#so many women have been killed that now for the first time in recorded history we are a global minority

[ceescedasticity]

fic: well-behaved women (rarely make history)

Sixteen times Artanilmë Angarátiel failed to make it into the historical record.

1. Finwë's first great-grandchild might have drawn a great deal of attention. But Angaráto and Eldalótë were aware of this, and wary of it; they dwelled in Arafinwë's house near Alqualondë and visited Tirion only discreetly, until Artanilmë was no longer a child and also was not Finwë's only great-grandchild. (Nor was this itself notable: Curufinwë and Turukáno in turn also strictly limited their children's public appearances while they were children.)

2. Studying and practicing healing is just not a notable thing for a Noldorin woman to do, even in the royal house. It was more notable that she was one of the first to treat (accidental) sword injuries, and studied Lindarin techniques not dependent on the Valar in order to do so discreetly, but not being obvious about that was the entire point.

3. Artanilmë did not join the debate at the bonfires; with her brother, grandfather, father, uncles, and aunt already there, she felt any opinion she might offer would be superfluous. There were still many people suffering the effects of the Unlight, and others who had been injured in the panic of the Darkening. She was needed more elsewhere.

4. Perhaps it would have been noted had she acted on her impulse to refuse her aid to any Noldor injured in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. (They had no right to expect the teachings of the Lindar to help them now.) But she looked to her duty, and swallowed her grief and rage to tend the wounded, though in stony silence.

5. No one was writing history while crossing the Grinding Ice, nor did anyone wish to speak of it afterwards. The brutal learning curve of the limits of healing when the healers themselves were at their limits was not discussed. Artanilmë nearly killing herself failing to save a child was not discussed. The reinvention of amputation was not discussed.

6. Arameldis was never the only one bringing Doriathrin medical knowledge to the Noldor and vice versa. There were healers of the Falathrim and the Northern Sindar who crossed the borders as freely, and the odd healer of Doriath who came forth, and Galadriel also learned and shared many things. And, regardless, none of that was thought interesting enough for anyone's annals.

7. Many Noldor reached out to provide aid and wisdom to the Edain. Not so many sought to learn from the Edain in turn, but Arameldis was certainly not alone in the House of Finarfin in doing so. The treatise she wrote on best practice for elven healers treating injury or illness of Men was of limited interest outside of the community of healers and some conscientious leaders.

8. Perhaps it would have been noted had Arameldis died with her father and uncle in the Dagor Bragollach. But she was ordered to lead the retreat and evacuation to Nargothrond, and followed those orders, and the journey was not as perilous as some.

9. When Beren came to Nargothrond, Arameldis was in the Falas, lending her skills to those without a hidden city to keep them safe. Had she been present, perhaps her strength and her counsel might have made some difference, or at least captured enough attention to be recorded; but she was not.

10. Had Arameldis returned while Celegorm and Curufin ruled in Nargothrond, she might have been able to stir the people to drive them out: She was not wounded as Orodreth was, and she was older and taken more seriously than Finduilas, and a battlefield healer must be able to stand her ground against irrational princes. But she suspected nothing of the state of things at home until Finrod's death.

11. Some in Nargothrond witnessed the debate of Orodreth and Arameldis over the Union of Maedhros. Voices were raised, tears were shed, and many of the arguments for and against joining were neatly summarized. It would likely have entered the histories of the First Age had any of the survivors of Nargothrond spoken of it. They did not. Survivors of Nargothrond seldom spoke of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

12. That Arameldis appeared for the Fifth Battle was far less notable than Gwindor's small defiant force. She went where she was needed in those days; it did not need to be said. No one thought she would be needed at Gwindor's side. If she tried to scream any orders from the rear no one took note of it.

13. Arameldis shed her share of the tears. She kept working until she was forcibly carried away by Mablung of Doriath. And she did not speak of it for anyone to write of it, save only: "I can recognize a mortal wound." This was, perhaps, too cryptic to be thought worth repeating.

14. Finduilas did not seek Arameldis's insight on the matter of Túrin. Why would she? Her aunt was very open that she had no experience in even simple matters of the heart. Arameldis was involved in what healing they could offer Gwindor. Obviously.

15. On the matter of the bridge and later Círdan's warnings she was publicly silent. When Orodreth sought her counsel in private, she had little to say. Venturing forth to seek battle was a terrible risk, evacuating in a large group was a terrible risk, and if they stayed where they were and did nothing they would surely die of internal injuries, metaphorically speaking. She had no conclusion.

16. Of course Arameldis rode out with the warriors of Nargothrond. Of course she was at Tumhalad. Of course she was slain. Of course none of the handful of survivors saw her fall. They could only say she was definitely dead, not captured, and while that was preferable it was also not noteworthy.

#a tolkien tag #reckless application of spackle #I am probably going to keep going with these self-indulgent extended family tree things #because that's what the writing brain is interested in writing #oh well

[radioactive-earthshine]

How?

I spent re-reading this arc watching very, very closely to determine how and WHEN Iris suddenly became a reliable source for future information because I could not recall any specific moment (like her finding her future book and reading it) to pinpoint this.

When she and Bart first show up, she's pretty firm about not actually knowing much and the 30th century's records are pretty bad - we know more about the Viking era today than they do about year 1995 due to the immense amounts of wars and cataclysms that separate the centuries. All the heroes are like the Arthurian Legend, they have names and approximations and even locations, but not many good details of WHAT because they are more legends at that time. There are some details that did survive but it's very spotty.

The Flash (1987) #95

If Bart knows all about Wally's career, then it would make sense that he too is a reliable source of information and yet... he really does not know anything because if he did he would know about the events to follow.

Also, as a point of reference the incident Bart is talking about has already happened.

So Iris is convinced at the this time her future knowledge is not reliable, she doesn't know anything about anyone and then, suddenly, inexplicably, for no reason at all...

The Flash (1987) #101

... she knows everyone's histories.

She knows about Thad, a victim himself, who will terrorize Bart and lead to this death. She knows about Carol, a 15 year old girl, who will be terrorized in the future with Bart's mother, she knows about how Max will be consumed by the Speed Force, leaving Bart to have to uproot everything to live with Jay and Joan, she knows literally everything which would be fine except...

.... If she already knew everything then why did she not know that Bart wasn't dead in the first place in the future? Why did she come in to Wally's life and lead him to think he had to raise Bart if she knew he would need to be raised by Max all along?

Her reasons for isolating herself is to prevent the future from changing but at this point in time, right here, right now, it has already been changed because of Zero Hour so there is no reason at all to have this be a plot point. The future she and Bart left has been changed. It is a plot hole even Geoff Johns remarked on which made Jenni's existence in the PZH Legion team questionable (he attempted to fix it but meh it didn't work either).

At the end of the day this is likely just comic writing getting extremely capricious and even Mark Waid was not immune to sudden erroneous retcons and just winging it in order to make something make sense. He likely just wanted Bart to be raised by Max, and knew that people would question WHY Bart was living with Max if Iris was right there so he had to remove her somehow that wasn't just up and killing her. Which would have made more sense but is also a dick move and we don't need more dead women.

Unless it explains sometime later in this comic how she suddenly knows this just comes out of nowhere and doesn't work.

#this drives me nuts!!!! #orla read flash #orla reads impulse #this is an utter mess

[deathmetalunicorn1]

If you had to create a roster for the Einherjar (without using those already on the list) who would you pick from history?

For a more fun one let’s play which Isekai characters would you pick to be an Einherjar?

This was quite fun to do!

1. Alexander the Great, educated, a strong warrior before he was king, responsible for sacking the Persian Empire, but even when the Persian King fled, he left the coward king’s family unharmed, showing that he was also compassionate. He died young and his heirs were assassinated shortly after and the empire promptly fell apart without his guidance.

2. Genghis Khan, one of history’s most infamous leaders, conquered the Mongol Empire plus most of Asia and Europe during his reign. A strong warrior and brilliant tactician who ruled his massive army, and had so many children with various women that his descendants could form their own army today. I love the mystery that nobody knows how he died or where his body is.

3. William Wallace, famous for leading Scotland to its freedom from the English, he may have not been the one to actually do it, but his actions as a warrior and a leader set in motion to the Scots rising up against King Edwards I following his death. His death was tragic, being betrayed and then executed in horrible ways and having his severed body parts displayed around England.

4. Miyamoto Musashi, a ronin samurai who killed his first person at age 13. He traveled alone with no affiliations to train his skills with a sword, which resulted in nito ichi-ryu, better known as kensai, battling with two swords. His most well-known fight was against Sasaki Kojiro, which he won, but then retired to train others with swords and retired with an undefeated record of 61 duels.

5. Spartacus, warrior turned slave turned gladiator turned rebellion leader, courageous but compassionate, a ruthless warrior who offered his enemies both mercy and respect, and led an army of rebels against their oppressors, the Roman Empire.

6. Achilles, who led the Greek army against Troy, killing Hector at the gates, a proud and strong warrior and leader, but he needs to make sure to wear iron boots that are impenetrable as everyone knows his weak spot.

7. Ching Shih, a female pirate who commanded 300 ships and was able to go toe-to-toe with the Chinese Imperial Navy. If you disobeyed you were immediately executed, but the same went for if her men raped captives, she had a no tolerance policy. She ended up getting to retire with all her wealth after the Imperial Government offered both her and her crew amnesty after they were defeated under the agreement that they would stop.

8. ‘Mad Jack’ Churchill, a British solider in WWII that charged into combat with weapons that were not common for the time, such as a sword and long bow. He was disappointed the war ended with the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as he wanted to keep fighting. He once stormed a German held down in Italy with just one other man and captured a mortar position and 42 men with just his sword, long bow and his bagpipes.

9. Amanirenas, one eyed ancient queen of Kush, now modern day Sudan, who fought back against the Roman Empire, after the death of Cleopatra, when they decided to try to expand past Egypt, so viciously that Rome and Augustus were quick declare peace between the two empires after they couldn’t win due to the unbearable heat and the pissed off queen. A fierce tactician who used supposedly used war elephants, fed captors to her pet lion, and defaced Augustus’ statues and kept the head of one statue under the feet of the throne of Kush.

10. Lyudmila Pavlichenko, deadliest female sniper in the world; sniper for the Soviet Union in the Red Army during WWII; nicknamed Lady Death and claimed, during her time as a sniper, to have killed 309 soldiers. Became an advocate for peace and toured the world.

11. Jean-Eugene Robert-Houdin a French watchmaker, illusionist, magician and regarded as the father of the modern style of conjuring, having brought magic from something only seen at circuses or similar places like that for the poor, to something of grand entertainment for the wealthy.

12. Richard I of England, a bad king but a brilliant warrior, having spent most of his time in the Crusades, rather than running his own kingdom, or fighting against France

13. Ragnar Lothbrok, Swedish and Danish king, legendary Viking warrior leader who raid both the British Isles and the Holy Roman Empire in the 9th century

As for Isekai~

1. Ainz Ooal Gown- Overlord

2. Rimuru Tempest- That Time I got Reincarnated as a Slime

3. Canya- In the Land of Leadale

4. Azusa Aizawa- I’ve Been Killing Slimes for 300 Years and Maxed out my Level

5. Yuna- Kuma-Kuma-Kuma Bear

6. Albedo- Overlord

7. Diablo- That Time I got Reincarnated as a Slime

8. Shiraori- So I’m a Spider, So What?

9. Seiya Ryuguin- Cautious Hero: The Hero is Overpowered but Overly Cautious

10. Mamako Oosuki- Do You Love your Mom and Her Two-Hit Multi-Target Attacks?

11. Diablo- How Not to Summon a Demon Lord

12. Hajime Nagumo- Arifureta: From Commonplace to World’s Strongest

13. Teacher and Fran- Reincarnated as a Sword

#record of ragnarok

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Steve Brodner

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 15, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

APR 16, 2024

April 15 is a curiously fraught day in American history.

In 1861, President Abraham Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers to put down a rebellion in the southern states.

In 1865, Lincoln breathed his last at 7:22 a.m., and Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, who adored the president, said, “Now he belongs to the ages.”

In 1912 the British passenger liner RMS Titanic sank at 2:20 a.m. after hitting an iceberg in the North Atlantic.

In 1920, two security guards in Braintree, Massachusetts, were murdered on this date; Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti would be accused of the crime, convicted, and, in 1927, executed.

In 1947, Jackie Robinson debuted for the Brooklyn Dodgers, breaking the color line in baseball’s major leagues.

In 2013, two bombs exploded near the finish line of the Boston Marathon, killing three people and wounding 264 others.

And on April 15, 2024, the criminal case of The People of New York v. Donald J. Trump began in Manhattan. 

For the first time in history, a former president is facing criminal prosecution. 

The case has been dubbed a “hush money” case by the media, but it is really a case about election interference. In 2016, shortly after the Access Hollywood tape in which then-candidate Trump boasted of sexually assaulting women became public, Trump allegedly falsified business records of the Trump Organization to hide payments to individuals who possessed damaging stories about him, especially about his behavior with women, before the election.

Then–Trump fixer Michael Cohen paid adult film actress Stormy Daniels, who alleged she had had an affair with Trump, $130,000 through a shell company. He also set up a $150,000 payment from the publisher of the National Enquirer to Playboy model Karen McDougal, who also claimed to have had an affair with Trump. That money would give the National Enquirer exclusive rights to the story, meaning they could decline to publish it and she could not take it elsewhere. This practice is known as “catch-and-kill.” 

Trump then allegedly falsified business records to reimburse Cohen for “legal expenses.” Manhattan district attorney Alvin Bragg has charged Trump with 34 counts of falsifying those records. The case might last as long as 8 weeks.

In many ways, this trial is a vindication of the rule of law. Despite his many attempts to delay it, a former president is facing accountability for his actions just as any American should.

The trial schedule reflected that standard practice. Presiding judge Juan Merchan set out the terms of the trial, covering what information the jury can hear about Trump and reminding Trump that, per the laws of New York, if he fails to appear in court as required, a warrant will be issued for his arrest. 

But as jury selection began today, it was also clear that this is no normal trial. The names of the jurors will not be released outside the courtroom out of concerns for their safety, underscoring the degree to which Trump has urged his supporters to violence. And the country is so deeply divided over Trump and his movement that more than half of the first batch of jurors were excused when they said they could not judge the case impartially. No jurors were chosen today.

Trump has used this case—like his others—to try to undermine the rule of law. Rarely arguing that he didn’t commit any of the offenses for which he was charged in four different cases—two civil, two criminal—he has insisted instead that he is being unfairly prosecuted. The Democrats have rigged the judicial system against him, he repeatedly claims, and enough of his loyalists have bought that idea that today some of them urged Trump supporters in the jury pool to undermine the rule of law by lying to get on the jury, then refusing to convict (a plea that observers noted sounded like jury tampering). 

Trump’s effort to signal that he remains disgusted by the charges against him continued today. New York Times reporter Maggie Haberman noted that “[s]hortly before court adjourned for the day, Trump’s campaign sent out a fundraising email falsely claiming he had just stormed out of court.” But it was notable that only a few dozen of his supporters showed up at the court today, and they did not stay long. 

Trump has also refused to stop attacking the judge and other participants in the trial despite a gag order imposed by the judge. Today, even as prosecutors were asking Judge Merchan to find Trump in contempt for violating the gag order, Trump posted a video in which one of his allies attacked the judge’s wife as well as primary witness Michael Cohen. 

Judge Merchan has scheduled a hearing on potential violations of the gag order for the morning of April 23.

Trump is trying to undermine the rule of law not only out of apparent fear of the outcome of his trials, but also because his appearance in court is likely to hurt his popularity. Last month an Ipsos poll showed that 32% of respondents said a conviction in this case would make them less likely to support Trump for the presidency. And that is before we have heard any of the new evidence that various sources have said we will hear, and which, by the nature of the case, is likely to be sordid. 

Seeing Trump treated like any defendant is almost certain to damage his brand as a man who commands his surroundings. Today, Haberman noted: “One thing that is striking: Trump has used the previous court appearances in other cases to project an image of grandeur. That is hard to do in this dingy courtroom, which smells slightly off and where he is an island amid a sea of people.”

Further, the public nature of this trial will make it harder for Trump to present himself only through carefully curated appearances. Haberman also noted that Trump, who has repeatedly attacked President Joe Biden as “Sleepy Joe,” appeared to fall asleep during today’s proceedings. “Repeatedly, his head would fall down,” Haberman said. “He didn’t pay attention to a note his lawyer…passed him. His jaw kept falling on his chest and his mouth kept going slack.” (While Trump was nodding off in court, President Biden was meeting in the Oval Office with Prime Minister Mohammed Shyaa al-Sudani of the Republic of Iraq, and then with Prime Minister Petr Fiala of the Czech Republic.)

Outside of this case, Trump’s image as a wealthy man is also crumbling. Today was the day by which Trump’s lawyers needed to prove that the $175 million appeals bond he posted against the $454 million judgment in the fraud case would really secure the judgment. Late tonight, his lawyers filed their justification of the bond, insisting it was secure and saying there was no need for the hearing about it, scheduled for April 22. Legal analysts on social media immediately found errors in the document.

Trump’s lawyers also filed paperwork today with the Securities and Exchange Commission to issue more than 20 million more shares of common stock in the Trump Media & Technology Group. The price of the company’s stock has been dropping since the spike after the initial public offering of March 26. Upon today’s news it dropped another 18%. It has dropped 62% since public trading began. 

Although news from Manhattan took up most of the oxygen today, the Commerce Department also made a major announcement: through the CHIPS and Science Act it is investing up to $6.4 billion in a Samsung Electronics chip manufacturing and research cluster in Taylor, Texas. Commerce Secretary Gina Raimondo said the two proposed factories will create at least 17,000 construction and 4,500 manufacturing jobs.  

In addition to its historical significance, April 15 is also Tax Day. Biden reinstated the tradition of voluntarily releasing tax returns after Trump ended it, and today Biden, First Lady Jill Biden, Vice President Kamala Harris, and Second Gentleman Douglas Emhoff all released their taxes, revealing that their salaries make up most of their income. 

Ken Thomas and Ashlea Ebeling of the Wall Street Journal reported that the Trump campaign did not answer questions about whether Trump would release his tax returns.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #tax returns #legal jeopardy #Trump Trial #steve brodner #TFG #Tax Day

[animeyanderelover]

6/25. This character wasn’t suggested.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsession, stalking, clinginess, overprotective behavior, jealousy, manipulation

Yandere Lavi Hc’s

🔨Lavi is a man with many charades, ranging from cheerful and laid-back to reserved. He is initially very distant from his darling as well, dreading the fact that he has actually gained an obsession. His normal fondness for women who meet his standards are thrown into the river as he becomes almost hyper-focused on you. He’s the successor of the next bookman and more insightful than he might sometimes let on, he’s all too aware of his feelings. Already in a bad position since he shouldn’t be too attached to anyone, his conflict worsens only more with his darling in the picture now. Keeping it a secret is the key, hiding it from Bookman and avoiding you as much as possible. That he stalks you occasionally stays a secret too.

🔨Manipulative. He’s had so many different identities already that Lavi is a skilled actor. It seems to happen subconsciously that he adapts his personality a bit more to what you like whenever you two do strike a conversation. Also the type to occasionally drop comments or remarks to lead you more onto the route he’d prefer you to take in life. The boy attempts to not be too selfish, his decisions are mostly fueled out of his strong sense to protect you. His heart is never fully opened though as he feels guilty for his obsession and is in a tricky situation since he is a Bookman. He tries to not let his suffering shine through but it becomes harder with time the more his love deepens.

🔨Jealousy has never been a big problem of his yet when he experiences it, it always leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The problem is that Lavi doesn’t court you or shows that he’s taken a serious liking towards you, besides his playful flirting. That you’re free for competition is clear for him but he is a bit naive. How bad can jealousy be after all? He’s not the super jealous type but he does feel annoyed when someone starts flirting with you or you and the other person seem to have good chemistry. His relaxed facade cracks after a while and he often finds a way to interrupt any interaction or insert himself in it.

