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oliversrarebooks · 3 months

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Hunting Dog Part One: Lowell's Mistake

Masterlist

This is a spinoff of The Rare Bookseller! It takes place in the same world, but you don't have to have read Bookseller to understand this story.

April 1922

TW: human auction, capture, drugging

Oh, he'd hit the absolute motherlode.

Lowell couldn't believe that the tip he'd received at the speakeasy had actually panned out. He'd spent all night in surveillance observing the vampires -- and there was no question that they were vampires -- bustling in and out of the old but well-kept mansion. With a specially crafted scent to disguise the smell of his blood and the moon nearly full, it hadn't been difficult to conceal himself in an a gnarled oak tree and confirm that this was likely the infamous, elusive auction house.

He watched cars and carriages arrive and depart, well-dressed vampires chatting on the porch, struggling humans being dragged into a basement entrance, and clearly enthralled individuals carrying out trash and carrying in crates of supplies, their sleepwalking movements and glassy eyes apparent even from a distance. If this wasn't the auction house itself, it was certainly a major hotbed of vampire activity, more than worth his time.

Every vampire hunter worth his salt dreamed of finding and taking down the auction house. Between all the thralls the hunter's guild had rescued over the years, they had a very good idea of what the interior was like, how they processed humans, and what kind of clientele frequented the place. But no thrall knew where it was located -- about an hour away from the city by carriage, somewhere secluded in the countryside, memories far too vague to have any success locating it. The vampires were careful to make sure that the thralls were unconscious, drugged, or hypnotized while taking them to and from the cursed place.

Lowell hadn't thought much of the alcohol drenched, barely lucid man who had stumbled into the speakeasy that night, until he claimed that he had escaped from a fledgeling vampire. Purchased at the auction for a thousand dollars, a pitiful sum for a human life, the poor thrall had managed to get free in just two months' time. His memory of the auction house had proved shockingly clear, giving Lowell the final few clues he needed to track the place down.

And now, it was within his sights, that wretched house of misery where humans were bought and sold like meat at a butcher's. Even now, within those walls, innocent victims were having their minds spirited away, their wills bent towards serving monstrous masters, their very lives stolen from them.

All there was to do was wait until sunup, when he'd have all the advantages against sluggish vampires who could not flee outdoors. He briefly toyed with the idea of gathering more hunters and returning the next day, before discarding it. The security around the auction house, especially as the sun began to rise and the vampires retreated within, appeared to be minimal. It was obvious that they counted on secrecy and remoteness as their main way of keeping humans out -- the security was no doubt focused instead on keeping humans in.

And if the allure of being the vampire hunter to destroy the notorious auction house was clouding his judgement a tad... well, you didn't get to be a hunter with this many dustings under your belt without a lot of confidence and a lot of risks.

Once the sun had crested the hills and the vampires had all either left or gone back within, the only souls remaining outside the mansion were some unfortunate thralls enlisted as guards. While they had clearly been chosen for strength and size, their slow reactions were no match for a hunter in possession of his full faculties. Lowell quickly dispatched the guard near the basement door with a sedative dart, liberating the poor man of his keys and entering the building. He used a small block of wood to prop the door open, a trick he'd learned from well-seasoned hunters to always leave himself an escape route.

The vast majority of vampire manors Lowell had entered were ornate and packed wall-to-wall with furniture and collectibles suiting the vampire's particular desires, an expression of their innate possessiveness. Lowell knew for sure that he was in the auction house and no ordinary manor the second he laid eyes on the hallway -- painted white, free of obstruction, sterile, resembling a hospital or military base.

It was deathly quiet, so Lowell took extra care that his footsteps did not make noise against the polished wood floor, lest he alert any vampire that happened to be awake. He passed a few rooms, cautiously peering in with weapons drawn. One was an infirmary, one was a shower, one seemed to be an office, another couple were occupied primarily by padded chairs with leather restraints.

The laundry room and kitchen each had a couple of dazed thralls doing chores. In each case, Lowell shut the door again before they noticed, if they were even capable of noticing. The guild would have a lot of work on their hands rehabilitating all of these thralls once he cleaned out the vampires, that was for certain.

Truthfully, Lowell didn't have a lot of patience for thralls himself. He felt compassion for innocent victims, and tried to rescue them when possible, but when it came to rehabilitating them... he couldn't stand their foggy, dazed expressions, their nervous flinching, the way they laced their speech with 'sirs' and empty courtesies. He especially hated to hear freed thralls begging for the touch of a cruel master, longing for fangs in their neck even months after rescue. So many of them who tried to live on their own ended up back in the sway of a vampire within a year or less. Once easy prey, always easy prey.

Lowell was eternally thankful that he was a predator instead.

Rounding the corner, he encountered the first vampire, a drowsy, scrawny thing stationed in front of a double door. It was beyond obvious that he'd never encountered a threat before -- even with his vampiric reflexes, he was far too slow to react before Lowell was on top of him, hand pressing to his mouth to stifle his cry, a sure hand driving a wooden stake straight through his heart.

It was easy. This had all been easy so far. Too easy, for such a legendary place. He knew he shouldn't let his guard down as the dusted vampire had.

But maybe this would be easy. After all, it was clear that the vampires were only concerned about humans escaping, not humans infiltrating. And despite their enhanced strength and senses and their many supernatural powers, vampires weren't especially clever compared to humans. Undeath and immortality made them stagnate -- most vampires were eternally stuck in their ways, and that made them careless and unimaginative. Lowell couldn't help the rush of pleasure that came with beating the vampires right in their own territory.

He quietly pushed open the double door, crossbow at the ready, cracking it just slightly with a doorstop. It was a long, dark hallway, and the scattered noises Lowell could hear didn't sound like vampires. It sounded like soft breathing, quiet snoring, the occasional mutter or sob. It was pitch black, and Lowell had to risk lighting a match, its flickering light revealing iron-barred cells.

Holding cells for the poor humans waiting to be processed into thralls, just as he'd expected. The motherlode, indeed. Most of the humans seemed to be either asleep or unresponsive as he passed their cells. It was just as well, because it meant they couldn't raise an alarm.

"Ah --"

Lowell could see his matchlight reflected in a pair of terrified eyes, hands gripping the bars of her cell. "Shhh, be quiet," he said.

"Sorry," she said in a voice so quiet that he could barely hear her. "Are you... you're not a vampire, are you? Are you here to rescue us?"

"Yes," he said, with a swell of pride. "That's the idea."

"Oh, thank you, thank you. They told me I was going to be taken and hypnotized tomorrow night -- and I've been so scared -- I want to go home, please -- "

"All right, all right, keep your voice down and let me do my work."

