#and about half a dozen versions of my online name

[adaines-furious-feast]

Jace Common-ising his own name but letting his students call him whatever they want as long as its not his Elven name is important to me

[maximumzombiecreator]

do you have any advice for players who are interested in ttrpgs that arent d&d but can't find dms? i can get my friends to play news systems when i run them but sometimes i want to play! but my other dm friends just want to keep running ultra homebrewed barely recognizable versions of 5e

Yeah! There are a couple of approaches I'd recommend in this case.

Since you have other DM friends, you could go with the classic quid pro quo. If there's a specific type of game they're interested in being a player in, or a specific character they're excited to play, you could offer to run a game for them in exchange for them running a game that you'd like to be a player in. Usually this should be limited to games that are relatively fixed in scope. Neither of you is going to want to commit to running an unbounded campaign, but something that's gonna be half a dozen sessions or less feels more reasonable.

With the type of DM who runs 5e-in-name-only this is definitely high risk, high reward. On the one hand, the experience of running another game might show them the joy of running a game that doesn't need to be completely rewritten to do what they want, and you could gain a DM friend who is happy to run other systems. On the other hand, they might just completely house rule and homebrew whatever new system you persuade them to run, so that it's that game in name only as well, which is a disaster. And that's assuming you can persuade them to try at all, even with the bribery of running something for them.

The second approach is what I have called the Grinch technique: if I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead. I am regularly converting players to GMs, it is my not particularly secret agenda when I run games.

I find the biggest thing I can do to make this happen is to just be very frank about what I find to be the tools of GMing. Players often have a very grandiose view of GMing: the GM who preps tirelessly and meticulously plots a story and knows every detail of the world. I am very clear that I don't do that. I prep scenarios with a fragile status quo, and I react to how players interact with it. When it comes to obstacles, I don't make solutions, I make problems, and then I just handle how the players approach them. Most of what I do is reacting.

I tell this to all my players, in part just to calibrate their expectations, but if players show an interest, I'll invite them further in. I'll tell them about what documents I maintain over a campaign, what my prep notes look like, little techniques I've learned to make GMing easier. And I'll tell them about games I think they'd be interested in. And when I feel like they're really starting to see how everything I do is really not that difficult, I'll start nudging them in the direction of GMing.

The last approach is to just find online spaces dedicated to this kind of thing. I prefer playing in person to online, which is why I recommend the other two first, but the third approach is definitely easiest. @anim-ttrpgs runs a great book club discord for running indie games that you can check out if you're interested in that! Dedicated discords for the game you're interested in playing almost always have a looking for group channel as well.

Hope some part of that helps.

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 10

A Homelander X F! Reader/Dadlander fanfic.

A/N: sorry for the delay, I wrote another fic and that ate my time, hope y'all like the chapter, there's only 3 chapters left and the epilogue and now that kinktober its done I should be able to post the remaining chapters on time, if ya like to be on the taglist plz leave a comment with a request. prev. chapter here:

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance, some spicy and murder.

Chapter Ten

Reconsidering

A lavish prison.

More rooms than ideas to fill them with– mere latrines for kisch. 

Floors that screamed ugly opulence, the kind that made you yearn for the simplicity of owning nothing, of forced minimalism... or tasteful decor.

When you cracked your neck to witness the enormity of the seven story mansion (not counting the cellar basement and the terrace) the price tag had frightened you to the core more than the height, making you feel more than inadequate in visitation, as you had come in jeans and an ironic t-shirt to accompany him (not that you had a choice)--  as Homelander pulled you around from floor to floor, forcing you to walk alongside him from beige rooms to white rooms, past rich dark wood doors. So heavy they hurt your wrist, you worried for your future.

These were the things you could only witness in pictures.

“I hate the carpet.” He said coyly, trying to stand close to you without frightening you.

Looking down at the rug you’ve taken your shoes off for-- it was luxurious, it was nice for the somewhat dark library, the smell of curated cedar and walnut genuinely intoxicating. From a second glance it matched his taste in your mind, but you guess he was a lot more finicky than he already was– perhaps it wasn’t soft enough for him, you thought.

“I'd rather we just have the floors bare– it’ll be easier to clean.”

“Concerned about the maids already?”

“Maids?”

“Honey, you don’t think I expect you to clean this thing by yourself?” He gave you a playful pat in the back– even with superspeed you’ll wear yourself out…”

The real estate agent who kept rubbernecking at your direction, raised his eyebrow as he saw how stiff you were next to your fiance.

Pressing yourself against the aged stone of the terrace fence, the city seemed so far away as you looked down from so high up, wondering if you could fall quick enough, if he would catch you right on time or make it easy for himself and play the tragic broken hearted hero. The cold breeze kissed your temples as you processed the jarring passage of time.

Kaleem, his wife Alessia and your co-worker Chrissie dropped what they were doing when you broke the news that you’ve gotten engaged, they’ve already gotten it from the breaking news report and online but actually hearing it out of your mouth cemented it, it wasn’t a lookalike sharing your name marrying Homelander! But you! Their hardworking and worn out cook. 

Who never once mentioned him before, who never described your baby daddy, who gave no hints… yet to them who thought were your friends–if not confidants, felt betrayed.

They were friends of yours but the fear of Homelander’s and Vought had been so great you never wanted to disclose who’s Helena’s father was to anybody, they had formed very strong opinions over the time they’ve known you but at the sight of half a dozen black suits entering their pizza shop– you probably would have never been able to tell them on your terms, anyways.

 You had no choice now but to divulge.

After having been made to lose a day’s work and being informed they would have to agree to some sketchy stuff regarding selling your situation to the public, you owed them an explanation– at least the financial compensation for their cooperation was generous.

Right now you were a stranger.

You told a version of your story, adding to what they already knew, like everybody else their image of Homelander was firmly cemented after 20 years of exposure to the bastard, it was hard to view ‘The Nation’s Favorite Dad’ was the one who threw you on the streets, nobody spoke much while you melted into the booth, your sight so far away, as the light’s buzz drilled into your brain.

“Is the dick at least good?” Chrissie slurped loudly on her coke– I mean go get your bag bitch, just don’t let him make you sign a prenup and when you get divorce take half his shit.”

“Slightly above mid… his mouth tho…” You did smile there.

“Is it little?” 

“I wish… shit hurts. Can’t sit straight afterwards... he's just so quick! Thank god his mouth isn't just good at speeches” You chuckle dryly.

Chrissie began spacing her fingers until you rolled your eyes in embarrassment, poor Kaleem sat in his corner pretending to be blind.

You both shared an ugly snorting laugh, cackling from the absurdity of the situation.

“You wouldn’t be the first woman to marry for benefits– trust me I seen a lot of ‘90 day fiance’ and my aunt Lucia’s been married to my uncle for 32 years– she met him a month before the wedding and only for the green card.”

“32 years?” That was dreadful.

Alessia was quite relaxed about the whole ordeal, if anything it was the most stimulating thing that had happened in recent years and seeing a six-year- old tutor her teenage son was exhilarating.

“She said he has a big dick and uncle works the night shift… works great for her– pretty sure 2 of their 7 kids are his” 

“Is this the aunt Lucia that came and did our light fixtures? I feel sorry for your uncle.” Chrissie said.

“Yes– she's happy, and don’t be… Uncle Frank may have a whole other family in Mexico, but that’s a whole other business.” She said loudly– look you had it rought, and fuck him. I thought killing the dude at that rally was a bit much, but dumping you in the streets– way worse than murder! Look, we got three kids and if this dumbass died on me– I don’t know how I would cope and if some hot rich asshole asked me to marry him… I might ‘cuz college ain't cheap.” You could laugh, watching Kaleem agreeing he would do the same if she died– Homelander is cute and has money. You said it yourself– you don’t have to love him. He’ll meet somebody else and end it, but Helena it’s your main priority here not him, and I mean after everything you’ve been thru you deserve to cruise thru life.``

“I don’t think John is going to let me fuck around…” You groaned, resting your head on your forearm as you sunk deeper– I don’t have to be happy, right?”

“It’s overrated.” Chrissie said– Helena would probably finish college by 12, and that if she takes her time.”

“Thank you guys for encouraging me in my new ‘Sugar Baby’ journey– I always knew I had it in me to be an amazing hoe.”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear… to them who just like you had to break their backs to keep the roof over their heads, it was an enviable golden opportunity and in this economy one couldn’t really afford to miss out on such opportunities… 

“Just pretend you like him if he’s ever around, I guess.” you mention.

“It’s gonna be hard ‘cuz I like Noir more.” Chrissie says leaning across the table to pat your shoulders.

So here you were admiring the Upper East Side, in the nicest street, in a coveted building that he had every desire in the world to make you ‘Lady of the House’, it was beyond extravagant it even had an elevator… so there was some appeal.

Ashley followed him like a lap dog as he listed a billion much needed remodeling decisions to bring back the home into the office spaces by force, in case he decided to purchase the edifice.

“So you like it? This is the fifth house we’ve seen… you said you wanted a yard and space.”

“Needs more plants… is a great location…” you said softly, still looking down, pretending to not notice Ashley was writing that down too.

“But do you love it?” he pressed rubbing your shoulders– we can still get the penthouse… even if it's only four bedrooms but great open concept! Or the condo right in front of Central park– but that one is only 3 bedrooms which might tamper with our plans… although the one in 63 street, classy and it has a cinema.” 

He kissed your forehead, after speaking quickly.

“Do you love it?” You asked, fixing his hair once he got too close to you– this will be your home too.”

“Is pre-war” He whines playfully– is so pretty… the brownstone… the history…” He gives you the most pathetic attempt of ‘puppy eyes’ you’ve ever seen, a smile creeps onto your face without permission which he takes graciously– I can see us here.”

“You’re not hanging a giant american flag anywhere in this house!”

“A small one?” He pouts.

“In your office… and it better be small, John.” You rested your head on his chest– The kitchen… is awful.”

He was touchy, your skin numb to his touch at this point, he wanted to kiss you and hold you until you cherished him, but he wouldn’t force it. 

You just had to keep smiling and thwart most of his approaches, but you know if you gave him just enough affection he would be unable to notice the wicked game you were playing– forcing him to move at your dictated pace, to keep him on his toes yearning that you would turn and pamper him, never knowing if his affections were welcomed or not, but knowing you gave yours to him and he welcomed it.

You could see Ryan and Helena growing up happy, and safe. 

You and those two children sitting by the fireplace, enjoying hot chocolate and opening Christmas presents.

You would in fact not choose this house just to spite the man, who had fallen in love with his grand vision– not that the chosen house was worse, just one floor shorter, just as massive as the other and still in a great location… so Homelander didn’t complain too much… just a little.

The boxes increased but there was still so much to fill up, even with his stuff it wasn’t enough to fill the gaps… he would not spare you from the American flags, tragically as it sounds. 

At least it was framed and matched the decor of the gallery and dining room. As you unpacked and watched the movers bring the beds while the kids argued about who kept which floor– Helena demanded the fourth floor already making executive decision to turn the empty rooms into labs and  offices for her future endeavors, while Ryan wanted to be normal child and stay in the same floor as his sibling, ultimately pushed to the fifth floor after multiple rounds of rock-paper-scissors, and a paternal mediator who said they had to settled it with another round of games which sadly Ryan lost.

After a laborious day, you two just sheepishly laughed as you stared at your bedroom, both leaning against each other as you laughed, staring at the wooden cross dividing the two beds and matching nightstands– all so very circa 50’s catholic chic. 

You two just laughed about how absurd this was in execution, a part of you wished to just put the beds together instead of making your great-grandmother proud.

“Y’know we could’ve fit two kings in here…” He said while staring at the space.

“I thought you wanted me close-by.”

“Double’s were the perfect choice.” He replied quickly.

It took weeks before you reached a boiling point with your live-in situation, to see him walk around your home in that stupid suit, his mind longing for the familiarity of his abandoned penthouse was frustrating, he himself didn't expect to miss it either– He felt like a guest that refused to leave instead of your fake fiancee, this wasn’t him staying overnight at your previous domicile levels of awkward, that had been a challenge on its own, even if now you skipped the pillow walls and sleeping on the floor… God knows how many times he picked your unconscious self up from the ground and laid you to bed, while he sat next to you reading a book in the dark– this was an alien living in your house calling himself the owner. 

Before you knew it your heart stung as you dragged the two kids to the nearest Target to bulk buy the man some loungewear, both from exasperation and as request from his son who mentioned he didn’t really own much clothes, and what little he did own he didn't feel like washing every 2 days just to chill around the house... and as his future wife you gave yourself automatic permission to buy him clothes… just anything that would get him out of that suit.

Ryan had never been to many stores before, much less a Target, it hurt a tad to see him fascinated by the colorful aisles and the abundance of people…knowing he had grown in a compound, the mother in you just wanted to squeeze him and apologies for it all, but you instead just squeezed the handle bars and let him pick snacks that caught his fancy.

It was hilarious that you would find yourself doing this again– back then buying for him had been difficult, he wore very little but he liked your input, he simply wore what you told him, but after so long you had no idea what he liked anymore– this wasn’t food… this wasn’t easy… so the plainest sets were your best bet.

There was something fresh about this, as you perused the aisles with the kids in tow, thinking of buying him some jeans and clean button ups, Ryan picking up colorful socks while Helena opted to pick him a shirt just to fit in.

You had fun, you looked forward to sprousing his wardrobe, watching this scene play out made you feel as if you were normal, until somebody took your photo at the checkout in your least flattering angle.

It took another week before he opened up to being undressed and exposed in cheap pajama pants and white t-shirts, it would take three weeks for him to do so without being told to– plus enough complaints about people trying to photograph them after seeing the Homelander lounge in the terrace, served as added motivation.

You told yourself it wasn’t too bad to cohabitate, as you saw him slowly get more and more comfortable in his new environment, as you watched him become softer with your kids, as you found yourself having pleasant breakfasts, found yourself being welcomed home and conversed over coffee about your day or his day– not even bringing up his concerns about you still choosing to work in Lucci when you could do so much better too often, giving up on teasing you with buying you a restaurant, or upcoming publicity stunts when you weren’t in the mood to listen to the drivel.