🔨His different facades include the angry ones as well. Now, Lavi finds himself being rarely angry. Only when a serious issue arises can he turn very irked and mad. His main goal is never killing though unless the person is an Akuma. First priority is always getting you out of danger so his attacks are never aimed to kill someone but to knock them out and immobilize them. He intimidates and frightens someone if they plan something with you, never seeks to murder though. It is a last resort, a desperate decision when nothing else works or when he’s been positively traumatized because you’ve been caused severe harm.

🔨Lavi won’t kidnap his s/o simply because it would be too complicated. He’s only a Bookman Junior so far, travels countries to record history and is as of now still with his old man. Where the heck is he supposed to fit you into all of this and keep a watchful eye on you all the time? Not only would Bookman beat the living crap out of him, it would be fairly dangerous for you too. He has some standards and can’t make the mere thought of abduction acceptable in his mind. It’s impossible for numerous reasons.

🔨He probably won’t be able to properly show his genuine feelings until Bookman has talked with him about it and given him permission. Honestly, even Lavi knows that it can only take that long for his old man to figure it out and he warns his successor about you and falling in love. The moment he knows that he seems to tolerate it though, Lavi turns more genuine with the guilt not holding him down anymore. Calls his darling romantic nicknames and starts to become more touchy with them, especially when he’s jealous. He doesn’t hold back the feelings in his heart anymore, expresses all the fondness and adoration he has. Lavi is maybe a bit lovesick.

#yandere d. gray man #yandere d. gray-man #yandere d gray man #yandere dgm #yandere lavi #yandere lavi bookman

[pandaemoniumpancakes]

Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die! And let this world no longer be a stage To feed contention in a ling'ring act; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set On bloody courses, the rude scene may end And darkness be the burier of the dead!                              ❧ All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.                              ❧ Ha, good father, Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threatens his bloody stage. By th'clock 'tis day And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp. Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb.                              ❧ She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.                              ❧ When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools.

William Shakespeare, Earl of Northumberland in act I, scene 1 in Henry IV, Part II. 

William Shakespeare, Jaques in act III, scene 7 in As You Like It. 

William Shakespeare, Ross in act II, scene 4 in Macbeth.

William Shakespeare, Macbeth in act V, scene 5 in Macbeth.

William Shakespeare, Lear in act IV, scene 6 in King Lear.

                       ❧

   "Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessèd time; for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;  The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.” (Macbeth in act II, scene 3 in Macbeth)

                       ❧

   “I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes: Through it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and Aves vehement; Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does affect it.“ (Vincentio in act I, scene 1 in Measure for Measure)

   “Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers Ballad us out o' tune: the quick comedians Extemporally will stage us, and present Our Alexandrian revels; Antony Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness I' the posture of a whore.” (Cleopatra in act V, scene 2 in Antony and Cleopatra)

                       ❧

   “I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.“ (Antonio in act I, scene 1 in The Merchant of Venice)

   "O comfort-killing Night, image of hell! Dim register and notary of shame! Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame! Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame! Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!“ (from ‘The Rape of Lucrece’)

   “When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, To change your day of youth to sullied night; And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new.“ (Sonnet 15)

#shakespeare #stage #macbeth #as you like it #lear #king lear #sonnets

[jdgo51]

Dead. Or Not Dead.

Today's inspiration comes from:

Finish Line

by Robert Wolgemuth

"I hate death. I hate it intensely." ~ Ray Ortlund, Tweet, June 2022

"'The original title of this, the opening chapter of a book on a serious subject was, “Yucky. Not Yucky.” My editor wisely suggested something more grown-up-sounding. I’m good with adult words. However, having raised two daughters all the way from silliness to full maturity, clearly the word yucky was a favorite. The target of this word could have ranged from small sticky place on the kitchen counter to something much more serious. Like mortality.

The opening two chapters in the first book in the Bible paint a pristine picture of all things good. In some cases... very good. But when we arrive at chapter 3, the landscape changes. And everything in this Genesis chapter shows us what bad looks like. In some cases, very bad.

And one of those terrible things that resulted from Adam and Eve’s disobedience was death. Until that moment, nothing or no one died. Then a decree went out that eventually everything would perish:

For you are dust, and you will return to dust. — Genesis 3:19 CSB

Like, which part of this diagnosis don’t we understand?

And the most sobering part of this God-spoken directive is that the word you isn’t just delivered to Adam. The pronoun is plural. Thousands of years later, you and I are included. The people we have loved, the people we love now, and the people we will love tomorrow are in there. And the process of dying begins the moment we suck in our first big swallow of air as tiny newborns. Like an hourglass that’s been flipped over, the sand above begins trickling below through the pinch in the middle. There’s no turning that thing right side up. We’re on a one-way trajectory.

And beyond the Garden of Eden and throughout the Bible and all of recorded history, there’s plenty more that has been written about death.

For example, the man Job, from the depths of his own despair affirmed this to be true.

Anyone born of woman is short of days and full of trouble. He blossoms like a flower, then withers; he flees like a shadow and does not last. — Job 14:1–2 CSB

A flower that “does not last.” A brilliant and descriptive metaphor for death.

Even the most beloved psalm written by David assumes life’s end. He doesn’t open this subject in the Shepherd’s Psalm with “just in case” or “maybe”; rather he begins the death phrase with the conjunction “even though,” like there’s no choice in the matter. Because there isn’t.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley... — Psalm 23:4

So because of the shortsightedness of Adam and Eve’s disobedience, and the consequence, the Bible includes the stories of men and women dying. From these accounts you and I can learn a few important things. Here are some examples.

THE MURDER OF THE BIBLE’S SECOND SON

The verses immediately following the eating of the forbidden fruit tell of the birth of two boys — first Cain, then Abel.

Imagine the joy the parents of these men must have experienced at their births. And like every mother and dad throughout the remainder of recorded history with more than one child, Adam and Eve likely wondered, How is it possible that these boys came from the same parents? They could not be more different from each other.

If you’re the parent of more than one kid, you’ve had this conversation with your mate, right?

Apparently, it was too much of a difference for Cain to bear.

Cain said to his blow-dried, always-do-everything-right brother Abel, ‘Let’s go out to the field.’ And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him. — Genesis 4:8, Robert’s paraphrase

God’s sentence of death directed to Adam’s sinful decision struck first in his own family. It doesn’t matter how long it was before Cain murdered his little brother, the sting must have been awful... for their dad and mom.

Remember that it had been many years since Adam and Eve had disobeyed God. We know this since there had been time for Cain and Abel to be conceived, born, and grow up. And don’t you know that when their mother and father first learned of their son’s murder, their minds must have careened back to God’s declaration of the thing called death. And this, as a result of their own disobedience. Now death was paying a visit to their family. No small thing to be sure.

As you know, the whole idea of this book is that you and I are going to die. Someday we will cross that line. The event will be complete. The finish line will be our death.

It’s a certainty. Or is it?

I hate death. I hate it intensely. ~ Ray Ortlund, Tweet, June 2022

A QUICK ROUND TRIP

When Jesus walked this earth, there were times when He went nose-to-nose with the Genesis 3 narrative about the sentence of death and literally brought departed people back to life. If this was the first time you’ve ever heard of this, what I just wrote would have sounded incredulous. Even impossible.

But you’ve likely heard there was a Man who lived and had the power to call dead people back. And according to the gospel accounts, Jesus did this three times. Just three times — not counting His own resurrection.

The first such miracle involved the only son of a widow. Take a second and let that sink in. Here was a lone woman who had lost her husband and her only child. Jesus and His disciples were visiting the town of Nain and happened upon a funeral procession. No one needed to tell Jesus about the circumstances. No one showed Him the press clipping that included the obituary. Jesus knew. Scripture says that Jesus saw the mother and had compassion on her and said,

Don’t cry. — Luke 7:13

Jesus approached the bier and did something no self-respecting Rabbi would ever do.1 He touched the corpse and said,

Young man, I say to you, get up! Immediately, the dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother. — Luke 7:14–15

The biblical account tells us that Jesus left the scene and got on to the next thing on His schedule. But can you imagine what the next few hours must have been like for the young man’s mother? Dead son. Because of Jesus, not dead son.

The second account, found in Mark 5:21–43, is also a familiar one. This story has to do with a man named Jairus, the father of a daughter, which is probably why I’m so attracted to it.

Another reason to love this story is the way Jairus, a decorated Jew, humbly fell at Jesus’ feet, pleading on behalf of his twelve-year-old girl. For priests or Pharisees who may have been there, seeing a holy Israelite on the ground in front of an unschooled teacher like Jesus would have been scandalous. But Jairus didn’t care what anyone thought. This was a nothing-to-lose split second.

Once Jesus arrived at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Jairus, He entered the youngster’s room with her mother and father, Peter, James, and John. Given the likelihood of the size of the room, a crowded space, to be sure. And as He had done with the other dead body, Jesus broke protocol and took her hand. The tenderness of this scene overwhelms me. And like the man’s corpse on the cart, the young girl immediately sat up. Dead daughter. Because of Jesus, not dead daughter.

And maybe the most famous Bible story of a dead person coming to life, doesn’t include any touching at all. This time Jesus just spoke, as He had at the very beginning — at creation in Genesis — turning death into life.2"'

“The prohibition of Kohen defilement to the dead is the commandment to a Jewish priest (kohen) not to come in direct contact with, or be in the same enclosed roofed space as a dead human body” (Wikipedia contributors, “Prohibition of Kohen Defilement by the Dead,” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prohibition_of _Kohen_defilement_by_the_dead, accessed August 10, 2022). The Bible on Jesus and creation: John 1:3, 10; 1 Corinthians 8:6; Colossians 1:16; Hebrews 1:2. Excerpted with permission from Finish Line by Robert Wolgemuth, copyright Robert Wolgemuth.

[nerath-mp]

Lore: The Hyksos Sisterhood

Outside the Campaign

So, the Hyksos were a cultural group that invaded Egypt's Lower Kingdom during the 12-13th dynasty (c.19th-16th century BCE). The 3rd century BCE Greek-Egyptian historian Manetho described the Hyksos as an oppressive invasion force from the Levantine region but modern historians and archaeological evidence tends to argue they were a slow immigration of Caananite origin that culminated in the first "foreign rule" of Egypt by the 15th dynasty and coexisted with Egyptian dynasties during the Second Intermediate Period. Their defeat by Ahmose I is where the New Kingdom period, an Egyptian golden age, is said to have begun.

One more historical note - the list of Hyksos kings is said to include a king known as Apepi, more commonly known as Apophis, who features as a major antagonistic serpent-demon in ancient Egyptian religion, who seeks to devour the sun during its transit through the realms of the dead between sunset and sunrise. The accuracy of the name is disputed, as its recording was done by Manetho many centuries later and seems to be aligned in part with his casting of the Hyksos overall as an evil influence over the Lower and Middle Nile territories.

When picking a starting arc for my campaign, I was reminded of an ancient rec.games.dnd campaign chronicle, where the DM ran his PCs through the Slavelords series of novels for AD&D second edition. I owned this fairly well-regarded modules series set in Greyhawk but never ran it, so I heavily adapted the basic idea of it: a group of slave-taking/trading bandits mixed with a cult and some humanoid monsters. And the rest was the history of the first arc. Enjoy - Me PS. I also finally got the hang of the two different post editors so now I can embed the alt text for images properly from now on.

(Source: Sigil of Tiamat, artist unknown)

Who were the Hyksos?

Snake cults were an unfortunate, lingering threat to Khonsuria, stemming from the alliance with the serpentfolk of Zehir and the War of Beasts. Such cults, often directly allied or funded by the serpents or spiders, spread chaos and disorder that weakened the Pharaohs of that period, preventing full-reunification of the rebellious Lower and Upper Kingdoms. So, for the longest time, it had been assumed the Hyksos had been merely been another of these threats - a snake cult whose adherents raided Khonsurian and Baelish settlements and even aarakokra nests, sold or killed the men, and spread their twisted faith to the women, using dark magics to turn them into half-humanoid monsters, like the serpentine lamia, the winged harpies and the eel-like sirens. The name 'Hyksos' first entered the histories of Khonsuria as tales of halfling kith warning of desert raiders in the Herrenia region of the Lower Kingdom during the Second Dynasty, after the Giantwar.

(Source: 'Never meant for human hands' by Mr Zarono on DeviantArt)

The Hyksos were unique among these other Zehirian snake-cults in a few ways:

Unlike other cults, their membership seemed exclusively women

Where other cults transformed volunteers and sacrificial victims into yuan-ti abominations, the Hyksos seemed to craft their 'ascendance' to a diverse number of forms, including sirens, medusae, harpies, and most commonly, the serpentine lamia.

As such a monstrous bent would indicate, their raids and dealings with outsiders often used the charms and mind-control of these creatures

The cult was exceptionally hard to locate and eradicate, while it seemed to have informants in many settlements including the holy city of Sarkhaen Tair and as far away as the Matriarchy of Lar'tya in northwestern Nerath, no central location could be identified

The cult also seemed to have as much interest in the theft of historical artifacts and knowledge as it did slaves and influence, leading a few to believe it was directed by angels of Zehir, or possibly a dragon or lich

(Source: 'Desert Witch' by Filipe Pagliuso on ArtStation)

The Rise of the Hyksos

The Hyksos became more than simply a slightly strange variation on known minor threats during the fall of the Second Dynasty, when the naga Apophis had seduced many of the Pharaoh's court and the sphinx nobility to re-open the old tombs of the first Dynasty and delve once more in the magics of the Far Realm as well as seek out of the forbidden knowledge of the Primordials and even of abominable Bael Turath. Hyksos cultists used their enchantments to fuel the rage of the commoners against their rulers, while their raiders made off with hundreds of slaves bound for the markets in Djeser-al-Moqqara or the profane secrets of Achaemia.

When that Dynasty fell, first to the kinslaying of the Forgotten-King, or then the assassination of his daughter, the Hyksos formally joined forces with the Slavers Society (that a few believed they had infiltrated and controlled themselves) and conquered Rheksus - with an eye to securing access to the Great Library, its necropolis, and strategically pushing back Khonsurian scrutiny of the Sisterhood's exploration of the ruined Kovalese coastal cities. Then Vor Rukoth's emergence became known to the cult via their gnoll allies, so they made contact with the dragon Kraz-al-Manat, offering to act as matchmakers between him and Nistru in exchange for certain preferential arrangements for their own expeditions into his territory.

(Source: 'The Serpent God' by Aethergee on Twitter)

Secrets of the Sisterhood

The Hyksos had indeed been one of the many serpent-cults in their beginning, but either from that outset or very early on, they fell under the power of the Night Serpent, Apophis, lesser known hero of the Giantwar, spy and advisor to Nistru the Midnight Storm, and one-time vizier (and possibly lover) of Pharaoh Abisha and her husband-son, the Forgotten-King. Apophis transformed the leaders of the cult into powerful lamia with strong warlock and sorcerous connections to darkness and illusion, and through these 'Mothers' she directed the cult both politically as well their interest in esoterica. The cult were allowed to make inferences that they had ties to Nistru as a form of boasting and to attract those who sought the dragon's favour.

As Pharaoh Haramati the First's campaign to retake the Lower Kingdom progressed, the Slavers' Society turned to the Hyksos for aid, and when Nistru first rose and attacked Rheksus in retaliation for violating her territory, it was assumed it had been through the Hyksos. Strangely, the envoys found Nistru, beyond that one devastating attack, strangely passive, and the Sisterhood noncommittal to further support or direct involvement. This was later revealed to be at the direction of Apophis, for whom the Society and their hold on Djeser-al-Moqqara seemed to have run out of value.

(Source: 'Amirah the Concubine' by Chris Oduro on ArtStation)

The other "great secret" of the sisterhood was the location of their home base, their central temple, in the upper reaches of the Broken Ordnning of Storms in the Herrenia Mountains. The cult travelled to and from this former storm titan's palace via a teleportation circle whose runic name was shared only with the cults 'Mother' (leadership) and chosen 'Aunts' (very closely aligned allies, often other servants of Apophis). The lower fortress is far more commonly known, but is a deathtrap of a dungeon disconnected from the highest peaks save for a hidden stair. It was here that selected cult members would be sent to be fully indoctrinated into the inner secrets of the cult and transformed by Apophis' magics into the monster-women hybrids that held the upper ranks in the cult.

Part 2 of this Lore post will focus on what is currently known of Apophis the Night Serpent herself. - Come back tomorrow for more info.

(Source: Apophis by Yilade on DeviantArt)

#dnd campaign #lore #selduria #khonsuria #cult #antagonist #Apophis

[highpri3stess]

genuine question, have you seen many woc activists were called "terf" by WHITE queers just because they fought against FGM (which is sex-based oppression) or they believed other forms of sex based oppression or they spoke about their own experience of misogyny? Who are the center of queer activism? Whose voice is most heard? Has any woc in Western history got as much attention as white queer people do now? Has the authority worked as quickly in favor of woc as they do in favor of white queer?

(Psa: I am not saying that these events I will mention are not horrible. However, you cannot deny the fact that people are more likely to talk about white issues. I was forced to learn about 9/11 and the holocaust in primary school, whereas grown ass white people do not know if Africa is a country or a continent.)

*sigh*

Okay, first and foremost I need you to understand that I never said white queers weren't the center of attention. Whether we are talking about feminism or queerness, or any issue at all, more people would rather hear out what white voices have to say about the issue than what other poc have to say about it. I mean, whenever black people or native americans want to talk about genocide or war or slavery or colinalism, white people jump at us and tell us things like "it was so long ago.", whereas issues such as the holocaust, 9/11 and recently, the war in Ukraine are more talked about and sympathized with simply because it is white trauma. Nigeria, my country has had numerous terrorist attacks since 2012, somali is a war torn country and yet people simply do not care because we are african countries.

As a black queer person who is afab, I know that a lot of white people always try to make things about themselves. As someone who lives in Africa, specifically Nigeria and as someone who grew up there, I have seen first hand misogyny, had people around me who had been mutilated in the name of culture, especially girls and seen my fellow queers get killed for being queer. I have been assaulted multiple times and brushed off about it. I've seen a classmate of mine get married off at a young age in secondary school because her father felt he was wasting his money on her.

I am not here to bash white queers but, white queers still have privileges of never experiencing none of these things simply because they are white. People misusing terms such as terf when it comes to issues that they don't know about is stupid and honestly, it is not unique to just the queer community. At the end of the day, it's their whiteness and colourblindness that refuses them to see the issue, not necessarily their queerness.

Any Nigerian, queer or not or any African queer or not, in fact anyone living in or has an ancestry from a non-western country obviously have more knowledge about things like fgm and sex based misogyny. Calling someone a terf for talking about such is just as stupid as calling a black person racist for saying black lives matter.

Now, what makes someone a terf is when a woman refuse to acknowledge that transwomen are women and transmen are men.

They also love assuming if a certain woman is trans or not, especially when that woman is black or has masculine features. Now, for the record, the whole notion of masculinizing black women (cis or trans) stems from the racism of white men and women and it has been propagated in the american black community, especially amongst black men. This was done to objectify and villainize black women (misogynoir. Everyone is capable of it and it was brought about by racism, not transwomen)

Some traits of terfs include their hatred for men and their fear of being assaulted by a transwoman in the bathroom. Honestly, I used to be the 'I hate men' type of feminist because I hated misogyny, but now I realize that misogyny is a system that requires both men and women, and that a lot of women promote misogyny because it benefits them. I hated the fact that I had to experience a very traumatic event to get that wake up call and at the end of the day, I shifted my hatred towards the system and the people who promote that system. While I actively do my part in educating anyone that cares to listen to me. Hating men is not the solution to anything at all really, and that's what a lot of radfems and terfs actively think - a lot of, I did not say all.

