#providence athenaeum

[costarringyourlocallibrary]

The interior of the Providence Athenaeum (Providence, RI) in Woody Allen’s Irrational Man (2015). (Identified in the film as “Braylin College Library.”)

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Oh, to travel back again North and haunt the aisles of the Providence Athenaeum with the shades of Edgar Allan Poe, Walt Whitman, and H.P. Lovecraft.

[nilfiths-grove]

Providence Athenaeum

[blindmagdalena]

The Athenaeum Portrait

18+ 4.7k homelander x f!reader. established relationship, first time having sex, reader has a complicated relationship with sex, abuse of superpowers for cunnilingus, overstimulation, penetrative sex, lite sublander, praise kink, slight coercion, unhealthy dynamics, implied codependency, implied verbal abuse.

Your relationship with Homelander is a delicious, precarious thing. Like a perfectly ripe peach, its closeness to something bruised and rotten makes it all the sweeter.

AO3 link. inspired by this anonymous prompt. thank you! 🖤

Homelander did not enter your life so much as he bull-rushed into it, a living whirlwind that uprooted you and hurled you into a familiar yet strange new world as unceremoniously as the tornado that took Dorothy to Oz. 

Vought Tower sparkles just as vibrant as the Emerald City, and provides no less surreal of a backdrop to your new life. Homelander's penthouse is a bizarre caricature of personhood, loaded with hundreds of years of American history. It would ring false, just another aspect of his brand, if not for the fact he can—and often does—regale you with a laundry list of historical facts on any piece in the collection.

This is how you find out that Gilbert Stuart is one of his favorite painters. When you ask Homelander why that is, he shrugs. "He painted over a thousand portraits, and he's most famous for the one he didn't finish. Ironic, huh?"

The Athenaeum Portrait, it's called. An unfinished portrait of George Washington that was replicated and sold by Stuart over a hundred times before his death.

The original was never completed.

The more time you spend in proximity to him, the more you start to understand why the piece resonates with him. You see replicas of him sold throughout the world on a daily basis, his face synonymous with Vought’s branding. There is a completeness to the commercial image of Homelander, America’s wholesome hero, but behind closed doors, you see his frayed and unfinished edges.

You feel his desperation for someone who will complete him in the way he touches you. He takes hold of your hands and brings them to the places where he is sketched at best, a ready and yielding canvas for your fingers. He likes when you stroke his hair, and sometimes touching his face turns his eyes glassy. There is a woundedness to the way he seeks your love, like he’s never entirely sure whether to expect the carrot or the stick.

You’ve never raised the stick to him, but it’s clear that those who came before you certainly did. It’s difficult to imagine that a man as powerful as him has been hurt like this, but he is a painfully obvious man at times, wearing his emotions like the scars his impervious body will never show.

When you lie down to read on the couch, he’s drawn to you like a magnet. He has no problem making space for himself within your bubble, sprawling on top of you, snaking his arms around your middle, his head settled on your sternum. You smile to yourself and rest your book on the top of his head as you read.

He gives a small grunt of complaint, but you’re fairly certain he’s smiling, too.

For every night of domestic bliss, so too are there sudden perils. Unexplained nights of absence, wild mood swings, fits of paranoia. He fights as many battles in his own mind as he does on the city streets and on foreign soil, a living weapon used to the fullest extent by Vought and the American government.

It feels like you lose him temporarily, like he becomes someone else. He paces around you like a caged tiger with his teeth bared, daring you to give him a reason to bite. You never do, and he never does, but sometimes you worry just how close of a call it was.

Occasionally he comes to you spattered in muck and bloody viscera. On these nights, he can’t seem to comprehend your presence, your gentleness, your love. It’s as if these concepts ring false in the wake of everything he has been made to endure. It’s suspicious to him that you would love something so repulsive, so opposite of everything Vought has polished his image into being.

He screams at you for this, takes you by the shoulders and demands you explain what he cannot understand, but you can’t. You can’t explain something that you don’t always understand.

Your relationship with Homelander is a delicious, precarious thing. Like a perfectly ripe peach, its closeness to something bruised and rotten makes it all the sweeter.

When things are good, they’re very good. He’s sweet, a romantic who learned everything he knows about romance from jewelry ads and Valentine’s Day specials. He brings you roses on random days of the week and adores showering you in gifts, especially the kind you wear. He tends to gravitate towards soft, velvety fabrics for your clothes because he likes the feel of them. He buys you perfumes that smell like vanilla and pink pepper. He likes fresh, warm scents. Nothing too floral or artificial.

Most importantly, he likes you. There’s rarely a day that the two of you don’t make each other laugh. His sense of humor is strange, but in the same way that yours is. Sometimes it feels like you’re two aliens creating a brand new language that only the two of you will ever know. The more time you spend together, the less the people outside of your relationship seem to understand you.

Not that it matters much. You spend the majority of your time with him these days, consumed by the excitement of this thrilling new thing the two of you share. Homelander is profoundly tactile, always needing to feel or touch you in some way. He loves to kiss you, content to make out languidly with you until your lips start to chap.

You’ve learned to keep lip balm on hand at all times.

Inevitably though, his hunger for intimacy outgrows quaint touches and kisses. You’re cuddled up together on his couch, only half paying attention to the movie playing. Homelander is nuzzling at your neck, pressing warm, wet kisses to it while his gloved hand slips beneath your shirt, fondling your breast through your bra. There’s something endearingly innocent about it, like a fumbling teenager piloting the body of a man in his forties.

Sex is nice enough. You have nothing against the act, but you’ve never felt as though you get as much out of it as the partners you’ve had in the past. Homelander’s touch feels good to you because it’s his, and because you know he wants to make you feel good in his enjoyment of you. You reciprocate by pushing your fingers into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, eliciting a sweet, rumbling moan from him against your neck.

“Want you,” he mumbles fervently against your skin, his need so palpable it gives you goosebumps. “Can I have you?”