"Of course," she said, slinking back into the shadows. "Thank you, thank you."

As Lowell approached the other end of the hall, he could see another pair of double doors, and considered his options. The doors hadn't been locked against his entry, but if the vampires were concerned about potential thralls escaping, they might lock the doors to prevent exit. If he tried them, he'd be likely to alert the vampire guard that may be lurking on the other side, who could fetch backup.

Too risky. He'd have to go back the way he came.

But when he turned around and reached the door he had entered, he found it shut tight.

No -- he had certainly left it propped open. There was no way it had closed without him hearing it, not unless --

Shit, they were onto him.

He dropped his match, snuffing it out with his foot while preparing his crossbow. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his nerves steady. There might not be many vampires in the auction house at this hour. This wasn't even the worst situation he'd ever been in. He'd fight his way through them and have an amazing story to tell the guild once they showed up here to help with the cleanup.

Several tense moments passed as the hunter readied his weapons and reassured himself of his impending victory.

The double doors at both ends of the hall slammed open, and the electric lights overhead flashed on and off in quick succession -- with his eyes acclimated to the darkness, he was blinded, shooting his bow half on instinct. He shot one in the shoulder -- saw another crumble to dust -- before cold hands wrapped around his arms, forcing his crossbow to drop and pinning him against a vampire.

Vampires weren't any more clever than humans, but they were strong. Even the weakest looking vampire was stronger than any ordinary human. That's why hunters relied on skill and surprise, because their odds were so poor when it came to hand-to-hand combat.

This was it, then. He'd fucked up, and this was how he died. It was happening so fast. He'd had this nightmare so many times, and he braced himself for a knife in his gut or a snap of his neck. At least he'd died bravely. The way he always wanted to go out, really, fighting the goddamn leeches.

But then a damp cloth was pressed against his face, a cloth with a thick chemical smell. His eyes widened as he realized that he was going to be subjected to a fate far worse than death.

Capture. They were going to capture him, and with vampires, that only meant one thing -- they were going to try and make him into a thrall. A nightmare worse than death, one that he'd never even let himself entertain.

He saw the cruel grins of the vampires surrounding him as two of them held him tightly restrained and another pushed the cloth firm against his face. He held his breath, thrashing, hoping for an opening to escape, even as their grip held firm.

A vampire with the appearance of a young, innocent woman was standing nearby, watching the scene, yawning wide. "Nice work," she said. "Worth staying up late for."

"Are you sure you don't want to kill him? I mean, he just dusted Tim," said the vampire holding the cloth.

"He's too valuable to kill. A hunter turned thrall will make a fine prize. I know just the right buyer, too."

No! No, he couldn't let it happen. That would never happen. He couldn't be a mindlessly adoring pet to some prideful, cruel monster. He couldn't fawn and offer his blood and call a vampire 'sir'. That couldn't be him. He'd rather die, he'd so much rather die.

He wasn't fucking prey.

But his struggles were fruitless, especially as more vampires surrounded him and helped to immobilize him. He couldn't hold his breath forever, and he was forced to gulp down the noxious drug along with the air he needed. His head started to spin, his extremities going numb.

He had to get free, right now, before it was too late.

But as he began to sag in the vampires' arms, his limbs heavy and his eyelids beginning to droop against his will, he knew in his heart it already was too late. He was growing exhausted, the drugged cloth slowly but surely putting him under, and his fight to wrench himself from the vampires' grasp had now transitioned into a fight to keep himself awake.

"That's a good hunter," cooed the young woman, petting his hair, and he was too drowsy to move his head away. "Just go right to sleep. I'll take such good care of you."

"You won't. Whatever you're planning... it won't work," he said with all of the fire he could muster, his voice muffled by the cloth. "You might have caught me, but you're not going to turn me into some pathetic, simpering thrall."

"Oh, I'll do that and more," she said, her sugary voice growing more sinister. "By the time I'm through with you, you'll be nothing more than an eager little puppy of a thrall, laying at a vampire's feet and begging to be fed on."

The thought sickened him. He thrashed weakly, one last vain attempt to get free, but it was beyond hopeless. The urge to just shut his eyes and go to sleep was so strong, and every blink made it harder for him to open his eyes again. But he couldn't sleep, couldn't let the bloodsuckers take his mind.

"Aww, is the mighty hunter getting sleepy?" She scratched lightly at his scalp, a gesture which might be affectionate under different circumstances. "Go to sleep," she sang in a mocking lullaby, "go to sleep, go to sleep, little hunter..."

"No... don't..." His head sagged forward into the cloth, his vision blurring, his eyelids fluttering.

"Off to dreamland with you now, little hunter-thrall. You'll feel so much better after a little nap. And once you wake up, we're going to have so much fun together."

Lowell could do nothing but groan, defeated, as his eyes closed and refused to open again. His mind began to drift far away as he sank helplessly into a drugged sleep.

Masterlist

I'm not sure how many parts this side story will have, but knowing me, too many.

#whump #whump writing #vampire whumper #vampire hunter whumpee #vampire #vampire hunter #mind control #drugging #sedation #captivity #hunting dog #lowell #lily

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rosepompadour · 2 years

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One day I shall be the princess, and spend my whole life dancing in fairyland.

Anna Pavlova, I Dreamed I Was A Ballerina (1922)

#anna pavlova #ballet #i love reading about people from history who make these ridiculously prescient claims of greatness #and everyone around them at the time is just like 'sure! whatever!'#but then they actually DO IT #😱#i live for that shit #there's a letter from fitzgerald where he says 'i shall write a novel better than any novel ever written in america'...and he DID THAT #don't you just love it!#i feel like some of our greatest artists (pavlova and fitzgerald being prime examples) almost HAD to be these crazy dreamers #because there was literally no one else who was going to do it for them #look at anna! her mom takes her to see sleeping beauty and anna's like 'mom i'm going to be the best ballerina who ever lived!'#and her mom is like 'we are literally living below the poverty line and you've never so much as twirled but OKAY!'#she probably thought anna would forget about it in a week #arrested development narrator: 'anna did not forget about it in a week.'#🩰💗

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girlactionfigure · 4 months

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Chiune Sugihara was a Japanese diplomat in Lithuania who put his family and career at risk by issuing thousands of hand-written transit visas to Jewish refugees fleeing Eastern Europe.

Chiune was born to a middle class family in Mino, Japan on the first day of the 20th century – 1/1/00. In elementary and high school he was a top student, and his father wanted him to become a doctor. Chiune’s own dream was to enter the foreign service, and he deliberately failed the medical school entrance exam by writing only his name on the test. Instead Chiune attended Waseda University and majored in English. He also joined a Christian fraternity to practice his English.