Secondly, the bathroom issue. I'm going to try and be as sympathetic as possible, but no assaulter need to dress up as a woman to enter a women's bathroom and assault them.

They MAY chose to do that, but many times they can find their way into the bathroom without doing that. Assault is a very serious issue, but tackling transwomen as the problem when 1) they are also very prone to assault and 2) they are really just trying to use the bathroom and go, is just... extremely ridiculous. Transmen also should not be forced to use the female restroom because their nether regions are afab -it is emasculating for them.

There is so much to talk about but I've tried my best in saying all that needs to be said in a respectful way. I'm Nigerian, so my knowledge on western issues might be limited.

If you are a terf, you do you; I have never sent an ask on why someone is a terf or sent death threats to terfs about their beliefs because I know how to read and research.

I advise you do the same.

#anons ♡ #trans #the way t*rfs use woc as placeholders for their hatred #stop doing that #woc deserve better

[feuilletoniste]

.

#I'm just thinking about how #so many women have been killed that now for the first time in recorded history we are a global minority #I read a good albeit poorly phrased article about how the number of girl babies who survive to adulthood continues to decline #https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2019/country-chapters/global-0 #how many girls have been abandoned to die or outright killed because their families wanted sons? #how many young girls have been kidnapped and murdered or raped and murdered or beaten and murdered or just plain murdered? #how many women were killed by their male partners or family members? #how many mothers died after staying with their abuser in order to protect their children? #how many women died due to medical negligence? how many women died due to 'inadequate research' on majority-female diseases? #how fucking many women died? #sex-selective abortions. lack of medical knowledge. botched surgery. femicide. #they're killing us and it literally feels like no one even really cares #mine #misogyny #rape cw #abuse cw #but hey on the plus side #colleges won't have to say 'women and minorities' anymore I fucking guess

[221bshrlocked]

Show Me Your True Colors

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 14092 (I swear this was supposed to be a short oneshot but it got out of hand. I'm so so sorry.)

Warnings: 28% smut, 72% plot. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Oral (male and female receiving). Fingering and Squirting due to overstimulation. Some dom/sub elements but not full-on. Creampie. Rough handling (e.g. hair-pulling, spanking, hand-binding, some more hair-pulling). I think that's all?!

Inspired by these posts [x] [x] and by this lovely artist. Thanks @danniburgh for humoring me with my thots.

A/N: I came back from my temporary hiatus to post this because I couldn't wait. And now I shall return to my little corner again. Sorry guys these school/administrative issues are taking longer to deal with so I'm for the most part still away. This is not beta'd. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments please and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy. And you can add yourself to the taglist here.

It’s such a different atmosphere, from what he remembers at least. It’s been so long since he stepped foot on a university campus, and he can’t help but smile at the spectrum of personalities all around him. While some students lounge underneath the trees and on the grass, others ran hastily to their courses. Those were probably freshmen.

As he makes his way through the campus, he has to look at his phone numerous times to figure out where exactly he was going. That’s definitely one thing he didn’t miss about being in school, the fact that he was shit in directions and how he almost always got lost during the beginning of each semester.

When he does finally find the art history department, he silences his phone and heads to the first office he can find.

“Good afternoon, my name is Nicola. How can I help you?”

“Hi Nicola, I’m here to see Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I was wondering if you could direct me to her office please?” Marcus smiles as he unbuttons his suit jacket, not realizing that his FBI tag was now visible to the world.

“She’s currently in one of her lectures, you could-” Marcus follows Nicola’s line of sight when she grows quiet and groans when he sees that she noticed his FBI tag.

“Please, she’s not in trouble. I am part of the FBI Art Crime Team, and I’m actually coming to ask if we could get her professional opinion on an artifact. Just need her to consult on something.” He smiles at Nicola and waits for her expression to relax before he continues.

“Do you mind telling me which lecture hall she’s in?”

“Y-yes, she’s in H140. Make a right at the door and it’s the hall all the way at the end.”

“Thank you Nicola, have a good day.” Marcus nods at her before he buttons his jacket again to avoid any suspicious, terrified looks as he makes his way to the lecture hall. He walks quietly, avoiding the students walking past him as they exit the rooms. When he reaches the door, he turns the knob slowly to not make any noise, hoping that he wasn’t being too disruptive once he walks in. As he shuts it behind him and looks around, his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are at least 250, maybe 300 students filling the seats of the room. He awkwardly smiles when some students look to the side and see him standing at the foot of the door. He quickly takes a seat and says nothing as the students return their attention to the large projected screen. Marcus hears what he assumes is your voice through the large speakers but he can’t place your position. As he looks at the projected images, he finally catches you through his peripheral vision as you step off the railing near the exit doors at the front of the room.

“Because of this association with the gods, many amulets used to ward off the evil eye include depictions of mythological figures and deities who are almost, if not always, female. To the Greeks and Romans, the most common fascinations with an evil eye were women in any shape or form. They were thought to have the most powerful and harmful gaze that might kill if eye contact was established. That’s basically me telling you to never look me in the eye or else I will curse the cow of your second cousin twice removed.” Laughter reverberates off the walls at your joke and only grows louder when you whisper, “just kidding...or am I?” Marcus can’t help but smile at your jokes, watching with fascination as you move up and down the stairs of one side of the lecture hall once you continue to speak.

“Now, I know what some of you are thinking...isn’t that a bit sexist? Well, to the ancients, no. And to us, it’s kind of a meh thing. I know that doesn’t sound very feminist of me but it all comes down to the culture and the ancient practices that carried over. Just remember that it wasn’t because they were women, it was because they were thought to be powerful...a glass half-full kinda thing.” Marcus watches you closely as you maintain your focus on the students before you switch the slide and stand in the middle of the stairway with your back towards the projector.

“So, we find goddesses such as Erinnyes or the Furies associated with the evil eye because of their avenging nature. Their heads were covered in serpents and their eyes were always bloodshot and one of the Furies by the name of Megaera was considered in late antiquity as the personification of envy and whose eyes were the most envious and deadly of all the Furies. She was described by poets as baskanon omma pherousa...bearing the evil eye. Naturally, many children in late antiquity constantly wore amulets of stone galactite to protect them from the eyes of Megaera, and sometimes even wore necklaces with her face on it to counteract the evil eye of someone else and have her curse the ones who tried to harm them. Basically, the ancients were playing a game of tag with the evil eye.” You descend the stairs and walk to the other side of the hall, and Marcus feels his chest tighten with how much confidence you exude, not just through your words but with how you carry yourself as well.

“Perhaps the most famous of these dangerous women is Medusa who was one of the Gorgones in Greek mythology. The Gorgones were one of many female beings such as the Harpies, the Erinnyes, the Graiae, and the Keres, who were said to be grim-faced, and who held horrible looks. Briefly, the story tells of how she was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the earth and later became hateful-looking by Athena as punishment for being raped by Poseidon in the middle of the huntress’ temple. Her hair became serpents and she was so furious that anyone who would look at her would turn into stone...at least that is the version you will hear from the “all-knowing” male scholars within this field. But, and I know I’m going on a rant here, if you’re like me, you’re more likely to argue that Athena pretended to hate Medusa. The serpents were no punishment! The goddess looked at the poor woman and gave her a weapon to use against men because unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to avenge her...not only because she didn’t get along with Poseidon but also because he was a god as well. Anyway, back to Medusa’s amazing power which I would love to have so I could use it whenever I’m talking to some professors in this department...don’t quote me on that.” Again, Marcus chuckles at your side commentary and notices how calm and enjoyable the atmosphere of the lecture is. If only he had professors like you when he was in university.

“Even after she was decapitated by Perseus, her powers were very much alive and it is said that Athena placed Medusa’s image on her shield, once Perseus returned it, in order to use it when she hunted. This suggests that depictions of her severed head held apotropaic power and like earlier, one could use a creature who held the power of the evil eye against another being who is said to use the evil eye. Following this principle of similia similibus, it is not surprising that most of the amulets found in Greece and Rome contained illustrations of Medusa’s decapitated head on them. What was once the possessor of the evil eye became a protective symbol against the very same thing.” Just as you are about to continue with the next image, an alarm goes off and Marcus frowns in shock at how inconsiderate it was that phones weren’t silenced. But his surprise only heightens when he sees you running down the steps to your desk and picking up the phone sitting in the middle of the table.

“Ahhhh man, we were just about to get to the cavalier. That’s okay. Remember, the second response is due first thing on Friday. If you can’t turn it in during class, shoot me an email and we can work something out with my TAs. Go forth my clever spawns!” Marcus stands up and glues himself to the wall when he sees students emptying the lecture hall, his eyes on your form at the front of the class. He hopes you don’t leave out of the front exit and begins to make his way to you through the multitude of undergrads leaving. When he reaches your desk, he stands to the side until you finish chatting with one of the students and begins to collect your work.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Please, it’s just Y/N. Who are you and how can I help you today?” You almost do a double take when you look up from your bag and see the man standing in front of you. To say that you were starstruck by the man in front of you would have been the understatement of the century.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike,” he holds out his FBI tag for you and watches as you raise an eyebrow at him before you swing your bag across your shoulders and motion for him to follow you out of the hall.

“I would like to put it on record that I do not, in fact, wish to turn any of my colleagues to stone.” You joke, and Marcus senses that you are perhaps nervous at seeing his tag.

“Believe me, I would like to do that to some of mine as well...but no, not why I’m here.” Marcus clips the tag below his jacket as he walks with you.

“May I ask what I have done that caught the FBI’s attention?” You walk ahead of him, and ask him if it was okay for him to head over to your office with you.

“I’m with the FBI Art Crime Team and I’m here on a request. We would like to consult you on an open investigation and I came here to ask what your availability is.” Marcus follows you up the stairs, barely forcing his eyes to remain on your feet instead of elsewhere.

“Oh, me? That’s...wow. Of all the things I thought I would accomplish in my life, that’s definitely not one of them. May I ask what it is you need my opinion on?” You push open the doorway of the staircase and point at your office across the quiet hall.

“Unfortunately, there is a lot of paperwork you need to fill out before we get to work so I can’t disclose anything about the case until you sign in.” Marcus steps into the office behind you and watches as you set your things down before you move to your desk. He can’t help but feel his muscles loosen at the sight of the bookshelves across your room.

“This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all year long so yes, hundred percent. I’m available for the rest of the day today as well as tomorrow and Friday after lecture which ends at the same time as today’s.” You beam up at him as you take two books out of your bag and replace them with a folder that was sitting in the middle of your desk. Marcus looks at you quizzically, marveling at how much easier this was going. He genuinely thought he was going to meet with someone who was probably a bit proud and perhaps as much of an asshole as his previous professors but you were so much different than anyone he’s ever met within this field.

“Are you sure? I understand if you need to take a week or two-”

“No please, you’ll be saving me from faculty lunches and two seminars by colleagues that I genuinely cannot fucking stand- oh, sorry. Sorry, didn’t mean to-” You swing your leather bag around your shoulder again and shut the blinds of the windows before you walk to the door.

“Please, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” Marcus chuckles at the excitement rolling off of you and bites his lower lip when he watches you quickly fix your hair.

“I might need to have lunch on the way to your office though if that’s okay?” You take a plastic container out of your bag and smile sheepishly at him as you lock your door.

“Wow...is your bag bigger on the inside or something? And, yeah fine by me.” He pushes his hands into his pockets again and walks next to you, a little corner in his heart gradually filling with hope letting him know that he should be cautious. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

You both chat briefly on your way to headquarters and Marcus apologizes every time he looks over and sees you struggling with your food. By the time you make it to the building, Marcus can tell you are a bit nervous and he assures you once more that this was merely a consultation.

“Wait how did you even find me?” You take your jacket off along with everything in your pockets, laying them down near your bag as they go through the scanner. Marcus passes through with his badge and waits for you on the other side, picking up your things as you put your jacket back on.

“I made some calls and a friend suggested to get in touch with you because of your expertise.”

“Oh now we’re getting somewhere. You have a Greek artifact don’t you?” Marcus halts in his steps and looks over to you as he shuts his eyes in irritation. He should have watched what he said.

“S-sorry I couldn’t help it. I’ll stop until I fill out whatever paperwork you have for me.” You take your things from him and walk quietly as he leads you to the elevators.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not personal, it’s just-”

“Business I know. I know. I’m so used to watching this kind of stuff in movies that I tend to forget it’s all fake and you’re...the real deal.” You hope he doesn’t see the way your eyes trail over his taller form, silently cursing yourself when you meet his eyes and notice how he’s already staring at you with a smile.

“Sorry.” You apologize again and look straight ahead, hands tightening around the leather strap when you realize that he’s still looking at you.

Marcus fists the hands in his pockets to prevent himself from saying anything else that might make you uncomfortable, and he looks at the increasing numbers as they reach his floor. A loud ring signals your arrival and Marcus stretches out his hand so you could walk ahead of him. You wait until he tells you where to go and say nothing when he stops for a second and whispers something to another agent.

When you arrive at his office, you stand to the side and wait for him to tell you what to do.

“What’re you doing all the way over there? Come here.” Marcus calls you over to his desk and smiles, hoping to put you a little at ease. You step towards him and set your stuff on the floor as you sit opposite him on one of the two chairs. He pulls out a couple of files and sets them in front of you in four different piles.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” You chuckle nervously as you take out a pen from your bag.

“I know, I’m sorry. But that’s why I’m here. These are the building rules and your signature is basically you telling us you’ll abide by all of them.”

“I don’t know any of them.” You respond immediately, and rub harshly at the pen between your fingers.

“I’ll be with you at all times so you don’t have to worry about that.” His smile throws you off guard and you nod before you sign the highlighted areas.

“And these are you swearing that you will tell no one of whatever you see, hear, do, etc. within the building.” You nod and sign through the stapled paperwork before sliding them his way.

“We’re almost done. These two are like the second pile but they have to do with this case specifically. And they extend to outside the premises, meaning that if I or another agent on the case tells you anything that has to do with your work here today while we’re grabbing coffee from across the street, you can’t say it to a living soul.” Marcus points at the four highlighted boxes and tells you to sign the date next to them as well.

“So I can say it to my dead cousin?” You ask as you sign the two papers and hand them to him, unable to hold your laughter when he shakes his head as he pushes the last pile towards you.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Can’t help it.”

“And finally, these are you swearing that whatever you tell us today, be it an opinion, a fact, or anything else, is the absolute truth. Basically, you’re not fucking with us.” You raise an eyebrow at his choice in words and he shrugs his shoulders as he motions for the empty spaces again. When you’re done, Marcus collects all the files and places them in a folder before he unlocks his desk and pushes them inside.

“I don’t ever want to see my signature again.” You whisper as he leads you out of the office towards a conference room. He holds the door for you and nods ahead, waiting for you to step in before he shuts the door behind him and turns around. You try to ignore the hand pushing on your lower back as you walk in and spot three gentlemen and one woman standing towards the end of the long table.

“Wow, that was quick.” The female agent is first to speak and you say nothing as Marcus introduces you to them.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice.”

“Of course. This is very exciting for me so I’m happy to help in any way.” You shake her hand and stand to the side as Marcus motions for you to sit down.

“This is Lydia, Ethan, Henry, and Noah.” Marcus points to each member of his team as he pulls out a chair next to you and sits down.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You nod towards them and look at the folder that Lydia hands to you. Marcus says something as you flip open the folder but you can’t respond, eyes almost falling out of their sockets as you take in the large image on the page. You look up at Marcus and everyone else before you return your attention to the picture.

“You recognize what this is then?” Ethan breaks the silence and watches as you move through the pages quickly.

“Umm, that seems like an oversimplification but yes.” You continue to study the images in front of you for another few minutes before you set them down and look up at Marcus.

“Some explanation would really help me out right now.” You tap softly on the papers, and your mind conjures up the wildest possible stories behind the images currently displayed in front of you.

“Oh right yes. We received a tip from the Smithsonian’s acquisitions department about a man trying to sell them this artifact for three million dollars,” Marcus notices your eyes widen but he continues, “but they’re not sure if it’s stolen or not. And he refuses to cooperate.”

“Which is where you come in. Have you seen anything like this before and if so, where?” Lydia stares at you as you return your attention to the pictures again.

“And the Smithsonian can’t confirm this?”

“Far from it. Marcus here is just afraid they’ll eventually get greedy and do anything to get their hands on it.” You look next to you and watch a faint blush take over the agent’s handsome features.

“I mean I don’t blame you. There are a bunch of real assholes in this field.” You laugh when he gives Lydia a ‘told you’ look.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to help you if I don’t see the actual pendant.” You shut the folder and push it away from you.

“That might be a problem.” Henry takes his glasses off and proceeds to clean them as he looks at his co-workers.

“Why? Do you not have it anymore?” Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of the FBI losing such an object.

“Oh no we have it. Our guy is afraid we’ll switch it out with a fake so he refuses to hand it to us unless he’s in the same room.”

“That’s funny. Is there a rule that says I can’t look at it while this man is in the room?” You ask Marcus and he can’t help but notice how giddy you’re being all of a sudden. Your excitement is almost palpable and he wills himself to focus on the question and not how you bite your lower lip as you wait for him.

“I mean…”

“You’re all going to be in the room aren’t you?” You cut him off before he says anything and when they all nod, you turn to Marcus once more and wait for his response.

“I guess it’s fine.” Marcus reluctantly answers before he asks Ethan and Noah to bring the man from the interrogation room he’s been in for the past couple of hours. Lydia and Henry let you in on more details and Marcus watches as you furrow your eyebrows in focus, occasionally cutting them off to ask them a question.

Fifteen minutes later and a knock on the door breaks you out of your haze. You look up just as Ethan and Noah walk in with a man in front of them. You say nothing as they bring him to your side of the room and set him down across from you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t steal it. I found it!” Your ears perk at his comment but you say nothing as he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you.

“May I see it?” You ask before anyone else says anything and the man continues to stare at you before he ignores your question.

“Please, I’m just here to confirm your story. I know for a fact there isn’t a museum out there that has this.” You notice the hardened expression on Henry’s face but he says nothing. A few long moments pass by and the man shifts to take something out of the inside his jacket. You inhale deeply and watch as he unwraps the cloth before he places the small pendant on the table in front of you.

“May I?” You ask again and if Marcus didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just trying to put the man at ease. If you were nervous around five FBI agents and you did nothing wrong, then his little thief must have been scared shitless.

When the man nods, you bring out a pair of gloves from your handbag and put them on, forcing yourself to remain calm as you pick up the pendant.

“What a beautiful work of art you are baby. Red jasper, my favorite!” Your excited words break the silence and you look up at the man in front of you with a smile, feeling your hands sweat when he slowly returns the expression.

Got you.

“Greek is marvelous...crystal clear, grammatically correct, unique placement.” It’s as silent as a cemetery and Marcus watches you closely as you narrow your eyes and adjust the stone under the light. If he wasn’t dealing with a criminal and a potentially stolen artifact, he would have told you how beautiful you looked when you were deep in the middle of a task.

“Hmm, what is this 6th century-ish spell? Oh my bad, no no no, I tend to mix them up sometimes. It’s definitely a 7th century formula.” You make an awkward face and watch as Lydia shakes her head at your little mix up.

“Now, let’s see what you got on the other side sweetheart.” You carefully turn the amulet around in the palm of your hand and barely hold back from gasping dramatically.

“My god...what a goddamn sight...oh oops sorry, that was probably blasphemous. A perfectly etched crucifixion...cross with 4 sides, with a plaque at the top...and of course, can’t forget the clothed Christ. The detail on this is truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen, down to the ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare’ around the figure. Where did you say you found it again?” You casually ask as you continue to inspect the stone, almost laughing when the man responds immediately to your question.

“Mount Athos.” Marcus turns to his team in shock. You’d managed to get the information out of him so easily while they spent an entire day trying to get him to say anything. It was a little funny how at ease the man seemed now, leaning forward towards you as you flipped the stone around.