You knew this was coming. It’s not that you don’t want to fuck him, it’s that he’s not the only one whose portrait feels incomplete. You’re a fully grown adult, and never in your life have you managed to pleasure yourself to completion. In your youth, you’d just faked it for partners once you’d had your fill. With Homelander, you’re not even sure that would work. You’re not sure you would want it to.

He’s got a thing about lies, even little white ones.

You swallow and softly say, “Yes.” Ultimately, you do want him to have you. You just hope that what he gets doesn’t disappoint him.

He smiles into the crook of your neck, withdrawing his hand from beneath your shirt. He kisses you as he gathers you effortlessly up into his arms, carrying you to his bedroom. His strength is another aspect of why sex has made you nervous: the internet is full of horror stories of accidental sexual mutilation occurring between humans and supes. 

However, Homelander seems hyper aware of your fragility versus his power. He’s never harmed you. It seems to come naturally to him after years and years of navigating a world not made to withstand him. In the same way you’re capable of handling an egg without shattering it, he has learned how to hold you.

He lays you down on the bed, and then begins the ritual of shedding his signature suit, starting with his belt. You recline, content to watch him, but your gaze seems to make him uncharacteristically self conscious. You’ve never seen him without his suit before, another little quirk that you’ve largely just accepted to this point.

“Aren’t you gonna…” He gestures vaguely to you, expecting you to undress as well.

“Just enjoying the show,” you say coyly, attempting to lighten up a bit of the tension in his expression.

It doesn’t work. The furrow of his brows deepens slightly. “Ah, well. Y’know, the suit, they uh, pad it up some, so don’t–it’s different,” he says, fumbling over his words.

Your expression softens. “I know. It’s okay. I’m excited to see you,” you say, sitting up. In solidarity, you pull your shirt off first, and then wiggle out of your pants, kicking them off the bed. Homelander smiles at this, and works his pants off the rest of the way, kicking off his boots as well, leaving behind just a pair of dark red briefs. You sit up on your knees to help him with the fastenings of his suit top, which he seems to be the most apprehensive about.

To distract him from it, you kiss him. He melts eagerly into the press of your lips, slipping his tongue between yours with that same hunger to taste, to feel, to have. He’s bolder now that you’re no longer playing the part of spectator, shrugging his top from his shoulders and letting it fall with a surprisingly heavy thud to the floor. His ungloved hands skim up your sides, warm and positively thrumming with excitement.

You explore him as well, mapping out the slopes of his body that have previously been hidden from you. He’s leaner, more manageable than the ridiculous bulk of the suit. Part of you had always assumed there was a level of exaggeration in the chiseled, over the top musculature of the suit, but his build is still more slender than you expected. Regardless, it does nothing to detract from his raw strength as he catches you by the backs of your thighs and flips you onto your back, startling out a giddy bark of laughter from you.

He grins down at you, descending to catch you in another slow, consuming kiss, making space for himself between your legs. His lips trail from yours to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck. He turns his head to messily suck two fingers into his mouth, and then slips his hand down the front of your underwear. He finds your clit with surprising precision–someone definitely taught him that–and begins to rub slow figure-eights over it, as gentle as he is deft. It does feel good, so you close your eyes and try to simply enjoy it for what it is, for the touch and warmth and intimacy of it all.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t come. This is still nice. You can feel his desire for you in the heat of his body, in the hot huffs of his breath wafting across your skin between kisses. He eventually slips a single finger inside you, patiently working you open. You drag your nails up his back and into his hair, breathing deeply, willing your mind to pause and let you experience this pleasantry in the same way you would a hot bath or a nice massage.

However, no matter how you try, the looming matter of expectation weighs heavily on your mind. You’ve never been comfortable with the attention being solely on your pleasure: it feels like dangling a treat in front of someone on a treadmill. They’re running for something they’ll never reach.

“Hey,” Homelander calls quietly, yanking you from your mental downward spiral. You see him above you, no longer tucked against you, working your skin with his lips and teeth. His brows are slightly furrowed. “You’re quiet. Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” you exhale, the question immediately putting a wash of guilt through you. “No, not at all, feels good. I’m just really in my head right now,” you admit, cupping either side of his face. “You’re doing great, I’m ready. I want you inside me,” you tell him in a breathless flurry, pulling him down into a kiss. 

He does relax at that, sinking in against you for a moment before lifting himself back up. He shucks his underwear down and then pulls yours off as well, lifting both of your legs over his shoulder as he slips the panties completely off of you. While he does that, you unclasp and toss your bra aside. He turns his head to kiss the side of your leg before he lowers them both back down around his waist, lowering himself back down atop you.

The thick head of his cock presses wetly to your cunt, sliding up and down, spreading his slick and yours. You can already feel his excitement in the tension of his body, his shoulders drawn tight beneath your hands. You knead them, rolling your palms against steel-woven muscle. “That’s it,” you encourage, working to relax the both of you. “Nice and slow, mmm… Fuck, you’re big,” you say, biting your lip as he spreads you around the girth of his cock.

“You’re tight,” he moans in response, already sounding frayed. He moves his hips in slow, slightly jerky motions–clearly holding back for your comfort–until he finally bottoms out, keening so sweetly in your ear you can’t help but stroke his hair, hushing him.

“Good, good, feel so good in me,” you coo, the words a familiar script. He shudders for the praise, kissing down your chest, mouthing hungrily at your breast, the same he’d been fondling earlier. His mouth is hot and wet, perfectly pleasant as he sucks at your nipple, moaning into your skin. You cradle his head in both hands, adjusting to the onslaught of sensation. 

It’s been awhile since anyone fucked you. The feel of it is just as alien as you remember, but you’re distracted by the persistent swirl of his tongue alternating with the pull of his lips as he lavishes attention on one breast, and then the other. With his bare skin against yours, you’re more aware than ever of the superhuman frequency of his body, how he seems to literally vibrate with restraint and eagerness in equal measure. It’s like there is a line of semi trucks driving by you, the bed itself buzzing with it.

“You’re amazing,” you marvel quietly, tightening your legs on either side of him to feel that preternatural hum against even more of your skin, tingling your inner thighs. “You feel amazing.”

