you like this. Do you really not remember anything?"

"Um, I remember some things. Like the king's and queen's name and princess Yeji. I also know that I am from the Northern Kingdom."

You also know that you'd die in around two years and Hyunjin's sister will make a painting to let the world know what a tragic story you had, but you decide to not say that.

Nabi pouts, "I'm sorry, your Highness. I wish I were there when you fainted. Maybe I could have helped you."

You tap your fingers against the porcelain cup in your hand, "Could you tell me exactly what had happened that day? Did I fall down? Or something else happened?"

"Oh, you didn't fall, no," she chuckles, "All the women of the Royal family were invited to this art gallery. While looking through some paintings, you suddenly fainted. We brought you back immediately."

"The physician check you and confirmed that you weren't pregnant, much to the Queen's dismay. She was looking forward to becoming a grandmother."

You almost spit the tea out, "What! Where did that even come from?"

Nabi smiles, "Well, why else would a newlywed bride faint? Anyway, I knew you weren't pregnant. You'd told me the prince and you haven't done that, you know."

Wow. The princess 'you' really told this girl way more than needed.

"And why exactly did I say we hadn't fu- I mean done that yet?" And now you were asking more than necessary.

"Because he's cold to you." She says, "But you know, even when you told me that, I knew he loved you and only you. He has never been involved with another and I saw him keep a portrait of yours in his private study room."

You are at a loss of words. How does one even react to this kind of information? Should you be happy for the princess 'you' or should you be jealous of her?

You force a smile, "How exactly did you find out about the portrait?"

"What portrait?" A male voice says from somewhere behind you.

Nabi and the other maids quickly get on their feet and greet their prince as this ethereal man walks out from behind the tall bushes.

"Hm? What are you guys talking about?" He asks, a gentle smile on his lips.

Oh so now he smiles?

"Just palace gossip." Nabi says, her gaze low.

"Is it true, my princess?" Hyunjin walks toward you and takes your hand in his, pressing his lips gently to your fingers.

You hate the way your cheeks heat up at the contact.

"Y-yeah. Obviously." You say.

He smiles widely, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Could you ladies please excuse us?"

When Nabi and the maids leave, you find yourself alone with the prince again and you're not sure how you feel about that.

Last night, he was so mean to you and now he's acting like a lovestruck man? What is the meaning of this?

You push him away, "What?"

He sighs.

Today, his blonde hair is tied half way up, and he wears a diamond crown. He looks more sophisticated from last night. More prince-like.

"What?" You demand again.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, okay? I'm still not convinced that you've lost your memories but can we put this behind us for a while?" He says, "Can you come with me to the study room? I have to show you something."

You follow him without question.

The palace complex is still a maze to you and other than your living quarters, you don't know much about the rest of the palace.

He leads you through a staircase to a huge room on the top floor of one of the buildings. Or was it the main palace where the king and queen resided? You weren't sure anymore.

"Yeji was very worried to hear about your amnesia, by the way." Hyunjin mutters as he lights the candles in the room, "She'll be back by next summer."

"Where has she gone?" You say, mindlessly staring at the huge collections of books in this place. A huge chandelier hangs from the center of the room and as the Hyunjin continues to light numerous candles and lanterns around the room, your eyes finally take in the whole picture of the room. For a second, you almost felt like you were watching a Renaissance period drama.

Hyunjin stops in his tracks, "y/n, do you really not know?"

He turns around and looks at you strangely, as if expecting your eyes to give away the truth of this supposed amnesia.

And when he sighs, you know that he didn't find what he desired.

"She's training under a really famous dance academy. If she's lucky, she might be able to clear her final year dance exams this year." He says.

You want to ask him if art doesn't interest her but that might make him doubt you again. You cannot afford to do that when Hyunjin is the only person here who you trust even slightly.

Nabi is honest and Sayyu is kind but you find it hard to match their energy.

"So what did you want to sho-" You stop mid sentence when your eyes fall on a huge painting behind Hyunjin's study table.

Your painting.

"It's me", you gasp, "It's..my portrait."

"Yeah. I just finished it today, actually." He rubs the back of his neck, "I'll hang it in your room once the paint dries."

In the painting, you are sitting on a chair, dressed in the finest white dress you'd ever seen. An elegant tiara sits on the crown of your head, and your lips are stretched into a smile.

"Hyunjin..." you are at a loss of words.

Nabi was right; Hyunjin did have a portrait of you in his study. What she didn't know is that he was the one who made the painting while all this while you were under the impression that Yeji was the artist in the family.

"It's good right?" He asks, unsure.

"Yes. I love it," you reply, "When is this image from?"

Hyunjin frowns at your words, again scanning your eyes as if looking for some hint of lies in your words.

"Y-you don't remember?" He asks.

"What?"

He sighs, looking rather disappointed, "It's from our wedding, y/n."

*

Hyunjin is starting to wonder if you'd actually lost your memories.

The next few days, he tries to subtly engage you in conversations regarding your wedding day and your life before getting married and by the time the week ends, he is sure you'd lost your memories.

He hated to admit it, but he did like the fact that you couldn't remember the times when he was so horrible to you.

Now he can start anew. A clean slate.

"You've been spending suspiciously a lot of time with me, Hyunjin." You had asked him one evening, munching up a cookie, "What's up?"

He chuckles; he's come to enjoy this new side of yours. It's a completely different version of your other self- the one who grew up training to be the lady of a house.

"Nothing," he grabs a cookie for himself, "We're having a ball this evening, by the way. It's mother and father's 30th anniversary."

Your eyes widen with excitement, "Really?! We're having a ball ball. Like we wear dresses and all? And we dance under a huge chandelier?"

Hyunjin is taken aback; you used to hate balls. Or any public gathering for that matter.