Staring down from the roof garden looking at the brownstone buildings around and the pale light, pleased by the subtle fragrance of flowers behind you, he seemed so normal as you watched him from across the coffee table.

He kept sipping on his latte looking miffed before turning around and asked about why Elmo had been staying over for the last 3 days, to which you reminded him he sent his dads to sort some business in Singapore.

“Does he have no other family?” He thought of Singapore– it was quite urgent… they decided to fuck us up.”

“You and them booked them for acting classes plus they have their first suit fittings tomorrow… easier for them to leave Elmo here and have us take care of that– they’re a team-up. They should be close.”

“I know! But why does he have to sleep here? He’s a boy.” He seemed concerned.

“‘Cuz we got the space…?”

“It doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“Oh you freak.”

 He was still stiff around the edges but you could bear with it, as you saw him and Helena bond you knew your daughter was handling him well– your target was Ryan now. 

You asked him to help you around the kitchen more, taking your time to teach him without pressure, scolding his father when he acted like it was undignified of him to help around the kitchen and forced him to eat whatever he'd made, making him feel proud when he took charge of dinner even if it was slightly too salty at times and his impenetrable skin resulted in chipped knives… 

 You helped him make those cute films and took him out to the cinema, buying him books on the subject, encouraging him to join art clubs, to try as many extracurriculars he was interested in and to ignore his father as he pushed Ryan to join sport related clubs, when all he wanted was to make dioramas with his new found friends, instead. 

Homelander didn’t have any issues with Helena for her selections were sparse, just the chess club, and some science club she was quickly losing interest in… if anything he was being pushy about piano– and god knows how he managed to bring that piano to the fifth floor without breaking anything.

Is not as if she was already taking too much in-between physics, science and math classes… and working casually at Vought, but he didn’t seem to care. Helena assured you she could handle it, telling you to focus on your tasks without worry and you listened.

Ryan liked your support, it helped you get closer as you allowed his friends to enter the house for his little projects, he liked when you twisted his father’s ear to let him be just in case he began to disapprove, he began to trust you.

Helena wasted her afternoons in the office between daycare, superhero training and shadowing her father or Ashley, reading his meeting notes, writing them for him, or as he called it assisting him, learning about the company and the labs from her privileged position– the whispers of curious passerby wondered why Homerlander would keep his daughter so close, it had taken the building by surprise to learn that this little girl had been his child all along even if rumors had spread prior… but the once cute anomaly began to gain a insidious reputation in the underbelly of this company, something that made them more uneasy than just her strange demeanor from before.

“What’s that on your dress?” You noticed a brown stain on the hem of her dress.

“Iodine.” She said while taking her clothes off, Homelander said nothing as he picked after her.

Homelander gave you a stiff smile as he scrunched the clothes into a ball before your kid ran up towards the bathroom, mentioning she’s a tad clumsy with the equipment as he walked past you.

You didn’t need to know that the duet had some quality father-daughter time to the misfortune of some lab rat.

He stared at the chunky bloodstain sliding down the wall.

“I can explain.” She panted, staring at her work as her eyes spun around the room.

“It’s pretty obvious what happened, no?” He said stepping on top of the unidentified– "I'll have somebody come clean it up, darling.”

“You’re not mad?” She asked, genuinely nervous, fidgeting with her fingers as her head throbbed.

“Why did you kill him?” He stared at the smashed patty with curiosity.

“He resisted termination… forcing me to defend myself… he took my assistant.”

Homelander looked at the other corpse and its mangled remains, spilling around her boots.

“Why?” He spoke with a boor.

“Self-defense.”

“You took your time doing it… you could have cut his oxygen supply and killed him in a few minutes, instead you” He kicked a shattered bone– made it agonizing.”

“Tch… if he attacked me I would’ve lost control of the bubble…” She gasped lightly trying to kill the headache inside her– the math… the math makes sense. My formulas make sense. But it's them… these samples aren’t fit, they aren’t meant to be like us. They are worthless!”

She leans towards the wall, smacking her forehead against the wall full force, Homelander jumps on his heel but doesn’t reach her as she mutters incoherent curses under her breath, his hand stop just inches from her.

 “This one wasn’t too bad… I thought I cracked it but then I noticed…” Helena was pensive looking at images he wasn’t privy to, as she spoke with a light airy voice as her lungs emptied for her to speak once more— I cull it.”

She squatted picking up a loose tooth from the ground, examining the perfectly structured canine, for the first time Homelander felt uneasy about her.

“Is not often that I feel…”

Homelander raised a curious eyebrow, taking a step closer towards her, Helena tilted her neck to look at him, her sight so detached it didn’t seem possible for a child to make such an expression.

“Excited. The simulations always succeed but the human variant poses an interesting angle I hadn’t previously considered… truly successful adult specimens… V24 almost recreated the perfected serum but with nasty side-effects… programming the serum is obtainable but adult humans continue to reject it or somehow create variants as if the host alters the code live”  She flicks the tooth– Is like Frederick left me a puzzle.”

“So are these just pieces” He waved his fingers nonchalantly at the messy remains.

She scoffed standing up and patting her knees clean.

“You know why I play piano?”

He shook his head.

“Because in order to be good at it… you have to foster talent… but no amount of practice can’t beat those blessed with a gift… supposedly. So I have to solve his puzzle because I cannot believe that that coward was blessed more than me.”

“You think Vought has beef with you? So what will you do with all your failures? Murder them?”

“Is it murder to cull a deformed goldfish? No… that’s just mercy.” She stands up fixing her hair– It’s not beef. Is a challenge he left us with.”

His smile is so wide his skin creaks as it stretches. 

He picked her up to plant a kiss on her chubby cheek.

“You’re such a messy child.” He kissed her again– you got your pretty dress dirty.”

“Sorry.” She moped– sorry about all of it… you must think I'm a hack.”

“Is okay princess… daddy will just buy you a new one… and a new dress.”

You didn’t question the stains on her dress, god knew what sort of chemicals and stuff she had to play with, and how much of it wasn’t built for the size of her hands.

The more you saw him return to that man you once loved, you felt down the spiral of considering giving him a second chance– Helena was happy, she was smiling, she was playful, your quiet daughter had blossomed under your mutual care, seeing him domesticated, seeing him interact with genuine joy with her had began to melt your heart. It didn’t help that he look so delectable in compression shirts, as he came back with the kids without a sweat on his brow, Ryan just as dry with nothing more than messy hair and then your daughter dropping to the ground half-dead from the walk… what you had stared at mostly had been his ass in those black tights.

“Honey it was only 20 miles.” He sounded a bit frustrated– gotta get her fit otherwise she will get outperformed.” He turned to you sounding a tad aggressive– she’s my daughter she should be able to handle it just like me and Ryan.”

“Mommy!” she cried.

“Most humans can’t even do twenty!”

You picked her up, not caring she was covered in sticky sweat but as you draped your child over your shoulder kissing her head as she whined, you caught an improper glimpse at him, no doubt he caught a couple looks from passersby on his way here– even by this city standards he was wearing too little.

“Go change…” You said with a light blush on your neck– don’t be a dick to her, she wasn’t born a copy of you.”

He pestered Helena for the rest of the evening, giving up once she barricaded herself in her bedroom.

“Spending all her time inside books is not gonna do her any good… she needs exercise.”

“I think you got the kids mixed up, dear.”

He moped in the living room pursing his lips, one sentence away from crossing his arms and whining like a child.

“Look I think it’s great that you want to train her but… she’s not like you. I would love for her to have inherited some of your physical skills– it's just not gonna happen.”

“I know. I don’t know why she’s so different from me… yet she has to get better…” His sight lingered on the roof– You think she’ll move her dresser out the way.”

“She’ll move it when she wants to– and don’t think about getting in there thru her window!” He almost complains but chooses to stay quiet scooting closer to you on the couch– What?”

“You seem mad…”

“You harassed our kid all day and made her upset… but I was mad before it...I made the mistake of googling myself after somebody at work made mention–  have you seen the shit that people are saying ‘bout me online ‘cuz of you.”

Homelander shook his head lightly.

“I only google myself.”

“People are saying nasty shit. Hurtful shit… saw my mom getting interviewed… that was nice… she certainly made me feel like shit.”

“Want me to kill her?” Homelander spoke in such a bored tone, his head finding his way on your lap with the smoothness of a cat, unconsciously your hand took to his hair– Or something else?”

You stared at him and considered it, your mom sort of had it coming if she was going to paint herself a saint for her 15 minutes of fame.

“Don’t kill my mom, John. I just don’t want people saying I’m a bad mother because my kid went to a “shit public school” in the projects.” you said annoyed.

“I’ll see if Vought can write you a fluff piece.”

You believed him, choosing to put your anxieties away as he nuzzled into your stomach and let you watch TV without care as long as your hands kept pampering him making little commentary as you watched true crime videos.

Rolling in your bed you turned to see his back on the bed beside you, you signed readying to play dirty, your body awoken to something sickening.

“I know you ain’t asleep, John.”

His ears perked, he turned to see your silhouette in the dark.

“I can’t sleep.” You whispered– mmm…so” you signed lightly– can you get your dick up?”

His ears perked up, lifting himself by his elbows as he adjusted to face your darkened silhouette, your cheeks reddened, mildly embarrassed, your mind wandered back to the sight of his clothes, to the tussling of his hair and the glint in his eyes as of late… and of that last sudden night of intimacy.

“Oh. O-okay… might need some stimulation is not like I got a crank down there.” he faked being annoyed by your request.

“I stopped taking the pill…” His piercing eyes illuminated the room for a brief second just to catch a sly smile ‘bout to fade away off your face– so you wanna put the mommy in MILF or not?”

He tripped out of the bed to jump into yours, clawing his way back towards you, as the little voice in his head blared sirens.

Latching on your neck, ripping your clothes open as you tried not to chuckle at his messy desperation to fuck you, you closed your eyes and thought of nothing but the hundred different pleasurable sensations prickling you– it had been so long… your body sensitive, writhing over his hungry touch, wherever his hands and his lips got to taste you felt it twice as strong.

Whatever he was imagining in his head was happening none of it was relevant– this was simply a mutually beneficial exchange. Nothing but lust, it had to be lust because you didn’t see Homelander underneath you, as you rode him, as he let you fucked him just as hard as he wanted to fuck you– you saw the John that he had killed so many years ago... but somehow you didn't hate the sight.

He wanted to devour you, he was needy and pent-up and you took it all graciously, for one night you two used each other equally.

Finding himself delighted and more aroused at the squeals and mewls coming from your delicious lips just as much as you enjoyed the moans and guttural grunts that came from him as he cried against your chest, crying for your kisses and directions, liking the way he craved your scent once again.

You were better than his molasses drenched memories.

Homelander teeth gilded over your neck, the thought of him ripping and gnawing on your flesh lingered as he brought you to an orgasm. 

To be so close to death as you touched heaven… you heaved, melting into the mattress letting him lumber atop of you, too delighted with the end result to complain… looking down to find him kissing your chest, whispering sweet grunts as your hand pampered his hair, you tried not to smile at that satiated goofy expression on his face, at the flickering light illuminating your skin as he purred around your touch.

He was so easy to win over… it scared you.

My Taglist-- @demodemo909 @immyowndefender @fromforeigntofamiliarity @ghqstfqce

[rabbiteclair]

here's my pitch for a prestige drama reboot of Mister Ed:

you start with the traditional scenario: he's a horse, but for some unknown reason, he is intelligent and capable of speech. over the first season, Mister Ed grows increasingly alienated from a humanity that cannot understand the emotional needs of a horse, while finding himself frustrated by his inability to connect with normal, non-talking horses. in this angst, he starts catfishing women on the rapidly-growing online dating scene, posing as a reclusive-but-handsome Portuguese billionaire. he arranges dozens of dates only to never show up, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake

but then one of the women tracks him down and figures out what's going on. she threatens to reveal his secret to the world, which would undoubtedly make him into a curiosity who's under constant media and/or scientific surveillance. panicked by this prospect, Mister Ed tramples her to death. season 1 ends with him getting into a shootout with the cops and going on the run

over the next two seasons, Mister Ed grows increasingly embittered and hateful of humanity. he turns his preternatural horse brain toward the sciences in search of some answer to his dilemma, making great strides in his research between interruptions by police raids. while he can find no way to make other talking horses, he eventually invents honest-to-goodness time travel. he travels back to the year 1914 and shoots Archduke Franz Ferdinand, setting off the chain of events that led to WW1.

the last half of the third season is about him traveling throughout Europe, satiating his ghoulish need to watch humans die by the hundreds of thousands, weeping in dark joy as he knows that he is now one of history's greatest murderers, though none will know his name. but he grows ever-hungrier to see carnage closer and in more detail, and one day, he's close enough to the frontlines to be struck by a stray artillery shell. as this hateful, wretched horse bleeds out in a muddy ditch, the camera slowly zooms out for four full minutes, while a sad woodwind version of the original sitcom theme plays

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 12: Aftermath

Here we have what should be the last really technical chapter for...hopefully the rest of the book. Fingers crossed. Although I am sure we can sneak some more stuff here and there if someone asks for more technical stuff, just not so many unending chapters of it.

As always, on the even-numbered chapters, I wrote while @baelpenrose co-wrote and beta'd.

Some legends are told

Some turn to dust or to gold

But you will remember me

Remember me for centuries

And just one mistake

Is all it will take

We'll go down in history

Remember me for centuries

Fall Out Boy, “Centuries”

Lash

“I heard it was part of a bigger hack.”

“Everything I’ve seen about that goes back to some QAnon boards. They think everything is a conspiracy.”

My heart rate picked up just a bit as I looked over dozens of similar conversations across several message boards.  It was entirely too close to home, but felt completely surreal at the same time - I had been part of a coordinated attack against major financial institutions, and no one even believed the scale of what had actually happened.  Not even the people directly impacted, if everything from our botnets was accurate.

In the immediate aftermath, over truly horrendous spinach pie and far too many dolmades, Nils and I had kicked around what-ifs and half-assed contingencies.  It had all boiled down  to keeping an eye on our feeds, waiting for updates from Bishop if he caught anything, and laying low until the attack had aged out of the news cycle.  If online communities started piecing anything together, the plan was to sow misinformation and redirect.