In 1919, Chiune passed the Foreign Ministry Scholarship exam, and served in the Japanese Imperial Army as a 2nd Lieutenant stationed in Korea. He resigned his commission in 1922 and trained for the Foreign Ministry, learning Russian and German in addition to English. He aced the qualifying exam and was sent to work in the foreign office in Harbin, China.

Chiune’s strong moral compass led him to resign his post as Deputy Foreign Minister in Manchuria because of rising Japanese violence against the Chinese (just two years later was the horrific Rape of Nanking by the Japanese Imperial Army.) Chiune returned to Japan, where he married Yukiko Kikuchi. They later had four sons.

Next Chiune went to Helsinki, Finland, where he worked as a translator for the Japanese delegation. In 1939, Chiune became vice-consul of the Japanese embassy in Kauna, Lithuania. Part of his job was to find out if Germany planned to attack the Soviet Union, and to relay any information about this to his bosses in Berlin and Tokyo.

In 1940, the Soviet Union occupied Lithuania. At that time, approximately 1/3 of Lithuanians were Jewish, many of them Torah scholars. The USSR viciously persecuted Jews, especially religious ones, and the Jews of Lithuania were desperate to escape the country – especially because Nazi Germany was occupying more and more of Eastern Europe and would soon be in Lithuania. Hundreds of them, mostly Orthodox, visited the Japanese consulate to beg for exit visas to Japan. The official Japanese policy was that candidates for visas must go through elaborate bureaucratic procedures and pay significant sums of money. Chiune contacted his superiors at the Japanese Foreign minister to ask if the rules could be relaxed to help Jewish refugees. His request was denied, as were his next two requests.

Chiune could have thrown up his hands and told the Jews there was nothing he could do for them, but instead, as he did in China, he was governed by his strong sense of right and wrong, rather than soulless bureaucrats. He ignored his orders and started issuing ten-day visas for Jews to travel through Japan on their way to safe havens like Shanghai, China, where 20,000 Jews rode out the war safely.

As word got out about the Japanese visas, Jews from all over Lithuania as well as Poland began to swarm Chiune’s office. He simply wouldn’t say no to anybody, and spent 18-20 hours a day (!) painstakingly writing visas by hand. He created a month’s supply of visas every single day from August to early September 1940, providing an escape route for thousands of Jews. On September 4, the Japanese consulate in Kauna was closed and Chiune had to leave the country. He was determined to create as many transit visas as possible, and continued doing so up until the last minute. At Kanuas Railway Station, a crowd of Jews gathered to say goodbye. Right before boarding the train, Chiune bowed deeply and cried out, “Please forgive me! I cannot write anymore. I wish you the best!” Someone in the crowd shouted, “Sugihara! We’ll never forget you! I’ll surely see you again!”

Chiune was reassigned to East Prussia, then Prague, and then Bucharest, Romania. When the Soviet Union occupied Lithuania in 1944, Chiune and his family were imprisoned in a POW camp for a year and a half. Finally they were released in 1946 and returned to Japan, but the foreign office had heard about his unauthorized visas, and he was forced to resign. At about this time, the Sugihara’s youngest son died of leukemia at age seven.

Unemployable in Japan, Chiune made use of his excellent Russian language skills and spent the next 16 years working in the Soviet Union while his wife and sons stayed in Japan. Chiune’s exceptional heroism was unknown for many years, until 1968, when he was contacted by Yehoshua Nishri, an attache working at the Israeli consulate in Tokyo. Nishri spent his youth in Poland, and heard stories of the legendary Japanese hero. Nishri made it his mission to publicize Chiune’s heroic acts, and the next year, 1969, Chiune traveled to Israel as an honored guest of the Israeli government. Jews he’d saved lobbied for him to be recognized as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem, and in 1984 he received the honor. At that time he was too sick to travel, so his wife and son Nobuki accepted the award on his behalf.

Chiune was asked why he risked everything to help thousands of strangers. He answered, “You want to know about my motivation, don’t you? Well. It is the kind of sentiments anyone would have when he actually sees refugees face to face, begging with tears in their eyes. He just cannot help but sympathize with them. Among the refugees were the elderly and women. They were so desperate that they went so far as to kiss my shoes. Yes, I actually witnessed such scenes with my own eyes. Also, I felt at that time, that the Japanese government did not have any uniform opinion in Tokyo. Some Japanese military leaders were just scared because of the pressure from the Nazis; while other officials in the Home Ministry were simply ambivalent. People in Tokyo were not united. I felt it silly to deal with them. So, I made up my mind not to wait for their reply. I knew that somebody would surely complain about me in the future. But, I myself thought this would be the right thing to do. There is nothing wrong in saving many people’s lives… The spirit of humanity, philanthropy… neighborly friendship… with this spirit, I ventured to do what I did, confronting this most difficult situation – and because of this reason, I went ahead with redoubled courage.”

Chiune Sugihara died in Japan on July 31, 1986. Despite being a hero in Israel, and among Jews worldwide, he was completely unknown in his own country. Even his own children didn’t know what he had done. A huge delegation from around the world attended Chiune’s funeral, and only then did he become known in Japan.

Chiune received many awards and accolades, most of them posthumous. Among them are Sugihara Streets in Vilna, Lithuania, and Jaffa and Netanya in Israel. There is a Sugihara House Museum in Kaunas, and a park in Vilna where 200 trees were planted on his 100th birthday. There is a life-sized statue of him in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles, featuring a plaque with a quotation from the Talmud, “He who saves one life, saves an entire world.” In 1998, Chiune’s widow Yukiko traveled to Israel and was warmly received by survivors who’d been saved by her husband. There is a Sugihara park in Jerusalem, and he was featured on an Israeli postage stamp in 1998. The Lithuanian government declared 2020 “The Year of Chiune Sugihara.” He has been the subject of multiple works of art, including books, films and a play.

It’s estimated that over 100,000 people are alive today because of the brave actions of Chiune Sugihara.

#Thursday Hero

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stayinhellevator · 5 months

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Shades Of Love

Where you thought love was red but it was golden

Pairing: S.Coups x gn!Reader//Wonwoo x gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst//S2L, L2E

Word Count: 1922

Warning: Mentions of seggsy times(not explicit)

Playlist: Red and Daylight ~ Taylor Swift

"Order 895 is ready. Please collect it."

You could hear your own voice booming in the buzzed cafeteria followed which a sturdy familiar young man walked towards the counter, flashing you his infamous gummy dimpled smile.