He grunts out a needy, strained noise at that, followed by a jagged thrust deep into you. To your surprise, you realize then that he’s coming apart, dull nails biting crescent marks into your skin, clutching you as tightly as he dare allow himself. You thought that maybe his powers would give him superhuman stamina as well, that he might fuck you raw before he came, but if the shaky cadence of his thrusts are any indication, he’s already holding himself back.

“I can feel how bad you wanna come,” you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair. “Mm? You can, you can come in me,” you say, feeling his whole body shiver from your words. You clench, tightening up around his cock so suddenly that it makes him gasp.

“Fffuck, fuck, oh god, y’can’t–fucking Christ, you–mmm, fuck!” He rasps, choking on his own breath as he comes, burying his face between your breasts at the same time he slams in deep, fading into tight, erotic little whimpers as he loses himself to the rhythmic clench of your cunt. You do it purposefully, milking him of his orgasm, enamored with how thoroughly you’ve reduced a demigod to these simpering noises. The flood of come is hot inside you, already dripping out where your bodies are connected.

All that, and he still never lost control. You doubt his fingerprints will even bruise, though you find a part of yourself wishing they would. 

Homelander comes down gradually from his high, limp against you, breathing shallowly against your skin. He looks dazed, eyes only half open. It’s cute, which isn’t a word you necessarily would have ever thought to associate with The Homelander before you started dating him. When he looks up at you, you smile, already more satisfied than you’ve been with sex in your life.

“That was playing dirty,” he tells you, voice a touch fried.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you respond simply, watching as he nuzzles into your hand.

He rumbles out a low hum, kissing your palm. “Which means it’s my turn to make you feel good,” he says, moving to slide out of your hands. You stop him, taking hold of his arm.

“You don’t need to,” you assure him, tugging gently to lure him back up. “Really. That felt incredible.”

He frowns, looking every bit like a confused puppy. “But you didn’t come.”

“I know,” you say, that ball of tightness coiling back up in your gut. “It’s okay.”

He exhales an incredulous little scoff. “What kind of boyfriend d’you take me for? I’m gonna make you come,” he says, shrugging off your hand as he moves down your body, sliding out of you.

“Homelander,” you implore, reaching out for him. “Really, it’s okay, you don’t need to–”

“What, you don’t think I can?” He asks. You can see the challenge in his eyes, but you also recognize the potential of a stinging wound to his ego in those words.

You sigh, folding your arm over your eyes as you lay your head back. “It’s not that I don’t think you specifically can, I’m… Eugh.” You take a deep breath. “It’s not something that I do. I can’t. I’ve never been able to,” you say to the darkness of your arm, fingers rolling apprehensively. “And I don’t want you to take this as some kind of challenge, and then be upset when it doesn’t happen,” you say, speaking from very specific experience.

The space between you is silent for long enough that your curiosity beats out your apprehension, and you lower your arm. Homelander stares at you from between your legs, expression pinched, eyes flickering slightly, as if he’s solving the world’s most complicated puzzle in his brain. His eyes narrow softly, his bewilderment showing.

“Like… You haven’t come… Ever?”

“Ever,” you confirm. “It’s not that I haven’t tried, there’s just something broken.”

He processes that a moment longer. “But all of this still felt good, at least… Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it did, I liked it. You really do feel amazing,” you assure him, lest he think you were lying with what you said earlier. “It just never finishes for me. That’s all.”

“Alright,” he says, the gears in his brain clearly turning. “So. Sure, no crossing the finish line, but I can still, y’know. Take you for a cruise? A little joyride?” He asks, making you laugh softly.

He really is cute. Sweeter than one might expect, too.

“A joyride?” You echo with a quirk of your brow, smiling.

He smiles, too. “Yeah. No destination, just a little drive.”

“I can do a little drive,” you say, feeling that knot of tension in your gut begin to untangle itself.

“Good,” he purrs, shouldering down between your legs. “Gimme that pillow,” he says, which you promptly do. He slides it under your ass, adjusting your hips until the angle is just right. He smooths his hands up and down the outsides of your thighs, glancing up at you. “Now, you just sit back and relax. Close your eyes, and imagine some smooth jazz.”

“I hate jazz,” you laugh.

He laughs as well, breath rolling over your wet pussy in hot waves. “Well, fuck, imagine something you do like.”

Relaxing back against the bed, you exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes. The first wet, hot slide of his tongue makes you jump a little. He responds by gripping your thighs and pinning you still, which does admittedly run a little thrill up your spine. You test his grip by pushing against it, and when that fails, pulling away, but neither grant you any leeway.

“Squirming already?” He asks between drags of his tongue.

“I like feeling your strength,” you say through a pleased little smile.

He gives an intrigued hum at that and spreads your legs wider, forcing them down against the bed. To even your surprise, that pushes a small, thin noise out of you. Encouraged, he presses his tongue inside, lapping up the mess he made inside you. It feels fine enough, but after a bit of his tongue pushing in and out of you, you give his hair a little tug. “Clit,” you say simply, a command he happily obliges, drawing back up to suck your clit between his lips.

Without the looming pressure to achieve some kind of euphoric release at the end, you find yourself more capable of simply enjoying this for what it is. Homelander is good at this, but it’s really his persistence that elevates the experience. At no point do you feel him begin to waver or slow, or shift and breathe in impatience. He’s relentlessly consistent, swirling his tongue and lapping at you like he’s starved for the taste.

You sigh, idly scratching his scalp as you toy with his hair. “Mmm, that feels good,” you say, more aware of the effect your praises have on him. He makes an appreciative noise, nuzzling into your cunt. One odd thing is that your clit is starting to ache in a way you’re unfamiliar with. You shift back a touch, but Homelander pulls you right back in.

“Greedy,” you accuse, which draws a low laugh from him, the rumble of it making you shiver a little. You must be growing oversensitized. You’ve lost track of how long he’s been at this.

He pulls back, and the cool air almost stings for the loss of his hot mouth, but that ache was beginning to grow uncomfortable anyways. You’re just about to thank him for his service when a whole new sensation steals the words right off your tongue. You don’t even know how to describe it: hot, pressure, but weightless. Your whole body jerks, but Homelander keeps you still, forces you to endure whatever the fuck it is he’s doing now.