"Y-eah, well. Yes." He gulps.

"Oh my god. I need to talk to Nabi. I have so much to prepare, oh my god. Why are you only just telling me," you grab another cookie and sprint towards your room, "Also will there be a fountain where wine flows instead of water? That would be so cool!"

Hyunjin gives you a soft smile; no such fountain was planned for the ball but if it meant he'd see you this excited, he could pull a few strings.

*

The rest of the hours leading upto the ball is a blur; you only remember running from the dressing room to the ball room to your bedroom and back to the dressing room and as for Hyunjin, the day goes slower than ever.

He only got to see flashing glimpses of you running from place to place and somewhere, deep down in his heart, he missed your attention.

It was a jarring realization; him enjoying your company and attention and even craving it at times. He couldn't quite digest this unfamiliar feeling yet, he realised, he wasn't unwelcome to it.

"Are you ready? They're waiting for the Prince and Princess, y/n. We don't want the Royal families of other kingdoms thinking we were out doing something unholy now, would we?"

Hyunjin has this mischievous smile on his, leaning against the door Frame of your dressing room.

Is he flirting? You wonder.

You sigh, "I don't think I look good enough, Hyunjin. I look..weird."

You run a hand over the lustrous material of your ball gown. You feel very foreign in your body all of a sudden.

"I don't think so, my lady," Hyunjin steps into the room, a hand gentle on your waist, "I think you look breathtaking. What would you say, Nabi?"

Nabi hides a blush while you stare at your husband; wide eyed and mouth gaping.

What has gotten into him lately? Is he trying to annoy you or are these words coming from somewhere else?

You shake the latter thought away from your mind. How could this beautiful Prince from centuries before your time find you breathtaking?

Impossible.

You swallow your nervousness and turn on your heels.

"If you say so," you shrug, "Let's go, come on, Hyunjin. "

Chuckling softly to himself, Hyunjin follows suit.

The evening is great but you don't remember much by the time it ends; you somehow end up getting drunk on wine from the wine fountain and Hyunjin has to subtly carry you away from the ball room.

"Hyunjin ~" you slur as he covers your body with a duvet, "Do you ever wonder if a parallel universe exists?"

He lies down beside you, sighing, "Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"I know it exists. I am living proof that it exists, you know," you say, passionately, "I'm not bluffing."

Hyunjin laughs, " Of course, you're not. How could you lie?"

He pushes strands of hair behind your ear.

Your heart thumps against your chest; you love that feeling.

"If there was a parallel universe, I hope I end up with you." You giggle, snuggling into his chest.

Hyunjin freezes for a moment, breath stuck in his throat and eyes not even blinking.

But when he feels you relaxing into him, he let's his shoulders slouch.

"If there was a parallel universe, I hope I end up with you too."

The only reply he gets from you is a snore.

*

The next few months are smooth as the calm sea, pleasant as the spring wind, beautiful like the blooming of roses.

You'd come to adore Hyunjin- that was for sure. You'd come to love his presence and crave it everytime you guys were apart. He had become like the anchor to your ship; and you, his.

"Yeji's coming home tomorrow, by the way. How much do you remember of her?"

"Just her face," and the fact that when you're both killed brutally one day, she'd make a painting of you two, immortalising your love.

The thought causes your stomach to stir; you didn't want to go back to the reality you knew.

All of a sudden, you find yourself wishing you had more time with this man- this man who loved nothing more than lying in your arms, your naked bodies as close as one could get, this man who had made you feel safe when you were suddenly sucked into this unknown world, this man who loved you to death and beyond.

Hyunjin snuggles in closer(as if he could get any closer) and kisses your temple oh so tenderly. Then he moves to your cheek, then nose and then mouth.

His lips are plump and warm and inviting, and before you know it, you both find yourself falling into the wonderful ocean of pleasure. Over and over again.

The next day when Yeji arrives, you are skeptical about approaching her but she was more than happy to see you. Before the day ended, she'd already invited you to a tea party in the gardens, and by the week ended, you guys had become great friends.

She was just so comfortable to talk to and so friendly. She was so curious yet sweet. How could you not be her friend, you often wondered.

It was on one such afternoon picnic that Nabi came running to you.

"His Majesty is injured! He was attacked during his hunt."

You didn't waste a second before storming off towards his room, not caring for your supposed lady etiquette anymore.

No God, please, not yet.

You reach your bedroom, out of breath and sweaty, and Hyunjin was sitting at the edge of the bed, getting his wounds cleaned.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

There is a big gash on his arm; bleeding profusely even though the physicians were trying to stop it. There are blue and purple all over his face and stomach, and a few more smaller cuts on his entire body.

And he looked terrified and pale and sad.

"Hyunjin..." you run to him.

He looks up at you, teary eyed.

"Y/n...I'm okay." Is his first instinct, "Don't cry."

You sit beside him and press a long kiss to his temple, your heart feeling lighter when the physician signals to you that the bleeding has stopped.

"Who was it?" You ask

Yeji stands in front of the two of you; tears streaming down her face.

"Whoever it was, I'll kill them with my own two hands, goddammit!"

"Calm down, guys." Hyunjin sighs, "I didn't see a face. But they were wearing a very familiar perfume. I wonder who it could have been."

You swallow nervously, "Just..just stay safe okay?"

Hyunjin smiles at you, "Of course, my love."

An odd mixture of expressions grace Yeji's face.

*

While Hyunjin recovers, you make sure he does not step out of the palace unaccompanied.

You're getting his food tested, his room sanitized, and every gift that he receives has to go through multiple rounds of security checks. You know what is to come, but some silly, silly part of you wants to prevent it.

"You're being a little too paranoid, I think." Hyunjin tells you as the servants set up the dinner table for him, "I'm gonna be fine, y/n."