We had definitely called it on the news portion - pundits were still arguing over whether the slain men were heroes of the middle class out to free people from the bonds of financial indenture, or anti-capitalist villains trying to destabilize the global economy.  Every late night show had a self-referential monologue about the deceased, followed by a person-on-the-street segment with split opinions like some ghoulish, real world version of the Boondock Saints.  No one could agree if their goal had been just the one attack, or if there was a secret manifesto somewhere with their ultimate strategy.  What everyone did agree on, however, from the Department of the Treasury, to the OCC, to all major news networks, was that the people responsible had been gunned down by police.  Body camera footage had been released, sometimes uncensored, with all six men declaring loudly that no one else was involved, nobody had put them up to this, nothing had inspired them. 

No One. Nobody. Nothing.  Anyone who had interacted with Nils online and had two brain cells left to rub together would have known immediately.

Except… Our damage control had done its work for us.  Every single time I had been alerted that someone was suggesting a larger plan, the same response had come: That’s QAnon nonsense. A conspiracy. I bet you think the moon landing was fake, too.

Nils had joked about his handle then. “Would you buy that my handle is also an Odyssey reference to be a contingency for exactly this?” He’d said, half joking.

I squinted, half smiling at the memory. “I bet your minion morons believe that.  I do not.  Especially not having seen how far back your handle goes, in some form or another.” She waggled a bite of food at him. “Nice try, though. The bravado almost sold it.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of handles, Lash. Can I get your real name?” He’d said, as they’d shared dinner after the fact. “I haven’t tracked it down as a matter of respect, but we’ve been friends for a while and I would like to know. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

“You aren’t allowed to use it,” I had made him promise. Something about sharing my first name had always felt too… exposed. “Not in person, not via text, not at all.”

He’d given that weird smile that seemed almost like his signature, the one that seemed like he was laughing at something somewhere else, and said, “I promise. I’ll only call you Lash.”

“Then I will tell you when all this dies down and you can’t rat me out to the authorities.” He hadn’t been expecting that, and I winked at his shock. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Not like you would rat me out anyway.” Truth be told, I liked having him at something of a disadvantage.

He inclined his head at a little bow, “As you wish, Lash.” He raised a glass. “This was really fun though. Good working with you.” 

Now, I was staring feeds on three monitors, a week out, watching the entire financial sector and public refuse to believe anything more serious had happened than six armed men breaking into a major bank Guy Ritchie-style.  All three of us had expected some form of damage control, but there was nothing to control.

Almost like I had cursed myself, my phone started buzzing violently across my desk, sending me to my feet hard enough to almost knock my chair over.  “Spam Spam” showed up on my caller ID - Bishop.

“Please take me off whatever list this is,” I answered carefully. Bishop did not call me. He messaged me through about a million proxies, but calling was a no-no.  Paranoid did not begin to describe the man’s communication habits.

“Just a moment of your time, Miss,” the voice came through. “I am calling on behalf of Bloomberg to offer you a one year subscription for only $1 per week. That’s all your basic financial and stock news, for $52 a year.”

“That’s nice, but I’m broke,” I sighed, taking note of the site before hanging up.

My stomach sank when the phone buzzed again, this time a message from Nils. “Uh. Quick meetup somewhere secure. We may have overshot slightly. In a good way.” 

Definitely not good. “Let’s meet at the usual spot. We need to talk about the project for class, anyway.” I sent the message and didn’t even check for confirmation before gathering my stuff with one hand while I checked my news skimmer with the other.

Well, fuck.

Nils was waiting at the shitty hacker cafe, and he looked tense, eyes sharp. He barely waited for me to sit down. “So. There’s a thing. Remember when we were making the worm? And we had to shave some stuff off to make it small enough to still function? And we had to simplify some of its seeking parameters? Uh…it…I just realized that everything in Blackbox…”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. “You and B reached out within about five minutes of each other, and he managed to tell me to check the news. I saw. We overshot by a couple orders of magnitude, yeah.”

“Yeah. Explains why no damage control. Until someone leaked it, I don’t know that they were legally allowed to admit it could be hacked.” 

“We need coffee,” I stammered out, running a hand over my head. “And B. But coffee first.” Without waiting, I bounced up and ordered for us both. When I came back to the table, he was bouncing a knee - not out of place in a place that specialized in caffeine addiction for the ADHD set, thankfully. “I don’t suppose you carry a flask or something? Could only make it taste better.”

“My flask is for energy drinks when I need caffeine in emergencies because my head is starting to hurt from withdrawals, so, no. It absolutely would not. I appreciate the suggestion though.” Nils’ voice was flat. “I’ll reach out to B and tell him to get over here. We have a bit of a security concern to address. A slimy, perverted security concern to address.” 

“He doesn’t know my actual name or my face,” I told him pointedly. “I’ll drive the bus if you’ll do the throwing, it comes to that.”

“He knows your handle, he’s better than we are at breaking encryptions and worse about boundaries, he absolutely knows your name.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to trust any records scavenged from a defunct elementary school or a birth certificate. Those are the only places my actual name is listed. I don’t even drive.” I thought about it for a minute. “But backing up his stuff remotely to make sure we have any sex trafficking or worse would be a good idea.”

“Honestly I was thinking simpler. We have a crime that he was accomplice to, he can’t blackmail us without incriminating himself without claiming he didn’t know what it would be used for. He might get immunity for the tip, but that takes time. He’s attempted to solicit you for indecent shit a lot, and attempted to get me to engineer…basically letting him do sex crimes, a few times. I kept the messages after turning him down, you? If nothing else it kills his credibility as a witness and ruins any ability he has to get us convicted of anything.” 

I gave him a dirty look. “What kind of amateur do you think I am? I have all my dirt on everyone backed up where no one can find it except me or my parents. External drives, somewhere safer than that server we just fucked up.”

“Of course, my apologies.” He looked a little calmer with the idea that Weasel was handled. “They’ll try to trace us but our databombs will have made such a brutal hash of anything they could trace that they won’t know where to start looking. At a guess they’ll move to a different system against future hackers - and I don’t envy the next suckers to try this.” 

I tapped my chin, trying to think what Bishop would point out. Something simple we would be missing. I wasn’t good a peopling, but Bishop was surprisingly adept - “They have six dead bodies, a drive designed to fuck shit up, and six cell phones that had been in contact with you.  So, first link is you. Let’s start there.”

“Burn phone, pre-paid, cash, with an out of state number, picked up ages ago for something else entirely, under an alias I no longer use, again invented for something else entirely, and called through wifi service using a vpn. Said burn phone has now been utterly destroyed with its remains scrubbed of fingerprints and the remains tossed into a dumpster, whilst I was not carrying my normal phone, on the opposite side of town from where we normally spend any time. I think that about covers it.” 

“I don’t ever want to hear anyone say women watch too much true crime,” I muttered. “You literally could have just taken it apart and used a belt sander on it, handed the pieces to a makerspace. Or donated it to a Goodwill bin.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

Bishop showed just after that, making a point to ignore us while getting his coffee and sitting at a table two over from us, facing away.

“I knew getting involved with both of you at once would get exciting. So. We want to talk about what you little maniacs have been discussing before I got here so I can go over what you missed?” B’s voice was vaguely amused, and a little tense. “I should mention, I’ve already gotten a message from Weasel. He put it together. Hopefully you two have a contingency for that.” 

“Oh, the usual,” I answered airily, arching a brow at Nils. “Blackmail and making sure there aren’t any other tracks to cover. Nils overdid it with his phone, but it should work.”

Harvey’s voice took on an amused note. “Alright then. I’ll tell Weasel to pound sand. Am I to take it you kids had fun the night of the job?”

“Food was hit or miss, and there was some half-delirious contingency planning around damage control.” I rubbed my face. That felt like a decade ago.

Nils was looking embarrassed and Harvey looked amused as the older man continued. “Pity. You two were getting really wound up and I was hoping you’d be able to take a load off that night. From the looks of things, Nils’ usual bullshit and choice of pawns is working out on deflecting suspicion against a bigger conspiracy - I think the feds are reluctant to give conspiracy wingnuts credibility.”

Someone isn’t paying attention to politics, I mused internally. On the surface, I just smiled and took a sip of my coffee, suppressing a grimace at how bitter and nasty it was. Cold brew…. How hard did you have to try to fuck up cold brew, I swear. “Either way, the damage had controlled itself so far.  Any updates since you called? I checked my skimmers right after, but the news was sparse.”

“So far an announcement that 4Chan white supremacist boards are going to be looked at more seriously as a breeding ground for stochastic terrorism coming from the FBI, unsurprisingly now that they’re affecting rich people.” 

Nils gave an evil chuckle. “Oh good, that’s a pot I was stirring a bit ago. Unmanaged retaliation against cops in a predictable timeframe for whatever happens to them and we can let the system eat itself and look away from us, thank you very much…”

The only reason my head didn’t bounce off the table when I dropped it is because my arms cushioned the fall. “Don’t get me wrong!” I held a hand up blindly. “After the revenge porn thing, yes, scrutinize breeding grounds. And at least everyone knows the guys who are currently taking the fall are not - “ I pointed at myself emphatically. “But I am not a fan of ‘unmanaged’ retaliation against a group with airtight legal protections and a poor track record of reading perp stats correctly.” It was the most polite way I could say ‘racist assholes’ without everyone in the cafe looking at me.

“Options: I have to actively take command of the right wing gun nuts a la some shitty real life Code Geass-ripoff shenanigans to manage them, or I let their anti-government shit lead them to fight actual problems for a change, or I let them continue believing that the Jews were running the world and that everyone who couldn’t pass a paper bag test were their foot soldiers in need of shooting - right as the ax was about to fall on them. Guess which option I figured involved the least collateral damage? If you prefer I decide to go whole hog on the aesthetic and try ripping off Lelouch vi Britannia harder, which to me seemed worse than telling them they were going to have a cop problem rather than a Jews run the world problem…” Nils response was less annoyed than exhausted, and unlike our previous conversation where it was clear that he hadn’t thought it out and felt bad about it, his tone indicated that he’d thought this one through and had simply picked the least evil available option he saw. 

Thankfully, Bishop’s unending focus on ‘simplest solution is best solution’ saved me palm abrasions and an assault charge from strangling the cute but dumb motherfucker on the spot. “Since the heat right now is on an actual breeding ground for incels, alt right, and revenge porn entrepreneurs, we could just let them chase their tails and keep laying low. White collar crime is historically white, et cetera, ipso facto Columbo Oreo.”

“I like that idea,” I agreed, putting as much reluctance as possible behind the sentiment. Realistically, Nils as Commander and Chief of the Fucknuckle Wingnut Army was not giving me the warm and fuzzies.

[foreverrunningfree]

@czigonas wanted to see me answer those artist questions and I did them all so it’ll be under the cut

1. Art programs you have but don’t use?

As of rn I cannot draw on my laptop/tablet so technically paint tool SAI and photoshop(idk what version). But I guess I hadn’t used photoshop for /years/ back before my drawing hiatus. Sorry but SAI is so much nicer to look at and to use, for me personally.

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left,right, or forward?

I flip flop my canvas a ton to a) look at it for wonkiness and b) to get specific lines in a direction that feels good, but the actual act of drawing I typically like to have them looking left cause most the the lines flow from top right to bottom left which is nicer to do since I use my right hand to draw even tho I am ambidextrous.

3. What ideas come from when you were little?

This question confuses me on what it’s actually asking soooo? When I was like 12 I had to write a story for school so I did a story about a plane crash in which the survivor came face to face to a rat/bat/cat/dog creature thing? I’ve always wanted to redraw the creature, idk if I have the original drawing I did and I don’t feel up to digging to see if I kept it during all my moves.

4. Fave character/subject that’s a bitch to draw?

My favorite animal color patterns aka brindle, merle ,roan, spots/stripes. So time consuming. In terms of shape, human faces for sure.

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself?

Before hiatus, probably 90% /shared/. Currently, probably 75% /posted/cause I can’t post the porn to tumblr lmaoooo but I have shared them with like half a dozen friends.

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously?

I’m sure there’s a ton but if it’s subconsciously then how would I consciously know?🤔 ok serious answer, probably every single 2D animated movie or show I’ve ever seen, and all the various artists I follow. I mean, there’s parts of my style I can pinpoint you to what it’s inspired by.

7. A medium of art you don’t work in but appreciate?

I’ve never /seriously/ tried oil paint, acrylic paint, or pastels but that shit always looks so good. Also watercolor even though i have tried and enjoyed using watercolors but I am far far faaarrr from being proficient in them. Non drawing wise, I fucking love dioramas, especially those that are then filled in(?) with acrylic(?). I watch a lot of those videos on YouTube.

8. What’s an old project idea you’ve lost interest in?

Most of my old animal ocs I had in the same universe in my mind and had a comic planned that I never got around to. I still love and wanna revisit those ocs. But also my dragon age ocs who I’ve SERIOUSLY BEEN CONSIDERING drawing in @soaps-hoe-141 universe 👀

9. What are your file name conventions?

Before hiatus/ on my laptop, subject or character and whatever was happening in the pic. Now using procreate on my iPad? I don’t think I’ve named a single one lol.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw?

Nothing, no clothes, nude, nakedness please and thank you. lol but I guess I do sorta enjoy figuring out clothing in general, folds and shit, getting that practice in. Like how it hangs and creases in poses since I’m not used to drawing it.

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing?

I don’t usually listen to /only/ music while drawing, I much prefer having a favorite movie playing in the background and/or a show I enjoy rewatching/am actively watching. I also watch a lot of gamer YouTubers I put on as background noise/short watch breaks that their voice is just soothing to me even if I’m not /watching/.

12. Easiest part of the body to draw?

I’m not sure… maybe boobs/pecs for humanoids. General body shape for animals?

13. A creator you admire but whose work isn’t your thing?

Honestly can’t think of a single one. I mean, plenty of artists do work(or with a medium) that I can’t or don’t want to do/use personally but I read the question of “isn’t your thing” as “subject you don’t enjoy”. If that’s correct, then idk what to tell you. I don’t follow or remember people who majority does things I can’t enjoy on some level.