“Wh-what the fuck is that?” Watching him, comprehension dawns; he’s blowing on your clit, lips pursed, forcing out a concentrated stream of warm, almost hot air that has your thighs quivering in his grasp. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, equal parts bewildered and overwhelmed. You try to close your knees, but once again, his hold is completely unrelenting, keeping them spread wide. Immediately that same ache is skyrocketing back up, spreading tightness low in your belly.

“Hold on,” you groan, gripping his hair tighter. You expect it to end before too long, for him to at least need to inhale, but beyond all logic and reason, he just keeps going. The heat of it is surreal, the weightless pressure of it constant. Your toes curl, heels digging into the bed while every muscle in your body starts to lock up.

Homelander’s gaze flickers up to meet yours, nothing pure wicked delight in his eyes. Just as suddenly, he descends upon you, tongue feeling hotter and wetter than ever as he dotes on your clit with it, focusing it with alarming precision. The abrupt change in sensation makes you thrash, stumbling over a stream of nonsense as you pull at his hair, that aching tightness now so prominent that you can hardly take in a breath.

“That’s enough, that’s–fuck, Homelander, it’s too much, it’s too much, s-stop, s–” your pleas erupt into a gasp because he’s focusing that stream of air right back on you again, the feel of it so surreal, so indescribable that your brain can hardly function around it. Your eyes roll back, you writhe, but he’s so much stronger than you’d ever really wrapped your mind around. He’s entirely unyielding in a way he’s never felt in your arms, against your body on the couch. He’s more inhuman than he’s ever been, and it’s driving you wild. 

Tears gather in your eyes. This  assault of sensation walks the knife’s edge of pain, but never quite falls over it. Your whole body is throbbing, and you feel like you’re going to fucking explode. He twists that knife by taking you again with his tongue, swirling and slick in contrast to the dry pressure of his breath.

“H-Homelander, Homelander, please, I’m–I’m–fuck!”

The world turns white, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You hear yourself make a strained noise you’ve never heard before, but it might as well not even be you. You’re somewhere outside of your own body, floating in a torrent of indescribable sensory input that is so alien to you, you don’t even feel real anymore. Homelander isn’t holding you still anymore, but you can still feel him slowly lapping at your throbbing clit, watching you through foggy eyes as he licks you through your first orgasm, no doubt tasting and smelling the endorphins that flood your body.

Every single taut muscle in your body snaps like the strings of a marionette, leaving you to collapse limply on the bed, panting through it as your soul gradually descends back down into your body. Blissfully, Homelander ceases his torment and joins you, laying sideways with his head propped up in his palm while his other hand rests on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper eventually.

“Please, you can still call me Homelander,” he says, sounding just as smug as one would expect him to be after such an accomplishment. If you had any power whatsoever left in your lifeless arm, you’d smack him. However, he quickly makes up for it by drawing you gently into his arms, kissing your forehead. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” you say, more malleable than ever as he adjusts you both beneath the blankets. “I thought I was going to die.” It’s only a slight hyperbole.

Homelander laughs softly, beaming at you with pink cheeks and a sly, delighted little smile. “See? Nothing’s broken,” he murmurs at your ear, catching you off guard. That had been such an offhand remark, you didn’t expect to hear it come back around.

“What if I hadn’t? What if all that, and nothing happened?” You ask, adjusting slightly while he entangles his limbs with yours, bodies slotting together like jigsaw pieces. You’re both jagged in all the right ways, fitting nicely together.

He gives a small shrug, stroking his knuckles up and down your spine. “Still would’a been a hell of a ride. Not everything has to be finished to be good.”

Slowly, you smile. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Loving Homelander isn’t always easy or good. There are times when he makes it hard, and there are times when you make it hard, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in this lifetime, nothing worth doing is ever easy. Love may start as an incidental thing, a passion that ignites as readily as tinder, but the upkeep of it is more like pottery. It’s messy, and even once you get the shape of it right, you don’t always know how it will react to the heat necessary to give it solid form. It can be broken, it can be fixed, it can even be remade, but never is one the same as the last.

Still, even when it hurts, when it’s frustrating, when it doesn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, the euphoria of creating something so beautiful keeps you coming back to it. When the same love that burns you can also warm you against the cold, coat your throat like honey, and fill your night sky with stars to guide your way in darkness, it becomes impossible to let go of.

To love something is to heal it. Everything that is loved is beautiful, even things that are unsightly, unfinished, unappealing. Even things that are broken.

Finally, you think you understand why Stuart never finished his original painting.

He loved it precisely as it was.

[a-word-a-day-for-writers]

𝐀𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐞𝐮𝐦

ath-uh-NEE-uhm

1. Ge. Antiq. The temple of Athene in ancient Athens, in which professors taught their students, and orators and poets rehearsed their compositions (Similar institutions, with the same name, were afterwards established at Rome and Lyons.) 

2. In modern times used as a title for:

a. An association of persons interested in scientific and literary pursuits, meeting for the purpose of mutual improvement; a literary or scientific club 

b. A building or institution in which books, periodicals, and newspapers are provided for use; a literary club-room, reading-room, library. Esp. the Athenaeum Club in London. 

c. A periodical devoted to the interests of literature, science, and art, e.g. The Athenaeum, published in London

[thethirdromana]

As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop.

Brace yourselves, I'm about to provide way too much detail on literally one word of this entry.

A "Pop" was a popular classical music concert; specifically, part of a series held at St James's Hall. I suppose the word "Pop" might have been used by other places? But the concert series at St James's Hall was very well known and well established, so I think it's fair to assume that's what Lucy is referring to.

St James's Hall was located between Regent St and Piccadilly where the Dilly Hotel now stands. It opened in 1858 and was demolished in 1905.

The first two images are sketches of the hall when it opened in 1858; the final image is a photo from 1885. You'll notice that it's next door to the Aerated Bread Company; here's their menu.

Apparently the interior is in the style of the Alhambra, but it's a bit hard to tell.

