Cherubs And Putti, Peter Paul Rubens, 1597, Art Institute Of Chicago: Prints And Drawings

Temple of Venus (Baalbek), built during the 3rd century AD.

A couple of years ago I had a coworker who asked why I collected vinyl because I had just got done telling him that I didn't really care about the "sound quality" thing that most people talk about when they talk about vinyl. (I like the tone of records but it's not why I like records)

My response was almost exactly this. Vinyl almost forces you to listen to an album as a whole. You can skip around on cd's, you don't even have to buy entire mp3 albums and can opt instead for single song purchases. And streaming services? You don't even have to pay for the music. Records are bulky, they're a commitment.

There's a physicality, a ritual, a performance that needs to take place when you listen to records. At least once an album you have to flip the record over and place the needle to the groove.

The album flows as the artist intends it to. The thought they put into which track goes where is evident.

If you're in to music I highly recommend listening to albums as a whole.

please listen to albums someitmes youll be amazed at what an artists songs do when theyree in an order they made. for you to listen to. etc

Simon Wilder: You asked the question, sir, now let me answer it. The beauty of the Constitution is that it can always be changed. The beauty of the Constitution is that it makes no set law other than faith in the wisdom of ordinary people to govern themselves.

Professor Pitkannan: Faith in the wisdom of the people is exactly what makes the Constitution incomplete and crude.

Simon Wilder: Crude? No, sir. Our "founding parents" were pompous, white, middle-aged farmers, but they were also great men. Because they knew one thing that all great men should know: that they didn't know everything. Sure, they'd make mistakes, but they made sure to leave a way to correct them. The president is not an "elected king," no matter how many bombs he can drop. Because the "crude" Constitution doesn't trust him. He's just a bum, okay Mr. Pitkannan? He's just a bum.

This is one of the best movies from the 90's and deserves way more recognition. Despite what these pictures and the publicity for this movie will have you believe, Brendan Fraser isn't the main character. (I'm not complaining about the eye candy though) Not really. The real star is Joe Pesci as Simon. He has the best lines and the frankly better character arc.

One of the things that kills me about this movie is that in the exchange above, the other person in the conversation is played by Gore Vidal. Yes, THAT Gore Vidal. Essayist, Public intellectual, Bisexual, Said gross things about the Roman Polanski case, had fueds with Truman Capote, William F. Buckley Jr., AND Norman Mailer, Had alleged love affairs with Anais Nin AND Fred Astaire, Gore Vidal.

BRENDAN FRASER With Honors, 1994

George Peabody Library.

like, yeah.... obvs.

hey @cocoamoonmalfoy i'm all about making dreams come true

please enjoy!! 💖💖

tags: @if-n0t-l8ter-when @jessespencer @secretlyscottishkat @anais117 @awww-sugar @allskynostars @maddyrosew @chloefran @imnotoverlyobsessive @beige-honey @softhecreator @visionsofsweettea @lucyshea @staceystoleyourheart @hexrtbrexk-hotel @myheartdesirepure @no1partyanthem505 @madeinthemidnightmemories @weakling-grace @aomi-nabi @okaydraco @myownbravado @osnapitsabbie @biggestmessonhere @emilysprentisss @angxltimmychampagne @angelboyy @stuckysdaughter @thc-chalamet @dreamingformuses @lmfaosoph @everythingisspokenfortbh @missamericana69 @sufferingstarlight @reddir14 @lovelyrocker @dayafied @louievr @misswestfall

(a little fluff but mostly smut)

It wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t proper.

Nothing about it would ever be seen as acceptable, and that only made you want him more. 

This was the only way. 

Half past midnight, holding your dress up as you ran through the trees to your destination, your heart hammered desperately with anticipation. He was waiting for you. Knowing that your dress would be covered in mud and probably wet on the hem by the time you returned, you made a mental note to put it somewhere safe until you could take care of it. Whether the note would remain in your mind after what was coming remained to be seen. 

The greenhouse came into view just as the first lightning strike lit the sky, and you gasped as rain began to pour from the heavens, nearly drenching you before you were able to get in and shut the door securely behind you. 

“Sweet girl?” His voice was low, raspy, inviting. Following it like a puppy, you moved through an assortment of plants and gardening tools to find him crouched down in a corner on an unsturdy chair, his eyes lighting up like stars the moment you came into his view. 

“Tim,” you breathed, crossing the space between you as quickly as possible, your arms reaching for him as he stood to embrace you in return. 

“Did anyone see you?” He pulled you close, his fingers gently tracing along your jawline and his eyes on your mouth. 

“No,” you whispered, your breathing coming in short, intense bursts. “You?” 

“I don’t think so.” A little smirk, enough to make you squeeze your thighs together. 

“Thank God.” 

Weaving your fingers hungrily into his untamed curls, you kissed him hard and with every ounce of passion you could muster, knowing that not only was your time limited, but that you had no idea when you could meet with him this way again. No one knew. And it made the entire thing so delicious. 

Kissing you back, his eagerness spilling over as your teeth bumped together, his hands slipped down your sides to grip at your dress, knuckles white. You exhaled blissfully into his lips, and he deepened the kiss instantly, trying to get the dress out of the way at the same time with little luck. 

“Baby, Timothée,” you managed to moan out, enjoying the soft grunt you received in return. “We don’t have time, can you just lift it up?” 