14. Any fave motifs?

Quite a lot of religious imagery I guess ex. Circles around a persons head. Less serious answer is drawing characters in meme formats lol

15. Where do you draw?

Please don’t tell any physical therapists I live like this… on my back on my couch with my head on the arm rest while holding my iPad propped up on my chest like 8 inches away from my face lmao

16. Something you are good at but don’t really have fun doing?

Idk???? I do shit for my own enjoyment so I’m not sure? Maybe perhaps backgrounds? Like I could do something decent if i wanted to but I’m not into it so I usually just don’t?

17. Do you eat or drink while drawing?

I take breaks… but while actively drawing? I often drink aka let the horny demons out while I enjoy whiskey lol.

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you’ve broken?

Broken broken? Next to fucking none? some charcoal sticks but otherwise…. None… I majority do digital art so really nothing to break there lol

19. Fave inanimate objects to draw?

Idk? I like doing life charcoal drawings? Of whatever, but particularly statues if that counts? I usually have living beings as my subjects.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy?

Ok, I hate this question, cause we are all good at different things. Maybe it’s just most of those I follow have different strengths than me???? But I guess if I had to pick, recreating from life(or picture) is a lot easier for me than some others(like making it life like/very accurate).

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways?

Yooo, anything I’ve reblogged honestly. Love everyone.

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing?

Absolutely none, again don’t let the pros know cause damn. But I will do stretches or take breaks as needed.

23. Do you use different layer modes?

Absolutely. Mostly for lighting and shading but yes, if I’m doing digital imma take advantage of it.

24. Do your references include stock images?

Yes? I don’t really understand what it’s asking?

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were not inspired by?

Idk? I don’t usually get feedback of that sort.

26. What’s a piece that’s viewed a wildly different interpretation from what you intended?

Again idk? I guess my shit is straight forward?

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff?

Almost never, again don’t let the pros know lol I do sometimes jump between pieces or start a new sketch before going to something farther along.

28. Any art events you have participated in, like zines?

Nope, wanted to and have tried before but I tend to NOT do something if I feel pressured to do it.

29. Media you love but doesn’t inspire you artistically?

Again I feel like this is a weird question or maybe it’s just my understanding of it but I can feel inspiration from all sort of artist shit even if it’s something I’ll never do(ex making a crochet animal or dioramas). I guess I can feel inspired to create from other creators even if it’s not direct inspiration/subject/medium.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated?

Underrated as in no one has seen aside from a few people irl would be my colored pencil pieces I did during afternoon naps when I worked at a daycare a few years ago.

[cosmicanger]

The Artforum booth at the 2023 Armory Show at Javits Center on Sept. 7, 2023, in New York City. Photo: Sean Zanni/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

AFTER THOUSANDS OF high-profile artists and curators signed an open letter expressing solidarity with Palestinians and supporting a ceasefire in Gaza, published in the magazine Artforum on October 19, the public pushback was swift. The following day, the magazine posted a public response signed by prominent gallerists denouncing the original letter as “one-sided.”

Behind the scenes, however, powerful art dealers and gallerists who control the cultural and monetary tides of the art world began a private campaign to force some of the biggest names on the letter to retract their support, according to a half dozen sources, including letter signatories as well as others informed about the influence campaign.

Soon after the letter was posted, Martin Eisenberg, a high-profile collector and inheritor of the now-bankrupt Bed Bath & Beyond fortune, began contacting famous art world figures on the list whose work he had championed to express his objections to the letter.

Eisenberg, who owns millions of dollars’ worth of work by Artforum letter signatories, contacted at least four artists whose work he owns to convey his displeasure at seeing their names on the letter. (Eisenberg did not respond to The Intercept’s request for comment.)

On Thursday, a week after the letter was posted, Artforum editor-in-chief David Velasco was summoned to a meeting with Jay Penske, the CEO of Artforum’s parent company, according to three sources. The son of billionaire Roger Penske, Jay oversees the conglomerate Penske Media Corporation. (Penske Media did not respond to a request for comment.) Before the day was out, Velasco was fired after six years at the helm of the magazine.

“This magazine has been my life for 18 years and I’ve given everything to it,” Velasco, who rose from being an editorial assistant to the coveted editor-in-chief job, told The Intercept. “I have done nothing but exceptional work at the magazine for 18 years and this is a sad day. It breaks my heart.”

In a statement to the New York Times, Velasco said, “I’m disappointed that a magazine that has always stood for freedom of speech and the voices of artists has bent to outside pressure.”

The pressure campaign against the letter echoes a wave of repercussions faced by writers, activists, and students who have spoken out for Palestinians. Right-wing groups lobbying for Israel, as well as donors to prominent institutions and various other wealthy interests, are condemning open letters and using the lists of signatories as blacklists across cultural, professional, and academic spheres.

“Anecdotally, I know that a majority of people in the art world are devastated by the genocide in Gaza but many are scared to speak out or even join the call for a ceasefire,” said Hannah Black, an artist and writer who signed the Artforum letter but was not pressured to remove her signature. “It is absolutely McCarthyite and many of the dogmatic anti-Palestinians within the art world have, as Joseph Welch said of McCarthy, ‘no sense of decency.’ They are willing to destroy careers, destroy the value of artworks, to maintain their unofficial ban on free speech about Palestine.”

In a testament to the efficacy of the campaign against the Artforum letter, artists Peter Doig, Joan Jonas, Katharina Grosse, and Tomás Saraceno all withdrew their support. According to an Intercept analysis, the three artists were among 36 names removed from the online version of the letter between October 20 and October 26. (An additional 32 names were added during that period.)

Artforum, a premier international art publication, published the October 19 open letter calling for humanitarian aid to Gaza, accountability for war crimes, and an end to violence against civilians. The letter — which was not commissioned or drafted by Artforum, but published on the magazine’s website as well as in other publications like e-flux — went on to condemn the occupation of the Palestinian territories and reiterate its demands with a call for peace.

“We believe that the arts organizations and institutions whose mission it is to protect freedom of expression, to foster education, community, and creativity, also stand for freedom of life and the basic right of existence,” the signatories concluded. “We call on you to refuse inhumanity, which has no place in life or art, and make a public demand from our governments to call for a ceasefire.”

In a post on the Artforum website before news broke of Velasco’s firing, the publishers Danielle McConnell and Kate Koza wrote that the publication of the letter was “not consistent with Artforum’s editorial process.”

“The open letter was widely misinterpreted as a statement from the magazine about highly sensitive and complex geopolitical circumstances,” the publishers wrote. “That the letter was misinterpreted as being reflective of the magazine’s position understandably led to significant dismay among our readers and community, which we deeply regret.”

Marty Eisenberg and Warren Eisenberg at the 2010 Annual Gala of The Studio Museum Harlem at Museum of American Finance on October 25, 2010 in New York City. Photo: Ryan McCune/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

Backlash

Critics of the letter said its failure to mention the surprise attack by Hamas on October 7 — in which some 1,400 Israelis, mostly civilians, were killed — was offensive and, according to some, antisemitic. Four days after the letter was published, Artforum posted an update reiterating the letter organizers’ condemnation of the loss of all civilian life, adding that they “share revulsion at the horrific massacres” of October 7.

The response published in Artforum the day after the original letter came out was signed by three influential gallery owners: Dominique Lévy, Brett Gorvy, and Amalia Dayan. In their critique, the gallerists wrote:

We are distressed by the open letter recently posted on Artforum, which does not acknowledge the ongoing mass hostage emergency, the historical context, and the atrocities committed in Israel on October 7, 2023—the bloodiest day in Jewish history since the Holocaust.

We denounce all forms of violence in Israel and Gaza and we are deeply concerned over the humanitarian crisis. We—Dominique Lévy, Brett Gorvy, Amalia Dayan—condemn the open letter for its one-sided view. We hope to foster discourse that can lead to a better understanding of the complexities involved. May we witness peace soon.

The authors of the response letter — the joint directors of Lévy Gorvy Dayan, which has gallery spaces and offices in New York, London, Paris, and Hong Kong — curate shows with some of the most prolific and highest grossing artists in the world, both living and dead. Their website lists Jean-Michel Basquiat, Gerhard Richter, Andy Warhol, Cy Twombly, Joel Mesler, and Adrian Piper as representative artists and collaborators. Dayan is the granddaughter of Moshe Dayan, the Israeli politician and military commander who is alleged to have ordered the country’s military to attack the American naval ship the USS Liberty during the Six-Day War of 1967.

Lévy Gorvy Dayan is more than a series of galleries; the venture is a powerful consortium, described by the New York Times as a “one-stop shop for artists and collectors,” representing artists, organizing exhibitions and auction sales, and advising collectors. In 2021, Lévy told the Financial Times, “I grew up feeling that art was freedom and fresh air.” She said she did not believe in gallerists and representatives “controlling them” — the artists — “completely.”

According to two artists who appeared as signatories on the first Artforum post, the Lévy Gorvy Dayan letter was a shot across the bow by powerful art dealers and influencers, warning others to stay in line. One artist who spoke to The Intercept said a collector offended by the Artforum letter returned a work by the artist to a dealer. The collector did not contact the artist prior to returning the work, according to the artist, who asked for anonymity to protect their livelihood.

Another open letter posted under the title “A United Call from the Art World: Advocating for Humanity” called the original Artforum letter “uninformed.” It offered no criticism of Israel’s onslaught on Gaza, which has killed an estimated 7,000 people in the last 19 days. This letter, issued under the banner of “peace, understanding, and human dignity” garnered over 4,000 signatures. Among them was that of Warren Kanders, who resigned from the Whitney Museum of American Art board following protests over the fact that his companies sell chemical weapons. (The Intercept reported last year that, despite claims of divestment, Kanders remains in the tear gas business.)

Penske Media Corporation, Artforum’s parent company, drew criticism in 2018 selling a $200 million stake to Saudi Arabia’s public investment fund. That same year, Washington Post journalist Jamal Khashoggi was brutally murdered and dismembered under orders from Saudi’s de facto ruler, Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

Another artist, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to protect their livelihood, said the affair with the Artforum letter showed that many of the gallerists and collectors whose money makes the art world turn did not understand artists’ subject matter.

“It really shows that they never cared about the art,” the artist said. “My art, like a lot of the people facing this, has always been political, about oppression and dispossession.”

[rainbeausobsessions]

I suddenly got an old character running around in my head, so now y'all have to hear about it.

So way back in the day when I was, like, 13-14, I had a character for this online forum rp by the name of Eleanor. She was a kemonomimi - human with animal ears/tail - specifically with a raccoon ears and tail set. At the time pretty much all of my characters had a pretty standard tragic backstory and would be all brooding and quiet because of it or some shit, but I realized that if she was quiet and untrusting then I wouldn't talk to anyone in the rp. So I gave her a cheerful and peppy personality to go with that tragic backstory and did not think anything threw. I also intentionally made her very ignorant of, well, everything, because I figured she could be a bit of a comic relief type character.

Whoo boy was she a mess. First off most of the active rp-ers didn't find her funny, she was annoying (frankly I don't blame them). She totally didn't have a family guys (except she did she just had amnesia, I know so original). She couldn't read and anything more complicated than a spoon came up in conversation she'd be asking incessant questions about it. And yet SOMEHOW this mess of an OC became "co-leader" of a massive crime syndicate in the rp lore. After talking to the mods at the time, they directly told me it was because of how active I was, but as a character she did not belong there xD . Didn't help that I had her join the crime syndicate when she was a fucking cinnamon roll.

(If any of y'all recognize this messy bitch, I'm sorry and I hope you're doing well xD )

Jump forward to my college years, I think around 19, and I briefly decide to revive her again as a character named El for a short story for this small writing club I was in. Except the only things El and Eleanor had in common were that neither of them had any real prospects and both of them joined a crime syndicate. El had biological parents who weren't involved and a half brother working in this super controlling government; El was quiet and reserved and smoked and slow to trust, and even their looks were different. I think the crime syndicate in my short story was helping people flee the country cuz apparently that meant better business for them in the long run, idk.

Of course now I'm thinking about it again (31) and I'm thinking about revamping her again (for what reason idk), and making her more true to her original concept but in a way that makes sense. Bright and bubbly, but still keeps a wall between herself and others. Instead of giving her a family she doesn't know, give her a small found family of fellow street urchins. Make her a sneak and a bit of a shit and ferociously loyal to those who've managed to earn her trust. And keep the raccoon features - it's a bit on the nose but it's fun. I'm calling this version Ellie.

Of course now I'm also thinking about Eleanor (OG) and I'm thinking about what if she was put in a position of power because she was regarded as incompetent and easy to manipulate? That could be interesting to explore (bwahahahaha).

Idk, Eleanor was fun but if I do anything with her it'll just be to occasionally poke that beast. El is a dime a dozen for me (and clearly just an outlet for my depression and parental issues), so she'll probably not get much use anytime soon. Ellie seems to have some rp and short story potential, so that could be fun.

[essaygraveyard]

The oddities of Old School RuneScape.

Recently (as in sometime since the time dilation got worse) a friend of mine bullied me back into playing RuneScape for the first time in a decade and some change. It was, at first, a fun little exercise in nostalgia and childhood wish fulfillment. I was unsurprised to find that I still remembered just about everything you could do in free to play given I had completed all of that content half a dozen times and when it came to the members content I was finally able to do all of the things that a young hatsforfish could only dream of doing. I never had a membership growing up, so to see the grass from the other side felt like striking off long forgotten bucket list items. What I didn't suspect when I submitted the request to recover my account was that I would stick around.

RuneScape has gone through a handful of iterations since it first went online in early 2001. The version I grew up playing was RuneScape 2; the version that the modern Old School RuneScape (from this point on OSRS) is based on and the version that was revived due to some of the player base's dissatisfaction with RuneScape 3 (R3). My original character, which I had made in my elementary school computer lab and whose name was a misspelling of the name I had at the time wished my parents gave me, remains trapped in R3 since it is technically the original game. OSRS is a ship of Theseus of the 2007 version of the game that got updated out of existence. It is not the original but is made of all the parts that the original slowly replaced. Or it was at the beginning, because the devs then continued to update the new old version of the game with new content and even new visuals. So OSRS now is more what we remember RuneScape 2 to be rather than what it actually was.