"Thank you! Now that I've had the best coffee that there is, my day would be better."

You shook your head at his antics and prepared his receipt as you tried to hide the smile that threatened to come out in order to not encourage his tactics. He did this every single day, coming to the cafe you worked at without fail with his regular order of an americano and melon bread and asked you out, also without fail.

However, you weren't quite ready to date and certainly not this handsome overly rich guy. He was so damn charming that nobody could ignore him, no matter how hard they tried to resist him, to you he seemed like a god damn celebrity and you, were just you. A broke final year college student, with big dreams, struggling with multiple part time jobs but that's what happens when your parents couldn't care any less about your existence. You had somehow survived school under their control and now you were almost done with your college all on your own and you were very proud of yourself. You had so much on your plate that you couldn't really prioritise a relationship in your life much less the attention that'd come upon you, with a guy like him.

"So are you free tonight? Tomorrow? Overmorrow?"

But he was also good at breaking your resolve; especially when he looked at you with that adorable puppy face and an even cuter pout on those luscious lips of his. And just like that, after six months of resistance, you had cracked.

"Real smooth Seungcheol, real smooth. I've to give this to you."

And you watched as his eyes glowed with a playfulness and he smirked at you in victory but you couldn't find it in yourself to dismiss his smugness.

Loving Choi Seungcheol was red.

He made you see the world through rose tinted glasses; everything that was so plain and cynical previously, now seemed bright and meaningful. You had something to look forward to every single day you woke up.

You'd think as time gradually passed, you'd come out of the honeymoon phase of your relationship but no Seungcheol made you feel special everyday, as if he was still courting you. He'd flirt with you, compliment you, voice out any and even a slight change in your look.

Bringing you your favourite flowers everyday without fail, taking you out on cute little dates frequently, going on a walk with his adorable fur baby like a happy family every evening and going as far as to pose like a trophy CEO boyfriend who'd pick you up from college every single day. Life with him seemed something straight like a rom-com fiction that you'd enjoy as a guilty pleasure.

He was passionate, if his constant pining of six months wasnt proof enough. He knew what he wanted and how to get it, be it opportunities, things or people. He did everything with all his heart, felt all kinds of emotions to their extreme. If he loved you, he'd travel to the ends of the world for you and God forbid if he hated you, he'd make sure he dragged you to that end and buried you in the deepest pits of hell. That's how passionate Choi Seungcheol is.

Seungcheol was also synonymous to a fiery lust that you'd never even imagined would burn through you. His kisses looked as hot as they felt when he imprinted them on every curve of your body. No matter how many times he took you, it never felt enough to either of you.

Because Seungcheol's emotions were limitless, so was his anger. Such was his anger that you'd rather die than be at the receiving end of his hostility. You first witnessed it when he found you getting uncomfortable with the gossip around your relationship in your campus and you'd swore to never explore that side of his passion.

In theory, it looked hot to see your boyfriend with such a burning determination in his eyes, jaws clenched in fury and knuckles fisted as if ready to get bloody if needed however, his violent rage sent chills down your spine because he really had no control over his actions when he went down that road.

And unfortunately for you, your worst fears had actually come true when the two of you ended up in an argument in your bedroom when you were supposed to be celebrating your fifth anniversary.

"Cheol! How did we end up here? It's not like you hadn't known of my plans for the future?"

You asked exasperatedly trying to make sense of this conversation. You had always wanted to own a cute cafe of your own with a bookshop above it and Cheol had always known about it. So how had he come from admiring your dreams to going against them?

"Because I thought you might change your plans baby. Today when mom asked me about our plans for future I realised we had never even discussed about our future. And now that I'm finally taking over the business I'd really like to settle down with you."

He tried to explain as best as he could but not enough to make sense to you. So was it his parents? You always knew they disapproved of your lifestyle and disinterest in fitting to theirs so did they say something to him?

"Cheol I never said that we can't get married. Of course I want to marry you and grow a family with you. However what I don't understand is, how does me wanting to establish a cafe of my own has anything to do with us getting married?"

You felt cornered the longer you watched his face that didn't soften even a bit with understanding and growing more determined every second.

"I'm more than capable enough to take care of you so what's the need to work?"

Your heart was pounding against your ribs so loud you swear you could hear it when you realised where this conversation was going. This wasn't your Cheol but Choi Seungcheol, the business man that his father was proud of.

"And you can still take care of me. I told you it's more about me fulfilling my dreams and not about survival or money anymore Cheol."

You could recognise the timidness in your wavering voice as you tried for the last time to save your relationship that was dangling by a single strand of thread.

"And how would it look that my wife is working in a cafe, even if you own it. People would think I don't provide well enough for you, there'd be too much gossip-"

He paused abruptly as he realised the look of growing horror on your face.

"So it's about your family's reputation and tabloids and not us anymore."

He shook his head desperately and scampered to his knees in front of you, trying to bring you back to him as you drifted away not just from him but even yourself.

"Baby please I didn't mean it that way."

He continued babbling but you couldn't hear him with the constant ringing in your ears.

You had always known it. So why did it still hurt?

Nearly three years later, as you stood outside your own cafe that you built with blood, sweat and tears literally, with pride all alone, Jeon Wonwoo came in your life with his warmth that thawed even the deepest corners of your heart, that seemed to be numb over the years of loneliness.

Wonwoo's compassion made everything seem easier than it actually was. Individually, you two were extremely reserved people who were neither interested in social interaction nor actively seeked it however together you two were like two perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. You remembered when you first met Wonwoo and were immediately intimidated by his persona however by the end of the day, it felt like you two had known each other since forever. And soon enough, it was to no one's surprise, you two were in a relationship.

Wonwoo was equally wise as he was warm; he knew how to make someone feel welcome but he also knew who actually deserved to be welcomed. He wasn't just your life partner, who knew how to handle you but also your business partner who provided his insights to your now joint venture. He owned the bookstore above your cafeteria that you two now jointly run. He was in every sense your missing brain cell.

Everything was easy with Wonwoo, even your arguments. You both tend to avoid arguing but when you do, he made it a point that you two never go to bed without resolving it and truly, it reassured you because you never want to be lonely, especially now that you've found him.

Wonwoo was thoroughly loyal and caring. He knew what you wanted before you could even acknowledge your emotions. You cherished every part of your life with him. Be it passing each other meaningful or sometimes even suggestive looks amidst the crowd of your cafe or snuggling up with each other with hands absent mindedly wandering on each other's skin with your favourite books in front of you.