“Ohh the hub of Eastern monasteries. Boy is this the most valuable artifact I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at then.” You set it down on the cloth and wrap it up before taking your gloves off and leaning back on the chair.

“See, told you its one of a kind. No one’s ever found anything like it before.” The man beams at you before he takes the object and puts it back in his jacket.

“Oh yeah it’s one of a kind alright...because it’s the most fake amulet I’ve ever had the misfortune of examining. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this disappointed in my life. And here I thought another one of these was out there. Did you even bother to do any research on this?” You frown at him and cross your arms in irritation, completely missing Marcus’ reaction and how he turns to Lydia to confirm that yes, you just said that it was a fake artifact.

“W-what?”

“I’d love to know where you got the red jasper because you could have fooled me with that. Let’s break this down shall we? The Greek is perfect, too perfect if I’m being honest. You never have grammatically correct syntax etched on a magical amulet, let alone proper diction. Oh and you should have probably used Classical Greek instead of modern Greek, like were you even trying? Really bad move to use a 7th century formula with a non-altered 6th century spell. The formula didn’t even exist yet!” You tilt your head to the side and watch as the man in front of you begins to fidget. His smile is replaced with a shocked expression and you watch as it slowly becomes angry.

Marcus was speechless. He never saw this coming and was looking at you with a mixture of awe and surprise at the turn of events. He could only stare at you as he took in your energy, the same confidence and intelligence he saw earlier in the day when he walked into your lecture.

“As for the back, you never get 4-sided crosses with these, only three, and the head of Christ makes up the fourth which you don’t actually see because of his head. No plaque, too detailed and non-existent in protection spells. Christ is always nude on magical amulets by the way...yes it’s weird, but it’s a fucking amulet and he was just some extra deity. And finally, never, ever, write out ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare.’ You write the acronym IXOYE.” You flip open the folder that was in front of you and grab a sharpie from Marcus’ file, circling the first letter of each Greek word and holding it up as if he was one of your students and you were trying to lecture him.

“Don’t even get me started on your provenance. Mount Athos? I mean for fuck’s sake, Constanza would have been a better option. At least we actually found amulets out there. How much was he asking for this?” You turn to Marcus and completely miss the starstruck eyes he’s giving you. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he finally realizes that you asked him a question.

“Uhhh 3 mil.”

“Oh boy...yeah, this is worth jack shit. Wouldn’t even do it’s intended job if you actually wore it as a protection pendant.” You watch as the man’s expression changes from anger to outrage and you barely have any time to push away your chair and hide behind Marcus before the man tries to jump on top of the table towards you. It takes Ethan and Noah approximately five seconds to tackle him down before they take him out of the room. You watch as they reach for the amulet in his pocket and give it to Henry just as they push him out.

You’re still coming down from the adrenaline rush when Marcus turns around and asks you if you are alright. As soon as you see the gun in his hands, your hold on his jacket tightens and you gulp nervously when you meet his eyes. He apologizes quickly once he sees where you’re looking and quickly puts the gun back in its holster.

“You okay?” Marcus holds your wrist and rubs his thumb over your pulse point until you begin to relax. You fix your jacket and take a deep breath before you meet his eyes, almost gasping when you see how dark and oddly calming they are.

“Didn’t think a consultation would get this exciting but uhh, yeah I’m good. I think.” You try to laugh it off but looking at the object in Henry’s hand makes you realize that the last five minutes did really happen and you actually managed to piss off someone to the point where he tried to attack you.

“And we were worried it was stolen…” Lydia shakes her head when she takes the amulet and swirls it around in her hand.

“I might be wrong but I think you should try to find out who made it, especially because of the red jasper. This came real close to a fake. And you should also try to date it as well...there might be more of these out there.” You smile when Lydia agrees and collects the folders on the table, thanking you on her way out.

“My pleasure...apart from that last bit.” You laugh it off and watch as she exits the conference room with Henry.

“So…” You turn to Marcus and whisper a quick thank you when he hands you your bag.

“So, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to consult on this case. I- I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this happened. It’s not always like this, I promise. The exciting stuff usually happens when we find guys like him in abandoned warehouses.” Marcus continues to word vomit as he leads you back to his office.

“It’s okay really. My advisor always warned me about this.”

“About working with the FBI?”

“No no, about rambling so much that I piss off someone to the point where they try to kill me.” You’re taken aback by Marcus’ laugh and can’t help but giggle along with him as he leans back in his chair and continues to laugh.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t work with us again?” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t ease the butterflies in your stomach and you place your hand on your chest dramatically as you bat your eyes at him.

“Why Agent Pike, are you trying to recruit me to the FBI?” You ask sarcastically and watch as he shrugs his shoulders before shutting off his computer and standing up.

“Just a consult here and there, should we meet another Greco-Roman artifact? Or...a fake one I guess.” You swallow the lump in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you and hope that you’re not misreading any signs.

“Can I take you out to dinner? As a thank you and an apology for putting your life in danger?” Marcus is reluctant to ask but he takes the leap of faith and hopes that you wouldn’t reject him.

“I- actually...in all honesty, I don’t think I’ll do well in public after that whole thing.” You gesture towards the outside offices, and Marcus nods in disappointment and contemplates on whether he should ask you to dinner some other time. You never give him a chance to follow-up though.

“How about take-out at my place?” You stand up and smile when you see his eyes beam with excitement as he fixes his tie and motions towards the door.

“Lead the way doctor.” You flush under the title and walk ahead so he doesn’t notice the obvious effect he’s having on you. You glance at Marcus every now and then as you make your way out of the building and towards his car.

You chat about random things as he drives through the busy streets, and you feel your heart skip a beat when he says something scandalous about your favorite Impressionist artwork, not because of the comment but because of the way he winks at you as he slides his hand to your thighs and nudges them to let you know he was just joking. You hope that Marcus asks for your number by the end of the night, maybe even invite you to dinner again, because if you’re being honest, it’s been a while since you met a decent guy and he’s been checking all of your boxes all day long.

Kind. Intelligent. Hard-working. Funny. And of course, attractive. There was something about the way he smiles and you kept on replaying the moment he hid you behind him and continued to ask if you were alright.

“What do you mean you don’t like Bal du moulin de la Galette? It’s one of the most magnificent paintings out there. Best of Renoir’s if you ask me.” You unlock the door and switch on the lights, throwing your coat and bag on the wall before telling Marcus to make himself at him. He takes his jacket off and hangs it as well, turning around to continue his argument.

“Listen, I’m just not a crowd kind of guy. I’m more of a Paris Street, Rainy Day man okay so-”

“Why am I not surprised by that?” You laugh as you bring him a cup of water, hoping you were being subtle as you continued to check out the gun resting in his holster. Shaking your head, you take your phone out again and tell him that it’ll take you a few minutes to order pizza since neither of you can make up your mind.

Marcus looks around when you walk away to place the order, his eyes taking in the three bookshelves behind your couch. It’s almost as if the office space wasn’t enough so you had to make more room for all of your textbooks and novels. Maybe it was the other way around…

He takes a sip of water and glances to the side, instantly choking on the liquid when his eyes zero in on the three watercolor paintings hanging above your television. Marcus blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. He approaches the wall and looks between the three artworks, unable to tear his gaze away. He notices new details every time he focuses on a different corner of each painting, and his pants suddenly feel uncomfortable when he shifts closer.

“Pizza will be here in thirty-ish minutes and-” You almost drop the phone when Marcus jumps back and almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” When you walk closer and see the blush creeping down his neck, you can’t help but giggle and glance at your paintings, almost as if you were taunting him into commenting on your choice in decoration.

“These are...interesting.” Marcus avoids looking at them when you stand next to him, merely pointing to the side as he looks at you.

“Oh no...here we go. I know what that means. You don’t like them?” You tilt your head to the side and hold back from smiling when he takes a long sip of water before he sets down the glass.

“N-no no, that’s not...I didn’t mean- I just...it’s a bold choice.” His stutter makes you laugh even harder and you apologize when his blush deepens. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s always really funny when people come over because I get all kinds of reactions but you’re definitely the first guy that doesn’t call me a slut because I have pornographic paintings hanging in my living room.”

“Why not? The Dutch lords and the Italian merchants did it, why can’t you?” Marcus is almost offended by the remark and he forgets all about the awkwardness of the paintings when he sees you nod aggressively in agreement.

“Exactly!? Why is a guy allowed to hang an Odalisque in his home but I can’t hang some BDSM scenes?” You take the glass from the table and ask him if he wants more. Marcus shakes his head and quickly attempts to fix himself through his pants before you return.

“So you like them then?” You lounge on one chair and wait for Marcus to sit on the couch before you ask him.

“It’s a different aesthetic I think, and it somehow goes well with your bookshelves. Something about textbooks and nude paintings depicting sex just goes together...can’t explain how. And kudos to the artist too! The brushstrokes, the layering, the complementary colors...the scenes and positions are so natural. They’re perfect combinations. Did you pick them or did you commission them?”

“Oh I commissioned two of them. The third was just too good to not order. I’ll ask you this then, which ones do you think I commissioned?” Marcus glances to the canvases again and grows quiet for a few moments, his eyes switching from one painting to another before he meets your gaze.

“I think you commissioned the two on the left.”

“Why?” You try to hide how impressed you are by how he correctly figured you out, almost cringing when the question leaves your mouth before you could stop yourself. As much as you enjoy where this conversation was going, you really hope this wouldn’t lead to some misogynistic response on his part. Just as Marcus is about to respond, the doorbell rings and you tell him you’ll be right back.

Marcus thanks the heavens that the pizza arrives because he isn’t sure how he could respond to that question without accidentally giving his train of thoughts away. When you come back with plates and napkins, Marcus thanks you and proceeds to separate the pizza slices.

“It was the closest I could get to owning something that resembled the area I study.” You say through chewing and Marcus furrows his eyebrows, silently asking you to elaborate on your comment.

“Nudity I mean. I can’t afford sculptures so I settled with these.”

“They are beautiful. And the positions are-” Marcus stops abruptly when he realizes that his inner monologue just rolled off of his tongue.

“Go on, what were you going to say?”

“I- uh, I just think that the positions are intimate. And they become more intimate the longer you look at them.” He chews faster when you nod and take another slice of pizza.

“You have a favorite?” You ask and pretend you aren’t paying attention to every single word he says. You get the sense that he has a lot to say about the paintings but is choosing to hold back so you don’t get the wrong idea about why he is having dinner with you in your apartment after only knowing you for a few hours.

“Definitely the middle one.” His answer surprises you, especially because the one on the right has handcuffs and you genuinely thought he’d be into that because of his line of work.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh...I- this might sound weird but I think the scene is intense and- and close? Private? I’m not sure what it is I’m trying to say but the fact that she’s completely nude except for the panties around her thighs while he’s fully clothed and is focusing on her pleasure is- it’s intimate. And the hand on her back is a mixture of dominance and care, like he’s letting her know that she has his undivided attention but she has to behave for him.” You’re not sure when exactly you stopped eating and you clear your throat when you realize that Marcus was looking at you to gauge your reaction.

“Y-yeah that...ahuh.” Something about the way he says the word ‘behave’ twists your insides and you immediately stand up and head to the kitchen, whispering something about needing to wash down the food with something. Marcus eats quietly and hopes he hasn’t just made things even more awkward. When you come back and hand him a glass of red wine, Marcus relaxes and continues to eat.

“Have you ever drawn something like this?” You shake your head as you take a sip of the wine, laying against the back of the couch and crossing your legs.

“I wish. Human anatomy is so fascinating I think. I sometimes get this adrenaline rush when I look at the far right one and I tell myself that I’ll sketch all the risque and open positions I can think of but then I remember how long it would take me to finish one piece and I- I don’t have time for that sadly.”

“You can always start out with simpler ones? Maybe solo pieces, and move up from there.” Marcus mirrors you and sits back with the wine glass in his hand.

“Yeah, but I just love this kind of genre so much. It needs to be passionate, and sexy and out there you know.” Marcus smiles at the energetic response, feeling much more relaxed now that he’s had a cup of wine and found chatting about your choice in decoration less awkward.

“I get you. It’s why that lifestyle is interesting to so many people. The whole dynamic, whether we’re talking about the figures in the scene or actual partners, is based on that trust. You- you have to create that sense of trust and comfort for the scene to be enjoyable...pleasurable. It’s not as easy as some think it to be. As a Dom, you have to be aware of your partner at all times and the effect you have on them. And the same goes for a Sub too. You need to ensure that your Dom knows how much trust you put in them and the level of dedication that’s going into the scene. Both parties are depending on each other and it’s- it’s amazing.” Marcus smiles when he notices the intensity swimming in your eyes and he gives you a few seconds to collect your bearings before he asks his next question.

“Would you draw something as intimate as that?” He breaks the silence and watches your train of thought come and go.

“Would you?” You throw the question right back at him, holding in a breath when you see him lean forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I would...but only if I have the right model.” Marcus doesn’t know where all of this is coming from but he can’t find it in himself to break whatever bubble the two of you found yourselves in. You’re silent for a few moments, long enough for Marcus to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s crossed the line.

But then you’re smiling at him mischievously, chugging down the rest of the wine before standing up and heading towards the hallway.

“I have an easel and some 16x20 papers lying around...I hope you don’t mind working with chalk.” You throw back at him before you walk down the hallway and Marcus has to give himself a quick pep talk before he follows you. He slowly makes his way into your bedroom and stands at the doorstep until you allow him to come in.

“I think the lighting is best in this corner but you’ll be the one working so sit wherever you prefer.” You bring over a chair and set it in front of the easel before you grab the large box of supplies and pull out all the chalk sticks that you have. Marcus nods in silence as he pushes the easel closer to your bed and begins to choose which of the chalk sticks he wants. There is a variety of shapes and sizes, and he’s not sure if he should start out bold or if he should ease himself into this. It’s been a while since he’s drawn a model and he really doesn’t want to screw up, especially because it is you.

Marcus is so busy preparing his workstation that he doesn’t notice you stripping off your clothes. You keep your eyes on him and find the little scrunch he does with his eyebrows when he focuses on something endearing. Taking a deep breath, you take off your bra and panties before laying on the bed and getting in a comfortable position. Your movements are minimal, and you stretch out your legs in wait for him. You fight the part of you that’s yelling at you to cover yourself and keep your focus on him to gauge his reaction.

“Pose however you want and we can work on the postures once we-” The words die in his throat as soon as he looks up from the easel and sees your state of dress, or lack thereof. The thick chalk stick he’s holding between his fingers snaps in half and breaks the blanket of silence that fell on the room. He visibly gulps and doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes trail down your form slowly before they return to look into your dilated ones. Marcus knows for a fact that the image of your heaving chest and hardened nipples will forever be etched in his mind.

“I- uhh, are you...c-comfortable?” He hates how much he’s stuttering and you smile at him when you notice how he is focusing on the wall behind you and not you.

You look around for a few moments, grabbing a couple of pillows and placing them behind your back before you stretch out one leg and bend the other one to your chest. Marcus almost chokes on his breath when he sees how open you are being with him but he says nothing and turns his attention to the blank piece of paper underneath his hand.

“I’m ready.” Your voice brings him out of his stupor and he nods briefly as he tries to reason with himself. He cannot draw you unless he looks at you. But he is well aware of the hardening predicament he’s currently suffering from and he’s sure you probably noticed by now the effect you were having on him.

“I won’t tell you how to do your job Agent, but artists usually have to look at the models they’re drawing to...you know, draw them.” Marcus rolls his eyes at the teasing remark, briefly glancing at you with a raised eyebrow before he begins to softly outline the shape of your shoulders. His cock twitches in his pants and he tries his hardest to not squirm too much in his seat. But every time his eyes move towards your nude form laying not five feet away from him, he silently curses himself and pretends he’s fine and that he isn’t imagining pushing you down and shoving his tongue deep into your wet cunt.

“Are you usually this quiet when you’re sketching, Agent Pike?” Something about the way you’re addressing him makes him clench his jaw tightly and he unintentionally whispers a little louder than he intends in response.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Your giggles let him know that you heard his remark and he is sure his face is growing a deeper shade of red but he shrugs his shoulders and ignores your obvious amusement. Marcus swallows the lump in his throat as he shifts his focus below your neck, parting his lips when he notices the tilt of your head from his peripheral vision as he ceases all movement and continues to stare at your chest.

“Oh sorry, is my arm in the way,” you lower your arms and move them behind you to support your weight, never breaking eye contact with him as you rock your bent leg back and forth and give him a full view of your most intimate parts.

Marcus is almost shaking in his seat at the sight of your breasts, unaware that he’s harshly rubbing the chalk stick with his thumb the more your leg sways to the side and reveals the outer folds of your pussy.

“P-perfect, thank you.” He whispers and returns to the sheet in front of him, biting into his lower lip as he rolls the chalk across and sketches the curves of your breasts. For a moment, he forgets what he is doing and narrows his eyes at the shapes in front of him before he smudges the black material across to shade in the skin. He looks back and forth for a couple of minutes until he’s happy with the shading of your body.

You marvel at how he’s managing to keep it together for this long when all you can think about is begging for him to fuck you into the mattress. You thought it would be easy for him to break but ever the gentleman, he takes the task seriously and tries his hardest to not dwell on your skin for longer than necessary.

A thought comes through your mind and you smile to yourself as you shift your bent leg to the side and move the other one until it falls from the side of the bed. You stare at him and hope this is what finally does the trick. And you don’t have to wait for too long because the next time Marcus looks at you, he takes a double-take and doesn’t bother to hide how he’s only focusing on the skin between your thighs.

“I thought it would be easier for you, you know. Easier access and everything.” You’re not sure what you’re going on about but you can tell that it’s taking every ounce of control in his body to not pounce on you. You hold your breath when Marcus stands up and meets your eyes, and you think this is it. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

But then he’s freeing the paper from the easel and moving towards you, his expression never once giving his plan away. You gulp when he kneels at the foot of your bed and sets the paper between your thighs.

“You’re right, easier access,” Marcus says as he brings the chalk down on the paper and sketches your thighs, not bothering for propriety as his eyes zero in on your slit. You know you’re wet and you can feel slick easing down your folds but you don’t move a muscle, watching him as he expertly outlines your skin before he rubs the chalk with his thumb to shade the area again.

“It’s not quite how I want it…” His remark makes you shiver and you’re about to beg him to forgo the sketch when he leans forward and nudges your legs apart, perhaps a little carelessly, before he collects your arousal with his middle finger and swipes it across your folds. You’re shocked by the turn of events and barely hold back from moaning as he dips the clean finger into your pussy and rubs your walls for a few more seconds, his soft brown eyes turning dangerous as pushes his finger a little deeper and bites his lower lip when he feels you clenching around him. Marcus turns his attention back to you, his jaw tensing when he sees sheer bliss etched on your expression. Your little gasps are music to his ears and just as he feels your hips moving against him, he pulls his hand away.

You watch him like a hawk as he inspects his finger, gasping when he smudges at the chalk on the sketch to create darker shades around your center.

“Hmm, that’s more like it.” Marcus turns to you and smirks when he sees your parted lips turn into a frown.

“Do you not like it?” He feigns ignorance and raises an eyebrow when your frown deepens as you move back into your pillows. You lean back but continue to hold his gaze as you part your thighs and lazily stroke your cunt. Marcus slowly puts down the paper and chalk onto the floor and stands up just as you begin to pinch your nipples.

“Please…” Your whispered plea shoots straight to his cock and he laughs when it turns into a whine once he makes his way to the bathroom in your room. He says nothing as he quickly washes his hands and dries them before moving back and standing next to your bed.

You don’t stop touching yourself, hoping the needy sight of you is all the push he needs to take what he wants.