The updates aren't haphazard though. Almost every change or addition to the game is polled by the player base before release and needs to meet a stringent 70% approval rating to pass. What this effectively means is that the active community in the game decides what nostalgia means to them. This helps get around one of the problems that Dan Olson pointed out with regards to WOW in this video which is that the paratext of the game, the guides wikis and technical understanding of the games systems, has fundamentally shifted the way we play the game. Back in 2007 nobody knew what they were doing, they just did what felt right to them or what a friend of a friend had said was good. The idea of a "game tick" was not in peoples vocabularies and so the devs didn't have to design around people intricately manipulating and optimizing the game the way they can now. At the same time nobody has the same amount of time they did back then so the genuinely long grinds the game used to contain are even less appealing today.

So when I started playing OSRS I remembered back to Olson's original video on WOW classic and figured that the same was going to more or less be true for RuneScape as well. Logging in to my new character (whose name ended up being weirdly prescient) I figured I would exhaust my nostalgia fairly quickly and throw in the towel the same I have for any game without a proper ending. It was sometime during the quest Recipe for Disaster that the true form of OSRS started to appear to me and I started to notice the pattern.

See, I wanted to get my combat level up, so I looked for the best way to train combat and the internet almost universally said that slayer tasks were the way to go. I jump into some of the level appropriate tasks, looking up guides along the way and it mentions an item that would help called the Slayer Helm which is unlocked by earning points from doing tasks. Well, that's convenient since I'm already doing tasks but doing tasks my level meant points came in slower. If I did faster easier tasks, then and did the high-level ones on the count that gave a score multiplier then I would have the Slayer helm in no time. That being said killing all these low-level mobs quickly mean leaving a ton of bones on the floor and it's just such a shame for them to go to waste since prayer is such an expensive skill to train otherwise. Turns out that there is an item that automatically converts dropped bones into passive prayer xp and that would be incredible to have for this grind. It is, however, locked behind the Morytania achievement diary which has a ton of requirements but they're all things I was meaning to do anyhow. So, I head off the grind agility and right around the time I start thinking about unlocking Fossil Island so I could start doing birdhouse runs in between agility course laps the whole picture finally snaps into place. The natural game flow of OSRS is just simulating what it's like to live with inattentive ADHD.

Given that I have inattentive ADHD I figured that OSRS just allowed for more floating from thing to thing than most games do so I saw my real-life tendencies reflected in it more than most other games. That was until I found out that a ton of other people play the game this way. Now that could just mean that a lot of ADHD havers play the game, which wouldn't strike me as all that unusual but either way I wasn't out of place here. What was odd was that existing like this usually makes me absolutely miserable but for some reason doing those same patterns in RuneScape didn't frustrate me at all. In fact, this sort of tangential advancement has kept me focused on the game waaaaaaaay longer than I ever could have guessed. While I never did get my bone crusher, I did just get back around to finishing the quest that I had gotten distracted from in the first place. Intentional or otherwise, the design of the game is one of the first times it felt like the way my brain works might not always be a detriment to my goals. In spite of that I do not recommend getting started on the game unless you have a lot of free time and nothing better to spend it on.

[greyslasvegas]

Phlo studio

#Phlo studio update

Perhaps she will be the designer who is really able to take a stand against the dominant culture of disposability and the ravenous maw of the content monster created by TikTok and Instagram.Ĭertainly it would be a mistake to assume that Ms. Perhaps she will bypass the seasonal show wheel entirely for a new version of slow fashion, one that is altogether more sustainable. Philo’s history of chafing against the demands of the fashion system during both her 10 years at Celine and her five-year stint at Chloé, where she became the first designer at a major fashion brand to take a maternity leave. Philo’s home and where her Celine studio was located, despite the brand’s headquarters being in Paris.Īnd it’s not a big leap to guess that it may be created on the designer’s own schedule, given the emphasis on self-determination and given Ms. (Will it be only women’s wear? Women’s wear and men’s wear? Unisex?) In the meantime, however, a few clues were buried in the announcement.įor example, the line will be of “exceptional quality,” which is generally fashion-speak for the high luxury end of the pricing and materials spectrum. More information about what, exactly, Phoebe Philo-the-brand will be is promised in January. “I am very much looking forward to being back in touch with my audience and people everywhere.” She said little more. “Being in my studio and making once again has been both exciting and incredibly fulfilling,” Ms. Philo to retain control and “to govern and experiment” as she sees fit, according to the news release. Philo’s former employer, the luxury behemoth will have only a minority stake, allowing Ms. Though it will be partially backed by LVMH, Ms. Philo, 48, is finally putting her name where her aesthetic is, and introducing (yes) Phoebe Philo, an independent clothing and accessories line. Three and a half years after leaving her last post as artistic director of Celine, Ms. Phoebe Philo, the patron saint of dressing for the female gaze, the designer whose work convinced Joan Didion to pose for an ad and turned her customers into groupies, is returning to business.

#Phlo studio update

It's part of a larger law called the Adam Walsh Child Protection and Safety Act of 2006, which requires convicted child molesters to be listed on a national Internet database and face a felony charge for failing to update their whereabouts.Listen? Do you hear that? It is the intake of breath after thousands of women’s fashion prayers are finally answered. In July, President Bush signed Masha's Law, which dramatically increases the fines and penalties for downloading kiddie porn. There are dozens of notices of other pending cases, a number that does not begin to reflect the actual number of potential defendants in criminal and civil cases. Nine other people have been convicted in federal court for downloading Masha's pictures. Masha's courage may now assist lawmakers as they look for ways to combat the growing child-porn industry.Īuthorities say one in five children is now approached by online predators in what Congress calls a multibillion-dollar industry. "If they tell somebody, it's going to change." "Even if they are afraid to tell somebody, no matter what they think is going to happen, it's going to be for the better," she said.

[hvsomnes]

HV's Writing Blog #1: Writer

My name is H.V. Somnes, and I'm a writer.

I read from someone online once that just writing stories makes you a writer, but publishing books actually makes you an author. I'm pretty sure that not only works in some kind of philosophical sense, but literally.

I've been writing ever since I was around... sixteen. I once got second place in a short story contest in my high school. Now, nearly ten years later, I've written a dozen short stories.

Written. Much like the second paragraph's guidelines, though I've written a bunch of stories, none of them have ever actually been published. That short story, brought upon by a writing prompt I saw here on the good ol' hellsite, was placed in an omnibus that I have since lost.

So why am I here? Well, as the title suggests, I want to write a book. A proper, actual book. One to publish and maybe have one or two people read. Maybe three people if you wanna get crazy.

I'm not gonna be facetious and act like I purely want to do this because I like writing, I'd personally love to become a professional author someday. To be able to sit down in a nice seaside house with royalties paying... at least half of my bills, maybe. It would be nice.

I do love writing though. Even if writing does not like me. As of late, I've become stricken with writer's block for this book that I've been working on for as long as I've been writing!

I started this concept for a sci-fi novel way back when I was a teenager. It started with characters, then I made a plot, then I revised the plot at 19, then I revised the plot at 22, and... I'm still here, years later. I'd tell you how many years but you NEVER ask an author their age, c'mon now.

Okay, okay, fine. I'm still in my 20s. But that's all you're gonna get.

This project, which henceforth shall be known as just THE BOOK- as in the one and only book I'm currently working on, has had a very flip-flopping development process since I started working on it. I've created entire plotlines and written them down, only to scrap it all later to revise the plot entirely.

THE BOOK even has a finished first draft, made last year (2021) that has since been promptly abandoned to start a new version of the book. I wrote THE BOOK's first draft was made for NaNoWriMo, and whether the second draft will share that is yet to be known.

As for the synopsis, it's a spacefaring, sci-fi adventure focusing on a group of superhuman freelancers, taking place in a universe where humans have colonized... every planet in the galaxy.

After the death of a (for lack of a better word) supervillain heavily involved in that group of humans' trauma, they're forced to figure out who they are after the source of their plight has finally been destroyed.

I'm trying not to be too spoilery about it. The death thing happens literally in the beginning, so that's not too much of a spoiler I don't think.

I hope that's enough to draw you in for more. I hope these dev blogs are enjoyable as well. I'm mostly just doing them to keep my mind on writing as much as I can.

I appreciate you if you're still reading this. I hope to make another one of these soon. I'll leave you with an art piece from the late Syd Mead- this is a part of his US Steel collection, and if you've seen my reblogs you'll know I love retro-futuristic looks.

Ciao!

THE BOOK Progress:

Words Written: 3,903

Pages Written: 10

% Written (Based on 50k Words): 7.81%

Art Down Below:

[9tzuyu]

exquisite (rewrite)

[old version]

summary: uhhh idk artist!reader gets f*cked by nat

warnings: 18+, smut, choking (verrrrryyy briefly), mommy kink

also its been awhile since i’ve written smut so if this is awful do not perceive me >:(.

thank you moli for proofreading, i love u <3

dt: @nermalina hey bff heres that smut i promised you. consider it a very late birthday gift <3

🏷: @natasha-danvers @kermy48 @yelenabelovasgf @blackxwidowsxwife @slut-for-nat

natasha had been a model for dozens of people, dozens of times. it never crossed your mind that she would model specifically for you. the redhead was aggressively known for rejecting people's pleas for her to let them paint, sketch, or mold her from clay.

so it came as a surprise when you came across an email requesting a one-on-one session with you. had natasha's name not caught your eye, you would've deleted the email and completely missed such a huge opportunity.

you just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.

the all too known model would be at your apartment in half an hour. you had already set up your supplies the night before out of pure nervousness of her arrival.

you stood in the middle of your kitchen, a cup of orange juice in hand as you thought about the different styles you could draw her in. however, your train of thought was unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of a knock at your door.

natasha was twenty minutes early. and god did it feed into your anxiety.

after unlocking the deadbolt, you were greeted with a friendly pair of green eyes. you didn't say anything, only moving out of the way so she could walk in.

she took in her surroundings, and you suddenly felt a little embarrassed about your apartment. it was cheap, invaluable compared to the rich houses you knew natasha had been invited to.

"sorry it's not much," you mumbled.

"no, it's fine. it's different... in a good way i mean." she reassured quickly, "it doesn't scream how much you want to impress me."

you gave an awkward nod and led her into the living room, motioning to her that you wanted her on the couch.

"okay, you can get into any form you want as long as-" seeing natasha with her clothes half off and still going caught your breath. "-you're comfortable."

she saw your panic from the corner of her eye and smirked. natasha tended to have that effect on people, but this was the first time she allowed someone to draw her fully nude. seeing the look in your eyes as they roamed her body gave her the confidence boost she needed.

you bit your lip as you watched natasha position herself. her right arm rest against the armrest, legs situated atop each other while her left arm fell against her hip.

and just when you thought she had finalized her position, she bent her left knee up and spread her legs. you had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from moaning out loud.

"how's this?"

you nodded, "perfect."

normally natasha could keep herself busy with small talk, but you seemed to be much more quiet than the other artists she'd modeled for. she liked that though, because she already knew it would be easy to make you squirm.

her eyes steadied themselves on your face. you were very focused on your work, she could tell by the involuntary frown on your face. when you looked up from your canvas you were met with a pair of green eyes staring directly at you. nervously, you tried to glance at a different part of her body, but that would betray you because the first thing your eyes landed on was her cunt.

you tried to cover up your action, but the sound of natasha's laugh indicated that she saw the whole thing happen.

"do you want a closer look?" her voice was raspy, causing you to freeze. "really, i don't mind. the second i saw your picture online i knew i wanted to fuck you."

you felt the air in your lungs leave your body. she stood up from her position and strutted her way into your personal space. natasha towered over you while you sat on your stool. she thrusted her hips lightly against your back so you knew she was in charge. it wasn’t long before her lips began to attack your neck. sloppy kisses littered the edge of your jawline, a generous specialty of hers.

"but the drawing, i haven't fin-"

"i don't care. now do you want me to fuck you in here or in your bedroom? i'd prefer the bed, but i could make eating you out on the couch doable."

your reply was stuck in the back of your throat, but you wanted her more than anything.

she traced the outline of your face before grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at her. "i don't have much patience and if you make me wait any longer, i'm going to punish you." natasha's eyes grew dark, completely different from the woman who initially walked through the door.

"bedroom," you squeaked, but before you could go to move natasha picked you up bridal style and carried you herself.

you almost regretted underestimating how strong she was by her petite frame. almost.

she placed you flat on your back and in an instant natasha had your clothes ripped from your body. "sweet girl, you won't know your own name by the time i'm done with you."

she tugged you closer to her so that she could prop both legs on her shoulders, keeping you wide and open just as she wanted.

natasha kissed the inside of your thighs as she worked her way up. your eyes screwed shut, and you found yourself fighting back the urge to moan.

the redhead wouldn't allow that though. she wanted to hear every noise you made slip from your mouth, and she would do anything to get what she wanted.

"open your eyes, let mommy hear those pretty little moans of yours."

she kitten licked the outside of your walls while massaging both of your breasts with her hands, occasionally twisting your nipples for extra stimulation. she dipped the tip of her tongue further into your pussy before retracting and going back to kissing your thighs.

"mommy," you whined.

you could feel natasha smile against your skin. "there you go, my love." you tried to grind your hips further onto her mouth by pushing upwards, but natasha's mouth quickly moved out of reach.

"ah ah ah, be patient. only good girls get what they want." you rolled your eyes and huffed, earning a loud slap to the side of your thigh. "do that again and your ass will be bent over my knee seven shades of red."

her glare went away as soon as she buried her face back between your legs. she was downright greedy, almost possessive over the gift between your legs.

natasha's role of being easy on you was put to an end. she shoved her tongue into your pussy, graciously accepting every inch you had to offer. seeing your back arch, hands balled into fists as they gripped the sheets, gave the redhead a sense of euphoria she'd never felt before.

"mommy please-"

"you're so beautiful when you fall to pieces." natasha purred. "aren't you glad mommy's taking care of you?"

your only response was a loud whine as her tongue flicked over your clit. "c'mon sweet girl, i know you can use your words."