"Hyunjin, just," you sigh, reminding yourself to be patient with him, "Just please let me do what I'm doing. It helps me sleep at night."

With a gentle wave of his wrist, Hyunjin dismisses the servants.

He grabs your hand and pulls you in to sit on his lap.

"Y/n, I'm literally right here. I'm stronger than you think. I'm not planning on leaving you any time soon." He presses a kiss to your temple.

A wave of realization washes over you, and you find yourself tearing up, melting into his embrace.

How did you even come to love this man that you'd only ever heard of in history books? Was this even real? If you pinch yourself hard enough, would you wake up to a world where Hyunjin is not yours anymore?

"Just shut up, goddammit, " you say to him, "Hold me, please."

You say it like a request, but really, you were begging him to hold you. To make you feel safe, even if it's for a short while. Because for all you know, the end could be closer than expected.

That night, you and Hyunjin fall asleep in each other's embrace. There was nothing more pure, raw, or beautiful than what you felt with him. In a span of a few months, you'd fallen madly in love with the prince.

It's funny, huh, how you never found love back in the modern world yet here you were, sharing your whole heart with Hyunjin?

Maybe it was always meant to be like that and maybe when this beautiful daydream ends someday, you could look back at it and relish these memories.

"Y/n, get up." You're pulled out of your sleepy thoughts when you feel someone tap you on the shoulder. Urgent.

"Nabi? What time is it?" You whisper back, gently putting Hyunjin's head of the pillow, "What's happened?"

Nabi shakes her head, "The Royal investigators have got some news. A possible group of assassins is heading to the palace as we speak. My lady, we must rush you to safety immediately. The soldiers will escort the Prince."

Your heart hammers against your chest.

"I-I can't leave him. He's not recovered yet. He cannot fight!"

"Your majesty, please. I beg you," Nabi replies, "These are the orders of The Queen. I have to escort you to where the ladies are. "

With a tight throat, you quietly follow Nabi out of the room.

She leads you down through a secret tunnel between Your Palace and The King's, that leads to a dark corridor with a single metal door at the end.

"This way, your majesty. The princess and the queen are inside. I'll bring you news from to time so there's nothing to worry about." Nabi says as she unlocks the door from the outside. She passes the lantern to you.

The moment you step into the dark room inside, you hear a loud bang. You turn around in horror only to find the door closed in your face and Nabi gone.

"N-nabi?" You murmur nervously, "Why did you close the door?"

From inside the room, you hear a faint chuckle.

"She's gone, y/n. Left us to rot in this dungeon forever. "

"Yeji?"

You jog towards the tired, lifeless voice.

And when you reach the princess, what your lantern shows you horrifies you to the core.

"Your majesty!" You fall on your knees, grabbing the lifeless body of a once beautiful Queen who you'd come to adore over the years, "W-what happened?"

You're crying now; watching the princess caress her mother's cold face.

You're sobbing; watching the bloody hands of the daughter who tried to stop her mother from bleeding to death.

"Nabi is..", Yeji swallows, "She's a part of the resistance that wants to overthrow the monarchy. They want a military ruled government. It was her doing. On the day Hyunjin was attacked, I knew it was her."

You cry harder, moaning into your hands.

How could she?

"And I too, am at fault here. I made the mistake of befriending her so so many years ago," Yeji continues, "I paved her way into the palace. I'm as much as of a criminal as her."

You clear your throat, rubbing the tears off your cheeks and neck, another sob bubbling within your chest.

"We do not have time to repent things we had no control over," you say, "The Queen Mother is gone but we can still save your father and Hyunjin. "

"They've taken father to their military fortress. " Yeji says, her tone suggesting she's given up all her hopes. "He's as good as dead. "

"Then we save my husband."

"Y/n, how will we-"

"I saw the key. When Nabi unlocked the door, I saw the key."

"What about it?" Yeji asks, shifting.

"It doesn't have a key. It only has a numerical lock code."

Yeji lifts an eyebrow, as if to ask you "So?"

"It was 0143."

*

Leaving the Queen Mother's body behind, you and Yeji rush out of the door, grabbing every knife, sword, and other sharp object you could find in the dungeon.

"I think she must have taken Hyunjin hostage," Yeji says, rubbing the sweat off her forehead. "But since he cannot fight that well because of his wounds, they're probably interrogating him in your bedroom. "

"Interrogating him for what?"

"The keys to the Royal armory and the king's safe of gold."

Sure enough, you find Hyunjin in your bedroom. Except it wasn't your Hyunjin, it was a replica of

Queen Sayyu. Blood and blood and blood everywhere on his body. His eyes barely open but his hands, they pointed at you as you rushed in.

"Hyunjin!" You cried, kneeling by the bed side floor, "Hyunjin, please, hold on."

The room was empty except for the three of you. The furniture was broken and burnt and cupboards were clearly forced open.

"Did you give them the keys?" Yeji asks him, sobbing, "Mother died to protect those keys."

He coughs and leans into you, "I've alarmed the military. They are on their way."

"The rebels will be coming back too." He coughs again, "The keys are behind the painting in my study. Save them Yeji, run, now."

Yeji steadies herself as she gets up, "Come on, y/n. He said they might come back. "

Oh, but how could you? How could you leave the love of your life to bleed to his death alone while you escaped?

Moreover, this was the tragic end of your daydream, wasn't it? Dying together while Yeji survives and continues to rule the country.

"Go, Yeji, " you tell her, over the noise of the blood coursing through your ears, you hear footsteps, "Now!"

Yeji is a smart girl, you realize. With a hand over her mouth to suppress her sobs, she runs out of the room, without turning back even once.

When she is out of sight, Hyunjin fumbles to find your hand in the darkness. He's cold and stiff.

"If I disappear today, promise me you will find me. Promise me, please y/n." He manages to say.