“What’s your safeword doctor?” Marcus keeps his hands in his pockets as he trails his eyes down your shivering body. He’s itching to touch you but he remains still and waits for confirmation that you do, in fact, want this as much as him. A part of him knows that the two of you should probably slow down and perhaps discuss whatever this is before you go any further. But it feels right being here with you. And he doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

“J-Jasper.” Your voice breaks when you see the hunger swimming in his eyes and you shift to the center of your bed as Marcus kicks off his shoes before taking off his socks.

“Hmm.” Marcus hums as he takes off the holster from his belt and quietly places the gun on your nightstand. When he turns back and sees you watching the gun and increasing your movements, he groans down at you before walking around the bed.

“Maybe another time baby...when you and I are a little more acquainted with each other.” You flush at the implications behind his words and nod at him. You watch as he begins to roll up his sleeves and your anticipation grows with each inch of skin he reveals.

“You look so pretty sweetheart, all needy and desperate for my touch. Do you want to cum baby?” Marcus asks teasingly and you nod frantically as you begin to push two fingers into your cunt.

“Nuh uh, use your words. I’ll let it go this time but from now on, you use your words if you want something from me.” His tone is less gentle and your inner walls spasm at the thought of hearing that same commanding voice telling you to get on your knees for him.

“S-sorry yes...yes please. I- I want to cum, please.” Marcus smiles in amusement as he steps closer to the bed until his knees touch the mattress.

“Good girl. Now, if you really want to cum, then you better come here and suck me off. Be a good girl for me and show me what that sweet fucking mouth of yours can do.” His chest puffs out proudly when he sees how quickly you’re moving to please him. You lay on your stomach and palm him through his pants, moaning along with him when you find him hard and ready for you.

“May I undress you?”

“Go on sweetheart, take what you want.” Marcus caresses your cheek as you excitedly unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He doesn’t dare look away as you shove his pants down his thighs before leaning forward and nuzzling your nose into the bulge of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck baby, are you trying to kill me?” You giggle and shake your head in response, purposely rubbing his length with your nose just before you feel his fingers combing through your hair and tugging on it.

“Remember sweetheart...bad girls don’t get to cum. Stop your teasing before I shove my cock down your throat.” Marcus pulls on your hair harshly and groans when he sees you smiling up at him.

“Is that a promise Agent Pike?” You know you’re pushing his buttons and don’t hold back from gasping his name as he rolls you onto your back and aggressively pushes his boxer briefs down far enough to free his cock. He’s not really a vain man but seeing you lick your lips and inch closer to him as you stare at his hard dick makes him just a little cocky.

“Go on baby, open your mouth. Part those pretty fucking lips for me.” Marcus pats your lips softly and shivers when you respond to him right before you shut your eyes and wait for him to give you his cock.

“Yes sir.”

His knees buckle for a second the moment you take his tip into your mouth and suck on it. Marcus is torn between throwing his head back to enjoy the softness of your mouth and keeping his eyes on you as you suck on his cock. He leans forward and bites his cheek when you relax your throat and take more of his cock down your throat.

“P-part your legs for me baby please. Let me- oh fuck, your mouth is made of magic sweetheart. Let me- let me see how wet that pretty cunt is.” Marcus is already breathing heavily and he furrows his eyebrows in focus, not wanting to end this night early. You swallow around him a few times and hum when you feel his hand cupping your breasts while the other rests around your throat.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you try to take him down as deep as possible just as you part your thighs and begin to play with your pussy. Marcus groans and swears above you as you work him expertly and he can’t hold back from pushing the palm of his hand a little harder on your throat. He can feel his cock passing across your pharynx and moans your name over and over again when he looks down and sees drool rolling down your cheeks.

“Ahh fuck oh god, s-sweetheart you’re a fucking dream. W-where have you been all my life?” Marcus continues to kneed at your tits, but when he gets a little irritated when he sees your fingers rubbing your clit. Without warning, he leans forward as far as he can and slaps your hand away, replacing it with his own and biting his cheek when he finds you soaking.

“Shit baby, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You hum around him and twitch in surprise when you feel two of his thick fingers pushing past your wet folds and into your cunt. You’re already so close to coming from his teasing and you whimper when he nudges your thighs apart aggressively.

“Keep those legs open for me baby. Shit, the smell of you is fucking intoxicating. Fuck, that it’s, get on your hands and knees for me.” Marcus moves away and silences you with one look when you start to whine and reach for his cock.

“Unless you want to call it a night, you’ll get on your fucking hands and knees for me. Shit baby I’ve wanted to shove my tongue in that pussy as soon as you stripped for me.” He never breaks eye contact as he kicks away his pants and briefs before he makes quick work of his shirt. You quickly turn around and bite into your wrist as you get on all fours and try to look at him through your elbow. You reach down and ease two fingers into your cunt as you take in his broad shoulders and lean form. You swear his muscles flex the longer you stare at him and when you finally look at him, you’re a little embarrassed at being caught openly ogling him.

“Look at you, like a bitch in heat.” Regret rolls off of him as soon as he registers what he just said. An apology is on the tip of his tongue but then you’re arching your back and shifting closer to him, giving him a show as you curve your knuckles to try and hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh aren’t you the prettiest sweetheart in the world.” You moan his name when he caresses your back and kneels behind you, laying soft kisses across your back as he palms and lightly smacks your ass. Marcus removes your hand away slowly but not before licking your fingers and humming around them as the taste of you fills his mouth.

“Marcus please...I- I need you inside me.”

“What do you need from me? You want my tongue and fingers? Or do you think this cunt is ready to take my cock?” Marcus nips at your skin and pushes a hand on your lower back when you try and move away from him.

“W-whatever you want...just- need to feel you inside me. I don’t care, please. Oh fuck...please.” You squeal when Marcus spreads your cheeks apart and spits on your slit right before licking across your cunt. You fist your hands into the sheets and bite down on your wrist when you feel his nose nudge at your entrance as his tongue flicks your engorged clit.

“Good answer sweetheart,” you hear him whisper just as he kisses across your folds and dips his tongue into your core. You’re already shaking with need and rock back against him, hoping he’d end your agony and give you his fingers as well. Marcus is losing his mind and he tries his hardest to focus on pleasuring you. But it’s so hard to hold back when you’re whimpering at his touch and shoving your pussy in his face to get more friction.

“Stop moving,” Marcus growls against you, and you cry out his name when his palms land on your ass cheeks three consecutive times before he rubs the reddening skin.

“Oh god, your tongue feels so good Marcus. D-don’t stop, please. I want to cum, l-let me cum. You’re so fucking- ahh s-shit.” You think you feel him smile against you as he pushes two fingers into your pussy but you can’t be sure because you suddenly feel full. Fuck, and it’s only his fingers.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” He slowly parts you with his fingers and groans when he feels you squeezing his fingers. When you try to move against him again, Marcus slithers his hand across your back and grabs your neck, pushing your face into the bed as he leans over to whisper in your ears.

“You’re being such a bad girl tonight. I won’t give you another warning baby. Move again and I won’t fuck you.” You shiver when you hear his hoarse voice on your ears, grasping the pillows as hard as you can when he pushes his fingers as deep as possible and curls his knuckles.

“N-no please...I’m s-sorry- ahh gahd I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” Marcus is pleased with the effect he’s clearly having on you and almost gives in. But he wants you to cum before he takes you. From the looks of it, you aren’t looking for anything gentle, and with how hard he is, has been for the entire day, he doesn’t have the self-control to be anything but rough.

“Good girl...sweet fucking girl.” You force yourself to remain immobile as you feel him reaching deeper and applying more pressure on your spongy walls. The hand on your neck moves to your back and massages your heated skin. It takes you a while to realize that he’s reenacting the paintings in your living room and the thought shakes you to your core. Before you can even warn him, you feel a familiar pressure growing in the depths of your stomach and your heart hammers in your chest as you lose yourself to the sudden swelling sensation. You gasp his name over and over again as you cum around his fingers, and Marcus fists his hand in your hair when he feels you shuddering beneath him.

He’s shocked at how quickly you unravel at his ministrations and he doesn’t look away as he brushes his thumb against your clit and watches your body fight to not move away from him.

“M-Marcus wait- I...too much.” You can barely form a coherent sentence, let alone a thought, and you bite into the sheets when you feel his scruff scratch your skin deliciously as he licks off your juices.

“Use your safeword sweetheart and I’ll stop. But you came without asking so now I have to punish you...fuck, you taste as good as you smell baby, shit, maybe even better.” Marcus slows down but continues to move his digits across your tightening walls and when you say nothing, he sits up and twists his hand, waiting for your breathing to slow down before he begins to fuck you with his fingers.

“Oh oh f-fuck I- Marcus M-Marcus oh god...yes please fuck ahh I- I’m…” You try to warn him but he doesn’t slow down once, continuing his assault on your abused cunt until he feels you tightening around him again.

“Beg!”

“Can I- oh god, can I cum? Please fuck, I- I can’t s-stah ahh fuck.” You reach around and dig your nails into the hand fisting in your hair. You try to warn him again of what’s about to happen but he doesn’t give you a chance, picking up the pace just as he curves his digits and rubs at your sensitive spot.

“Drench me baby.” It’s all you need to fall over the edge again and your vision whites out as you convulse around him. Marcus smiles proudly when you listen to his command but his expression changes to one of awe when he feels you gush around his hand and wet his arm and thighs. He doesn’t stop once, completely captivated by the sight of your juices flowing around him so easily. When you try to move up the bed, Marcus lets go of your neck and pushes down on your lower back to keep you still. The damp spot beneath you is growing and something primal takes over Marcus. He wants nothing more than to soak the entire bed.

But he snaps out of his haze when you cry out his name and beg him to slow down. He looks at you as he gradually comes to a halt but keeps his fingers in your pussy. Marcus massages your muscles as he eases his wet fingers out of you and carefully maneuvers you until you’re laying on your back. You hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness and almost jump away when you feel his tongue passing across the skin of your thighs. When you finally have enough mind to look at him, you’re taken aback by the sheer bliss written on his face as he closes his eyes and cleans you up. Your eyes widen in horror and embarrassment when you look at his glistening skin and you call for him shyly to grab his attention.

“I-I’m so sorry...I- I’ve never-”

“Don’t you dare apologize. That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen and the fact that I’m the first to make you squirt...best feedback I’ve ever gotten.” Marcus cuts you off as he licks at his forearm and fingers before he sits up behind you. You find his gaze much more intense than before and you hide behind your arm to avoid it.

“Marcus, stop.” He laughs at your sudden shyness and leans over to pull your arms away from your face.

“Please baby, don’t hide from me. Please.” You feel exposed underneath him and it’s a stupid thought considering what the two of you have been doing so far. But something about the way he’s staring at you with those deep, brown, soulful eyes makes you want to hide under the sheets. But instead, you take his hand and pull him close until he’s flush against you.

“K-kiss me.” You watch as his expression intensifies just as he leans forward and molds his lips with yours. You expected him to be rough but the way he parts his lips and allows you access to his mouth leaves you breathless. His scruff and mustache heighten the sensation and you instantly shove your tongue in his mouth when he melts against you. You hum when you finally taste yourself on his tongue and Marcus growls as the kiss grows more desperate. Just as you run out of breath, Marcus pulls away and holds back from smiling when you chase after him.

“Sweetheart, c-can I have you?” You’re amazed by how he’s still asking you if you want to do this even after the events of the past hour or so.

“Yes, please.” You respond as you push him off to resume your previous position again. Marcus feels his cock harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. But the moment shatters into a million pieces when he looks down and realizes that he doesn’t have any condoms.

“Fuck.” He hisses and begins to move away when he feels your hands reach for his thighs to stop him.

“What? What is it?”

“I- I didn’t think this would...I don’t have any condoms baby.” You stare at him for a few seconds before you break the silence and hope he doesn’t think any less of you. “I was tested after the last time and I’m clear. A-are you?” Marcus pins you with his eyes as he nods along. “I’m clean too...and, it’s been a while.” He hates to admit that last bit but he wants you to know that this, whatever it is, is serious.

“Same.” Your answer surprises him and he’s about to ask how that’s possible but forgets the question when you shift closer to him and dig your nails into his thighs to grab his attention.

“Fuck me.” The vulgar request sounds so pure rolling off of your tongue and Marcus pushes your knees wide open and settles between them. You continue to stare at him with hunger in your eyes as he strokes his cock a few times before he slides it across your wet slit. You’re already so sensitive from earlier but you can’t care less because you’ve only wanted to feel him inside you for the better half of the day. Marcus bites his lower lip and grasps your hips with one hand as he positions himself against your entrance and slowly pushes past your wet folds. He feels your walls already clenching around him and he hesitates for a moment as he moves his hands across your back to try and get you to loosen up.

“F-fuck...relax sweetheart. Relax for me please. I- I don’t- oh god, h-how are you this tight?” Your walls flutter around him when his hoarse, almost pained voice sounds through the room. “You’re doing so good baby, taking my cock in that pretty little cunt. Fuck, that’s it. Let me in sweetheart...could make you feel so good. Shit, that’s it.” Marcus cooes above you as he feels you slowly sucking him in. You sigh heavily when he finally sheathes himself completely inside you and it’s not until a few moments later that you realize he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Marcus, m-move. Fuck, just- move.” Your impatient groans make him twitch inside you and the two of you hiss when his hips jut forward at your gasped requests. His hands hold onto you a little harshly, squeezing the skin of your hips and making you giddy at the thought of seeing those bruises the following day.

“Just wait...please baby I- I don’t want to hurt you. You feel so fucking good around me and- and I...oh fuck, f-fuck...squeezing the shit out of me. Please I-”

“Fuck. Me.” You turn your head around enough to look at him and find the sight of his sweaty forehead and furrowed eyebrows intoxicating. He can sense your eyes on him and reluctantly looks down at you when you pronounce those two words, watching as you pierce him with a harsh gaze as you roll your hips against him.

“I- are you…”

“Fucking please...take what you want.” The desperate tone of your voice breaks him and he pulls away until the tip of his cock is nudged in between your folds before he snaps his hips forward aggressively.

You shut your eyes and cry into your pillows as Marcus lets go and pounds into you. He’s no longer trying to hold back and you feel proud of the effect you have on him. Thinking back to the past hour, you realize that Marcus was going out of his way to control himself and not hurt you. But with every brush of his cock against your inner walls, with every groaned swear word and whispered affirmation, you can’t help but beg for him to fuck you harder. To take you like a crazed man. Because now that you’ve had a taste of what he’s capable of, you don’t want him to ease up on you.

“Shit baby, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Your cunt is begging for my cock sweetheart. Can you feel how deep I am? How deep this tight pussy is sucking me in?” Marcus nudges your knees a little farther apart as he plunges into you over and over again. You’re a moaning mess beneath him and as you try to reach back to hold onto his hands, Marcus lets go of your hips and grabs your wrists, using them as leverage to fuck you deeper.

You scream his name as his thrusts become relentless, the resonating sound of skin against skin reminding you of how sore you were going to feel for the rest of the week. You can’t really pay attention to what he’s saying anymore, choosing to focus on the way his dick fills you up completely and hits your special spot with precision. The thought of knowing that you’re at this man’s mercy and that he’s using you like he owns you makes you shudder and Marcus doesn’t realize you’re coming around him until he feels a pressure push out of you. He looks down and watches your cunt gushes on his cock and thighs again, the sight somehow even prettier the second time than the first.

He waits until you’re no longer convulsing in his arms before he thrusts his cock back into your pussy. Marcus leans down and wraps his arms around your front to bring you flush against his chest. Marcus brushes your hair aside and nuzzles into your neck as he begins to roll his hips against your ass, trying to drive his cock into you even further without hurting you. You reach around and pull on his hair when he bites on the juncture of your neck.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” The confession feels more intimate than anything he’s said to you thus far and you throw your head back and smile when his hands roam your front and settle on your navel.

“Marcus...please.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything. Tell me...oh god, I- I’m so close.” Marcus kisses across your shoulder as one hand cups your breasts while the other descends to your clit. He feels you convulse around him but he doesn’t move his hand away, wanting to feel you cum one last time around his cock.

“I- I need you to cum for me...cum inside me. Fill me up baby...wanna feel you so deep inside me. Make a mess of my cunt. Please.”

“C-can you give me another?” He’s breathless, his pace faltering when he feels your walls squeeze around him tightly with every pass of his cock against your heated core.

‘I- I don’t think I can...too much baby.”

“Please, for me. Cum for me o-one last time...oh god, I’m close sweetheart. B-but I wanna cum with you. Please oh fuck- oh god, I- I’m fucking coming.” He growls into the crook of your neck as he rubs at your clit harshly, crying your name like a prayer as he feels you milk him dry. His thrusts are desperate and you pull on his hair harder than you intend when you feel his cum fill you up. Marcus can barely breathe as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy and feels you pulse around him. He continues to buck against you, the caveman mindset telling him to breed you and fill you up until you can’t take it anymore.

He stays motionless for a few minutes before he finally registers that you probably need to rest. As carefully as possible, Marcus pulls out and cradles your body against him as he lays you on your back. He looks down at you and smiles when he sees the mess he’s made between your thighs. He tries to get off the bed to bring you a cup of water and grab a wet towel when you reach out and pull him by his wrist.

“I need to clean you up sweetheart.” He tries to reason with you but you shake your head and pull harder on his hand so he could sit next to you.

“No just- come here. I need you. Please.” Marcus doesn’t have to be told twice. He lays down next to you and kisses your forehead when you cuddle into his arms. He draws circles on your shoulder and back when he feels your fingers play with his chest hair.

“Are you alright baby?” Marcus asks and pulls his head back when you hum a soft ‘yes.’ He searches your expression for any sign of discomfort, and when he finds none, he rests his head back again and lets you explore his skin.

“Hmm...did you know that hair was used in some ancient spells to ensure that the desired outcome occurred?” You break the silence after a while and Marcus furrows his eyebrows at you when you look up from his chest and meet his face.

“Uhh should I be worried Y/N?” He asks almost immediately and laughs when you panic and try to retract what you just said.

“Oh god sorry that- I didn’t mean...Jesus, I still need to work on my bedside manner.”

“I was kidding sweetheart. I actually enjoy listening to people talking about their interests, it’s a little calming. And no, I didn’t know that. What kind of spells are we talking about here?” You’re surprised by his response but say nothing and continue to follow the soft trail of hairs down his chest.

“Well, there are lots of curses that didn’t need hair but it was better if they were added...for efficacy and such. But the most common spells that required little curls like these were love spells, which technically are also curses but it sounds better when you say that it’s just a spell.”

“Are you trying to tell me something doctor?” Marcus can’t help but tease you again and he snorts when you sit up on your elbow and try to justify what you just said. He pulls you back into his arms and brushes your hair aside to take a better look at you.

“Oh no no, I just- I tend to think about this stuff at random times. Sorry. I swear I’m too much of a wimp to actually try anything. You never know if the desired outcome has any side effects...”

“No need to apologize baby. Besides, I don’t think you’ll ever need love magic with me.” The admission is out before he can stop himself and he cringes at himself, hoping that you don’t misunderstand him.

“Oh yeah, and why is that Agent Pike?” The hint of amusement in your tone lets him know that you didn’t mind teasing him back and he blinks a few times at the ceiling before he turns to gaze into your eyes.

“Well, you’re doing fine on your own being this amazing human being. You’re mesmerizing when you’re lecturing, you’re confident in your skills and knowledge, your intelligence is- I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface with the case today. And you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen...we could work a bit on your art choices but-”

“Hey!” You slap his shoulder and try to slither away from him but he’s too quick and wraps his arms around you before you can get off the bed.

“I’m kidding, I'm kidding...your art choices are the cherry on top.” Marcus nudges your nose with his and leans down to kiss you. He smiles when you moan beneath him. But the kiss is cut short when you push him away suddenly and narrow your eyes at him.

“You never told me how you knew which ones I commissioned.”

“Ugh no please, you’re going to think I’m a pervert.” Marcus falls back on the bed and tries to hide behind his arms.