"yes!" your voice was strained, a series of incoherent grunts and moans filling the room. natasha’s mouth covered the entirety of your pussy and her lapping only grew stronger the more you cried.

you clenched tightly around her tongue. your legs automatically reflexed to close, but that didn’t do anything for you except grant natasha deeper access into your cunt.

“m-mommy!” the feeling of natasha’s nails scraping the sides of your thighs was enough to let you know you could come. “mmm, that’s right baby. there you go.”

when she pulled away, you were greeted with the sight of natasha’s sticky, grinning face as she moved to sit on your stomach. she figured she could give you a small break before really fucking you senseless.

but that didn’t mean she would stop completely.

her hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing and pinching them again for extra stimulation. “you like that, don’t you baby?”

“yes, please, i want more!”

natasha giggled, mocking your pathetic pleas for her.

“not yet. don’t be the dirty little whore i know you are. now you’re going to lay here while mommy grinds on your stomach until she gets tired of it.” her hand offered a gentle squeeze around your throat.

“you’re going to have to draw me with my fingers shoved in your cunt before i let you cum again.” she taunted, slowly edging herself on your body. it wasn’t long before you began to feel her heat against your skin.

and truthfully, you’d draw whatever the hell she wanted you to just as long as she kept coming back.

[scotianostra]

July 20th 1912 saw the death of the prolific poet Andrew Lang.

Andrew Lang was born in Selkirk in 1844, and educated at the universities of St Andrews and Oxford. He studied the classics, writing versions of the Odyssey and the Iliad. He lived and worked in London for most of his life, as a journalist - he was for many years the literary editor of Longman’s Magazine - and as a respected literary critic. 

Laing was a folklorist, a scholar of myths and religion, and contributed to the study of anthropology. Perhaps best known today for his collections of fairy stories, his first publication was in verse: Ballads and Lyrics of Old France. It was followed by half a dozen other collections of rhymes and ballads.

His poems may have gone out of fashion but he was probably one of the most well known writers in Victorian times, by the time of his death 106 years ago, Andrew Lang’s name could be found on 249 individual books and his collected journalism ran into thousands of articles. The playwright George Bernard Shaw, a man who never suffered fools gladly, said: “The day is empty unless an article by Lang appears.”

Lang’s grandfather had been the sheriff clerk to Sir Walter Scott – and Lang would later write introductions to every one of the Waverley Novels

As you would expect with a writer of his stature Lang had a very vivid imagination, even at an early age, when studying at Edinburgh Academy he was tasked to write a historical essay about why Elizabeth I never married, he wrote instead a romance, where Elizabeth secretly comes to Scotland disguised as a man to spy on Mary, Queen of Scots. She impersonates Mary’s second husband, Lord Darnley, and is killed in his place; forcing Darnley (who had been off gallivanting) to impersonate Elizabeth and become Queen of England and Mary’s mortal enemy.

Although he sometimes wrote in the Scot’s vernicular, as you’ll see in the poem I have chosen, Lang, who studied at St Andrews and then Oxford, spoke in a very straight anglicised manner. His first meeting with another literary giant, Robert Louis Stevenson did not go well, Stevenson, with his unapologetic Scot’s accent wrote a poem of the encounter

“My name is Andrew Lang/Andrew Lang/That’s my name/And criticism and cricket is my game/With my eyeglass in my eye/Am not I/Am not I/A la-di da-di Oxford kind of Scot/Am I not?”

Regardless of this the two went on to be good pals, even collaborating on some work, which showed the nature of the man, who made friends easily and apart from those mentioned already, counted Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, H. Rider Haggard, Rudyard Kipling, and JM Barrie among his close friends.

As I said earlier the volume of his work was immense, it caused comment from some people to suggested that “Andrew Lang” did not exist, and was a pseudonym used by a cabal of different authors from different genres.

He died of heart disease at the Tor-na-Coille Hotel in Banchory, Banchory, survived by his wife. He was buried in the cathedral precincts at St Andrews, where a monument can be visited in the south-east corner of the 19th century section.

With Lang spending time at St Andrews and his last resting place being in the town, and the fact that The Open is in Scotland this week, it is only natural that I have chosen a poem by Lang about golf.

As you would expect there are loads of his poems online, Poem Hunter, on the link here, has 109. He died of angina pectoris at the Tor-na-Coille Hotel in Banchory, Banchory, survived by his wife. He was buried in the cathedral precincts at St Andrews, where a monument can be visited in the south-east corner of the 19th century section. He may have talked in a more English accent but the titles of some of these poems shows just where his heart lay, Rob Roy, The Battle Of Harlaw, The Bonnie Earl of Moray and Culloden are among the poets work, as well as this, Ballade of the Royal Game of Golf (East Fifeshire)

There are laddies will drive ye a ba’ To the burn frae the farthermost tee, But ye mauna think driving is a’, Ye may heel her, and send her ajee, Ye may land in the sand or the sea; And ye’re dune, sir, ye’re no worth a preen, Tak’ the word that an auld man’ll gie, Tak’ aye tent to be up on the green!

The auld folk are crouse, and they craw That their putting is pawky and slee; In a bunker they’re nae gude ava’, But to girn, and to gar the sand flee. And a lassie can putt–ony she, - Be she Maggy, or Bessie, or Jean, But a cleek-shot’s the billy for me, Tak’ aye tent to be up on the green!

I hae play’d in the frost and the thaw, I hae play’d since the year thirty-three, I hae play’d in the rain and the snaw, And I trust I may play till I dee; And I tell ye the truth and nae lee, For I speak o’ the thing I hae seen - Tom Morris, I ken, will agree - Tak’ aye tent to be up on the green!

ENVOY.

Prince, faith you’re improving a wee, And, Lord, man, they tell me you’re keen; Tak’ the best o’ advice that can be, Tak’ aye tent to be up on the green!

https://www.poemhunter.com/andrew-lang/poems/

[hansolmates]

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment  w/c; 3.3k  a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse​ and @woozisnoots​ for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right. 

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right. 

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right. 

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?” 

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get. 

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right. 

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left. 

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out. 

Billiam has Super-liked you! 

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam. 

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick. 

Billiam is typing… 

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment. 

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.” 

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!” 

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!” 

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly. 

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!” 

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep. 

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.” 

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?” 

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen. 

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky. 

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder. 

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask. 

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer. 

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off. 

He’s getting an incoming call. From you. 

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard. 

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up. 

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this. 

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up. 

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?” 

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it. 

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.” 

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity. 

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?” 

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?” 

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.” 

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit. 

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?” 

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.” 

“Good night.” 

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence. 

The waning starts today. 

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time? 

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep? 

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe. 

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night. 

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal. 

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies. 

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.” 

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy. 

“Who is it?” 

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.” 

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard. 

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder. 

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?” 

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship. 

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.” 

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you. 

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.” 

Liar. He’s a liar. 

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.” 

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.” 

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?” 

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—” 

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s. 

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—” 

“Uji?” 

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm. 

“Uh, hey?” 

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement. 

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!” 

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away. 

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?” 

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together. 

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down. 

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him. 

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.” 

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look. 

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?” 

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch. 

“It’s—” 

“Complicated.” 

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly. 

“There’s things you’re not telling me.” 

“Right.” 

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add. 

“Yes.” 

“Then what are some things you can tell me?” 

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.” 

“Paperwork?” 

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life? 

“Okay,” you finally say. 

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens. 

“Really.” 

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease. 

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.” 

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle. 

[yamayuandadu]

The Two (or more) Ishtars or A Certain Scandalous Easter Claim Proved to be The Worship of Reverend Alexander Hislop

Once upon a time the official facebook page of Richard Dawkins' foundation posted a graphic according to which the holiday of Easter is just a rebranded celebration of the Mesopotamian mythology superstar Ishtar, arguing that the evidence is contained in its very name. As everyone knows, Dawkins is an online talking head notable for discussing his non-belief in such an euphoric way that it might turn off even the most staunch secularists and for appearing in some reasonably funny memes about half a decade ago. Bizarrely enough, however, the same claim can be often found among the crowds dedicated to crystal healing, Robert Graves' mythology fanfiction, indigo children and similar dubiously esoteric content. What's yet more surprising is that once in a while it shows up among a certain subset of fundamentalist Christians, chiefly the types who believe giants are real (and, of course, satanic), the world  is ruled by a secret group of Moloch worshipers and fossils were planted by the devil to led the sheeple astray from the truth about earth being 6000 years old, tops. Of course, to anyone even just vaguely familiar with Christianity whose primary language isn't English this claim rightfully seems completely baffling – after all it's evident in most languages that the name of the holiday celebrating Jesus' resurrection, and many associated customs, are derived from the earlier Jewish Pascha (Passover) which has nothing to do with Ishtar other than having its origin in the Middle East. Why would the purported association only be evident  in English and not in Aramaic, Greek, Latin, Spanish, virtually any language other than English and its close relatives – languages which generally didn't have anything to do with Mesopotamia or early christianity? Read on to find out what sort of sources let this eclectic selection of characters arrive to the same baffling conclusion, why are they hilariously wrong, and – most importantly – where you can actually find a variety of Ishtars (or at least reasonably Ishtar-like figures) under different names instead.

The story of baffling Easter claims begins in Scotland in the 19th century. A core activity of theologians in many faiths through history was (and sometimes still is) finding alleged proof of purported “idolatry” or other “impure” practices among ideological opponents, even these from within the same religion – and a certain Presbyterian minister, Alexander Hislop, was no stranger to this traditional pastime. Like many Protestants in this period, he had an axe to grind with the catholic church  - though not for the reasons many people are not particularly fond of this institution nowadays. What Hislop wanted to prove was much more esoteric – he believed that it's the Babylon known from the Book of Revelations. Complete with the beast with seven heads, blasphemous names and other such paraphernalia, of course. This wasn't a new claim – catholicism was equated with the New Testament Babylon for as long as Protestantism was a thing (and earlier catholicism itself regarded other religions as representing it). What set Hislop apart from dozens of other similar attempts like that was that he fancied himself a scholar of history and relied on the brand new accounts of excavations in what was once the core sphere of influence of the Assyrian empire (present day Iraq and Syria), supplemented by various Greek and Roman classics – though also by his own ideas, generally varying from baseless to completely unhinged. Hislop compiled his claims in the book The Two Babylons or The Papal Worship Proved to be the Worship of Nimrod and His Wife. You can find it on archive.org if you want to torment yourself and read the entire thing – please do not give clicks directly to any fundie sites hosting it though. How does the history of Easter and Ishtar look like according to Hislop? Everything started with Semiramis, who according to his vision was a historical figure and a contemporary of Noah's sons, here also entirely historical. Semiramis is either entirely fictional or a distorted Greek and Roman account of the 9th century BC Assyrian queen Shammuramat, who ruled as a regent for a few years after the death of her husband Shamshi Adad V – an interesting piece of historical trivia, but arguably not really a historical milestone, and by the standards of Mesopotamian history she's hardly a truly ancient figure. Hislop didn't even rely on the primary sources dealing with the legend of Semiramis though, but with their medieval christian interpretations, which cast her in the role of an adulterer first and foremost due to association of ancient Mesopotamia with any and all vices.