Pops were chamber concerts, held on Monday evenings and Saturday afternoons. Tickets started at a shilling each (source, p139), which was affordable for anyone on a middle-class salary (it's about a week's coal bill for a poor family). I'd assume Lucy and Arthur paid more for better seats.

At the Pop reviewed by Werner's magazine in 1893, the programme was:

Schubert, String Quartet in A minor, op. 29

Brahms... I have no idea what the convention is when there are slurs in the titles of classical music? Let's call them Brahms' folk songs, op. 103

Beethoven, Sonata in C minor, op 111

Schumann, Quartet in F flat, op. 47

Henschel, Five Quarters, op. 51

A less detailed review in the Athenaeum (here, p477) suggests that this was a reasonably typical programme.

I had assumed that a Pop would be all crowd-pleasers, given the name and pricing, but I asked a musician friend for his thoughts (since I'm not qualified to judge) and he says it's not; the programme above is highbrow and relatively abstruse, and it was performed by notable musicians.

I don't know how much this actually tells us about Lucy and Arthur's taste in music. But since we don't have much else to go on, I'm going to headcanon it as a genuine enthusiasm that they share.

[esoteric-chaos]

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Green: Rexxentrum Learn about crystals, herbs, animals, and other natural correspondences in magic! Herbs and crystals are sorted alphabetically, and animals are sorted taxonomically.

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Purple: Arcadia Learn about reincarnation, the journey of souls in the afterlife, cosmic witchcraft and astrology, dreams, the astral, and both basic and advanced energetics.

Black: Bacchanal (18+) Chat with other adult practitioners; we will discuss adult things of all kinds, witchcraft and otherwise. Here you can also learn age-restricted magic and practical psychology. This server is age locked and you will only be allowed in once you are no longer a minor. This is not negotiable for your safety and ours.

We have over 1000 channels across our server network, filled to the brim with information. Join our community if you are interested < 3 Dishboard Link and blurb: "The Cobalt Athenaeum is a Witchcraft and Spirituality information database server network linked through this social server. The Information provided is from witches who have been researching and practicing for years and mods here have a combined experience of 100+ years.

We wanted a place for witches of all skill levels to have access to good and reliable information. We also have submissions for those who have information of their own to contribute. We're always adding new info so If there is something that we don't have added yet and you'd like more information on, let us know and we will do our best to get that information out. We also have a study corner for those who want to listen to music or talk while they study and sift through all of our channels in our sister-servers!

We have live readings for those who want to practice their divination skills, and workshop classes led by mods and admins who are experienced in that given field.

Our Sister Servers contain the following information:

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History/Science/Folklore

Astrology/Energy work

Magic and Witchcraft

an 18+ server for shenanigans and debauchery Within our server network we have over 1,000 information channels to choose from; you're bound to learn something new every time you take a look around!"

Discord Link:

[letters-from-dekarios]

Gale;

By the time this letter arrives in Waterdeep I will have already departed from Candlekeep. I have found several tomes relevant to your interests and have copied what I can, though given my inability to withdraw books from the athenaeum it may be wise for you to visit yourself.

We should return together, when you are free of your students.

You may tell Tara to stand down - I have been informed that my good friend Arnold the Dog already has an owner, and that if I try to smuggle him out of the city again neither you or I would be permitted entry in future.

Be grateful I prefer you to the dog.

To say that I have missed you would be an understatement. These few tendays I have spent within the library have been the longest I can remember.

I remain unsure that my research will be seen as adequate. I do not doubt your faith in me my love, though I am forever uncertain about what the world may think of an academic Bhaalspawn. I fear that you may be the only learned man who forgives me my lineage, and though I am not surprised I am…

Distraug-

Devast-

Disappointed.

We will be passing through Baldur’s Gate soon enough, I will give Jaheira your best. It will be strange to see the city without you beside me.

With all the love I have to give;

Dreuer.

P.S. if you try to trick me into using a filing system again I will start moving the bookmarks around in your books when you aren’t looking.

P.P.S. i look forward to seeing what part of you you inadvertently dyed purple. I have several ideas, none of them suitable to be committed to ink and parchment.

Loveliest Dreuer,

It pleases me greatly that you were able to find such information. Even the smallest of copied words is enough to begin another journey in my studies. I am sure it is plenty to begin with and will provide a good starting point to search for more if I ever have the chance to visit myself.

Once the summer sun rises and the students have taken their break, perhaps we can make the journey. I still have much to do, and much to prepare, but I can never pass down an adventure for the literary arts.

Tara will be pleased to know this! However, I have several questions as to how exactly you found out Arnold had an owner. If you risk my chance to visit the Athenaeum, I shall be thoroughly disappointed.

I have missed you greatly so, my love. The longer I spend within my books without your embrace, the more weary I become. Though I know you are safe, I only wish to be by your side.

Trust when I say that your lineage is likely the least surprising thing any academic society could come across! They simply judge others for where they cannot judge themselves. I understand your perception of it is and will forever be worlds different than my own, but you truly have nothing to become anxious over. I know you may hate that I would do so, for pride or ego, but I would use my name in a heartbeat if anyone attempted to discredit your research. I know, as well as any other person, how much effort you’ve put into this- if that doesn’t change the minds of even the most heartless, I’m not sure what will.

What matters the most is not what others think, my love, but what you think. Be satisfied with your works, and be joyous in your research. Only you can pave your path forward to academic achievements- and I know you well enough to have full confidence that you will accomplish all you set your heart to.

I’ll send coin for you to use within the city. I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Buy Jaheira a drink, or yourself something if you’d like. I have gone too long without spoiling you since you’ve been away, allow me to make up for it even in such a small dose.

The heart that belongs to only you,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

P.S. If you even think of moving my bookmarks I will force the Netherese orb back into my body and use it. [ there is a small angry face drawn next to the text to convey that he is joking. probably. ]

P.P.S. Now I am going to lock you out of the tower until it returns to normal. I shall also solely blame this on you for not letting me label things. This is why we need the filing system.