“Oh yeah?” You slowly trail your hand down his stomach and wrap it around his cock. It’s all Marcus needs to lower his arm and look down to where you’re touching him. He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back when you lean forward and nip at his jaw.

“B-baby fuck...oh god, please. I- I need a few more minutes and-”

“Tell me, please.” You cut him off with a bite to the shoulder, giggling when he thrusts up into your loose hold to get more friction.

“I- I was picturing the two of us...fuck, re-reenacting those scenes and those two jumped out more...more than the third.” He can barely speak through the haze you’ve put him in, and moans your name when you reach down and fondle his balls just as you whisper in his ears.

“How scandalous of you Agent Pike!”

“Sweetheart, please.” Marcus whines for you, the arm around your back pulling you flush to him and giving him perfect access to your breasts. He wraps his lips around one nipple and softly sucks on it as you continue to stroke his cock.

“Hmm, I like the sound of you begging...baby. Tell me, do you by any chance have your handcuffs on you?” The question catches him off guard, and he pulls away to look at you, finding a different kind of fire dancing behind your eyes.

“Fuck…I- uhh, they’re in the car. W-wait where are you going?” Marcus regrets his answer as soon as you let go of him and jump off of the bed. He watches as you run to the bathroom without answering him, only to return a few seconds later with bright red handcuffs clanking between your fingers.

“To get my own set Agent. Like you said, you and I need to get acquainted.” You unlock them as you walk back to the bed and straddle his thighs. Marcus looks at you with adoration and softly nods at you when you silently ask him if you could cuff him to the headboard of your bed.

“I’m yours sweetheart, take what you want.”

Taglist (some aren't working):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @fan-of-encouragement @evelynseventyr

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal #yall don't understand how much I love this fucking character #he's literally the softest #and he deserves the world #ugh #anyway

[facts-i-just-made-up]

what's the meaning of life?

Many have wondered this exact thing over the centuries, indeed millennia, and few people agree on the answer, and even fewer have stumbled upon the right answer.

The first person to wonder about the meaning of life was Nur-Nak-Shellack Siz-Ezzar IV, the Sumerian widely regarded as the earliest philosopher. Around the year -4500, Siz-Ezzar wrote a cuneiform tablet on the matter and decided that the meaning of life was to please Molgar The Child Eater by sacrificing ones children upon the altar of burnt offerings. This decision was very popular at the time among the cult of Molgar, and everyone sacrificed all their children to the deity, and thus the cult ended when they ran out of children. Sumerian civilization collectively decided that as this cult had sacrificed itself out of existence, Siz-Ezzar was probably wrong about the meaning of life.

Next in -2000 came the great Egyptian philosopher Khu-Anakhotep. Khu-Anakhotep believed that the meaning of life was to please Montu the war god by impaling war-captives on the phallus of his statues. Though popular among the victors of war through the Nilotic Kingdoms, those who lost wars were less than convinced and Egypt, once united under the Pharoahs, decided life must have another meaning.

Around the year 0 in Bethlehem, a man was born who offered a radically different means toward deducing the meaning of life. He had twelve followers, he could walk on water, he could heal the sick, and he was believed by many to be the one true son of the God of the Jews. He was of course, Rabbi Shmaya ben Tabbai. Ben Tabbai felt like his predecessors that the meaning of life was to please God by honoring his 613 commandments as recorded in the Torah. As these commandments often conflicted with each other, forced women to sacrifice doves for the "sin" of menstruating, and insisted especially that men have parts of their dicks chopped off as babies, Ben Tabbai was quickly crucified by his own followers and forgotten when the more mainstream Jesus suffered a similar fate a month later.

Things went quiet for a few hundred years as nobody wanted to be crucified for suggesting which god was best to appease. Many religions came and went, worshipping diverse gods and trying diverse methods to appease them because although deities came and went and means of honoring those gods changed drastically, the one thing most religions across the globe agreed on was that the meaning of life was to honor God. Some cultures tried ripping out human hearts, some tried killing goats, some tried waging war on non-believers, and one fellow named Urmaine DeLesspec tried to eat 50 pizzas in one sitting to appease the glutton-god Mouthlar, but died after only his seventeenth.

The thing that perhaps most defines the search for the meaning of life is the misery that people have put themselves and others through in fighting over who had the best god, who knew best how to please that god, and who was willing to sacrifice the most to do so. So for most of history, wars have been ongoing, self deprivation and agony prevailed, and almost none of the people committing to it all were certain of the meaning of life, having only spread misery and pain in the name of love and worship.

This is especially ironic as the meaning of life is just to be happy.

Those who have stumbled upon or deduced the true meaning of life are few and far between. Some call it the pleasure principle, others call it hedonism, yet others have no interest in naming it or discussing it because they're too busy pursuing happiness, or simply being happy and enjoying life. They are a generally unquarrelsome bunch as argument tends to reduce pleasure, and there's no real reason to debate methods of happiness as, like the multitude of gods and means worship, they differ with every individual.

So it was eventually the philosopher Eric Hilliard Nelson in the year 1972 who finally and correctly codified the meaning of life: "But it's all right now, I've learned my lesson well. You see, you can't please everyone, so you've got to please yourself."

#religion #philosophy #meaning of life #rick nelson

[robertreich]

Trump’s 40 Biggest Broken Promises

Trump voters. Nearly 4 years in, here’s an updated list of Trump’s 40 biggest broken promises.

1. He said coronavirus would “go away without a vaccine.”

You bought it. But it didn’t. While other countries got the pandemic under control and avoided large numbers of fatalities, the virus has killed more than 130,000 Americans*, and that number is still climbing.

2. He said he won’t have time to play golf if elected president.

But he has made more than 250 visits to his golf clubs since he took office – a record for any president – including more trips during the pandemic than meetings with Dr. Fauci. The total financial cost to America? More than $136 million.

3. He said he would repeal the Affordable Care Act, and replace it with something “beautiful.”

It didn’t happen. Instead, 7 million Americans have lost their health insurance since he took office. He has asked the Supreme Court to strike down the law in the middle of a global pandemic with no plan to replace it.

4. He said he’d cut your taxes, and that the super-rich like him would pay more.

He did the opposite. By 2027, the richest 1 percent will have received 83 percent of the Trump tax cut and the richest 0.1 percent, 60 percent of it. But more than half of all Americans will pay more in taxes.

5. He said corporations would use their tax cuts to invest in American workers.

They didn’t. Corporations spent more of their tax savings buying back shares of their own stock than increasing workers wages.

6. He said he would boost economic growth by 4 percent a year.

Nope. The economy stalled, and unemployment has soared to the highest levels since the Great Depression. Just over half of working-age Americans are employed – the worst ratio in 70 years.  

7. He said he wouldn’t “cut Social Security like every other Republican and I’m not going to cut Medicare or Medicaid.”

His latest budget includes billions in cuts to Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid.

8. He promised to be “the voice” of American workers.

He hasn’t. His administration has stripped workers of their rights, repealed overtime protections, rolled back workplace safety rules, and turned a blind eye to employers who steal their workers’ wages.

9. He promised that the average American family would see a $4,000 pay raise because of his tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations.

But nothing trickled down. Wages for most Americans have barely kept up with inflation.    

10. He promised that anyone who wants a test for Covid will get one.

But countless Americans still can’t get a test.

11. He said hydroxychloroquine protects against coronavirus.

No way. The FDA revoked its emergency authorization due to the drug’s potentially lethal side effects.

12. He promised to eliminate the federal deficit.

He has increased the federal deficit by more than 60 percent.

13. He said he would hire “only the best people.”

He has fired a record number of his own cabinet and White House picks, and then called them “whackos,” “dumb as a rock," and  "not mentally qualified.”  6 of them have been charged with crimes.

14. He promised to bring down the price of prescription drugs and said drug companies are “getting away with murder.”

They still are. Drug prices have soared, and a company that got federal funds to develop a drug to treat coronavirus is charging $3,000 a pop.=

15. He promised to revive the struggling coal industry and bring back lost coal mining jobs.

The coal industry has continued to lose jobs as clean energy becomes cheaper. 

16. He promised to help American workers during the pandemic.

But 80% of the tax benefits in the coronavirus stimulus package have gone to millionaires and billionaires. And at least 21 million Americans have lost extra unemployment benefits, with no new stimulus check to fall back on.

17. He said he’d drain the swamp.

Instead, he’s brought into his administration more billionaires, CEOs, and Wall Street moguls than in any administration in history, and he’s filled departments and agencies with former lobbyists, lawyers and consultants who are crafting new policies for the same industries they used to work for.

18. He promised to protect Americans with pre-existing conditions.

His Justice Department is trying to repeal the entire Affordable Care Act, including protections for people with preexisting conditions.

19. He said Mexico would pay for his border wall.

The wall is estimated to cost American taxpayers an estimated $11 billion.

20. He promised to bring peace to the Middle East.

Instead, tensions have increased and his so-called “peace plan” was dead on arrival.

21. He promised to lock up Hillary Clinton for using a private email server.

He didn’t. Funny enough, Trump uses his personal cell-phone for official business, and several members of his own administration, including Jared Kushner and Ivanka, have used private email in the White House.

22. He promised to use his business experience to whip the federal government into shape.

He hasn’t. His White House is in permanent chaos. He caused the longest government shutdown in our nation’s history when he didn’t get funding for his wall.

23. He promised to end DACA.

The Supreme Court ruled that his plan to deport 700,000 young immigrants was unconstitutional, and DACA still stands.  

24. He promised “six weeks of paid maternity leave to any mother with a newborn child whose employer does not provide the benefit.”

He hasn’t delivered.

25. He promised to bring an end to Kim Jong-Un’s nuclear program.

Kim is expanding North Korea’s nuclear program.

26. He said he would distance himself from his businesses while in office.

He continues to make money from his properties and maintain his grip on his real estate empire.

27. He said he’d force companies to keep jobs in America, and that there would be consequences for companies that shipped jobs abroad.

Since he took office, companies like GE, Carrier, Ford, and Harley Davidson have continued to outsource thousands of jobs while still receiving massive tax breaks. And offshoring by federal contractors has increased.

28. He promised to end the opioid crisis.

Americans are now more likely to die from an opioid overdose than a car accident.

29. He said he’d release his tax returns.

It’s been nearly 4 years. He hasn’t released his tax returns.

30. He promised to tear up the Iran nuclear deal and renegotiate a better deal.

Negotiations have gone nowhere, and he brought us to the brink of war.

31. He promised to enact term limits for all members of Congress.

He has not even tried to enact term limits.

32. He promised that China would pay for tariffs on imported goods.

His trade war has cost U.S. consumers $34 billion a year, eliminated 300,000 American jobs, and cost American taxpayers $22 billion in subsidies for farmers hurt by the tariffs.

33. He promised to “push colleges to cut the skyrocketing cost of tuition.”

Instead, he’s made it easier for for-profit colleges to defraud students, and tuition is still rising.

34. He promised to protect American steel jobs.

The steel industry continues to lose jobs.

35. He promised tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations would spur economic growth and pay for themselves.

His tax cuts will add $2 trillion to the federal deficit.

36. After pulling out of the Paris Climate Accord, he said he’d negotiate a better deal on the environment.

He hasn’t attempted to negotiate any deal.  

37. He promised that the many women who accused him of sexual misconduct “will be sued after the election is over.”

He hasn’t sued them, presumably because he doesn’t want the truth to come out.

38. He promised to bring back all troops from Afghanistan.

He now says: "We’ll always have somebody there.”

39. He pledged to put America first.

Instead, he’s deferred to dictators and authoritarians at America’s expense, and ostracized our allies — who now laugh at us behind our back.

40. He promised to be the voice of the common people.

He’s made his rich friends richer, increased the political power of big corporations and the wealthy, and harmed working Americans.Don’t let the liar-in-chief break any more promises. Vote him out in November.

#video #videos #Trump #Trump promises #Trump country #Trump lies

[dandelion-turtle]

Hyakinthos

Hyakinthos was a Spartan prince, most prominently known in Amyclae with a decent cult following. there are a couple of different people listed as being his parents, but the most popular is King Amyclus and Diomedes. if Amyclus was his father, that would also make Daphne, another of Apollo’s lovers, Hyakinthos’s sister. it seems like he would be quite simple, he has a relatively small story with one of the earliest written records from Hesiod. in this version there is no love rival, just an accident. written in the 7th century BC, it was merely one, albeit long, sentence.

”. . ((lacuna)) rich-tressed Diomede; and she bare Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus), the blameless one and strong . . ((lacuna)) whom, on a time Phoibos (Phoebus) [Apollon] himself slew unwittingly with a ruthless disk.”

however, the most famous version, and one that most will know, comes from Ovid’s Metamorphosis. written somewhere between the 1st century BC and 1st century AD, this sentence long story grew to be paragraphs long. in which Ovid describes the love Apollo and Hyakinthos have for each other — which was the ultimate demise for the young prince. with parts of it coming from the perspective of a mourning Apollo, Ovid writes how Hyakinthos was turned into a flower with “ai, ai” written on the petals to express Apollo’s sadness. and the version that we all have come to know including betrayal and jealous rage from Zephyros (the West Wind), is hinted at in Pausanias’ “Description of Greece”.

”[In the temple of Apollon at Amyklai (Amyclae) Nikias (Nicias) [painter fl. c. 320 B.C.], son of Nikomedes, has painted him [Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus)] in the very prime of youthful beauty, hinting at the love of Apollon for Hyakinthos of which legend tells . . . As for Zephyros (the West Wind), how Apollon unintentionally killed Hyakinthos, and the story of the flower, we must be content with the legends, although perhaps they are not true history.”

despite this seemingly clear-cut story, there’s a lot more than meets the eye with Hyakinthos. according to many historians the -nth part of his name is pre-Hellenic and comes from the Mycenaean era. another word like that would be Corinth — a pre-Greek polis that was destroyed and rebuilt. this leads many to believe that Hyakinthos was around BEFORE Apollo. he would have been a chthonic vegetation god — almost like the male equivalent to Persephone. this leads to a few different theories, but before I get to that, let me tell you the story of Hyakinthos as told by Ovid and Lucian’s “Dialogues of the Gods”. ═══════════════════════════

⊰ The Myth ⊱

Hyakinthos was a beautiful Spartan prince. he had many lovers, but the one that had eventually won his heart was Apollo. the god taught beautiful long-haired Hyakinthos how to play the lyre, how to use a bow and arrows, a little bit on prophecies, and gave him a swan chariot. the two were incredibly in love, but sadly, there was someone who didn’t like that. Zephyros, the west wind, was jealous for he too loved Hyakinthos. he had tried to woo him but it really was no match for Apollo. he watched the two men play again and again until he had eventually had enough of it. he ultimately created one of the most tragic love stories. like most days, Apollo and Hyakinthos were together, playing around and having mild competitions throwing a discus. Apollo wanted to show off for Hyakinthos so he could see just what a god could do. he threw a discus high into the air, clearing the clouds away and it disappeared into the sky. Hyakinthos wanted to impress his lover as well, so he chased after the discus laughing. Zephyros in a fit of rage at the two men enjoying themselves changed the course of the discus. as it came to land, the force was so strong that it bounced off the ground and smashed into Hyakinthos’s face. Apollo ran to his lover and tried every kind of medicine and healing he could think of. he even placed ambrosia on his lover’s lips but blood flowed freely from the wound. there was no way for him to stop a wound of Fate. in his despair, he turned Hyakinthos into a flower, but seeing that wasn’t good enough, he wrote his grief upon the petals. ═══════════════════════════

⊰ Symbolism From The Myth ⊱

Taking A Temple as mentioned before, it’s very likely that Hyakinthos was an older deity from the pre-hellenic period. something that many Greek writers did, was create a myth of how a deity began their worship in a specific place. we know the temple that Apollo was worshipped at in Amyclae was older than when his worship would have started. one theory behind this myth then, is how Apollo came to be worshipped over Hyakinthos at the temple and area; by killing the previous deity. it sounds sad, but it’s actually happened several times, and even with Apollo specifically. the most famous example I can think of would be at Delphi. originally the temple was in honor of the titan Gaia. Apollo came in valiantly and killed the Python (which is what gives Apollo’s priestesses their name) and inevitably took the temple over with his worship. what this doesn’t account for, is the fact Hyakinthos is still worshipped at the temple heavily, his and Apollo’s worship having mingled and being near inseparable. it is even said that upon his death and burial, Apollo said to give him (Hyakinthos) all offerings first. now, if you know a thing or two about Greek worship, the first portion of the offering was incredibly important, especially considering hero worship was probably closer to chthonic sacrifices in practice; though they were not considered to be ‘dead’. within my research so far, I have yet to find this happening somewhere else, but I will update this if I ever do. now all of this is unusual with the theory that this myth symbolizes one deity taking over. if that were the case, why continue to worship Hyakinthos? Duality some of you may not know this about me, but I am a sucker when it comes to duality, specifically with lovers. this myth may be a symbol for the growing season and harvest of the crops. while it may be a common motif, especially among the Greeks, I think it’s a sweet and somber story giving personification to an important aspect of Greek life. I also believe the duality is less about the exacts of what they rule over, but the way they were worshipped. the closest example I can think of also comes from Delphi with the duality between Apollo and Dionysos (who, shockingly enough, was the only other god historians believe was present during the Hyakinthia festival besides Apollo and Hyakinthos). as a hero, or simply for his chthonic aspect, the ritual and practice would have been far different than that for Apollo. while this isn’t exactly backed by anything I can find specific to duality, I personally feel a reason both Apollo and Hyakinthos were worshipped together in Amyclae is due to that duality between them. Hyakinthos would have been a chthonic deity probably for vegetation or agriculture, whereas Apollo here is a god of light (not the sun) representing life, health, and the ultimate grief. their worship in Amyclae was always together once Apollo was introduced (to some this hinted that they were possibly the same person representing a cycle, but most disagree with this theory). the duality is clearly a theme already for Apollo, and I think what happened at Delphi with Dionysos is the same for Amyclae and Hyakinthos. together they represent loss and mourning but also happiness and life — love. ═══════════════════════════

⊰ Hyakinthos Associations ⊱

okay, now that I have bored you all to death, let’s talk about some less heavy things. due to their worship being completely together, I would say that nearly anything related to Apollo can also be associated with Hyakinthos and vice versa. however, we love individuality in this house, so let’s talk about the things either associated with him through the various, limited texts we have and some UPG. Associations ➳ larkspurs/hyacinths ➳ swans ➳ bow and arrow ➳ summer! ➳ new spring growth ➳ chiton’s (they were offered to him by the women of Sparta) ➳ death ➳ rebirth/cycles ➳ chariot’s ➳ blood ➳ blue/purple/red colors ➳ discus (sorry) ➳ lavender ➳ lyre ➳ lapis lazuli ➳ amethyst ➳ black tourmaline ═══════════════════════════ Devotional Activities ➳ keeping a garden ➳ maybe even an indoor garden ➳ go to parks and feed the swans/birds ➳ archery ➳ sports ➳ making a chiton ➳ writing poems ➳ taking care of those around you ➳ growing larkspurs/hyacinths ➳ get a devotional journal ➳ create a playlist (sad songs for the most part) ➳ fall in love deeply ═══════════════════════════

⊰ Deity Or Divine Hero? ⊱

I don’t know if this question can be answered for a fact honestly. what we do know is that he was at least worshipped as a hero, that much can be said. anything further than that comes at a later time and from the outside perspective. a lot of ancient Greek writers didn’t write down certain things because they saw them as common knowledge. this doesn’t help us looking back now. what we can say, is that some of the offerings given to him were not common with hero worship and would have been reserved for the gods. this is according to Angeliki Petropoulou, a professor in ancient greek studies/religion, and the author of “Hyakinthos and Apollo of Amyklai: Identities and Cults. A Reconsideration of the Written Evidence” pages 153-161. Within this, she makes the argument that Hyakinthos has gone through ‘apotheosis’. this is the action of a mortal, usually a hero, becoming a god. note: ‘βουθυσία’ is a traditional oxen sacrifice.

