Hercules at the Feet of Omphale. 1912. Gustave Claude Etienne Courtois. French 1853-1923. oil/canvas.
a rare reversal of the nude lady hangin’ out around fully clothed dudes?
1912 beefcakes? I guess?
oh hey I know this story! so Hercules had this habit of getting drunk and/or pissed off and killing random dudes, like, the famous labors of Hercules were just one of the MANY MANY punishments handed down to him for killing people because he was a dumb jerk with super-strength
so anyway this time around they made him a queen’s slave for a year or maybe seven, depends, and ever since that story was first told people with a thing for fem dom/male sub have used it in their art and writing because here’s the strongest man in the world under a woman’s sway, doing her weaving and laundry and, in some versions, even dressing in her clothing while she wore his
so yeah, what this is is a 1912 update of ancient Grecian kink
I was walking through a local trail next to a dog park and in big freakin’ letters Dana was carved into the tree. The beach trees also had broken limbs that formed eyes.
Imagine one day coming across vintage fanfiction on your teenager’s phone and recognising it immediately because you wrote the porn your child is trying to hide from you
Was anyone else a little bit disappointed that the kick ass Lady Counsel Member turned out to be Natasha? Still love Natasha, but for a few glorious seconds, it was awesome to see an older woman come out of nowhere to kick ass.
Oh hell yes. For one glorious moment this movie was going to be the utter best thing ever made. And then…. well it was still cool but such a disappointment we didn’t get unexpected kick ass over 40 woman.
Did we ever even find out what happened to the counsel member?
This moment, this moment was the best moment to have ever momented. At first.
In our cinema someone started to applaud loudly and I nearly jumped out of my seat joining in I was so ecstatic
And then more people applauded and it was friggin awesome and my head and heart were full of this kick-ass woman who is a councli member but of course she’d been an agent before that and OF COURSE SHE COULD STILL KICK ASS LIKE MAD
And then SUDDENLY it turned out to be Black Widow
And you could FEEL the atmosphere drop
I mean it was still cool
But you could TASTE the disappointment in the air
I wish they hadn’t done that, like, I wish she’d kicked ass and then Black Widow would’ve jumped in from somewhere I don’t even know. Also disappointed that we never got to know what happened to her.
All in all: these few seconds were everything,
for a moment.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.
i want alcohol and a boyfriend
well yeah so does grantaire we can’t all get what we want can we