[ there is an half-inked feline paw-print stamped at the corner of the page, some small splashes of ink surrounding it, indicating Tara was very much a part of the process in writing the letter. ]

text reads: gale dekarios

[fictional-library-tournament]

Polls masterlists

Prelims round 1

Four polls a day, each open for a day. This post will provide links to them and also give their status. If I've got my timings right, the last of these should end midnight GMT on the 9th December.

Poll 1 completed!

Winner: Junior Woodchucks Guidebook, Guardians of the Lost Library by Don Rosa

Poll 2 completed!

Winner: Endless Athenaeum, Critical Role – Campaign 1: Vox Machina

Poll 3 completed!

Winner: Noumenon, Final Fantasy XIV

Poll 4 completed!

Winner: Kiersau Abbey Library, Pentiment

Poll 5 completed!

Winner: Neo-Gotham Public Library, Batman Beyond

Poll 6 completed!

Winner: Downing Hill Public Library, Hello from the Hallowoods by William A Wellman

Poll 7 completed!

Winner: Mrs Phelps' library, Matilda by Roald Dahl

Poll 8 completed!

Winner: Sazed's Copperminds, Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Poll 9 completed!

Winner: ART's archives, The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

Poll 10 completed!

Winner: Bag End library, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien

Poll 11 completed!

Winner: Sunai, The Archive Undying by Emma Mieko Cando

Poll 12 completed!

Winner: Merlin's Library, The Magic Tree House series by Mary Pope Osborne

Poll 13 completed!

Winner: The Scholomance Library, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

Poll 14 completed!

Winner: The Thunderhead, Arc of a Scythe by Neal Shusterman

Poll 15 completed!

Winner: The Black Archives, Doctor Who

Poll 16 completed!

Winner: Vault of Knowledge, Sky: Children of the Light

Poll 17 completed!

Winner: SCP-4001 "Alexandria Eternal", SCP Foundation

Poll 18 completed!

Winner: Death's library, The Discworld series by Terry Pratchett

Poll 19 completed!

Winner: The Lines Between, Dimension 20: Neverafter

Poll 20 completed!

Winner: Justice Strauss' library, A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket

Poll 21 completed!

Winners: The Library, Clue/Cluedo; The Incorruptible Republic of the Immortal Library of the Grand Architect (aka The Incorruptible Library), Girl Genius

[loominggaia]

Is there a reason Disgrace seems so determined to hunt down Karenza, even before she earned her title as the Divine of Love?

"Lost Scriptures of Love and Light" has a little insight on this, but I'll go into more detail below.

(Possible spoilers ahead?)

There is evidence to suggest that Mankind's Disgrace might actually be Darshaan, the man Karenza fell in love with during her mortal years.

Darshaan loved Karenza dearly. He was a mercenary who constantly threw himself into danger to provide a happy life for her. When she became pregnant with his child, he grew desperate for more gold so that their child would not have to grow up destitute and miserable like he did.

One day, Darshaan heard of a great treasure lying inside a cursed cave, guarded by foul monsters. Karenza begged him no to go, but he was determined to claim this treasure and escape poverty once and for all. He went into that cave and never returned.

Or did he?

Not long after Darshaan disappeared, a crazed man in a golden mask broke into her home, murdering her and her unborn child. He then went on to slaughter most of their village before disappearing into the wilderness. His identity and motives were unknown.

Long story short, Karenza resurrected and returned to the place of her death to find clues. She found only the remains of her unborn child. These bones were one of the ingredients she used to forge Isaac, along with her own hair and blood, as well as a drop of Darshaan's blood, which he gave to her in a locket before he disappeared.

So, what about the masked man? He kept popping up in various places throughout the Serkel Desert region, causing terror and amassing a monstrous army. When he learned Karenza was still alive, he once again tried to kill her. But she had grown stronger by then and managed to defend herself. He has been relentlessly chasing her ever since.

But why? What does he want from her? In truth, no one really knows. There are only theories:

A ) There are many eye-witness accounts of Disgrace seemingly "fighting" with his mask, attacking it and trying to pull it off. Some believe the mask itself is a parasitic creature that has taken control of its host, but on occasion this host finds strength to fight back. If the host really is Darshaan, and the mask really is the source of his wicked behavior, then his relentless pursuit of Karenza might be Darshaan trying to reunite with her, while his violence against her is the result of his cursed mask.

B ) Karenza's Order of Love and Light is a faction that spreads love, beauty, and good deeds across the world. They follow Karenza's scriptures by easing the world's misery and trying to make it a better place. Misery is Disgrace's bread and butter; it's literally how he feeds. So, by destroying Karenza, he can dismantle the Order of Love and Light, make the world merciless, and become more powerful than ever. Karenza has always been the biggest obstacle between him and world domination. Many believe he is trying to destroy Karenza with the Divine Executioner so he can rule the world and basically turn it into Hell.

C ) Perhaps Disgrace's mask is feeding on Darshaan's misery by forcing him to terrorize the person he loves most for all eternity.

D ) It's possible that Disgrace is not Darshaan, but some other entity who has beef with Karenza. Some think he is actually the ancient king of Alqamah, who imprisoned Karenza in her mortal life. She later returned to him as a divine and killed him. This king could have been a divine himself, resurrected and corrupted by a thirst for vengeance against her.

Destiny was one of the few World Athenaeum researchers brave enough to study Disgrace and his motives, and, well...we all know what happened to her.

It looks like the world will just have to wait a while longer before the truth is revealed!

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[costarringyourlocallibrary]

The interior of the Providence Athenaeum (Providence, RI) in Woody Allen’s Irrational Man (2015). (Identified in the film as “Braylin College Library.”)

[templeofdionysus]

Beyond nonprofits like ours with plans to buy land and open temples - there are some modern buildings that you can go to. Museums are Temple of the Muses and the word Athenaeum- which are often private libraries- literally translates to “Temple of Athena”

Then of course there are places like the “Temple of Music” in Providence, RI and the Parthenon in TN.