“The βουθυσία for Hyakinthos, which is indicative of his new immortal status, should be placed on the third day too. Oxen are costly victims, the bull being the most “noble” sacrificial animal. After mourning for Hyakinthos’s death and making a propitiatory sacrifice at his tomb, they honoured him with a bull sacrificed as if to a god. Yet the geographical range in which he was regarded as god was rather circumscribed and did not spread beyond the borders of Lakedaimonia. The βουθυσία for Hyakinthos would have been instituted after the construction of the altar on which Apollo received sacrifices; for the only altar excavated, in an area filled with remnants of burnt sacrifices, is attributed to Apollo.”

so there you have it. most places will probably call him a hero, and that wouldn’t be wrong. others may call him a deity, which also isn’t wrong. I’ll tell you what I’m personally going to go with, and everyone can make their own decision based on the information listed through this post and the readings I’ll link at the bottom. no matter your conclusion, the relationship you have will be completely yours, and it’s ok! if anything, I encourage that over taking my word for it. ══════════════════════════ for me, I think I consider him a deity. I know that I heavily romanticize the story, and with Apollo being so near to my heart, him having a terrible love life hurts my soul. while I don’t exactly want to rewrite any myths, I won’t claim that they are married, I will say that I believe them to be happy. their worship in Amyclae was so intertwined and based completely around each other from the history we know, that, for me, it makes sense to also honor them together. I’ll leave you all on one more incredibly sad quote from Lucien’s “Dialogue of the Gods” (that I referenced from earlier).

”Apollon : Well, my loves never prosper; Daphne and Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus) were my great passions; she so detested me that being turned to a tree was more attractive than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me of them but wreaths of their leaves and flowers.”

it’s ok to cry, I do nearly every time I read that.

⊰ For Further Reading ⊱

➳Hyakinthos theoi ➳Apollo theoi ➳Hyakinthos Wiki ➳My Hellenic Research Google Drive this also contains the Sparta book I reference and a few others worth a read.

#mine #greek #greek gods #greek mythology #greek paganism #hellenism #pagan #apollo #hyakinthos #greek pagan #theoi

[maggiec70]

Reviews as an Art Form

Back in the day when I had more time and patience, I used to review every Horrible Historical Novel I could find, which grew to a rather daunting task, since most HF of the past ten years churned out by American and a few British scribblers is utter crap. I do not want to compete with Dear Citizen Pixel, and I can't begin to hold a candle to her reviews, which are replete with charm, information, wit, and excellent analyses on many levels.

But if you are interested in pure historical demolition and snark of steroids, then look no further. I'm posting a review I did in 2015 of a book set during the apparently popular 1803 pre-and post Treaty of Amiens era, full of brave, intrepid British spies and dastardly French of any stripe. So pour a glass of wine and settle back. This will take a while. Killing the Bee King

PJ Royal [now re-issued with the author’s name as Jaymie Royal. Either way, she can’t write. And she owns the publishing company, Regal Publishing.]

My Review:

What’s not to like about a massive, 530-page tome with a cast of notables on both sides of the English Channel, not to mention spies, secrets, beautiful women, cunning politicians, a youthful former prime minister, and a choleric emperor? In a book so lengthy and complex, although it covers just two months, November and December of 1803, what about the history portion in this work of historical fiction? The author assures us in her blog dated September 29, 2012, that “Every aspect of the book that could be historically accurate…was.” And she says in another blog dated June 16, 2014, that she has provided “…a historical environment saturated with authentic detail that lends a vibrancy to the narrative without weighing it down unduly.” She includes a prologue for the book entitled “Historical Background: An Optional Read. England and France, November 1803,” to set the stage for the events in the novel. At the novel’s end we find an “Epilogue: The Historical Record,” where the author reminds us that she “sought to maintain the highest degree of historical accuracy throughout the course of this novel—from plants and architectural façades, to fashions, to food-stuffs. Many of the characters contained herein are historical figures, and their depicted appearance and personalities were also based on extensive research.” She admits, however, allowing herself the “fictional tweak” of placing Napoleon’s “self-coronation as emperor” in 1803, rather than in December 1804.

I quoted the author’s claims concerning the historical accuracy of this book because with so much insistence on accuracy, from plants to people and all points between, I was appalled at the extent of errors from first to last, big ones, little ones, and middling ones. Anyone with a scintilla of knowledge about the Napoleonic era, from the establishment of the Consulate in November 1799 until Waterloo in June 1815, would see them at once. No amount of pretentiousness, no faux literary prose as thick as treacle and as false as saccharine can disguise these bloopers. No pretending that this is some great literary work with its tortured, turgid sentences, images, metaphors, and other linguistic jetsam and flotsam clogging every paragraph and page can disguise the fact that the history is unrecognizable. The standard argument offered by some authors and fans of their work that “It’s only fiction!” or “That’s why it’s called historical fiction!” cannot logically prevail when the author makes such a concerted and repetitive case for her accuracy. Worse, I think, is the disservice done to readers who believe they’ve been treated to “the real story” not only with regard to historical events and people but also to the respective social and cultural milieu. I noticed that most reviewers have mentioned the “meticulous research” and the “mammoth amount of research” that allegedly went into this book without, unfortunately, understanding how very flawed on so many levels the history actually is. They were all swayed by what they believed was a fine literary style and use of language.

You have no obligation whatever to believe me or accept my opinion, and you certainly don’t need to read this review. However, this novel has 108 chapters bookended between a prologue and an epilogue, and every chapter has at least one or more errors of historical fact, language, social convention, political usage, or even physical location—I’d never before used the Notes/Marks feature on my Kindle as much as I did for this book. Thus I’ll cite concrete examples from the book, and you are free to decide whether you care that the author’s claims of accuracy cannot be sustained.

Let’s begin with the “Historical Record.” Right out of the box we get the mangled “Armée d’Englaterre,” apparently the author’s phonetic version of the correct French “Armée d’Angleterre.” Then we have the old canard of ‘“A nation of shopkeepers,’ Napoleon derisively said,” when the quote comes from Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations, Book IV, Section vii, published in 1776 This is followed in quick succession by references to “the English Isles,” and how Britain was facing her greatest challenge while she was “bereft of allies.” Apparently the author forgot to notice that Britain declared war on France on May 18, 1803, so the alleged lack of allies must not have mattered too much. However, for those who care, Britain had already laid the groundwork for the Third Coalition with Austria and Russia, with Sweden joining the next year.

The “Cast of Characters” also provides an occasion for mirth, and a bit of head-scratching. There’s Wolfe Trant, the Irish rebel supposed to be Wolfe Tone, leader of the United Irishmen, but since Tone committed suicide in 1798 while in a British prison, I guess his doppelgänger Trant carries on here in ghostly form. Malcolm Dundas is the substitute for Henry Dundas, who was one of William Pitt the Younger’s advisors and minister or war for a time, but under no circumstances would Dundas call Pitt “Will,” and Pitt would never address his subordinate as “Mal.” I forgot—one would actually have to know something about these persons in real life, and about social conventions of the time, to know how wrong that is. My favorite is General John Moore, who the author claims “served in the Seven Years’ War and the War for American Independence.” She also alleges Moore was in at least twenty-four battles/engagements/skirmishes, many of them in and around Charleston. Moore was a young lieutenant during the American war, but he spent most of the time in Nova Scotia, with a couple of forays as far south as Maine. However, since he was born in 1761, and the Seven Years’ War ended in 1763, I suppose Moore’s involvement was limited to waving his rattle at the enemy. William Brunskill was no more a “school friend” to William Pitt than he was the “warden of Newgate Prison.” He was the official executioner of London—executions there were carried out at Newgate—and of Middlesex and Surrey.

The villain of the piece, of course, is Napoleon—isn’t he always? Here he is “the self-appointed emperor of the French,” which ignores the May 14, 1804, Senatus Consultum naming him emperor, or the national plebiscite confirming it. Charles Maurice de Talleyrand, often referred to throughout as the “duc de Talleyrand,” which is wrong on many levels, is supposed to be conspiring with the British to overthrow Napoleon because he is “disillusioned with Napoleon’s self-aggrandizing strategies,” a claim as factually incorrect in 1803 as is Talleyrand’s title. Joseph Fouché was not Napoleon’s “commissioner of police”—this was Paris, not New York, and the correct title was minister of police. Finally, we are presented with Jeanne Récamier, Parisian “society hostess,” traveling under the alias of “Primrose” as one of five leaders of the “French Resistance.” I truly feel sorry for the real Mme Récamier, a beautiful if somewhat emptyheaded woman who hosted salons from time to time, didn’t much care for Napoleon, but never lifted a perfectly manicured finger against him, to be portrayed in such a silly and implausible fashion. The worst part, of course, is this alleged “French Resistance,” a term used exclusively during WWII, and never at any time to denote opposition to Napoleon. Quelle horreur!

The author admits she “tweaked history” to place Napoleon’s coronation as emperor —or self-appointment to the position—in 1803. She never explains why, not that it matters, because all the history that flows from the decision to place the action of the novel in November and December 1803 is just wrong. All of it. I have an embarrassment of riches to choose from to illustrate what is nothing more than Bad History, something easily avoided by an eighth-grader spending three hours with Wikipedia. This author’s alleged ten years’ worth of research was time wasted.

A number of events occur during these last two months of 1803 that didn’t occur in the real historical world at this time, or even close. A group of Chouans, supposedly led by Georges Cadoudal, attempted to assassinate Napoleon by blowing up a barrel filled with gunpowder. Cadoudal ordered a number of assassination attempts, but he did not plan or participate in this plot, known as the Infernal Machine, which occurred on December 24, 1800, when First Consul Bonaparte was on his way to the Opéra. The seminal event leading to the establishment of the First Empire was the execution of the duc d’Enghien at Vincennes on March 21, 1804, not December 13, 1803. The duke was extradited—or kidnapped, if you prefer—from Coblenz on the Rhine, and not from his fiancée’s house somewhere in Switzerland. Talleyrand was minister of foreign affairs in 1803, and not plotting to overthrow Napoleon or, more historically correct, First Consul Bonaparte; he was most assuredly not Prince de Bénévente [1806], vice-grand elector [1807], or referring to Napoleon as dung in a silk socking [1808]. Napoleon did not assume the Iron Crown of Lombardy until May 1805. By November/December 1803 it is quite incorrect to say that thousands and thousands of men had perished under the Napoleonic regime—the only battles fought since Bonaparte became first consul in November 1799 were Marengo in June 1800, Hohenlinden in December 1800, although that was Moreau's battle, and in Egypt between the British and the remnants of the French army in 1801. Similarly the claim that men in their thousands—have to love the hyperbole here—were mutilating themselves to avoid conscription is false in 1803, but true to a much smaller extent after 1812. All the fatuous mentions of campaigns in Poland [1807], or the Imperial Guard having served loyally in more than twenty campaigns by the end of 1803 and earning the sobriquet of Les Grognards, are beyond belief. Thus the author did not “tweak” one bit of history—she mangled the entire historical narrative.

Remember that there is more to this novel than mere history—there are all those wonderfully accurate bits about “food-stuffs,” and “architectural façades,” and plants and fashions, right? Well, not at all. Here are just a few examples in the “food-stuffs” category: One did not begin a formal dinner with duck breast, no matter if it is sautéed; eau de vie is a colorless brandy made from fruit and not cognac from Brodiers; and there is no such thing as a “bottle of local kir,” when kir is made by combining crème de cassis and white wine and served in a glass as an aperitif, but not until the 20thcentury. [I just made myself a glass of kir royale, with champagne rather than white wine, so I can finish this review.] With regard to plants, it is certainly not true that the streets of Paris were lined with beech trees—those grow in northern forests for the most part. The streets were and are lined with plane trees, sometimes known as sycamores. Fashions don’t fare particularly well, either. The Duchess of Devonshire, le dernier cri in London fashion, is shown wearing what can only be described as an Ancien Régime style in 1803, while the female aristocrats gracing Talleyrand’s gatherings wear “stiff brocade.” There are also “elegant fashions behind gleaning glass” in a shop on the “Rue Fliette.” Well, no. Bolts of fabric, perhaps, but not ready-made dresses, and not on a street that does not—or did not—exist, at least spelled that way.

The world of architecture, whether in the artistic sense or as specific real estate is equally risible. Andrea Palladio had no more to do with the Tuileries Palace than Frank Lloyd Wright—the palace was the creation of Philippe d’Orme, with nary a trace of “neoclassicism.” Some forgettable character, an aristo named Adelaide, complained to Talleyrand about having to move out of the Louvre because Napoleon was turning it into an art museum. The fact is that the National Convention declared the Louvre to be a museum for the citizens of Paris on August 10, 1793, to coincide with the anniversary of the fall of the monarchy; the Directory added to the artistic treasures in the museum; it was closed for repairs from 1797 until 1801, and reopened with lots of new items from the First Italian Campaign and the Egyptian Campaign. So where Adelaide actually lived is indeed a mystery. Joséphine de Beauharnais’s house on the rue Chantereine was never “confiscated” by Napoleon before or after they were married, it never was in such a state of disrepair as the author claims, and it was never, ever used as a meeting place by the members of the alleged “French Resistance.”

This last architectural tidbit is so wonderful that it truly deserves its very own paragraph. The alleged spy Wolfe Trant/Tone/Whatever is fleeing from the Bad Guys through streets in Paris—many of which are misspelled, misnamed, or non-existent in 1803, as they are throughout this novel—and arrives at the Hotel de Ville, a “slightly disreputable establishment that rose pompously from the banks of the Seine. It overlooked the Place de Grève…that lately served as the home of Madame la Guillotine….Despite the notoriety of its location, indeed perhaps because of it, the hotel was immensely popular. It offered cheap rooms….” It scarcely matters that the guillotine was not anywhere near the Place de Gréve but at the Place de la Révolution further west. What matters is that this “hotel” didn’t rent rooms—it was the City Hall of Paris, and had been, in that very location, since 1357. In fact, every city hall in France, no matter the size of the city, town, or village, is called the Hôtel de Ville. And not one of them, large or small, rents rooms for anything other than the occasional civic gathering. Mon Dieu!

Just a few more jewels—or cubic zirconia, in this case. The author claims two people reviewed her use of French. I hope they didn’t charge for the service, since this novel is replete with errors, either in the use of words like lorgneurs instead of lorgnette, not knowing that “rue” is never capitalized, failing to distinguish masculine and feminine noun/adjective endings., and so forth. Although she didn’t say she had a firm historical grasp on social interactions of the time—the two months in 1803—I’d say the author missed that lesson completely. I already pointed out that Pitt and Dundas were not, nor would they ever have been, on a first-name basis. Lady Hester Stanhope, Pitt’s niece, would not have addressed Dundas or Wolfe Trant/Tone by their Christian names or asked them to call her “Hester.” Even more egregious, I think, is having Lady Hester say, “He is bloody miserable!” or “No bloody end!’ I do not believe any of us can imagine the Duchess of Devonshire, at a gathering in her London home, walking up to a guest and saying, “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Georgiana….” And finally, there is the matter of William Pitt the Younger, standing in “the pulpit” of the House of Lords and reading a letter about the Irish Question. Pitt was not a peer of the realm, and therefore spoke only in the House of Commons.

There is so much more, folks, at least twice as many truly amazing examples of sheer awfulness as the ones I’ve highlighted here, but I’m done. I’d be surprised if anyone actually reads through this review. But I feel better for having written it , because there is nothing I loathe more than someone trumpeting about his/her historical accuracy in a period I know very well and producing instead a veritable welter of arrant nonsense. And what I detest the most is that readers often believe that it’s all true because they are told that it is.

--Reviewed on Amazon and Goodreads in August 2014, and removed in September 2019 when I pulled all my reviews because of some unpleasant incidents of doxing and stalking.

#reviews of bad books #the consulate #napoleon

[ivarisms]

A SCAR THAT LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU

Title: A SCAR THAT LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU

Summary: You and your work colleague have travelled to Norway to to write a piece for an online article about the history of Vikings, and your travels have led you to a town where the locals talk about an abandoned castle deep in the mountains where Ivar the Boneless still lives as a thousand-year-old vampire. You don’t believe such nonsense, but are curious to see what artifacts this mysterious castle holds within its walls.

Paring: Vampire!Ivar x Female OC

Warnings: Blood, violence, death, non-con aspects, NSFW for sexual content.

                         “Baby, you’re cruel to me but you see I love it when you make me bleed. I want a scar that looks just like you, till then I gotta learn to be a wiser fool. ” ---- Vampire Smile, Kyla La Grange

                                               CHAPTER ONE

The treacherous winding path that spiralled up into the deepest and most isolated parts of the mountains was endless, or so it seemed after hours of non-stop walking. You were exhausted, and to make things worse the first droplets of snow began to trickle down from the sky above. “You said we would reach this castle an hour ago, and yet I still see no sign of it.”

“Patience, sweet cheeks.” Your work partner and terrible tour-guide Lawrence teased, a wrinkled map in his gloved hands as he turned to grin at you. “Always complaining, it’s not always about the destination but about the journey too. I find hiking in these mountains therapeutic…”

You rolled your eyes at that one, there was nothing therapeutic about this and you really wished you would have said no to this adventure. You weren’t even convinced that there was a castle, especially one that harboured a thousand-year-old vampire inside. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” You pressed on, frowning at the feel of wet inside your ‘waterproof’ boots. Great, you thought. All I need when hiking up a goddamn mountain. “I’m starting to think the locals swindled us here, I bet they’re all down in their local pub laughing about how stupid the latest tourists are in falling for this ridiculous ghost story.”

“It’s not a ghost story, it’s a vampire story – like Dracula.” Lawrence countered, a few steps ahead of you on the trail that became much steeper. “And yeah, it’s probably a crock of shit but hey, we’ll have the castle to ourselves and you know what that means.” Turning to waggle his brow at you, he winked and chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, shelter – and hopefully some firewood.” You grumbled, not even entertaining his attempts at flirting with you. He had tried time and time again to get into your pants, but just couldn’t get the hint.

“I don’t think there’s many trees up this high for firewood, but you never know… might be able to find a couple of ‘em and make a stake out of a branch as a weapon.” He joked. “They said this Ivar is terrifying, I hope I get to kill him. Imagine that on the front of the newspaper, I can see it now. ‘Handsome muscly man kills a thousand-year-old vampire Viking with ease… or Viking vampire’ which one sounds better?”

“None of them.” You smirked. “If he’s a vampire and a Viking, you really think you stand a chance?”

“Hey, I got some moves – I can show you them if you like.” He teased.

“No thanks…”

Walking up the steepest part of the isolated trail, you winced and tugged at the hood of your thick yellow coat as harsh icy winds hurtled towards you. They were powerful, nearly knocking you from your feet as you struggled to maintain your balance.

“There it is.” Lawrence pointed in front of him, and you stumbled forward a few steps to join him to see what he was looking at.

“Oh, wow.” You whispered, seeing for the first time the huge black winding castle in the near distance. It was hidden between two mountain peaks, so no wonder it took so long to find. The locals weren’t lying about one thing, but there was no way in hell a vampire lived within its walls. “The snow is getting heavier, let’s go as quick as we can.”

“Yes, lady boss.” Lawrence scoffed, his tone laced with sarcasm as he led the way.

Half an hour of struggling through near enough knee-deep snow led you and your colleague to the castle grounds. The great heaving stone structure was more than impressive to gaze up at, though the many windows that were draped in darkness made you feel uneasy. Its black towers and stone battlements were still very much intact, withstanding the test of time and the test of such harsh elements in the isolated area of Norway. It had clearly been abandoned centuries before now, yet still radiated a millennium of history you would never get to experience. You wondered what it would have been like back then, when Vikings were in their prime of greatness. Terrifying, you assumed.