You kiss his hand softly as the footsteps get closer, tears streaming down your face.

"I will find you. In every universe, in every timeline. I will find you, my love. " you say as you find a metallic taste in your tears and your vision goes black.

*

After what feels like a millennia, the darkness around you is finally replaced by a bright light.

It is too bright, but when you see a familiar face, your discomfort vanishes.

"Lia!" You throw yourself onto your napping friend, "Lia! Oh, I'm so happy to see you."

Lia though surprised at your outburst, returns your embrace with equal enthusiasm.

"I missed you too, y/n." She says, "I didn't know that picture would have such an impact on you. I was so scared when you passed out!"

Picture? What picture?

And suddenly, all the memories play in your mind like an old film. It's hazy, but you know what's going on.

You see blood, a crown, burning curtains, and..a blonde prince.

Hwang Hyunjin.

"Lia..", you sigh, your heart aching terribly, "How long have I been out?"

"Like around 36 hours or so. I don't remember. "She replies.

36 hours in this world and you'd already spent a lifetime in another. How utterly tragic.

"Y/n, what's wrong? You're tearing up." Lia says, offering you a tissue, "Are you in pain?"

You sigh, "Yes. I am in extreme pain, Lia. How could life have been so, so unfair to us?"

Lia gives you a confused nod, not really sure what had exactly led you to believe that life had been unfair to you.

"Y/n, what-"

Lia is cut off by a knock on the door.

"Ah. That must be the doctor." Lia jogs towards the door, "Just a second, Dr. Seo!"

"Um, hello," the doctor greets, "Dr. Seo is in urgent surgery. He sent me in his place to check on the patient. "

When the doctor steps in closer, your breathing gets stuck in your throat.

Of course, you know this man. How could you not?

You'd died with him in another world, in another time, in another life.

You'd loved him.

"I'm Dr. Hwang, Miss Y/n." The doctor says, a familiar expression on his face. He looks rather delighted to see you.

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before." He chuckles to himself as he sits on the chair by your hospital bed.

"Yes, me too." These are the only words you manage to say.

[arabidoll]

The image the west painted about arabs and SWANA ppl centuries ago, how is it still used today, and why is that image harmful to SWANA group

First of all, what is Orientalism? based on the definition by Edward Said, orientalism is a "created body of theory and practice" which constructs images of the Orient or the East directed toward those in the West.

Representations of the East as exotic, feminine, weak and vulnerable reflect and define how the West views itself as rational, masculine and powerful. These can be seen in paintings as well as media.

The painting were obsessed w the idea of the Harem women, which affected all SWANA ppl, including Persian and Turkish women as well. Stereotypes and orientalist depictions of arabs and SWANA ppl are still used till this day.

Le Corsaire (1856), takes place in Turkey and focuses on a love story between a pirate and a beautiful slave girl. Scenes include a bazaar where women are sold to men as slaves, and the Pasha's Palace, which features his harem of wives.

Petipa's The Pharaoh's Daughter (1862), an Englishman imagines himself, in an opium-induced dream, as an Egyptian boy who wins the love of the Pharaoh's daughter, Aspicia. Her costume consisted of 'Egyptian' décor on a tutu.

Fatima (1897) and Fatima’s Dance (1907), which were the very first portrayals of Arab woman as a veiled belly dancer. These sexualized and objectified Arab women.

Sheherazade (1910), involves a shah's wife and her relations with a Golden Slave. It includes an orgy in an oriental harem. When the shah discovers the actions of his numerous wives and their lovers, he orders the deaths of those involved. Also based on One Thousand & One Nights.

The sheik (1921), takes place in Algeria, where Lady Diana disguise herself as a dancing girl to become one of the prospective brides, yet is unable to go through with the deception bc the sheik liked her. the sheik later abducts her, intending to make her fall in love with him.

The movie didnt even have the accurate Algerian traditional clothing and Algerians dancing clothes arent the “belly dancing inspired” clothes. The stereotype that a SWANA man would abduct a white women to make her fall inlove w him too…

Lalla Fatma N'Soumer, an Algerian anti-colonial leader during 1849–1857 of the French conquest of Algeria and subsequent Pacification of Algeria. She is an Algerian national hero. The pictures show the Algerian traditional wear, which isnt close to the ones in the movie.

Here is an Algerian woman wearing a Haik, again not dressed as the movie shows.

Mickey in Arabia (1932) by Disney, taking place in the Arabian Desert, where Mickey and Minnie are exploring the area I assume. Later, Minnie gets kidnapped by a Sultan. Again, portraying men from SWANA or arab men in this case as predatory and barbaric.

Abdullah the Great aka. Abdullah’s Harem (1955), about an Arab sheikh and a European model. He’s always with the Arab women he bought, along with belly dancers. He still tries to seduce Ronnie. He then attempts to drug her in order to sleep with her, but fails and gets dethroned.

So far all these movies continue to have the same narrative, continue to sexualize Arab and SWANA women, always portraying them as belly dancers and/or harem women. The Arab and SWANA men as barbaric and predatory. Themes that will continue to exist till this day.

Babes in Baghdad (1952) Arabian Nights princess goes on strike demanding equal rights for women, to the frustration of the caliph. Aided by the caliph's godson, she enables the caliph to see the error of his polygamous ways, and he eventually settles down with his wife.

The Queen of Babylon (1954), about a king's concubine that loves a Chaldean rebel in ninth-century B.C. Assyria. I Am Semiramis (1963), in ninth-century B.C. Assyrian Queen Semiramis loves an enslaved Dardanian king. mind u assyrians dont dress like egyptians

Fast forward to the 90s and early 2000s, the same stereotype surrounding SWANA ppl persisted Aladdin(1992), Aladdin meets Princess Jasmine, daughter of the sultan of Agrabah. They both have to deal with evil sorcerer Jafar from overthrowing Jasmine's kingdom.