Pulling back with obvious reluctance, longing in his eyes that you could feel in your own bones, he nodded and reached down to begin to tug it up and as out of the way as possible. The layers made it all the more difficult, but suddenly he was on his knees with his entire head up the skirt of your dress, tugging with greedy fingers at the fabric that kept him from where you needed him the most. When he finally removed it, you felt a small rush of cool air before his mouth was on your sex, devouring you relentlessly, his hands finding firm grips on your legs. You cried out, knowing you could be as loud as you wanted between the distance from the house and the noise of the storm. He made another grunt in return, clearly pleased with your reaction, his tongue dancing against the sensitive bud above your entrance before briefly dipping inside of you. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, Timothée!” Your entire body was buzzing, legs shaking, chest heaving, the pleasure he was giving you spreading like wildfire. 

“Mmmm, you taste amazing,” you heard him mumble, causing your heart to sputter. Wanting to see him, needing to see him, you managed after several awkward attempts to lift the dress up, revealing his gorgeous, flushed face and wild hair. 

“That’s so good, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” you babbled incoherently, a loud rumble of thunder making you jump. So lost in him, in the moment, you had completely forgotten there was a storm going on outside. What was happening inside between you made it look like a drizzle. 

His eyes found yours and locked in, pupils blown with lust and a determination there that you knew very well. Finding one of his hands, you linked your fingers together and let your head fall back, closing your eyes to enjoy him with every sense. He made quiet, contented sounds as he continued, eventually deciding to push further by slipping two fingers into you with his opposite hand. Nearly yelling, you clenched around him, feeling suddenly possessive, not wanting him to ever be this intimate with anyone else again. 

Do I dare? 

Pushing the words you wanted to say back stubbornly, you felt pressure beginning to build in your lower body, the need for release so overwhelming that you were dizzy. But he knew what he was doing. As usual. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he gave it the slightest tug before pressing his tongue back against it with more pressure than before. Shaking his head back and forth to create friction, his curls bounced, fingers gripping your thighs with hunger. It hit like a fucking train, the pleasure spreading from between your legs throughout your body, a loud, drawn-out moan of his name dripping from your lips without you even noticing. 

“Fuck baby, that’s my girl,” he praised softly, pressing tender kisses along the insides of your thighs and lower tummy as you came down a little at a time from the high. 

But you were not even close to being satiated. 

Hands still shaking, you pulled him up to be close again, gripping his hair hard and kissing him deeply, the taste of you still on his tongue. Groaning your name into your mouth in response, you could sense the impatience behind it. Reaching down between you, refusing to waste a single second of this precious time, you fumbled with his pants and belt until you could shove them out of the way enough to free his lust. It stood straight against his belly, your eyes widening considerably and your mouth going dry. 

“Turn around, gorgeous girl,” he breathed, backing you toward the wall of the greenhouse, his eyes full of promise. 

Obeying immediately and without question, you faced the wall with your hands against it, breathing heavily as you felt him try to arrange himself properly. It took a few seconds, a slight pause of movement before he was inside of you, the both of you releasing a crude moan at the same time. Wrapping his arms around you securely to hold you up, his lips seemed to be almost as famished as him, attacking your neck with wet, messy kisses and lovebites as he began to thrust in and out of you at a steady pace. 

“O-oh, oh fuck, oh my God, Timothée!” Wishing you could make more coherent sentences and knowing that it was probably impossible at this point with the high you were riding, you leaned back into him and let your head rest on his shoulder. 

“You’re… so fuckin’ tight,” he somehow managed to say between his endless sounds, sounds that only set you more alight. “You feel amazing, baby girl, fucking hell.”

Your eyes fluttered, lips parting and cheeks flushing in response to his praises. Another loud rumble of thunder – that, this time, you completely ignored – was accompanied by even more violent rain, the water pouring down the sides of the building like a waterfall. Twitching against your walls as he continued to move, you knew he was already close by the sounds he was making, and you moaned his name in a soft, feathery tone to encourage him further. 

“Fuck, fuck, keep saying my name, please,” he nearly begged, his thrusts suddenly becoming erratic, uneven, and sloppy. 

Before you were able to finish the final syllable of the word he was coming, biting down on your neck forcefully without intending to and filling your insides with his seed as he cried out your name over and over again into the skin on your throat. Overwhelming emotion took over, then, and you reached back to cling to him as best as you could from the position you were in. His arms tightened around your middle to pull you closer against him as it ebbed, the both of you gasping for air and shaking from head to toe. 

“Timothée?” 

“Mmm?” He brushed your hair back from your shoulder and pressed more delicate, loving kisses there, causing you to whine. 

“I just… I just…” Having an incredibly hard time letting it out, you exhaled sharply with surprise when he pulled out and gently turned you to face him. He looked absolutely fucking glorious, cheeks and neck and chest flushed, his hair somehow messier than ever, eyes sparkling as they gazed at you with adoration. 

“What is it?” He pulled you close for a light kiss, wanting to encourage and reassure you that it was okay to speak, it was okay to tell him. 

“I love you.” 

His reaction was not immediate, though you saw something register on his face as he digested the words. Anxiety began to spread through you, fuck, fuck I said it too soon… but then he was kissing you again, more force and passion behind it than you could ever remember having received before. 

And he was saying it back.

"You can't be a lurker on tumblr." Yes, you absolutely can. I've been quietly reblogging things since 2014 and I haven't interacted with anyone in years.

This is like porn.

Another copy of American Gods by @neil-gaiman . Originally in paperback, rebound as a hardcover book in hand dyed red sienna leather with gilded pages edges and gold vinyl decoration depicting Shadow Moon standing beneath the tree Yggdrasil.

Utterly obsessed with these Shakespeare playbook covers from the late 1960s by Paul Hogarth

The church of Matías or Our Lady, Budapest,Hungary.

The current building was built in the late Gothic style in the second half of the c.15th and was restored in the c.19th The architect responsible for this work was Frigyes Schulek.