Ivar the Boneless was known especially to be cruel and inhumane, the history books wrote him to be a tyrant and monster who killed all that apposed him. It was that wicked reputation that kept his memory alive a thousand years later, proven by how scared the local men and women were to even mention his name. You were intelligent enough to know that vampires didn’t exist, but if by chance they did, then you decided that Ivar would be the worst kind of vampire to bump into.

“Wanna go inside?” Lawrence broke through your train of thought and you looked at him as he pulled free his camera from the pocket of his padded blue jacket.

“Absolutely.” You agreed, deciding it was for the best to push fairy-tales aside and explore further.

Following Lawrence through the first set of steel gates, you were now in the courtyard. This area would have been used to make speeches to the people, used as entertainment and no doubt used for training how to fight. You could almost picture the Vikings now, swinging swords and axes at each other without a care in the world. Reaching into your own pocket to pull free your phone, you swiped at the screen.

No signal, low battery. Fantastic.

Your phone wouldn’t have enough power to last the night, but you had enough to snap a few pictures.

“I’m gonna explore the barracks, are you coming with or doing your own thing?” Lawrence asked.

“I’m…” You breathed, your eyes drawn towards the main doors that would no doubt lead into the very heart of the castle. “I’m going inside, I want to get a few photos before this thing dies on me.”

“Alright, I’ll come find you in a bit.”

Please take your time, you thought. “Okay.”

And with that you both went your separate ways.

 Pushing on the great wooden door that was stiff as a board, you clinched your jaw and rammed your weight into your shoulder with a grunt to try and budge it. One, two, three attempts before the frozen wood gave way. Shoving it open with a deep squeal that echoed loudly throughout the innards of the castle, you peered inside curiously. An icy breeze from within hit your face, and as you swept your gaze around the darkness you realised you were staring down into a great long hall that seemed to travel endlessly into the abyss.

Shrugging your backpack from your shoulders, you delved your hand inside and fiddled around until you grabbed hold of the flashlight you had brought along with you. Flicking the switch, a faint yellow glow lit the way as you moved forward. The old wooden floors creaked beneath the weight of your snow laden boots as you took your first few steps inside, allowing the heavy door to swing back shut with a loud thud. Wincing at the sound, you felt your heart thump nervously and felt a sudden pang of regret wash over you, almost as if you felt like you were trespassing. You can still leave.

“Stop overthinking.” You chastised yourself, knowing you were being irrational now. Ghosts did not exist and neither did vampires, it was all in your head.

Treading carefully, you made your way down the hall that had great long wooden tables lining each side with wax candles sat atop them, the table tops themselves had markings engraved within them and as you dragged your fingers along the symbols, you decided they were probably Old Norse. A language that had been dead for many years. Lifting your had, you rubbed at the thick layer of dust that had settled upon your fingertips. This place definitely hadn’t been touched in a long time, and for a moment you wondered if you and Lawrence were the first tourists to investigate in years. It seemed like it.

Unlocking your phone, you decided to take a few pictures of the beautiful furniture for your records before moving on. This would make for a good article on your blog – frozen in time, a look inside the world of Vikings. You wondered if you could steal something small and tuck it into your bag as a souvenir of sorts. Looking ahead, you noticed a stone fireplace in the centre at the back of the hall and as you strolled over towards it with your phone in hand to take another picture, something else caught your attention from the corner of your eye. Turning, you audibly gasped.

Two beautiful wooden thrones sat untouched at the furthest point of the great hall, sat atop a wooden platform. They looked over the entire hall, above the rest of the tables and you knew then that this was once where the King and Queen probably dined with their people.

“Wow.” You whispered, approaching the rare find. The floorboards creaked with each slow step and as you got closer, your eyes widened and twinkled in the dark as you absorbed the intricate detail of both beautiful chairs.

You walked up onto the platform and reached out to touch the main throne, the one you could only assume belonged to a line of great Kings starting with Ragnar Lothbrok. Dragging your fingers along the twisted branches and steel that bound them together, you smiled and took the opportunity to sit in the throne.

It wasn’t the most comfortable seat, but you definitely felt like royalty as you leaned back and closed your eyes. Just for a moment you pretended it was a different time, that you were a Queen of a Viking army. Breathing in a slow breath, you opened your eyes again and gazed down the hallway you had walked up.

Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness as the flashlight rested in your lap, and as you blinked you were certain there was a shape of a figure standing by the main door you had entered through. Lawrence?

“You took your time, come see what I’ve found.” You called out, crossing one leg over the other casually with a coy smile. “I can’t be sure, but I think this throne once belonged to Ragnar Lothbrok and his sons. It’s beautiful…” You drummed your fingers against the arm rest.

No response. The silence was deafening, and you felt a deep fluttering within your belly as you snatched your flashlight and shone it down where the figure stood. But the light didn’t reach that far, and so you leaped from the throne anxiously.

“Lawrence?” You called nervously this time, your eyes narrowing as you kept them on the figure who stood in the shadows, unmoving. “This is not funny; I’m not playing your stupid games idiot.”

Once again there was nothing and you panicked, the stories that had been told to you from the locals playing in the forefront of your mind.

‘Ivar the Boneless died in battle, yes – but he was revived and cursed with immortality. The stories say his brother Hvitserk accompanied him back to the castle where he lives till this very day, surviving on the blood of those who dare enter his lair.’

‘Hvitserk too?’

‘Perhaps, though there have been no witnesses to survive that could tell us what they have seen. All we know is that those who travel up the mountains don’t travel back down, so in all probability they have been killed.’

“Ivar?” You breathed, the flashlight in your hand trembling.

“Hello, Y/N.”

The voice echoed through the hall and your breath caught in your throat, fear bleeding into every fibre of your being as you jumped from the throne platform and sprinted towards a side-door that led into the bowels of the castle. The last thing you wanted was to travel deeper inside, but you had no other choice. Gasping for breaths in the darkness, you tried to hold the flashlight steady and peered down at your phone in the other hand.

No signal.

1% battery life.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You hissed, not having a clue what door led to which room or if there was any other exit that you could escape from. You just ran forward with no sense of direction, and eventually came face to face with a staircase. You couldn’t go back now, what if he was right behind you?

The thought alone made you squeal as you scrambled up the stone steps, tripping over your boot at one point and dropping your useless phone that tumbled all the way back down to the bottom. You wouldn’t be going back for it now. Reaching the upper floors of the bitterly cold castle, your flickering flashlight was threatening to give up on you as you desperately searched for a hiding spot. Bolting to the end of the corridor, you ran into one of the rooms and as quietly as you could, closed the door behind you.

Backing up until your thighs hit the wooden frame of a bed in the centre of the room, you felt tears well in your eyes. You were terrified.

“Y/N, it was a joke!” Lawrence shouted out from outside in the corridor. “It’s me, I was only teasing.”

Anger. You saw red and felt humiliated as your colleague shoved the bedroom door open and grinned back at you, holding his camera in your face and your phone in his other hand. You couldn’t believe it.

“HA!” He laughed loudly when he saw the look on your face, pointing at you as he filmed your reaction. “You ran like a shot, Jesus…”

“Get out.” You growled, storming forward to shove his chest. “It’s not fucking funny, stop filming me.”

“Hey, c’mon – it’s hilarious!” He laughed. “Ivar?” Mocking the way you had called out the Viking’s name, he shook his head and bent forward to slap his knee with amusement. “I thought you didn’t believe in vampires!”

“I said get out!” Slapping the camera from his hands, you scowled up at him as it tumbled and crashed to the floor with a thud.

“Hey, what the fuck!” He glared back at you and snatched the front of your jacket, clinching his jaw as if he was debating on whether to hit you or not. But he decided against it, shoving you instead and watching you fall to the bed as he leaned down to pick up his prized possession. “It was a damn joke, get over yourself.”

“No, you’re trying to use me for your stupid videos and it’s not happening. Whatever footage you’ve got of me on there, delete it.” You warned him.

“Hell no, this is going up on my blog first thing when we get back to town. You’ll see how funny it is when you’ve calmed down. Pretty girl gets spooked by Ivar the Boneless, idiots on the internet eat that shit up.”

That was enough. Lunging forward, you snatched the camera from his grasp and turned around, throwing it as hard as you could against the stone wall opposite the bed. You watched as it smashed, bits of plastic bursting out into shards across the floor and instant regret flooded you.

Not about smashing it, because he deserved that to happen – but because you knew the fact he wouldn’t get views online from his snot-nosed followers would infuriate him.

“Y/N!” He shouted, his voice echoing through the halls as he grabbed the back of your hood and yanked you back towards him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, that’s my life’s work you dumb bitch!”

Wincing as he flung you against the wall by the door, you kicked your boot at his shin and threw a punch that connected with his shoulder.

“Let me go!” You growled, struggling against him as he swung his arm back and swung it forward again, slapping you against the face. A sharp sting radiated through your cheek, and you closed your eyes and lifted your hands to defend yourself from the assault you thought was about to come your way.

But nothing happened.

Instead, you heard gargling.

Snapping your eyes open again, you felt your entire body weaken in terror as Lawrence stood in front of you grasping at his throat. Blood spurted from his mouth and nose as he stumbled back, staring back at you with fear and desperation. You were speechless, frozen stiff in place as he collapsed to his knees and bled out at your feet. Behind him had been standing a tall, broad man with the bluest eyes you think you had ever seen. His hand was coated in blood, and he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean as he gazed back at you in the dark.

“I heard a struggle; it seems you needed some help from this boy.” He mumbled in a deep Nordic accent and stepped over Lawrence’s dying body, towering over you in the confined space. “Are you hurt?”

You stood perfectly still and parted your lips, trying to speak but the sounds of Lawrence’s gargled breaths distracted you. Never had you witnessed someone dying before and as much as you hated him, you felt sick and faint.

“You called my name earlier; it woke me from a deep sleep…” He continued, his blood-stained lips curling into a smirk as he reached his clean hand up to stroke your reddened cheek that would soon bruise from the slap.

A breath hitched in your throat at how cold he was, the gentle stroke of his fingers sending a shiver to ripple up the length of your spine.

“You… you are Ivar the Boneless.” You whispered fearfully, glancing down to the floor to see blood pooling around your boots.

“Yes.” He affirmed. “And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Mm, and what are you and this…” He peered down at the body that had stopped struggling and sighed. “…moron doing creeping around my home, huh?”

“I’m sorry, we came here to see…”

“Go on.” Ivar pressed you impatiently.

“To see if you were real, to see if this place really existed.” You told him. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” You took a step forward and slid past him, your body grazing against his as you tried to head for the door but he grabbed your hand.

“Ah, ah.” He tutted, shaking his head of dark braids. “That is not how it works, you see – as soon as you stepped through that door you became mine.”

You felt your belly flutter and shrank into yourself as he took a step in towards you again, leaning forward to breathe in your hair.

“Yours?” You whispered in confusion.

“Yes, mine.” He told you. “Everything in this castle is my property, that now includes you and this sack of shit on my floor.” Pointing to Lawrence’s body, Ivar sucked in a breath. “Unfortunately, my anger got the best of me when it came to him, I should have kept him alive for his blood. I haven’t fed in a long time.”

He looked you over when he said that, his blue eyes darkening with a hunger that made you want to run. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I don’t want to.” He explained and ran his hands up over your shoulders, pulling you against him and holding you tight. “But I am hungry, and your blood sings to me my sweet girl. This won’t hurt for long, I promise.”

“No, no!” You gasped, your struggling useless as he dragged his soft lips down the column of your neck. Licking his tongue out against the beating vein that called to him, a deep growl rose from his throat and he sank his teeth into you with a savage bite that made you scream. “Ivar, please!”

Your legs gave way but it didn’t matter, he was unnaturally strong – clutching you to him like a bear would with its prey. Warmth spilled down your collarbone and you whimpered as he drank you, low groans escaping him. Digging your fingernails into his black armour, your eyes rolled as you became weaker in his arms.

Thump. Thump.

Thump…… Thump.

Thump.

Your heartbeat slowed and you huffed out a weak breath when he suddenly pulled his head back, snarling out an animalistic growl. His white teeth and long fangs were coated in blood, a trickle of it spilling down his chiselled chin as you sank against his chest.

“Fuck.” He groaned, eyes almost translucent they were that blue as he gazed down at your pretty face. “Good girl. Come, let’s get you settled.”

Lifting you up into his arms with ease, Ivar carried you from the room in what seemed like a blur as your eyes rolled shut.

“Are you going to kill me?” You whispered.

“Not yet.” He told you, his voice a low seductive growl. “I’m going to drink you and I’m going to fuck you and then I’m going to make you like me and the rest of my family who live in the shadows.”

The rest? You thought, slipping into unconsciousness as Ivar the Vampire stole you away deep into the confines of his castle.

 Starting awake, you sat up in the darkness and reached your hands out to feel soft silk sheets surrounding you. Looking around and down at yourself, you frowned as you noticed your boots, winter trousers and jacket had been removed, replaced with a white cotton dress that barely covered your thighs.

“You are beautiful, y/n.” Ivar mumbled from the shadows, approaching you slowly as you crawled up towards the headboard and away from him.

“What is this place?” You asked, looking around the large room that had been lit with candles. “What did you do to me?”

Turning your gaze back onto him, you felt something flutter deep within you as he stood shirtless. Viking tribal tattoos littered his strong defined chest, and as you dragged your eyes lower you noted his defined abs.

“These are my private quarters, the part of the castle you didn’t get the chance to intrude on.” He raised a brow at you, a dangerous glint within his eye. “But now, here you are with me. I fully intend on creating a bond with you, one where you will be my progeny and I your master.”

You felt your stomach leap as he crawled up onto the bed after you, his piercing eyes never leaving your face as he reached out and grabbed your ankles. Yanking you down the mattress, he smirked sadistically as you yelped in surprise.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Of course, I am.” You whispered, though it was not only fear that you felt as you looked into his eyes but a strange lust. Something was terribly wrong with you to be attracted to this creature but he was so beautiful, almost god-like that it seemed impossible not to.

“It’s good to be afraid, fear makes you more aware of what’s happening.” He leaned forward and kissed your thigh, his cool lips lingering against your skin. “I want you to know that I have waited for you for a long time, and now that I have you, I cannot let you go.”

He spread your thighs then and nuzzled his nose between them, eliciting a gasp from your throat and forcing you to arch your back. Reaching down to twist your fingers into his dark braids, your legs trembled as he breathed in your scent.

“Oh.” You sank your teeth into your bottom lip when he finally pressed a kiss against your mound, a jolt of pleasure radiating through you at the feeling.

You wondered if this was all a dream, a terrifyingly beautiful dream that you soon would wake from. Using his palms to pin you down, Ivar lapped at your tender wet cunt until he had you crying out his name.

You came.

Then you came again. Hard.

Feeling spasms ripple through your entire body, you moaned and spread your legs further as he dragged himself up and over you. Strong arms settled at either side of your head and he dipped his hips between your thighs, the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your soaked centre making you buck your hips in response.

“Do you want to be mine?” He asked, grabbing your throat and grazing his thumb against the bite mark he had left in your throat. “Will you give yourself to me completely, my love?”

You felt compelled to say “Yes.”

It was if he was inside your head, making you say and feel these things for him and yet you gladly accepted your fate.

“Good girl.” He growled and thrust inside of you in one hard stroke, splitting you open with a delicious burn that forced a cry from your lips.

You snatched your arms around his broad defined shoulders, digging your nails into his smooth skin as he began an unrelenting rhythm. You moaned and screamed and shuddered beneath him as he fucked you deep, his controlled movements driving you insane with lust.

“Ivar!” You cried as his girth stretched you painfully, the feeling of being unbelievably full of him almost too much. But he held you down, you weren’t getting away from him as he possessed you. “Oh my god!”

He grunted, a low growl rumbling deep within his chest as he took what belonged to him. Pressing kisses against your collarbone and then down to your breasts, your eyes rolled as he sucked one nipple into his mouth and then the other, paying them equal attention.

Your grip on his braids tightened and he licked a trail up your chest, kissing up your throat and chin until his lips found yours. The Viking vampire’s mouth was soft as he licked his tongue into your mouth when you gasped from one particularly deep thrust of his hips, and you could taste a mix of him and you that made you moan into him.

Sliding one calloused hand down to grab your knee, he lifted your leg and forced it up to rest over his shoulder. Arching against him, you whined at the change of position that dug deeper still and brushed against that spongey piece of heaven tucked up inside of you.

“Ah!” You whimpered, feeling yourself tighten around him.

“That’s it, y/n.” He growled lowly, smirking against your mouth as he stared into the depths of your eyes. Knocking his forehead against yours gently, he watched you as he fucked you hard. Skin smacked against skin, the wet sounds of him taking you filling the room and you stiffened.

Hissing, Ivar snatched a handful of your hair and tugged your head to one side as you came around him. Your pussy spasmed, clutching onto his cock tightly, milking him for everything he had and as he was on the verge of his own release he knew it was time.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he sank his fangs into the artery he had torn open earlier and began to drink. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head with so much arousal that you weren’t aware of his deadly love bite. He continued to fuck you, his pace slowing just a little as he drank your hot blood down in large greedy gulps.

Soon, you realised that something was wrong. You felt it. Whimpering in a mixture of pleasure and pain now, you pushed at his arms to try and get him to stop but he didn’t plan on it. He drank you deeply, the addicting taste of your life blood filling the void within him.

“Ivar…” You moaned, frowning in discomfort.

He used his free hand to stroke your face gently as if he were reassuring you all would be okay. Blood spilled into the sheets of the mattress and into your hair in a pool and your heart began to stutter, its strong beat fading.

You gasped for a breath and just before you fell into a fatal sleep, Ivar pulled back with a sputtered growl and sank his fangs into his wrist, tearing open his own flesh before pressing the bleeding wound to your lips.

“Drink!” He demanded of you, and with weak gulps you did.

As his cold blood spilled down your throat, he howled out and came inside you in a deep thrust. He grunted and growled at the pleasure of you.

“That’s it.” He hissed, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth as you slurped at him until you fell asleep.

Your head rolled back against the mattress and you were dead to the world, the human version of yourself dying with laboured breaths as Ivar’s blood worked its way through your body keeping you from slipping away completely.

Pulling out of you, he slid an arm under your neck and lifted your frail frame up into his embrace. The sheets were stained red, it looked like a murder scene and he supposed it was for he had killed you and birthed you a new life that soon would come to be.

“There we go, my sweet girl.” He whispered, kissing the side of your face as he stood from the bed and carried you from the bedroom. “No more pain.”

Strolling through the castle, he smirked a bloody smile when he caught sight of his brothers Hvitserk and Ubbe exiting a room down the corridor.

“We heard everything, you know.” Hvitserk eyed the girl in his brother’s arms curiously, a hunger darkening in his features at the sight of you.

“She’s beautiful.” Ubbe murmured.

“I wanted you to hear.” Ivar muttered arrogantly, kissing the corner of your lips as he said so. “She will soon be one of us, I still need to bury her and by tomorrow she will rise.”

“I want one.” Hvitserk grumbled.

“Me too.” Ubbe glanced at his brother and then back to Ivar. “I think we need to venture into town and find more girls, take them back here and turn them.”

“I think that would be good.” Ivar nodded. “Now, I need one of you to bury us.”

“I’ll do it.” Hvitserk volunteered.

“I’ll watch.” Ubbe smirked.

Heading down the staircase with you safely tucked into his arms, Ivar moved with a blur that no ordinary human would be able to see and took you out into the snowy courtyard.

Setting you down on the snow, he dug a grave big enough for two and set you down inside before he turned to glare at his brothers who watched on curiously.

“Okay…” He nodded and lowered himself down to join you, spooning you from behind and tucking his face into your hair.

Hvitserk grabbed a shovel and scooped a large amount of snow and piled it inside the grave. It wasn’t long before the both of you were buried six feet below the earth.

Soon you would rise with your master by your side, forever bonded by blood and death.

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