Jasmine was sexualized (even tho shes a minor), she seduces Jaffar, and was put in a harem/belly dancer fit. the same portrayal of Arab women. The movie also features harem women. Jaffar w big nose, painting arab men as ugly, sinister and ruled by sexual desires, again.

Braceface (2002), the harem thing again. Totally spice (2002) with harem inspired fits Around the World in Eighty Days (2004) by Disney, Arab sheikh his wives that were objectified through the scenes.

After 9/11, “Arabs are terrorists” and xenophobic remakes towards arabs increased. Air Marshal (2003), The stone merchant (2006), The kingdom (2007), and many more all portrayed arabs as terrorists. Family guy(?) and shameless (2012, S2) with jokes about k!lling iraqis

Bratz: Desert Jewelz (2012) and Aladdin (2019) had the same orientalist themes as the 1001 Arabian nights (1959) and as well as the older movies.

Today, inaccurate and offensive Arab/SWANA representation is still the same. Arabs are either rich sheikhs, terrorists, or exotic belly dancers. not only that, u rarely see any arab or SWANA actor/actress get good roles, its always reduced to the terrorists role.

Whats mentioned in the thread isnt only harmful to how SWANA ppl are viewed, but how they’re treated as well. In 2002 to 2005, Philippe Servaty engaged in sex with over 80 Moroccan women, promising to take them to Belgium.

He asked them for sexual photos and photographed them in poses that could be seen as degrading. They included ejaculating on the face of a veiled woman and having another woman kneel, bound, and gagged while he urinated on her. After returning to Belgium, he published the photos.

with assyrians and persians ppl still use the same harem belly dancer clothing and its not even accurate. egyptians are always portrayed as belly dancers, also inaccurate.

SWANA ppl are still treated as fictional characters. Dune (2021) uses orientalist themes and is inspired by SWANA cultures. many offensive media made ab arabs, but wont i b able to fit all here. racism/xenophobia against ppl in SWANA didnt start with 9/11 and its not over either.

twt original thread here!

[ugh-yoongi]

Congrats on the 1k!!!

Can I request an idol boyfriend Namjoon and y/n drabble? Something like they’re on a museum date and Joon is being his intelligent/passionate about art self, talking all the artwork and whatnot, and y/n just gets so turned on so they end up hooking up in a hidden part of the museum? 👀

namjoon being an enthusiastic art heaux? this is right up @effortandmore's alley. thank you for this request, though. this one was fun.

most of the history on the piece described here is from the met's website, here. it's a really interesting and heartbreaking piece; i encourage everyone to check it out.

(also, this is more "waxes poetic about art" than anything else. smut takes me forever to write and i figured you've waited long enough, so you'll have to headcanon it, i am so sorry. also, something about this piece just screamed namjoon to me and i wanted to write it. hope you enjoy anyway!)

nydia

pairing: namjoon x reader (no pronouns used) genre: established relationship au; fluff warnings: can be read as idolverse or not, one mention of suicide (the story behind the sculpture is pretty depressing), light swearing, namjoon being hot and smart, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k

The next gallery you walk into is vast.

Full of windows that cast a mid-afternoon glow on the floor. Stained glass casting colors. In here, everything feels grand. Feels a little overwhelming, reminds you of your place in the world: small, irrelevant, hopeful. You’re standing in a room of giants, both literally and metaphorically.

Namjoon is large on his own, but here it feels endless.

Diana is centered in the room, light dancing across the bronze. As you stare up at her, you wonder if she’s happy with this iteration. If she mourns her original purpose, poised atop one of the city’s most recognizable buildings, now long-gone. Demolished. You wonder if she’s content to be stationary when she used to go the way of the wind.

She’s stunning, even as a replica of her original self, but she’s not what Namjoon came here for.

What Namjoon came here for is also in the center of the room. The marble she’s carved from is more modest than Diana’s glittery bronze, but no less impactful. Her name is Nydia, and Namjoon has been obsessed with her since he’d gotten his hands on a first edition of an old novel, out of place amongst his poetry, but inspired by art and weathered by time and someone else’s devotion to it.

“There she is,” he says, and the room is vast and empty but you could make out the hushed awe in his voice from miles away.

You tuck yourself into his side, feeling just as small next to him as you do next to all of these sculptures. Laugh softly, endlessly endeared, at all the pamphlets he has clutched in his hands. History upon history, always something else to learn, and you could write just as many on the man beside you.

“Tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks down at you. Smiles. Says, “Her name is Nydia,” even though you know that already. “Randolph Rogers sculpted her in 1856. She’s based off of the character from The Last Days of Pompeii.”

You study her. Admire all of her intricacies, all the love that had gone into creating her and telling her story: her closed eyes, the broken Corinthian column lying at her feet, the movement of her dress. You’re vaguely aware of her story, recited to you by Namjoon over the span of three afternoons, one for each volume, so you know enough to know the tragedy, but you’d be able to feel it if you hadn’t.

“In the novel, she was kidnapped and enslaved and rescued by a man named Glaucus. She falls in love with him, but he’s betrothed to Ione.” He sighs, subdued; probably knowing too much about unrequited love. Probably relating too much to the sculpture standing tall before him. “There’s a lot that happens in between, but Vesuvius erupts and Nydia leads Glaucus and Ione to the Bay of Naples, where they’re able to board a ship to safety.”

Namjoon reaches out, careful not to touch, and traces the air along Nydia’s fingertips, her hand that’s raised to her ear. “She’s blind, so she’s used to navigating by sound. Everyone else in Pompeii is unable to see through the ash and rock, but Nydia has never been able to see, so she’s able to get them to the ship by listening to the ocean.”