Wonwoo was luxurious and not just materialistically. Every kiss that you placed on him felt like you touched the finest silks and likewise every kiss that he placed on you was as intoxicating as an expensive wine. It was sinful, addicting and never enough.

As regal as he was, he was also powerful, capable of making someone question their entire existence with just one look. His domineering aura also extended to a protectiveness over, which weirdly made you feel assured and safe but never suffocated.

As fine of a man as he was, of course he had a bit of a superiority complex but it never oppressed you or scared you. As long as you both were respectful of each other's boundaries and limits, everything was okay and that was an established fact. Besides, if he were a little too perfect, you think you'd be a little paranoid around him. So you guess you can bear a bit of his narcissism that his handsome face and compassionate heart deserved.

"Baby!? What are you thinking?"

A deep baritone that you could swear you felt vibrate deep within you brought you out of your musings as you faced your fiance who had joined you on the couch with two steaming cups of coffee.

"Thinking how lucky I am to have you in my life."

He smiled at you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he settled comfortably beside you in a snuggle.

"Hmm lucky you are. What would you have done without me?"

You give him a poker face before hitting him on the chest which made him laugh and hug you a little tighter.

"I love you so much!"

You placed a peck on his lips before smiling at him as you settled his glasses back up his nose.

"I love you more Woo!"

If he is the end result of all your struggles in every universe, then you'd gladly do it all over again.

You once believed love would be burning red but it was a shimmering gold for you and there's nothing you'd change about it.

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the1920sinpictures · 11 months

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1924 or 25 Doris Day was born in 1922 so I’m guessing she’s two or three here. From My Vintage Dreams, FB.

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cadmium-free · 4 months

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Funeral Parade of Roses (1969) - Watched on August 5, 2023

It spirals to its inevitable conclusion. We revisit a moment, a scene. A little more plays out, we step back or step forward. We live transfixed in a moment. Sometimes a scene mirrors another, it's all the same but with different details. There is no escaping fate, we can only be sucked closer and closer to our inevitable conclusion.

Stop Making Sense (1984) - Watched on October 5, 2023

I genuinely don’t think this needs any explanation or justification at all. I could watch it over and over and over and over and over.

Possession (1981) - Watched on October 17, 2023

It took me three sittings to get through this film and I wasn’t sure I liked it immediately after I finished it. And then it just simmered in my mind for days and weeks after until it finally clicked into place. I love the way Sam Neill moves in this. Everyone comments on the haunting way Isabelle Adjani looks directly into the camera, and yea. Yeah. Ok. Yeah. Yeah.

The Devils (1971) - Watched on June 26, 2023

I thought going into it with the full knowledge of Urbain Grandier would defang it, and perhaps this did soften the blow a bit, but it's audacious, frenzied, sensual. You get tangled up in its themes, its sensations, its torture.

Dog Day Afternoon (1975) - Watched on January 13, 2023

This set off a brief and ferocious obsession with Al Pacino. I have a strained relationship with films based on true crimes, but this slides past my qualms, perhaps just on the strength of the fact John Wojtowicz himself did write a review of it.

Bound (1996) - Watched on April 5 and August 19, 2023

The way Corky and Violet can come together with genuine trust so quickly. The way Ceaser can misunderstand Violet so fundamentally. The literal betrayal in realising who someone is.

Häxan (1922) - Watched on October 27, 2023

The 1922 equivalent of a Youtube video essay where a guy is like, "Guys, I just learned a bunch of fucked up facts about witches and witch trials. I think maybe we just execute women for being poor and mentally ill. Also aren't mental institutions a bit fucked up?" but like, a bit hornier than you would expect for the subject.

Cruising (1980) - Watched on January 17, 2023

It’s all about looking and being noticed. The camera is looking. Al Pacino is looking. The men are looking. And the ambiguity of the gaze and the plot.

Pontypool (2008) - Watched on October 4, 2023

It's a film about words. It's a film about broadcasting from a radio station and seeing nothing. Our imagination fills in the visual gaps. It's so much more horrifying to be piecing everything together from the safety of a recording booth.

The Lair of the White Worm (1988) - Watched on February 1, 2023

Hugh Grant—looking like a lesbian—who is a freaky little rich boy who believes in cryptids, Peter Capaldi—looking like a lesbian—sucking snake venom from a neck bite, an incredibly sexy snake woman with a house full of snake stuff, a giant snake puppet, surreal dream sequences, the coolest game of snakes and ladders ever made, snake dicks, weaponised bagpipe music, homoeroticism, and giant strap-ons.

Ravenous (1999) - Watched on October 19, 2023

This film is so offbeat and strange. It has the strange feel of a comedy, while being a really understandably grim depiction of cannibalism as manifestation of greed, expansionism, and colonization. I kept having these moments of shock that this was a studio movie, that studios were willing to make this film that so thoroughly deconstructs the American mythology.

Penda's Fen (1974) - Watched on July 6, 2023

The first movie in a long time that has made me feel as though I need to pick it apart like an essay, to rewatch multiple times and take notes and repeat sentences until I’ve done a thorough analysis. I've never had a film hit me in quite this way before.

#film #recs #long post #basically just making my letterboxd list here #i normally don't do a movie best of list for the year but i don't have ten non movies #station eleven and star trek are the only nonfilm things i would list i think

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justbusterkeaton · 9 months

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Publicity Stills for Day Dreams (1922)

#buster keaton #day dreams 1922 #silent movies #rene adoree #comedy #1920s #silent film #silent comedy #1920s cinema #golden age of hollywood #hollywood #slapstick

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friendlessghoul · 6 months

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Day Dreams - 1922

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pazzesco · 7 months

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🎨 John William Godward 🎨

John William Godward - Leaning Against a Column - 1901

John William Godward - When the heart is young - 1902

John William Godward - Dolce Far Niente III (Sweet Idleness) - 1906

John William Godward - Dolce Far Niente I - 1897

John William Godward - Athenais - 1908

John William Godward - In the Tepidarium

An Offering to Venus - 1912

The Bouquet - 1899

With Violets Wreathed and Robe of Saffron Hue - 1902

John William Godward - Dolce Far Niente II - 1904

The Day Dream - 1920

John William Godward (1861 – 1922) was an English painter from the end of the Neo-Classicist era. He was a protégé of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, but his style of painting fell out of favor with the rise of modern art.

He exhibited at the Royal Academy from 1887. When he moved to Italy with one of his models in 1912, his family broke off all contact with him and even cut his image from family pictures.

He committed suicide at the age of 61 and is said to have written in his suicide note that

"The world is not big enough for [both] myself and a Picasso".