The truth is tho that the Gods are everywhere we are and you don’t need to find a temple to find the Gods, although it would be nice.

i can't stop making these

[athenaeumscientificpublishers]

Explore Cutting-Edge Studies in Journal of Pediatric Advance Research by Athenaeum Scientific Publishers

In today’s world, the field of pediatrics is evolving rapidly, with researchers constantly uncovering new insights into the care, treatment, and health outcomes for children. A major contributor to this knowledge is the Journal of Pediatric Advance Research published by Athenaeum Scientific Publishers. This journal is dedicated to advancing the field of pediatric research through high-quality, peer-reviewed articles that shed light on various medical, clinical, and healthcare-related topics specifically related to children's health.

What is the Journal of Pediatric Advance Research?

The Journal of Pediatric Advance Research is an esteemed publication that aims to provide healthcare professionals, researchers, and practitioners with the latest advancements in pediatric science. This journal covers a wide range of topics, including pediatric diseases, developmental stages, and innovative treatments. It is widely recognized for its dedication to improving the health and well-being of children around the world.

The journal publishes articles in various formats, including original research papers, reviews, case studies, and clinical guidelines. With contributions from global experts, it is an essential resource for anyone involved in pediatric healthcare and research.

Why Choose Athenaeum Scientific Publishers for Pediatric Research?

Athenaeum Scientific Publishers is known for its commitment to excellence in the scientific publishing world. Their Journal of Pediatric Advance Research is just one example of how they contribute to the medical community’s growth and understanding. Athenaeum’s editorial standards are second to none, ensuring that every publication is of the highest quality. Their peer-review process is rigorous, offering credibility and integrity to the research they publish.

Moreover, Athenaeum Scientific Publishers offers a platform for both new and established researchers to share their findings with a global audience, furthering the development of pediatric medicine and improving healthcare practices worldwide.

Conclusion

The Journal of Pediatric Advance Research by Athenaeum Scientific Publishers stands as a leading source for the latest innovations in pediatric healthcare. Whether you're a researcher, healthcare provider, or simply someone interested in the field of pediatric care, this journal is a must-read. With cutting-edge research and expert insights, it is helping to shape the future of pediatric health worldwide.

[3thurs]

Third Thursday events and exhibitions for October 17

The next Third Thursday — the monthly evening of art in Athens, Georgia — is scheduled for Thursday, October 17, from 6 to 9 p.m. All exhibitions are free and open to the public. This schedule and each venue’s location and hours of operation are available at 3thurs.org.

Georgia Museum of Art, University of Georgia

Artist Talk: Atlanta photographer Tokie Rome-Taylor, 5:30 p.m. — This program is presented in conjunction with an installation of Rome-Taylor’s work on view in the museum’s permanent collection galleries.

Yoga in the Galleries, 6 p.m. — This free yoga class surrounded by works of art in the galleries is led by instructors from Five Points Yoga and open to both beginner and experienced yogis. Sanitized mats are provided. Space is limited and spots are available on a first-come, first-served basis; tickets are available at the front desk starting at 5:15 p.m.

On view:

“Mind the Gap: Selections from the Permanent Collection” — Each work in this exhibition represents a snapshot of human experience preserved for future generations. Each connects us to the past while pointing toward the future. 

“Joel Sternfeld: When It Changed” — Joel Sternfeld’s photographs of the 2005 United Nations Climate Change Conference 

“The Artist as Witness” — Works from the museum’s permanent collection that respond visually to the exhibition “Joel Sternfeld: When It Changed”

“In Dialogue: On Wonder and Witnessing at Tallulah Falls” — 19th-century landscapes of Tallulah Falls and contemporary photographs of the area by Caitlin Peterson, illuminating the contradictions involved in marking off natural wonders and the paradoxes of witnessing nature. 

“Waffle House Vistas” — Photographs by Micah Cash taken from inside Waffle House restaurants, plus a newly commissioned time-based work.

“Saint Petersburg as Franz Liszt Saw It” — Organized in conjunction with the Liszt Festival at the University of Georgia’s Hugh Hodgson School of Music in October 2024, this exhibition features works on paper that show Russia at the time of Franz Liszt’s visits there in the 1840s.

“A Perfect Model: Prints after Anthony van Dyck’s Portraits” — Prints that attest to Anthony Van Dyck’s lasting impact as printmaker and portraitist.

Permanent collection: A wide range of the museum’s permanent collection is always on view, featuring painting, sculpture, works on paper and decorative arts from the Renaissance to contemporary periods.

The museum’s days of operation are Tuesday – Sunday. Reserve a free ticket and see our policies at https://georgiamuseum.org/visit/.

ATHICA: Athens Institute for Contemporary Art

ATHICA@675 Pulaski St., Suite 1200:

“COMPULSION: 2024 Juried Exhibition” — Featuring contemporary art in all media from all over the country and beyond. 4 – 8 p.m.

ATHICA@CINÉ Gallery:

“Garden of Dreams: Photographs by Austin Emerson” — Darkroom-based alchemical images.

Lyndon House Arts Center

"Inspired: Artworks by Students of the Clarke County School District” — This year's CCSD student art exhibition biennial features artworks by students inspired by Athens artists and creatives.

Ahndhi Stitcha’s VHS tape collection in the Community Collections case

“Art in a Bottle: Leonard Piha” — Local artist creates small sculptures inside glass bottles.

tiny ATH gallery

“Disposable Society: Adam Void” — Art by a multidisciplinary creator from Black Mountain, North Carolina, inspired by the devastation of Hurricane Helene.

The Athenaeum

“Fission or, Eclipse” — New York-based artist Rose Salane uses seemingly mundane objects to explicate systems of evaluation, exchange and organization that shape daily life, arranging collected items of disparate origin from personal and bureaucratic archives to better understand historic cycles through an object’s recovery and storage.

ACE/FRANCISCO Gallery

"Murmur Trestle: Photographs by Jason Thrasher” —Thrasher spent six years focusing his lens on an immersive exploration of the R.E.M. Murmur Trestle, photographing it within its changing natural environment.

“Grit Portraits: Paintings by Tobiah Cole” — Paintings of some of the artist’s friends from his many years at the Grit, a beloved restaurant formerly on Prince Avenue in Athens. A limited-edition fine art print of one of Cole's landscape paintings made in Maine will be available for purchase.