The two of you share a quiet moment. You wonder what it must’ve been like, living through the chaos of that day. Watching, hearing the world burn down around you, helpless to stop it. Knowing you’re doomed to your fate. You wonder if you would’ve made the same decision as Nydia, if the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you in return would hurt too much to be selfless. You wonder if it would’ve haunted you.

“What happened to her?”

Namjoon remains quiet. You almost think he doesn’t hear you, but then he answers, just above a whisper: “She decides that death is preferable to the pain of her unrequited love for Glaucus and kills herself. Slips into the sea.”

“Oh.”

The huff of laughter that tumbles out of Namjoon surprises you. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to be depressing.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll just have to write a strongly-worded letter to Edward Bulwer-Lytton.”

A full-on cackle. “Yeah. Let me know what he says.”

“Probably, ‘Sorry my novel upset you, but I’ve been dead for a hundred and fifty years.’” You sigh, trying to shake off the dregs of sadness. “Tell me about Rogers. Is that less depressing, at least?”

Namjoon lights up the way he always does when you ask him about art: entirely, with his whole being. Looks like the first time you told him you loved him, and you think they’re probably the same, that they say the same thing. “Mostly. C’mere.”

You follow him to another sculpture. Ruth Gleaning, it says. “He carved this one, too. It was his first large-scale work, since he’d mostly sculpted busts of tourists after he moved to Italy. Nydia was much more popular, though; a year or two later he was commissioned by the U.S. to do the bronze doors for the Capitol building. He was also commissioned to do a statue of John Adams but it got lost at sea.” Namjoon looks anguished at this. “Fuck, can you imagine? He had to redo the whole thing.”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“Wow, rude.”

The two of you share another laugh, but you’re struck by all of what Namjoon is. Intelligent, empathetic, eager. Always wants to bring you into what he loves, always wants to share it. Doesn’t deem anything unworthy of knowing, because you wouldn’t have thought Namjoon would know all of this, the history of an American sculptor forgotten behind the likes of Calder, Nevelson, French. But he has assigned spaces for everything, so of course he knows.

It’s a little overwhelming, how much you love him.

How much you want to know him the way he knows everything else.

The gallery you’re in is vast, but it’s filled with love. An artist’s love for its subject, your love for Namjoon. They say the same thing.

[mermaidenmystic]

The Dance of the Nymphs (detail) by Edouard Bisson (French painter, 1856-1939) 

[corallapis]

Frederic Leighton, The Dance of the Cymbalists, c.1856 Three of five life-size panels commissioned by Percy and Madeline Wyndham to decorate the staircase of their London home, 44 Belgrave Square.

[opera-ghosts]

OTD in Music History: Important Russian “Nationalist” composer Modest Mussorgsky (1839 - 1881) is born into a wealthy land-owning Russian family. Mussorgsky began receiving piano lessons from his mother (a trained pianist) at the age of six. He progressed rapidly, and at the age of ten he and his brother were taken to Saint Petersburg to continue their studies (which included music) at an elite school. Mussorgsky's parents had also planned the move to Saint Petersburg so that both their sons would renew a longstanding family tradition of military service, and Mussorgsky was thus duly enrolled in the Cadet School Of The Guards at the age of 13. Unfortunately, this proved to be a brutal environment – indeed, it probably instilled in young Mussorgsky the drinking habits which would ultimately lead him down to the path to terminal alcoholism. (According to another former student, the Head of the Academy at that time "was proud when a cadet returned from leave drunk with champagne.”) Mussorgsky’s considerable skills as a pianist made him popular with his fellow-cadets, however, and he spent many evenings playing popular dances for his new friends. Then, in October 1856, the 17-year-old Mussorgsky met the 22-year-old physician Alexander Borodin (1833 - 1887) while both men were serving at a military hospital. Even more portentous was Mussorgsky’s introduction, just a few months later, to Alexander Dargomyzhsky (1813 - 1869), who was then the most important Russian composer after Mikhail Glinka (1804 - 1857). Dargomyzhsky was so impressed with Mussorgsky's pianism that he invited Mussorgsky to begin attending his soirees, and it was there that Mussorgsky also met Cesar Cui (1835 - 1918) and Mily Balakirev (1837 - 1910), and, through Balakirev, Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844 - 1908). Thus was formed the core constituency of the historically important Russian “Nationalist” school of composers known as “The Mighty Five”… PICTURED: A c. 1920s real photo postcard showing the middle-aged Mussorgsky sporting a very solid mullet.

[moniquehazel]

GHOST UNDER THE MISTLETOE - SHORT STORY

New York City, 1856

Priscilla’s white satin gloves kept slipping down her elbows, and she wanted to scream. The sound sat in her throat, eager and frustrated, as she glanced across the crowded ballroom of Hadfield Hotel. Not even a swallow of spiced pear brandy could push the scream down into her stomach.

Priscilla would gladly be spending her December night anywhere else. The snow swirling outside was particularly preferable to this festive society party where guests danced and drank and gladhanded under the disguise of holiday cheer. However, her parents had persuaded their daughter of nineteen with the promise of more supplies for her taxidermy avocation.

It had seemed like an easy exchange weeks ago. But now, standing in a corseted gown of sapphire blue and curls positioned high with jabbing pins and lashes heavy with kohl, Priscilla realised she had gravely miscalculated. She didn’t feel pretty, she felt foolish.

Satin slipped and she tugged.

Priscilla wanted to scream and bury the gloves deep in the snow. Good riddance if they weren’t found until after Christmas when the white streets began to thaw.

Fragile baubles and burnished bells and wreaths of holly decorated the grand hotel. Not that any of the decorations concealed the notorious fable about Hadfield Hotel. At least not according to Marita, who gossiped at Priscilla’s side between bites of tiny caramel tarts.