His estranged family, who had disapproved of his becoming an artist, were ashamed of his suicide and burned his papers. Only one photograph of Godward is known to survive.

This is the only known photograph of John William Godward that survives today

#art #paintings #john william godward #bouquet #tepidarium #athenais #saffron #violets #sweet idleness #dolce far niente #jw godward #day dream #offering #venus #neoclassical

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kaylinelizabeth4004 · 7 months

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Here We Are In Heaven

A snippet of my longer story ‘Heaven is Here’ on ao3. This is chapter 10. Linked at the end! This just made me kick my feet and blush so I had to share.

Crowley and Aziraphale finally addressing their relationship.

It had been a few days since Y/N saw Crowley’s greenhouse, and the image of her inside it wouldn’t leave the demon’s mind. He felt that he saw her everywhere. And granted, to an extent he had. She was still interacting with them daily, but she was also a busy woman. Neither of them wanted to force her to change her lifestyle for them. But even when they weren’t speaking, even when she was at her flat and Crowley was dreaming on Aziraphale’s couch while the angel made diligent notes of his newest prophecy book, he saw her.

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale thought about Y/N the same way he did. Was everything this all consuming? Aziraphale certainly was for Crowley. Not all the time, perhaps all consuming wasn’t the right term, for there were times when the demon could go about his life and not think too much about him. But there were others when all he wanted, all he yearned for, was the sweet angel who loved crepes so much he risked his own life for them. The thought made him laugh slightly.

“A penny for your thoughts, my darling?” Aziraphale said into the silence of the night. It really was a wonderful moment they were sharing. Crowley was daydreaming, lounging on the couch and letting his imagination fly into all the most obscure realities. And Aziraphale was studying a book he’d recently acquired, 113 Partially Correct Prophecies for the Year 1922 by Oscar Wilde. It was turning out to be a more satirical book, mocking the different ways in which people were readily able to believe in prophecies, but Aziraphale still found it an excellent read. And he had been alarmingly correct about Franz Ferdinand’s assassination.

“Y/N,” Crowley answered.

Aziraphale didn’t try to fight the smile on his lips as he turned in his seat to look at the demon. “Ah, I see. And what about her has got you laughing?”

“It’snot her, it’sabout her.” He slurred his words slightly. “Do you… do you find yourself always thinking about the people you care for?”

Aziraphale nodded, “yes, I do.”

“Really?”

“I find that it’s not always the way the novels might describe it. It’s not always fiery and passionate, but it’s certainly there. In the subtext of your mind, so to speak.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “stop being so bloody smart, angel.”

Aziraphale frowned, “you asked me a question, dearest. I was just trying to answer it.”

“I know,” Crowley said, shoving himself up off the couch and going to Aziraphale selection of vinyl. He started to thumb through them, hoping to find something that had lyrics. Of course he appreciated classical music as much as the next immortal fellow, but when your brain just couldn’t stop thinking, sometimes words were what you needed to distract you. Other words to silence the ones up there. Crowley smiled at the Etta James vinyl, he’d quite fancied her music. Thought she had an excellent voice.

“Angel,” Crowley said softly, his expression suddenly serious. He let his fingers trace along the Etta James vinyl, nail scratching along the letters.

“Hmm?”

The demon was not always known for saying exactly what he needed to say, communication could be very difficult for a demon when your entire mode of communication is based on lies. Or Freddie Mercury. But maybe it was the way he kept replaying his angel kissing her, or the way Y/N listened and loved all of his plants with a kind heart, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say. As adorable as Aziraphale was, Crowley was going to get these words out. “We need to do something about Y/N.”

The angel looked confused and his pink lips came in a little pout, “whatever do you mean?”

“She’s not immortal. She’s going to continue to age. I, I, I don’t want to go through this again.”

Aziraphale’s face fell and he removed his spectacles from the tip of his nose. The conversation had turned very quickly, and he couldn’t quite trace Crowley’s train of thought. Bugger, he hadn’t focused on that bit of everything quite yet. He was so excited with getting to know Y/N, getting to love her as her outside of the whole soulmate situation. Though the situation is what brought them together. He sighed, “I don’t know if there is much we can do.”

“C’mon, angel, think. Use that pretty little head of yours and think.” Crowley came to him quickly, imploring for Aziraphale to help him find a way. The angel’s lips parted when he realized Crowley had called him pretty. However, the demon was on a mission. As beautiful as Aziraphale was and as much as he would love to continue telling him that, he knew they couldn’t get distracted. He could still hear her giggle as rose bushes popped up when she said their name. “Angel, think about it. Y/N’s not going to stop aging. She’s going to die. She’s going to die and forget about us, and we might never get to see her again. And even if we do, she’ll die and forget again. It will never end.”

“Well what do you suggest we do, Crowley?” Aziraphale said with a little whine, he felt helpless.

“Miracle?” The demon said halfheartedly, knowing that it might not work but choosing to say it anyway.

“Heaven and Hell will know if we try to miracle her immortality, and they won’t leave us alone.”

Crowley straightened. Despite everything, despite the inner feelings of self hatred and the torment Hell had put him through, Crowley was an optimist. He believed in good, and he believed that things would work out. An apocalypse had been stopped by belief, by imagination. His Bentley had survived. Despite it all, he chose to be optimistic about their future with Y/N, he refused to let it die with her. “We have to try, Aziraphale. You know we do. She deserves it.”

“She does.”

There was a pause. The angel was thinking very deeply about what they could do, if a miracle would even work. Then the soft chords of Etta James’s ‘At Last’ started to play on the record player. Aziraphale hadn’t even seen the demon put it on, but he couldn’t fight the small smile as the music enveloped him. His eyes fluttered shut and he took in a deep breath.

Her voice was rich through the ancient speaker. Crowley and Aziraphale listened with intent.

“At last

My love has come along…”

Aziraphale’s eyes opened when he felt a pair of warm hands settle on his waist, pulling him closely to another body. Crowley let his head fall onto the crook between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. He worried the angel was going to kick him away, and was going to reject him. 6,000 years of pining and yet he didn’t know if a simple dance was too much to ask for. At first the angel didn’t know how to respond, but as Etta James continued and he took in the scent of Crowley, he felt himself melting into the touch. Aziraphale’s arms came up around Crowley’s neck, hands buried in the red hair as the couple swayed back and forth to the song. His nails scratched along his skin and Crowley let out a sigh of relief. Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s.