The Classic Center

“Legendary Georgia Musicians in Watercolor” — Jackie Dorsey’s homage to musicians who have called Georgia their home. 

“Linnentown Then and Now: The Johnsons” — Portraits by Caroline Ford Coleman.

—

Third Thursday was established in 2012 to encourage attendance at Athens’ established art venues through coordination and co-promotion by the organizing entities. 

Contact: Michael Lachowski, Georgia Museum of Art, mlachow@uga.edu.

[skelezomperman]

A doorman opens the door for you as you take off your hat and dusts off your coat. "Tough weather, Sir?" he asks politely.

You nod, and step inside. The gentlemen's club is warm, at least. Maybe you can even have a small meal here and go for a second when you get home. You like seeing gas lamps already lit. In 1875, the world is advancing in technology and your buzzing city sees more people moving in, mostly with money. The doorman sees that you take a pause, and he casually waits for you to hand your coat and hat, and probably a five-shilling tip if you feel generous enough this afternoon.

"You must forgive me, I tried my best but these lords are a bit special," the doorman signals for you to come closer. Of course. You forgot that modern-day frontliners like him are observant, and they like a good gossip too sometimes. You smile politely, unsure what to make of it. You come for tea and probably sandwiches, and to be undisturbed reading books. You just got hired as an assistant professor in Oxford. London is expensive, and you like to make the most of your money, including a gentlemen's club membership. This place has a good library and very updated with journals. The Athenaeum, which has a splendid art gallery, is just nearby. "If you could, perhaps you could lend a helping hand..."

You frown. The situation seems chaotic. You just want your books, but perhaps help stilling this place will benefit you too.

You can see Sir Finn and Lord Elliot bickering at the corner. You recognized Sir Finn as the university donor's retainer, and despite his lips sealed tight, you just know his patience is thinning worse than an old man's hair. "I know you're a coward," you hear Lord Elliot say. "You think posing as a good villager like that will land her in your arms? What if I knock you out right here so you have a good sleep to reconsider?" Sir Finn begins to loosen his cravat. Lord Elliot isn't alone.

"One more! One more, for I won't let you be back just yet!" you hear Lord Chalphy yelling. Lord Nordion looks visibly agitated because he glances at his pocket watch for the third time during your one minute span of arrival there, but Lord Chalphy seems to just like arm-wrestling.

"If only you are an inch as good as your wife," Lord Travant sneers, not too quiet to escape your ears. "Too bad she has a bad taste because she married you." It is impossible not to recognize Lord Leonster from afar. You have met him at school, anyway.

"Gentlemen, I would like to read. Should you linger around much longer, I will have to eradicate you." Lord Velthomer and his neatly-combed red hair shine under the lamp. He's surrounded by people, crowded enough for a reading. You can sympathize with him because you have a good feeling your reading today will not be as peaceful.

"Is nobody going to take on me?" you hear Lord Silesse speak, a pack of cards in his hands. "Really. All you people knights and lords of a standing, fear tiny little cards?" it is a tarot deck. For a moment your eyes meet his, and he seems to be hopeful you would want to have your secrets read.

"What do you mean I cannot take my fiancee here?" Sir Glade, visibly upset, speaks louder at the doorman. "It's raining, chap, and what sanctuary of men this place makes if one can't even provide a good shelter for his love?"

"My good sir, might you help with our homework?" two boys pull on your vest. You nearly gasp because that startles you. One has auburn hair, one raven. They look quite eager, but the auburn boy seems a bit nervous. "The messieurs over there are noisy and can't stop fighting." You have never tutored people one on one before, let alone boys, who look like they haven't even hit the age of puberty yet. They shrink at the corner of the room, far from the shelves and cabinets where the books and journals you come here for.

"Say, isn't it too... colorless in this place?" uninvited, Sir Alec casually wraps his arm around your shoulders. "I tell you what, chap -- we abandon this place like a sinking ship and go see the art gallery. I have eyes for beauty..." he winks at you, and hovers closer. "I heard the charming Lady Deirdre is having an open house event as she just moved here last week. I'd like to see the rumored ethereal beauty myself."

"Hey!" before you respond, you see Sir Arden waving at you. "Would any gent give me a helping hand with this one? My lord's phaeton got stuck in the pavement." You watch as he tries to unseat Lord Chalphy's unfortunate carriage from the cleft which caught its wheels. Sir Arden looks tough, but two people may make his job easier.

You shake your head. Perhaps you should get your tea first, but Messieurs Noish and Beowulf stand in front of the kettle and stove, chatting like really good friends, and you wonder if you should interrupt. Chairs are occupied, but the blond man just by your elbow has a spare... and he's asleep. His belongings scatter on the table. You can red 'Chulainn' smudged on his calling card. Seems risky. You don't want people to think you are the one who caused the sight. The doorman doesn't seem to notice, and you aren't sure if you are heartless enough to change it.

"I... it's not here," a young man anxiously flips his briefcase upside-down. He has red hair, and his parchments fall out. You see ink stains on his vest. Perhaps he doesn't notice that. You don't know if it would be polite to point out. "Excuse me," alas, he catches your presence, as though knowing well you have been staring. "Are you good with your hands?" before you respond, he, desperately, whispers to you. "Please help me forging my brother's signature. It's a life and death matter." That unnerves you, but the way he looks at you reminds you of an abandoned puppy, and somehow it's hard not to say yes.

"My wife needs me today for our small son will be left without a guardian," you finally hear Lord Nordion speaking. "I shall hunt you down to your grave should our matches land me in my couch tonight." He sees you too. You aren't sure what he wants -- take his position to be Lord Chalphy's opponent? Ah, but Lord Chalphy seems tough!

"Has something occurred, Sir?" the doorman waves at you. "If you have decided your seat, then I can keep your coat and hat for you!"

You gulp and try to laugh...

"Sir Finn seems like a nice chap...I could probably save him from that other feller and have a nice conversation with him..."

[whatsonmedia]

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