Crumbs sprinkled onto a cloth napkin. “Do you know the story?”

“I scarcely know what I did yesterday,” Priscilla said blithely. “And you’re obviously dying to tell me.”

Marita grinned shamelessly as the pair promenaded around the ballroom. She forgot all about the desserts being carried on trays, liking the taste of gossip better on her tongue. “It’s rather a macabre story…”

Priscilla indulged her friend’s baiting as the string band—exclusively playing Christmas carols—began an upbeat rendition of Silent Night. “My favourite kind.”

“Your parents should really get you out of the house more,” Marita insisted, hardly bothering to mask her distaste for Priscilla’s hobby. “Get you away from all those dead animals you like to bring back wrong.”

Priscilla spied her parents by the magnificent Christmas tree. They didn’t like her dead and stuffed creatures either. “Trust me, they earnestly try.” She turned back to her dearest friend. “Tell me the story.”

“The Hadfield used to host the most spectacular parties. The envy of all venues. But then it all just stopped when the owner’s son dropped dead.” Marita snapped her fingers, and Priscilla nearly lost her glass, enchanted by the tale. “Poor Fletcher Hadfield. Apparently, he died right here in the hotel and haunts the place. This is the first party held in the Hadfield in nearly twenty years.”

“How have I not heard this story?”

Martia shrugged. “People would rather forget such grim things.” Her eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers at something across the gilded floor. “Oh! Rupert just stepped under the mistletoe. Do you mind?”

“Go get your Christmas kiss,” Priscilla encouraged, offering up the last dregs of her brandy. Marita downed the drink and made haste through the fanfare of the party before another smitten lady got to Rupert first.

Priscilla didn’t feel lonely in the festooned Hadfield. Not as she lingered on the edge of the ballroom like a moth among butterflies. She was a similar creature but noticeably a little stranger with the rabbit’s foot fastened at her throat on ivory lace.

She did, however, feel the itch of fascination as she glanced at the arched entryway that led to the rest of the hotel. It was the same fascination that allowed her to bind wood and wool into a mannequin and mount skin over it. Brushing fur and cleaning antlers and straightening feathers. To prepare and preserve something lost. After all, taxidermy was the art of remembering.

And somewhere in the Hadfield awaited a forgotten dead son.

No one noticed her absence as she wandered, one glove precariously slipping down her arm. A cheery carol diluted into a whisper as Priscilla crossed the threshold into a smoking parlour. She searched the mahogany wood and upholstered leather and stale shadows.

Priscilla’s stomach flattened like the dust on the shelves. Perhaps this ghost didn’t want to be found when a party he wasn’t invited to tolled down the hall. Try one more room, Priscilla rationalised, turning from the parlour.

Cool fingers tugged at the seam of her satin glove, gently hoisting it back into place. Priscilla whirled, a shriek scratching at her oesophagus.

“Please, don’t scream.”

A handsome young man stood before her in a dishevelled suit a few decades out of fashion. His pupils were white and cloudy, fair hair long enough to touch his blood-stained collar. He looked to be made out of gossamer fabric.

Enthrallment steeled her fear. “I take it you’re Fletcher Hadfield.”

“It’s not every night a pretty girl comes looking for me.”

“I didn’t actually expect to find you. I was merely—”

“Bored? Curious? In urgent need of smelling salts?”

“Fasincated by the macabre.”

Fletcher gave an approving grin. “Ah, my death’s aspiration!”

She studied his body, which showed little signs of rigor mortis. Studied the near-translucent nature of his skin and clothes. “Your skin… does it feel like dead flesh?” she asked, thinking of her beloved dead and mounted animals.

He rolled up a sleeve without hesitation. “Be my guest.”

She brushed her fingertips across his wintry wrist, finding him surprisingly tangible. “How did you die?”

Without looking away from her, he pointed a finger skyward. Pinned over the threshold was a sheaf of mistletoe Priscilla was sure hadn’t been there before. His grin broadened with mischief and possibly sarcasm. “Mistletoe poisoning.”

Fletcher Hadfield leaned closer, eyes sinking to her mouth. Priscilla found little reluctance within herself, curiosity a seductive beast. She splayed a hand across his chest. Hard and cold flesh without a heartbeat. Priscilla fearlessly edged up onto her toes, wondering if her first kiss counted if it was with a ghost.

His eyes softened with loneliness, their lips the width of a bird’s feather from touching. “Will you remember me?”

“Like a taxidermic animal,” Priscilla promised, giving him a Christmas kiss.

[cinematic-phosphenes]

Paintings by Édouard Bisson

The Three Graces (1899) Love's Messengers (c. 1856-1908) The Swing (date unknown) The Dance of the Nymphs (c. 1900)

Source + Source

[saax2]

Danza 1*

from serie Art Deco, 2007: Tantsovschitsa, 1920 | ph., Aleksey Galushkov (Ukraine)

Alicia Markova (1910-2004, England) as Giselle, 1948 | ph., Stirling Henry Nahum aka Baron (1910-1956, Italy-England)

Flapper Girls, 1920's

Anita Berber (1899-1928, Germany), 1920 | ph., Alexander Binder (1888-1929, Germany)

Doris Dupont (USA), 1930's | Archives of the Embassy Theatre Foundation, Ft. Wayne, Indiana

Untitled (dancer I), 1910-20 | František Drtikol (1883-1961, Czechia)

Dance of the Wind, 1927-28 | Bolesław Biegas (1877-1954, Poland)

Ballerina; a view from the loge | Everett Lloyd Bryant (1864-1945, USA)

Dancer, 1946 | František Drtikol (1883-1961, Czechia)

La Dance, 1910 (Hermitage St. Petersburg) | Henri Matisse (1869-1954, France)