“At last

The skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped in clover

The night I looked at you…”

Crowley remembered one of the first times he’d seen Aziraphale, way back when he’d been an angel. He hadn’t noticed it then, he’d been too caught up in the creation of a galaxy too beautiful to comprehend, but he remembered Aziraphale had looked quite pretty. He looked soft and sweet. Like candy. Crowley couldn’t comprehend that this moment was real, that he was holding good personified and he was his.

It took Crowley three stuttering tries, but he finally managed to get out over the soft chords of the song, “you deserve it, too, Aziraphale. You deserve her, the love, all of it. You deserve eternity with her.”

They both pulled back slightly to look at one another. The angel soaked in the sight of Crowley’s amber eyes, so raw with unexplained emotions. He hadn’t seemed to expect that from him and his eyes darted back and forth, trying to gauge what Crowley was feeling. He seemed to know something the demon wouldn’t dream to express. Aziraphale brought a hand to cup Crowley’s cheek and without thinking, he nuzzled into the angel’s touch. “My darling, you deserve it too. You are deserving of everything.”

A tear slipped down Crowley’s cheek, and Aziraphale wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. The angel spoke softly, almost hiding under the music, but Crowley would have never missed his next words. “I love you dearly, my Crowley.”

Crowley didn’t hesitate this time to make the next move. He rushed forwards and took Aziraphale’s lips with his own. A crescendo to 6,000 years of pining and trying to understand themselves. It was all that Aziraphale had dreamed of and more. The demon moved with a raw passion, taking in the form of the angel’s lips, but he wasn’t demanding. Crowley tasted of whiskey and heat and his lips felt softer than sin. Etta James’s melody cried from behind them and they held each other closer, as though letting go would mean they’d never get to touch again.

“You smiled, you smiled

Oh, and then the spell was cast

And here we are in Heaven

For you are mine … at last.”

#good omens #good omens season 2 #fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley x reader #crowley is a simp #crowley has self esteem issues #aziraphale #Aziraphale is hot ngl #this made me giggle #I love this #even if it’s shit I love it #fluff #dancing together because it’s fucking adorable

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homomenhommes · 6 months

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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 …

1871 – Stephen Crane (d.1900) was an American author. Prolific throughout his short life, he wrote notable works in the Realist tradition as well as early examples of American Naturalism and Impressionism. He is recognized by modern critics as one of the most innovative writers of his generation.

The eighth surviving child of Methodist Protestant parents, Crane began writing at the age of four and had published several articles by the age of 16. Having little interest in university studies, he left school in 1891 to work as a reporter and writer. Crane's first novel was the 1893 Bowery tale Maggie: A Girl of the Streets, generally considered by critics to be the first work of American literary Naturalism. He won international acclaim in 1895 for his Civil War novel The Red Badge of Courage, which he wrote without any battle experience.

In 1896, Crane endured a highly publicized scandal after appearing as a witness in the trial of a suspected prostitute, an acquaintance named Dora Clark. Late that year he accepted an offer to travel to Cuba as a war correspondent. As he waited in Jacksonville, Florida, for passage, he met Cora Taylor, the madam of a brothel, with whom he began a lasting relationship. En route to Cuba, Crane's ship sank off the coast of Florida, leaving him and others adrift for several days in a dinghy. Crane described the ordeal in "The Open Boat". During the final years of his life, he covered conflicts in Greece and lived in England with Cora, where he befriended writers such as Joseph Conrad and H. G. Wells. Plagued by financial difficulties and ill health, Crane died of tuberculosis in a Black Forest sanatorium at the age of 28.

Obsessed with urban street life, Crane left behind an unpublished novel, Flowers of Asphalt, a realistic portrayal of a Gay male prostitute at the turn of the century. No one knows what became of the manuscript or who destroyed it. The reason why it disappeared is much more certain. The trial of Oscar Wilde, only five years before Crane's untimely death, drove the subject underground for more than a generation.

A 1951 film by the same name is seen as an allegory for a young Gay man's coming out, with the handsome (and usually shirtless) son getting ready to leave the house, despite the disapproving gaze of his mother and father. The film's title is taken from the name of a legendary lost manuscript by Crane, which dealt with the then-taboo subject of boy prostitution.

In 2007 Edmund White published the novel Hotel de Dream, based on the 40-page novella fragment about a boy prostitute as recalled in the memoirs of a Crane friend, James Gibbons Huneker.

1896 – Captain Napier Sturt, 3rd Baron Alington was a British peer, the son of Humphrey Sturt, 2nd Baron Alington.

He was born in November 1896 in St. Marylebone district of London. He succeeded to the Barony on 30 July 1919 on the death of his father. He owned the Crichel House estate in Dorset.

He married Lady Mary Sibell Ashley-Cooper, daughter of Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 9th Earl of Shaftesbury, on 27 November 1928. They had one child: Hon. Mary Anna Sibell Elizabeth Sturt who later fought the Government and won, leading to the resignation of a Minister, in the Crichel Down Affair.

Alington may well be most notable for having dated Tallulah Bankhead in the 1920s. Alington was described as "well cultivated, bisexual, with sensuous, meaty lips, a distant, antic charm, a history of mysterious disappearances, and a streak of cruelty." His bisexuality was well known. He was a friend of the Polish composer Karol Szymanowski who dedicated his highly sensuous Songs of an infatuated Muezzin Op.42 to the handsome young Englishman, on their publication in 1922.

He had no male heir upon his death, so the title became extinct. The Crichel estate passed to his 11-year-old daughter Mary, who later married Commander (George) Toby Marten.

In the First World War, he was a Captain in the Royal Air Force. In the Second World War, he was commissioned on 2 July 1940 as an officer of the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve in the Administrative and Special Duties Branch and was posted to Cairo, possibly serving as a staff officer at HQ Middle East. He died on 16 September 1940 aged 43 in Cairo on active service of a short illness after pneumonia, and is buried in the New British Protestant Cemetery, Cairo, Egypt.

1937 – Dr. Tom Waddell (d.1987) was the gay American sportsman who founded the international sporting event called the Gay Games, which was named such after the United States Olympic Committee (USOC) sued Dr. Waddell for using the word "Olympic" in the original name "Gay Olympics". The Gay Games are held every four years. The first was in San Francisco in 1982.

Waddell was born Thomas Flubacher on November 1, 1937 in Paterson, New Jersey to a Catholic family. Aware of his homosexual feelings in high school, he excelled in athletics as a means to compensate for them. His parents separated while he was in his teens, and at the age of fifteen he went to live with Gene and Hazel Waddell, for whom he did chores; they adopted him six years later. The Waddells were former vaudeville acrobats and encouraged Tom to take up gymnastics.