Hislop claims that Semiramis was both the Whore of Babylon from the Book of Revelations and the first idolater, instituting worship of herself as a goddess. This goddess, he argues, was Astarte (a combination of two flimsy claims – Roman claim that Semiramis' name means “dove” and now generally distrusted assumption that Phoenician Astarte had the same symbols as Greek Aphrodite) and thus Ishtar, but he also denotes her as a mother goddess – which goes against everything modern research has to say about Ishtar, of course. However, shoddy scholarship relying on few sources was the norm at the time, and Hislop on top of that was driven by religious zeal. In further passages, he identified this “universal mother” with Phrygian Cybele, Greek Rhea and Athena, Egyptian Isis, Taoist Xi Wangmu (sic) and many more, pretty much at random, arguing all of them were aspects of nefarious Semiramis cult which infected all corners of the globe. He believed that she was venerated alongside a son-consort, derived from Semiramis' even more fictional husband Ninus (a mythical founder of Assyria according to Greek authors, absent from any Mesopotamian sources; his name was derived from Nineveh, not from any word for son like Hislop claims), who he identifies with biblical Nimrod (likewise not a historical figure, probably a distorted reflection of the god Ninurta). Note the similarity with certain ideas perpetrated by Frazer's Golden Bough and his later fans like Jung, Graves and many neopagan authors – pseudohistory, regardless of ideological background, has a very small canon of genuinely original claims. Ishtar was finally introduced to Britain by “druids” (note once again the similarity to the baffling integration of random Greek, Egyptian or Mesopotamian deities into Graves-derived systems of fraudulent trivia about “universal mother goddesses” often using an inaccurate version of Celtic myths as framework). This eventually lead to the creation of the holiday of Easter. Pascha doesn't come up in the book at all, as far as I can tell. All of this is basically just buildup for the book's core shocking reveal: catholic veneration of Mary and depictions of Mary with infant Jesus in particular are actually the worship of Semiramis and her son-consort Ninus, and only the truly faithful can reveal this evil purpose of religious art. At least so claims Hislop. This bizarre idea is laughable, but it remains disturbingly persistent – do you remember the Chick Tracts memes from a few years ago, for example? These comics were in part inspired by Hislop's work. Many fundamentalist christian communities appear to hold his confabulations in high esteem up to this day – and many people who by design see themselves as a countercultural opposition to christianity independently gleefully embrace them, seemingly ignorant of their origin. While there are many articles debunking Hislop's claim about Easter, few of them try to show how truly incomprehensibly bad his book is as a whole – hopefully the following examples will be sufficient to illustrate this point: -Zoroaster is connected to Moloch because of the Zoroastrian holy fire - and Moloch is, of course Ninus. Note that while a few Greek authors believed Zoroaster to be the “king of Bactria” mythical accounts presented as a contemporary of Ninus, the two were regarded as enemies – Hislop doesn't even follow the pseudohistory he uses as proof! -Zoroaster is also Tammuz. Tammuz is, of course, yet another aspect of Ninus. -demonic character is ascribed to relics of the historical Buddha; also he's Osiris. And Ninus. -an incredibly racist passage explains why the biblical Nimrod (identified with – you guessed it - Ninus) might be regarded as “ugly and deformed” like Haephestus and thus identical to him (no, it makes no sense in context either) - Hislop thinks he was black (that's not the word he uses, naturally) which to him is the same thing. -Attis is a deification of sin itself -the pope represents Dagon (incorrectly interpreted as a fish god in the 19th century) -Baal and Bel are two unrelated words – this is meant to justify the historicity of the Tower of Babel by asserting it was built by Ninus, who was identical to Bel (in reality a title of Marduk); Bel, according to Hislop, means “the confounder (of languages)” rather than “lord” -the term “cannibal” comes from a made up term for priests of Baal (Ninus) who according to Hislop ate children. In reality it's a Spanish corruption of the endonym of one of the first tribes encountered by the Spanish conquerors in America, and was not a word used in antiquity – also, as I discussed in my Baal post, the worship of Baal did not involve cannibalism. This specific claim of Hislop's is popular with the adherents of prophetic doomsday cult slash wannabe terrorist group QAnon today, and shows up on their “redpilling” graphics. -Ninus was also Cronos; Cronos' name therefore meant “horned one” in reference to Mesopotamian bull/horned crown iconography and many superficially similar gods from all over the world were the same as him - note the similarity to Margaret Murray's obsession with her made up idea of worldwide worship of a “horned god” (later incorporated into Wicca). -Phaeton, Orpheus and Aesculapius are the same figure and analogous to Lucifer (and in turn to Ninus) -giants are real and they're satanists (or were, I think Hislop argues they're dead already). They are (were?) also servants of Ninus. -as an all around charming individual Hislop made sure to include a plethora of comments decrying the practices of various groups at random as digressions while presenting his ridiculous theories – so, while learning about the forbidden history of Easter, one can also learn why the author thinks Yezidi are satanists, for example -last but not least, the very sign of the cross is not truly christian but constitutes the worship of Tammuz, aka Ninus (slowly losing track of how many figures were regarded as one and the same as him by Hislop). Based on the summary above it's safe to say that Hislop's claim is incorrect – and, arguably, malevolent (and as such deserves scrutiny, not further possibilities for spreading). However, this doesn't answer the question where does the name of Easter actually come from? As I noted in the beginning, in English (and also German) it's a bit of an oddity – it  actually was derived from a preexisting pagan term, at least if we are to believe the word of the monk Bede, who in the 8th century wrote that the term is a derivative of “Eosturmonath,” eg. “month of Eostre” - according to him a goddess. There are no known inscriptions mentioning such a goddess from the British Isles or beyond, though researchers involved in reconstructing proto-indo-european language assume that “Eostre” would logically be a derivative of the same term as  the name of the Greek Eos and of the vedic Ushas, and the Austriahenae goddesses from Roman inscriptions from present day Germany  – eg.  a word simply referring to dawn, and by extension to a goddess embodying it. This is a sound, well researched theory, so while early medieval chroniclers sometimes cannot be trusted, I see no reason to doubt Bede's account.

While Ushas is a prominent goddess in the Vedas, Eos was rather marginal in Greek religion (see her Theoi entry for details), and it's hard to tell to what degree Bede's Eostre was similar to either of them beyond plausibly being a personification of dawn. Of course, the hypothetical proto-indo-european dawn goddess all of these could be derived from would have next to nothing to do with Ishtar. While the history of the name of Easter (though not the celebration itself) is undeniably interesting, I suppose it lacks the elements which make the fake Ishtar claim a viral hit – the connection is indirect, and an equivalent of the Greek Eos isn't exactly exciting (Eos herself is, let be honest, remembered at best as an obscure part of the Odyssey), while Ishtar is understood by many as “wicked” sex goddess (a simplification, to put it very lightly) which adds a scandalous, sacrilegious dimension to the baffling lie, explaining its appeal to Dawkins' fans, arguably. As demonstrated above, Hislop's theories are false and adapting them for any new context – be it christian, atheist or neopagan – won't change that, but are there any genuine examples of, well, “hidden Ishtars”? If that's the part of the summary which caught your attention, rejoice – there is a plenty of these to be found in Bronze Age texts. I'd go as far as saying that most of ancient middle eastern cultures from that era felt compelled to include an Ishtar ersatz in their pantheons. Due to the popularity of the original Ishtar, she was almost a class of figures rather than a single figure – a situation almost comparable to modern franchising, when you think about it. The following figures can be undeniably regarded as “Ishtar-like” in some capacity or even as outright analogs:

Astarte (or Ashtart, to go with a more accurate transcription of the oldest recorded version of the name) – the most direct counterpart of Ishtar there is: a cognate of her own name. Simply, put Astarte is the “Levantine”equivalent of the “Mesopotamian” Ishtar. In the city of Mari, the names were pretty much used interchangeably, and some god lists equate them, though Astarte had a fair share of distinct traits. In Ugaritic mythology, which forms the core of our understanding of the western Semitic deities, she was a warrior and hunter (though it's possible that in addition to conventional weapons she was also skilled at wielding curses), and was usually grouped with Anat. Both of them were regarded as the allies of Baal, and assist him against his enemies in various myth. They also were envisioned to spend a lot of time together – one ritual calls them upon as a pair from distant lands where they're hunting together, while a fragmentary myth depicts both of them arriving in the household of the head god El and taking pity on Yarikh, the moon god, seemingly treated as a pariah. Astarte's close relation to Baal is illustrated by her epithet, “face of Baal” or “of the name of Baal.” They were often regarde as a couple and even late, Hellenic sources preserve a traditional belief that Astarte and “Adados” (Baal) ruled together as a pair. In some documents from Ugarit concerned with what we would call foreign policy today they were invoked together as the most prominent deities. It's therefore possible that she had some role related to human politics. She was regarded as exceptionally beautiful and some texts favorably describe mortal women's appearance by comparing them to Astarte. In later times she was regarded as a goddess of love, but it's unclear if that was a significant aspect of her in the Bronze Age. It's equally unclear if she shared Ishtar's astral character – in Canaan there were seemingly entirely separate dawn and dusk deities. Despite clamis you might see online, Astarte was not the same as the mother goddess Asherah. In the Baal cycle they actually belong to the opposing camps. Additionally, the names are only superficially similar (one starts with an aleph, the other with an ayin) and have different etymology. Also, that famous sculpture of a very blatantly Minoan potnia theron? Ugaritic in origin but not a depiction of either Astarte or Asherah.

The Egyptians, due to extensive contact with Canaan and various Syrian states in the second half of the Bronze Age, adapted Astarte (and by extension Anat) into their own pantheon. Like in Ugarit, her warrior character was emphasized. An Egyptian innovation was depicting her as a cavalry goddess of sorts – associated with mounted combat and chariots. In Egypt, Ptah, the head god of Memphis and divine craftsman, was regarded as her father. In most texts, Astarte is part of Seth's inner circle of associates – however, in this context Seth wasn't the slayer of Osiris, but a heroic storm god similar to Baal. The so-called Astarte papyrus presents an account of a myth eerily similar to the Ugaritic battle between Baal and Yam – starring Seth as the hero, with Astarte in a supporting role resembling that played by Shaushka, another Ishtar analog, in the Hittite song of Hedammu, which will be discussed below.

Shaushka – a Hurrian and Hittite goddess whose name means “the magnificent one” in the Hurrian language. Hurrian was widely spoken in ancient Mesopotamia and Anatolia (and in northernmost parts of the Levant – up to one fifth of personal names from Ugaritic documents were Hurrian iirc), but has no descendants today and its relation to any extant languages is uncertain. In Hittite texts she was often referred to with an “akkadogram” denoting Ishtar's name (or its Sumerian equivalent) instead of a phonetic  spelling of her own (there was an analogous practice regarding the sun gods), while in Egyptian and Syrian texts there are a few references to “Ishtar Hurri” - “Ishtar of the Hurrians” - who is argued by researchers to be one and the same as Shaushka. Despite Shaushka's Hurrian name and her prominence in myths popular both among Hittites and Hurrians, her main cult center was the Assyrian city of Nineveh, associated with Ishtar herself as well, and there were relatively few temples dedicated to her in the core Hittite sphere of influence in Anatolia. Curiously, both the oldest reference to Shaushka and to the city of Nineveh come from the same text, stating that a sheep was sacrificed to her there. While most of her roles overlap with Ishtar's (she too was associated with sex, warfare and fertility), here are two distinct features of Shaushka that set her apart as unique: one is the fact she was perceived in part as a masculine deity, despite being consistently described as a woman – in the famous Yazılıkaya reliefs she appears twice, both among gods and goddesses. In Alalakh she was depicted in outfits combining elements of male and female clothing. Similar fashion preferences were at times attributed to Ninshubur, the attendant of Ishtar's Sumerian forerunner Inanna – though in that case they were likely the result of conflation of Ninshubur with the male messenger deity Papsukkal, while in the case of Shaushka the dual nature seems to be inherent to her (I haven't seen any in depth study of this matter yet, sadly, so I can't really tell confidently which modern term in my opinion describes Shaushka's character the best). Her two attendants, musician goddesses Ninatta and Kulitta, do not share it. Shaushka's other unique niche is her role in exorcisms and incantations, and by extension with curing various diseases – this role outlived her cult itself, as late Assyrian inscriptions still associated the “Ishtar of Nineveh” (at times viewed as separate from the regular Ishtar) with healing. It can be argued that even her sexual aspect was connected to healing, as she was invoked to cure impotence. The most significant myth in which she appears is the cycle dedicated to documenting the storm god's (Teshub for the Hurrians, Tarhunna for the Hittites) rise to power. Shaushka is depicted as his sister and arguably most reliable ally, and plays a prominent role in two sections in particular – the Song of Hedammu and the Song of Ullikummi. In the former, she seemingly comes up with an elaborate plan to defeat a new enemy of her brother - the sea monster Hedammu - by performing a seductive dance and song montage (with her attendants as a support act) and offering an elixir to him. The exact result is uncertain, but Hedammu evidently ends up vanquished. In the latter, she attempts to use the same gambit against yet another new foe, the “diorite man” Ullikummi – however, since he is unfeeling like a rock, she fails; some translators see this passage as comedic. However, elsewhere in the Song, the storm god's main enemy Kumarbi and his minions view Shaushka as a formidable warrior, and in the early installment of the cycle, Song of LAMMA, she seemingly partakes in a fight. In another myth, known only from a few fragments and compared to the Sumerian text “Inanna and the huluppu tree,” Shaushka takes care of “Ḫašarri” -  a personification of olive oil, or a sentient olive tree. It seems that she has to protect this bizarre entity from various threats. While Shaushka lived on in Mesopotamia as “Ishtar of Nineveh,” this was far from the only “variant”of Ishtar in her homeland.

Nanaya was another such goddess. A few Sumerian hymns mention her alongside Inanna, the Sumerian equivalent of Ishtar, by the time of Sargon of Akkad virtually impossible to separate from her. As one composition puts it, Nanaya was “properly educated by holy Inana” and “counselled by holy Inana.” Initially she was most likely a part of Inanna's circle of deities in her cult center, Uruk, though due to shared character they eventually blurred together to a large degree. Just like Inanna/Ishtar, Nanaya was a goddess of love, described as beautiful and romantically and sexually active, and she too had an astral character. She was even celebrated during the same holidays as Inanna. Some researchers go as far as suggest Nanaya was only ever Inanna/Ishtar in her astral aspect alone and not a separate goddess. However, there is also evidence of her, Inanna and the sky god An being regarded as a trinity of distinct tutelary deities in Uruk. Additionally, king Melishipak's kudurru shown above shows both Nanaya (seated) and Ishtar/Inanna (as a star). Something peculiar to Nanaya was her later association with the scribe god Nabu. Sometimes Nabu's consort was the the goddess Tashmetu instead, but I can't find any summary explaining potential differences between them – it seems just like Nanaya, she was a goddess of love, including its physical aspects. Regardless of the name used to describe Nabu's wife, she was regarded as a sage and scribe like him – this arguably gives her a distinct identity she lacked in her early role as part of Inanna's circle. As the above examples demonstrate, the popularity of the “Ishtar type” was exceptional in the Bronze Age – but is it odd from a modern perspective? The myths dedicated to her are still quite fun to read today – much like any hero of ancient imagination she has a plethora of adversaries, a complex love life (not to mention many figures not intended to be read as her lovers originally but described in such terms that it's easy to see them this way today – including other women), a penchant for reckless behavior – and most importantly a consistent, easy to summarize character. She shouldn't be a part of modern mass consciousness only because of false 19th century claims detached from her actual character (both these from Hislop's works and “secular”claims about her purported “real”character based on flimsy reasoning and shoddy sources) – isn't a female character who is allowed to act about the same way as male mythical figures do without being condemned for it pretty much what many modern mythology retellings try to create? Further reading: On Astarte: -entry in the Iconography of Deities and Demons in Ancient Near East database by Izak Cornelius -‛Athtart in Late Bronze Age Syrian Texts by Mark S. Smith -ʿAthtartu’s Incantations and the Use of Divine Names as Weapons by Theodore J. Lewis -The Other Version of the Story of the Storm-god’s Combat with the Sea in the Light of Egyptian, Ugaritic, and Hurro-Hittite Texts by Noga Ayali-Darshan -for a summary of evidence that Astarte has nothing to do with Asherah see A Reassessment of Asherah With Further Considerations of the Goddess by Steve A. Wiggins On Shaushka: -Adapting Mesopotamian Myth in Hurro-Hittite Rituals at Hattuša: IŠTAR, the Underworld, and the Legendary Kings by Mary R. Bacharova -Ishtar seduces the Sea-serpent. A new join in the epic of Ḫedammu (KUB 36, 56 + 95) and its meaning for the battle between Baal and Yam in Ugaritic tradition by Meindert Dijkstra -Ištar of Nineveh Reconsidered by Gary Beckman -Shaushka, the Traveling Goddess by Graciela Gestoso Singer -Hittite Myths by Harry A. Hoffner jr. -The Hurritic Myth about Šaušga of Nineveh and Ḫašarri (CTH 776.2) by Meindert Dijkstra -The West Hurian Pantheon and its Background by Alfonso Archi On Nanaya: -entry in Brill’s New Pauly by Thomas Richter -entry from the Ancient Mesopotamian Gods and Goddesses project by Ruth Horry -A tigi to Nanaya for Ishbi-Erra from The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature -A balbale to Inana as Nanaya from The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature -More Light on Nanaya by Michael P. Streck and Nathan Wasserman -More on the Nature and History of the Goddess Nanaya by Piotr Steinkeller A few introductory Ishtar/Inanna myths: -Inanna's descent to the netherworld -Inanna and the huluppu tree -Inanna and Enki -Enki and the world order -Inanna and Ebih -Dumuzid and Enkimdu

[holylulusworld]

October the 31st, the day I disappeared

Written for @jtargaryen18​​​ ‘s Haunted House challenge. I hope you like this A/B/O version...