Danseurs, 1939 | Maurice Brianchon (1899-1979, France)

Danseuse satirique, Paris, 1926 | ph., André Kertész (1894-1985, Hungary)

ph., Mark Olich (1983, Russia)

Hazel as Pavlova, 1913 | John Lavery (1856-1941, Ireland)

Ziegfeld Girls, 1920's | Ziegfeld Follies, 1907-31

Mary Pickford (1892-1979, Canada-USA), 1910's | ph., Edward S. Curtis (1868-1952, USA), 1910s Ziegfeld Girl, 1907-31

Spanish Dancer, 1971 | ph., Ruth Bernhard (1905-2006, Germany)

La guedra (moroccan dance) | Jean Gaston Mantel (1914-1995, France)

Dancers from 'Zigman Hall', New York, 1920

La scarpetta (the ballet slipper) | Lino Selvatico (1872-1924, Italia)

Helen Schjerfbeck (1862-1946, Finland)

Costumes de cigarières pour Carmen de Bizet, 1959 (scenografia dipinta) | Lila De Nobili (1916-2002, Italia)

Colombine, 1920 | Norman Lindsay (1879-1969, Australia)

Danseur | Jean-Louis Forain (1852-1931, France)

Le cours de danse, 1874 | Edgar Degas (1834-1917, France)

Danseuse au repos | Edgar Degas (1834-1917, France)

In camerino | Zinaida Serebryakova (1884-1967, Ucraina)

The ballet dancers (the dressing room), 1885 | Willard Leroy Metcalf (1858-1925, USA)

Dancer, early 1900s | Sergei Arsenyevich Vinogradov (1869-1938, Russia)

Ballerina at the Paris Opera in front of a Degas backdrop, 1949 | ph., Walter Sanders (1897-1985, Germany)

[classicalcanvas]

Title: The Dance

Artist: William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Date: 1856

Style: Neoclassicism

Genre: Allegorical Painting

[angrybell]

What we are seeing this past week with the campus takeovers by terror supporters is the fruit of the Left’s obsession with equitable enforcement of the law. The Left has evolved over the years to fundamentally disagree with the idea that the rule of law should enforced evenly. Instead, they choose to enforce the law “equitably”.

How has this manifested itself? Well in San Francisco, former DA Chesa Boudin only wanted to charge certain groups of people with crimes based on an arbitrary and capricious basis. If you were a person of color and committed a violence assault that put a person in the hospital, you could be facing on “restorative” justice, meaning no jail time and lighter penalties. It doesn’t matter that the person put in the hospital was also a person of color, or elderly, if Boudin felt the criminal was oppressed, they got out of trouble with barely a slap on the wrist. Other District Attorneys, like Gascon in Los Angeles and Alvin Bragg in New York, have had similar, arbitrary ways of excusing those from criminal culpability that they deem to be part of right demographic group.

So now we have the campus protests which have morphed into takeovers by groups of terror supporters (don’t pretend they are just “pro Palestinians”). The administrators did nothing. They did nothing when Jewish students started getting attacked. They did nothing when Jewish students were being denied entry to university facilities on the basis of their religion. They did nothing when Jewish students were beaten and sent to the hospital (as happened yesterday at UCLA where five keffiyeh pro-terror protesters decided that the Jewish girl with the flag dancing around posed an existential threat to them. They attacked her, pummeled her to the ground and then continued to kick her, sending her to the hospital with head injuries.)

Did the police intervene? No. Did the administration intervene? No, they capitulated over and over and over again. They set deadlines and then rescinded those deadlines because the terrorists that they had indoctrinated did not go along with their orders.

Back in the 19th century, the city of San Francisco was out of control. This was by design. The city government was incredibly corrupt and refused to do anything that was not in the interests of the corrupt politicians at CIty Hall. So in 1851 and 1856, committees of vigilance were formed. In 1851 they took matters into their own hands executed 4 criminals, forced 28 to leave California (apparently deporting 14 to Australia), and whipping 1 publicly. In 1856, when it was clear that the first go-round had not put enough fear into the corrupt San Francisco government, the committees reformed, and was the driving force to rid San Francisco of Democrats who had been in power.

Fortunately, a group of counter-protesters at UCLA last night decided enough was enough and emulated the old committees of vigilance. I am not sure how it started, but it appears that they broke into the occupation meted out some street justice to the terrorists, who now are complaining they weren’t protected.

When you refuse to administer the laws on the books fairly, evenly, and justly, reasonable people will become unreasonable and turn to vigilantism. It doesn’t seem that the administration or the police or the DA have changed their tune as they continue to make no progress in reasserting control over the situation. If they don’t, hopefully, the vigilantes will return and finish the job.

[piratekenway]

for @codextober day sixteen: fate.

RYAN, NARRATING: Very little is known about Maxwell Roth’s actual origins. What we do know is that he assumed the name “Maxwell Roth” in 1856, and spent the next twelve years building up a reputation around London’s criminal underworld as a gun-for-hire and a dangerously uncontrollable bare-knuckle boxer. It’s said that those who got into the ring with Roth usually didn’t make it out alive. SHANE: Not very sportsmanlike of him. RYAN: He is a gangster, he probably went to fight clubs like, hmm, I’m in the mood to beat a man to death. SHANE: Gonna break his neck in front of this cheering crowd! RYAN: Are you not entertained?! RYAN, NARRATING: In 1864, Roth started a gang known as the Blighters. Initially a group of disparate outsiders from various slums in and around London, the Blighters quickly grew in size and strength, and by 1868, just four years later, they’d become the biggest and most terrifying gang in town, having subsumed all the other gangs into their own. The only holdouts left were the Clinkers of Whitechapel, and they were rapidly losing ground to the Blighters. Enter: our old friends, the Frye twins. SHANE: These guys fuckin’ rock.