In the summer of 1959, he worked at a children's camp in western Massachusetts, where he met his first lover, socialist Enge Menaker, then a 63-year-old man. The men remained close for the rest of Menaker's life, which ended in 1985 when he was ninety years old.

Tom was a football player and gymnast when he was in college at Springfield College, Massachusetts. He served as a military doctor afterward. He represented USA in decathlon at the 1968 Summer Olympics, in which he placed sixth.

In his medical career, he received his MD from Stanford University Medical School. During his life, Waddell had done research on viruses, as well as served the Saudi Royal family. This was followed by moving back to San Francisco where he established his private practice on 18th Street in the Castro neighborhood. He later was employed at a city clinic in the Civic Center area of San Francisco which to this day carries his name.

Waddell happened to attend a Bay Area gay bowling competition, which inspired him to consider organizing a gay sports event modeled on the Olympics. He took up the cause of the "Gay Olympics" by traveling across the country to drum up support. The first Gay Olympics was to take place in San Francisco in 1982 in the form of a sports competition and arts festival, but the U.S. Olympic Committee (U.S.O.C.) sued Waddell's organization over its use of the word "Olympic." Despite the fact that the U.S.O.C. had not previously protested when other groups had used the name, they alleged that allowing a "Gay Olympics" would injure them. They succeeded in securing an injunction just nineteen days before the first games were to begin. Nevertheless, the games, now re-christened the Gay Games, went forward and were a great success, perhaps because they emphasized sportsmanship, personal achievement, and inclusiveness to a far greater degree than the Olympics.

Waddell had a daughter in 1983, Jessica Waddell Lewinstein, with lesbian activist Sara Lewinstein, whom he had met while founding The Games. He died from AIDS in 1987. His battle against HIV/AIDS is one of the subjects of the award-winning documentary Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt.

Waddell wrote an autobiography titled Gay Olympian with sports writer Dick Schaap.

1960 – Tim Cook is an entrepreneur and the CEO of Apple, one of the world's most valuable companies. In 2011, Steve Jobs handpicked Cook as his successor.

Cook was born in Robertsdale, Alabama.

Before joining Apple, Cook managed manufacturing and distribution as director of North American fulfillment for IBM. He also served as chief operating officer at Intelligent Electronics and as as vice president of corporate materials at the Compaq Computer Corporation.

In 1997, Apple reported a loss of a billion dollars and was expected to declare bankruptcy. In 1998, Steve Jobs convinced Cook to accept the position of chief operating officer, despite Cook's reservations. Within a year, Apple reported a profit.

In 2011, Cook became Apple's CEO and a member of the board of directors. He is one of the highest-paid CEOs. He ranked No. 1 on Out magazine's "Power 50" list of the most influential LGBT people in the United States. Forbes magazine named him one of the "World's Most Powerful People."

Cook has kept his personal life private, but has appeared at the top of Out Magazines Power 50 List for 3 years in a row. The closest he had come to publicly acknowledging his homosexuality was in a 2014 speech:

"Since these early days, I have seen and have experienced many types of discrimination and all of them were rooted in the fear of people that were different than the majority."

But on October 30th 2014, two days before his 54th birthday, Cook announced in a interview with Bloomberg Businessweek:

"While I have never denied my sexuality, I haven’t publicly acknowledged it either, until now. So let me be clear: I’m proud to be gay, and I consider being gay among the greatest gifts God has given me."

He also challenged his home state of Alabama to ensure the rights of gay and transgender people.

1971 – The Body Politic begins publishing. The Body Politic was a Canadian monthly magazine, which was published from 1971 to 1987. It was one of Canada's first significant gay publications, and played a prominent role in the development of the LGBT community in Canada.

The magazine was first published on November 1, 1971 by an informal collective, operating out of the home of Glad Day Bookshop owner Jearld Moldenhauer. The collective was incorporated as Pink Triangle Press in 1975.

Writers associated with the magazine included Gerald Hannon, Stan Persky, John Greyson, David Rayside, Sue Golding, Richard Summerbell and Gary Kinsman.

The Body Politic was twice charged with publishing obscene material, in 1977 for Hannon's article "Men Loving Boys Loving Men", and in 1982 for "Lust with a Very Proper Stranger", an article on fisting. The magazine was acquitted in both trials. Materials seized by police in the Hannon trial were not returned to the magazine until 1985.

The magazine ceased publication in 1987, following PTP's launch of the tabloid Xtra! in 1984. In 2008, it was ranked as the 17th most influential magazine in Canadian publishing history by Masthead, the trade magazine of the Canadian magazine publishing industry.

The magazine also created the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives in 1973.

1981 – Pierre Fitch, né Viverais, born in Cornwall, Ontario, is a Canadian gay pornography actor, formerly exclusive to Falcon Studios. Although Christian name is Pierre, he admitted that he loved the fashion line Abercrombie & Fitch and so took the surname. He is also an entrepreneur, who now works for himself as an actor and producer of video productions. He is currently performing as a DJ, presenting his own mixes through a number of night clubs in Canada, The United States and Latin America.

His online presence includes his private membership site that includes his almost daily updated blog. He has numerous fan-sites such as the 2008 launched Pierre Fitch Galleries.

Fitch was nominated for the 2006 Best Actor GayVN Award and, with Tom Judson (credited as Gus Mattox), for Best Sex Scene (Duo). He did not win either award, being beaten twice by Johnny Hazzard. Fitch has tattoos all over his body including his neck, chest, stomach, arms and legs.

Fitch is considered "versatile," though more often than not he is seen as the "bottom" (receiver) in scenes featuring anal intercourse. Fitch started off in the industry as a "twink" (younger looking boy), but has now fully grown into a more jock look.

He was previously in a relationship with Ralph Woods. They were reputedly married. In the fall of 2008, Fitch revealed that his marriage to Ralph Woods was never official or legal, but it was a marketing strategy.

2008 – Pin-Ups, by Maurice Vellekoop, a coffee table book of gay erotic cartoon art, is first published.

Maurice Vellekoop (born 1964) is a Canadian artist and illustrator. His work has appeared in publications such as Drawn & Quarterly, Time, GQ, Vogue, Cosmopolitan and Wallpaper, as well as in the books ABC Book: A Homoerotic Primer, Sex Tips from a Dominatrix, Mensroom Reader and Vellevision.

Vellekoop attended the Ontario College of Art and Design from 1982 to 1986. He is openly gay.

His autobiographical I’m So Glad We Had This Time Together is a comic and compassionate late-bloomer’s coming-of-age story that deals with his fraught relationship with his staunchly Calvinist Dutch immigrant parents.

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