Summary: A celebrity haunted house for charity will be open one night only, Halloween night. You spent days trying to get a ticket online for the event. Thanks to a bad day on Halloween, you get there only a minute before the line closes. You’re the last person to go in and thinking that’s either really bad (everyone is tired or would be in a hurry to see you out) or really good (maybe you’d get some extra time with the one you came to see). You are never seen again. You select the set of the celebrity you’re there to see. When you get too close, you step into another dimension - their world – and there’s no escape. (I used the given summary…)

Pairing: Alpha!Curtis Everett x Omega!Reader

Characters: Gilliam, Edgar, Ofc Jake, unnamed ofc’s

Warnings: angst, language, a hint of blood, mention of deaths, scenting, true mates, smut, unprotected sex, mating bite, dub-con (if you squint), possessive alpha

October the 31st, your world…,

“Come on, hurry up, Jake,” you groan, rolling your eyes at your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to go to the haunted house to look at guys who look better than him. “I was at that motorboat show with you too.”

“I wanted to look at boats, not other guys,” Jake rolls his eyes, stopping right in front of the house. “Can I not wait outside? Go and look at those wax figures and get all riled up for me.” He runs one hand over his crotch, and you sigh, asking yourself why you are with a guy like him.

“Yeah, you wanted to look at the boats but ended up ogling the hostesses. Don’t think I didn’t see you leave with one of them,” hurt you look at the house once again. The clock strikes five to midnight and you know, it’s Jake who cheated on you more than once or your favorite celebrities tonight. “You know, stay outside Jake. I’ve got this.”

You run off before Jake gets the chance to argue – not that he would want to enter the haunted house. “I’ll wait here, smoke a cigarette, and imagine you blow me off.”

Disgusted you run toward the door, showing your ticket to step inside the haunted house just in time.

The clock strikes midnight when you stroll toward your favorite character.

“Curtis Everett,” you swoon, looking up at the man you admire so much. “I saw your movie at least twenty times. I still can’t believe you didn’t make it.”

“Step closer to have a look,” the man who validated your ticket offers. “Don’t be shy.” Hesitantly you look at the man, shaking your head.

“No, Sir. I don’t think the owner wants us to touch the wax figures. I wouldn’t dare to risk I ruin it. I can watch him from afar but thank you, Sir,” you decline his offer as polite as possible.

“No worries, young lady,” the man chuckles, getting a device looking like a remote control out of his pocket. “You don’t have to watch him from afar any longer.” An uneasy feeling spreads through your body as you realize there are no other visitors around. 

When you entered the haunted house, at least half a dozen girls were swooning all over Chris Evans's characters. Some men admired Carol Danvers and others stormed toward Sebastian Stan's characters. 

Now suddenly everyone is gone, and you wonder where they all went to. Or should you rather ask what happened to them?

“What do you mean?” You gasp when the man’s eyes start to glow in the dim light of the room. He’s mumbling words in a foreign language, a dark smirk on his lips.

“Don’t be afraid, it will only hurt for a moment. I’ll get your soul and your body will turn to dust,” you look around the room, now seeing the dust in front of all the wax figures. Your heart hammers when you step backward, back bumping into Curtis's chest. 

All you can do is to close your eyes and wait for your end. The song your mother used to sing to help you fall asleep comes to your mind and you start mumbling the words. The man’s eyes widen, but you can’t see it when the words your mother taught you slowly calm you.

“No…no…I can’t lose control,” you feel hands grasp for you, souls screaming your name when an arm wraps around your waist, dragging you backward. You scream in terror, fight the embrace as the room starts spinning.

“Don’t take her soul away from me,” the man screams, dashing toward you but it’s too late. Whatever grasped your body drags you into another world with rules of its own…

“Is she one of the front enders?” You hear voices close to you. Your mind is still clouded with darkness and fear. “Girl doesn’t look like she belongs to the tail, Curtis.” 

“She doesn’t belong to them,” Curtis’s voice much closer now, his fingers graze your neck. “Now go and check the section. I can’t let anyone get her."

“Curtis, she could be a spy,” humming the tall alpha leans over your body to sniff at your neck, dragging his nose along your pulse point. “I’ll be right back.”

“Go, tell Gilliam we found a girl,” your eyes slowly flutter open when the alpha kisses your skin. “There she goes, little omega.”

“I…I,” Your eyelids flutter shut when you pray this is all a nightmare. His breath hot in your neck, his scent surrounding your senses the alpha brings you out of your prayers. “I swear that I’m not part of Wilford’s plan. I…”

“Who are you?” A knife pressed to your throat forces your eyes to meet Curtis's darkened blue orbs. “If you are not part of the plan you can answer my question.”

“You will not believe me,” lips quivering you look up at Curtis, knowing he will not trust anyone not coming from the tail end. 

“Try me,” he’s sliding his hand over your chest, gasping when you push your breast into his hand. “I want to know how you got this far. We control the water supply section.”

“I know,” your shiver, feeling his thumb pinch your nipple, slowly rolling it. “I will tell you how I ended up here, but you’ll believe I’m crazy.”

“I want to hear it, omega,” Curtis’s hand slowly moves down your chest, fingers curling into your crop top. You shudder when his fingers reach your pants. “Tell me about it.”

“I visited a celebrity haunted house for charity. I got the tickets online and the only person I wanted to see was you, or rather the wax figure they made,” you gasp when his fingers deftly unbutton your pants. “Suddenly everyone was gone but a strange man. He mumbled words in a language I didn’t understand. Then I felt the wax figure behind me wrap his arm around me…that’s all I think.”

“Online? That’s impossible. Everything and anyone outside the train got destroyed. There is nothing left,” Curtis dips on hand into your pants, fingertips grazing your clit. “You’re crazy or a liar.”

“I still got the ticket, alpha,” you grind against his hand, slick slowly soaking Curtis's fingers. “You can have a look. I swear this is not my world. I don’t know how, but I think that I ended up in an alternative universe.”

“Alternative universe,” humming the alpha makes quick work of your pants, drags the fabric down your legs, along with your soaked panties. “You’re crazy.”

“I told you that you won’t believe me, Curtis,” his lips press against yours, claim your soft pillow in a surprisingly gentle kiss. There is hunger hidden behind his eyes, but he doesn’t want to unleash the beast he released at the beginning of the revolt. “I don’t know how to get back.”

“You won’t,” Curtis states, ripping your top off your body to reveal your braless chest. He groans, head dipping to suckle at one of your nipples. “You’re mine now.”

“Yours?” you cry out feelings his hand slip back between your legs to toy with your clit. He’s slowly running his thumb around the swollen numb, bringing you to the edge of an orgasm. “I can’t be yours. Jake, he’s…” 

“I will not let you go,” you whimper, body craving the alpha. “I knew the moment I woke behind you that you’ll be mine. I could scent you.”

“Behind me? This is impossible. How can you…” Realization hits you. You didn’t end up in the world of Curtis Everett from the movie you know. “Edgar is still alive. This means things didn’t end up like in the movie.”

“We are not in a fucking movie,” he grips your hands, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, to hold you to the ground. “You’re in my world now. I don’t care if you came from the front end or another dimension. No matter what – you are mine now,” his teeth sink into your neck right before he slips two thick fingers into your slicker channel.

You should be afraid, should fight his touch but your secret fantasy comes true and you can’t deny the alpha your body or obedience. Not with his mark on your neck.

“You don’t understand, Sir.” Jake pants, fighting the cops who deny him access to the haunted house. “My girlfriend, Y/N. She went inside that house like four hours ago and never came back. I can’t reach her phone.”

“Sir, we must ask you to remain calm. We are looking for all the visitors. All we found inside the house was dust in front of the wax figures.” Panicked Jake looks at the haunted house, screaming your name when he realizes he lost you forever.

“Y/N…Y/N…no…no,” he sniffles. “I’m so sorry for being an ass tonight…or like ever…”

“Mine, that’s who you are,” your clothes scattered all over the floor of the train, your face pressed into his dirty coat you kneel, shivering in anticipation. “I will not let you go.”

“I can’t stay,” Curtis doesn’t listen to your words. All rational thoughts left his mind the moment he caught your scent. “I need to go back. There must be a way.”

“There is no way you’ll leave your alpha,” you close your eyes when the tip slips inside. “I haven’t had a woman like you in ages…or rather never. You smell like hope.” His hips snap into your ass and you fist the coat, crying out at the wide stretch. “You feel like heaven in this hell.”

“Please…oh-god,” he sets a pace you can’t match. His hands touch every inch of your body. There is so much desperation in the way he takes you it breaks your heart. “Curtis…”

“I want to know your name, beautiful.” He whines, lips pressing against the mark he left in a haze. “You feel so soft against me, so pure.”

“Y/N.” You choke your name out, mind clouded with lust. “I swear I didn’t lie to you…alpha.” Curtis groans at your words, holding you to the cold ground, now speeding up. 

“God, I wish I could fill this tight cunt, but not now. When we took over the train, everything will change. I’ll get you round soon,” Curtis purrs. “I want you to cum for me.” You teether on the edge, ready to let go.

“Curtis,” a breathless moan leaves your lips when his cock rubs over your g-spot. Curtis pulls out to flip you onto your back. “Please don’t stop…”

“I won’t…never,” he’s forcing his way back inside of you. His dirty face buries into your neck and just now you feel his sticky skin and that his natural alpha scent mixes with the smell of dirt, blood, and death. 

Tears run down your cheeks when reality catches up with you. This is not a nightmare, nor a fantasy. Curtis Everett, the guy from a movie just claimed you. 

An alpha you don’t even know moves on top of you, cock spreading you wider than Jake ever could. You lose a part of yourself when you come undone, nails digging into his back.

“That’s it, Y/N,” his teeth sink into your neck again, this time he draws blood and you cry out, feeling his knot swell. “I lied,” he growls when his cum floats your belly. “Gonna knot you now…”

Curtis didn’t let up for almost two hours until he finally brought you to his hideout in a corner of the water supply section. 

“Mine,” his lips travel down your shoulder, nibble lightly at your soft skin. “So soft and warm.” You wish you could enjoy his touch or that you can feel your bond form. 

“I want you to tell anyone you ran from the front end. That Wilford tried to make you his omega, but you caught my scent, ‘mega. I can’t have them question you.”

“Curtis, I need to find a way to go back. I can’t live in a movie,” he fists your hair, forces you to crane your neck to reveal the mark he left. “Alpha?”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but you were lost the moment my teeth sank into your neck,” he smirks against your skin, erection pressing into your ass. “If only you would’ve run to the next section, omega. You could’ve gone home as long as you had your ticket.”

“What?” You gasp, struggling to get up. “No…no…you are supposed to be the hero…”

“In my world, you eat or get eaten. You asked me why Edgar didn’t die, well…” Curtis snickers, into your neck, not missing your body starts shaking. “It’s because we run the train. There was this nice man. He came to us, offered his help if we give him something in return.”

“The souls…the man was talking about souls,” you sniffle, hiding your face in the palms of your hands. “How could you do this?”

“We agreed and he sent us two or three people a year on Halloween. The poor bastards ended up dead, slaughtered by people of the front end. I never had to kill anyone. I just didn’t help them,” Curtis whispers into your ear. “You are different, Y/N. I scented you and knew, you’ll be mine.”

“He screamed and acted as if he can’t get my soul…”

“It’s his game, Y/N. He likes to play with his prey. This time, he got played, though. We found the sigils he pained on the walls of the train and removed all of them right after I dragged you into my world. There is no way back.”

“I’m stuck…with you…” 

“No such words, baby. I swear you’ll have a good life by my side. It’s not the life you chose, but it’s the one you’ll learn to love…”

One year later, Halloween...,

“There is nothing you can do?” Jake looks at the haunted house, stomach twisted in knots. “It’s been a year and none of the victims got found. Now they open it again as if nothing happened. Twenty people disappeared in one night.”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the officer sighs. “I lost a friend too, you know. I wish I could stop them, but there is nothing I can do. I hope, one day we will find out what happened to our friends.”

“I do too…”

“She’s so beautiful…” Curtis watches you lie on his bed. Your belly filled with his baby you sleep peacefully. “I knew she would adapt soon enough. “Maybe one day she’ll accept I did this for her.”

“I don’t think she’ll believe you,” Gilliam sighs. “This was not the way we wanted to win the revolution. Using that monster to get rid of most of the people from the front end. Keeping a few hostages to work for us.”

“They did the same,” Curtis argues, eyes never leaving your sleeping form. He rarely lets anyone get close to you. Most of the time you must stay in the room he stole from Wilford. 

“Did you listen to your words, Curtis? We do the same and that makes us monsters too. The only difference is – we should’ve known better…”

All works Tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superhero

@psychicforest

@thevelvetseries

@deanmonandnegansbitch

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@trumpettay

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

@rynabarnesrogers-reading

@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@kitkatd7

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Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@stylesismyhubs

@multisuperfandom

@mrspeacem1nusone

@fallenoutofrose

@rynabarnesrogers

@denisemarieangelina

@gabifernandessn

@heyiamthatbitch

@rosalynshields

@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

@patzammit

@donutloverxo

@saiyanprincessswanie

@supernaturalwintersoldier​ ad