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[Carissa] [ you seem upset about something. ]

… Ah. Someone had taken note of her lack of presence today - she made a note to do better next time in hiding her worries. 

Still, she’s able to give Carissa an easy smile, though it may be more fleeting, tinted with hesitation than usual.

“Thank you for worrying about me. It’s nothing big, though - just… some schoolwork I need to resolve.” 

Design school was incredibly rewarding, and Celia loved being able to immerse herself in her art. For her current assignment, she was collaborating with classmates to put on a small runway show - or, she was supposed to be collaborating with them. The show was next week, and they weren’t returning her texts or emails. In class, they were only able to produce rudimentary sketches and some fabric samples - she was worried if they’d be able to complete their part in time. On the other hand… she wasn’t sure if she would have time, either, to design and create some pieces in their stead.

For now, though, here was a chance to redeem herself by paying more attention to who was in front of her - Carissa. 

“How are you, though?” 

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mythlived‌:

@aulisdeer​ asked: “i can’t breathe, i can’t –” 

     (  ♛  )  —  Her smaller hand was wrapped around his tightly, but as she spoke—the panic in her voice ringing clear despite how faint it was—he felt her grip begin to loosen, her breaths coming in shorter bursts than they had been. It was the telltale sign that she was fighting hard to stay awake. He squeezed the hand he held a little tighter, but still just lightly enough that it wouldn’t be painful—she’d been hurt too many times already. The least he could do for her was minimize the pain at the end.

❝  A doctor—  ❞  he croaked, knowing full well none of them would be able to do anything. Dammit. Iphigenia was still a child. She’d been a child when her life was first ripped away from her, too; all those years ago for a cause that was by no means her own. It was a cause that hadn’t even really been his, but still they’d all been called to pay the price for it. There was something so much crueler about the world and its machinations when one sat trapped in the small sterile white box of the dying. It pulled forth memories of betrayal, of guilt. Guilt settled deep and all at once, but there was no time to wallow in it, to berate himself over what he could and could not have done, what he should and should not have noticed, all of the things that had lead up to this very moment. After all, each second was precious as she fought hard to hold on—he would cradle them as gently as his shaking, panicked hands would allow. Even if she was unable to talk to them anymore, the consistent beeping of the heart monitor was more than enough to stave off the grief for now, but it would only last so long. 

Unlike the last time he had watched her die, this time was particularly unceremonious.

Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing evened out, slowing to something more normal. His own breath caught and he stilled, eyes widening. It was nothing good, he knew, and there wasn’t much one could do to fight something so damning as a gunshot wound, but still he hoped. It was the kind of hope that one only felt in the face of the inevitable, something faux and hard to grasp, the kind of hope that only belonged to fools. It was something that couldn’t really be called hope at all. It was the doorman for the all encompassing sorrow that came upon losing a loved one. And it opened the door wide as her hand went slack in his. 

He dropped his forehead onto their clasped hands, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay, but the pressure only proved to displace the traitors faster. He willed it not to be true, thought that perhaps he could will it to turn out differently, could will her heart back into beating, could will the flat line to stop its incessant screeching in the new silence of her hospital room. It was the kind of silence that only came with the volume of the flat line and grief of those in the room. Praying to Hades was something he tried to avoid for things like this, but gods he’d be more than willing to pay whatever price if he would just give her back. He would take her damn place, give her every breath he had left in this life if he could. But the gods didn’t bargain like that anymore. They hadn’t for a long time.

He opened his mouth to say something, to Pyrrha and Kyr, but what could he say  ?  There were no words of comfort that he could possibly offer to any of them that wouldn’t sound like lip service. Iphi was important to all of them. His mind was settled somewhere between the real and unreal—he had enough sense to be afraid that any words that might slip out right then would come out as raw and angry as he felt. They didn’t deserve that, not when they were feeling just the same. Instead of saying anything at all, he laid her hand by her side and stood, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes until bright white stars danced in front of them. There was nothing he could say. Pressing his teeth into his lip until he tasted iron, he cursed the gods until her family arrived… and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t silently curse them, too, fairness be damned. 

Grief was a volatile thing, dark and all-consuming. Patroclus felt ripped open wide for the world to see in the face of tragedy. Maybe he’d become complacent and far too comfortable in this new life, too used to the monotony of their daily lives, even with the unprecedented amount of shit they’d all undoubtedly been through. He’d made the mistake of getting used to things as they were, of expecting life to continue on its ascension to better-than-before. He should have known better. He should have expected something. He should have expected something like this. He wished it could have been anything but this. 

He was torn apart and raw, angry and messy, and so, so heartbroken. But then, the guilt crept toward him silently, but no less noticeable. Even so, this wasn’t about him. None of it was. He could think on that later. For now, she and the others were what mattered. Misery had lain its unmistakable hand on the group and death had chosen to suffocate them, grinning sharply and laughing. Easily, without warning, but also so very slowly, tortuously, with nothing they could possibly have done about it. 

She... wasn’t supposed to be here. It was a miracle Celia hadn’t put up more of a fight today, to be honest. 

But... she felt she had a duty to see. She was... involved, sort of. At least, she had known Iphigenia, if only mostly through Celia’s eyes. Perhaps it was because Iphigenia was a former goddess - 

was. 

Past tense, in several meanings of that word implying existence. 

She had stood outside for several minutes. It didn’t feel right to be there - she knew how most of the girl’s friends felt about herself. 

But still... Aphrodite couldn’t deny it. The emotion - deemed love - that had compelled the lady to shoot her lover, and misfiring at the unfortunate child instead. 

It wasn’t right. That wasn’t the pure, beautiful love that Aphrodite desired. It was corrupted - and even she couldn’t say she particularly approved of that kind of passion. Love was supposed to be the opposite of cold death, not its precursor.

When Iphigenia’s parents passed her on their way into the now-quiet room, she peeked inside. Patroclus... He probably could use some... kind words.

As quietly as she could, she entered the room, and walked to stand by Patroclus. Hopefully, he wouldn’t look up and notice it wasn’t... Celia speaking.

“I’m... sorry.”

Sorry for what? She hadn’t pulled the trigger. So why had she-

She was sorry that the girl lying on the hospital bed was loved so well by the ones left behind. Maybe, then, they wouldn’t feel - 

But also... she was sorry. A side casualty in two stories that Aphrodite might have been able to help rewrite... but she didn’t. 

Aphrodite does not hold regrets. She casts her eyes down towards the wall, hoping her green irises won’t be noticed. 

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@mythlived​ cont. from here (x)

Dear, dear. Time changed so much, indeed. The death of siblings - and the death of darling Paris’ regard for her? Things were so lovely back then - she moved as she pleased, she was the most beautiful, and Father allowed her to do as she wished - for the most part. 

How cruel of him! To gaze at her with such animosity - when she had bestowed nothing but generosity and goodwill upon him in years gone by. To blame her for his misfortunes - when it was she who had plucked him from underneath Menelaus’ sword, she who had delivered on her promise of a most beautiful woman in exchange for his mere word, she who influenced poor Helen to beg Oenone to bestow mercy on the then-dying Paris. No fault it was of hers if he was too weak a warrior to count his blessings by staying alive for much longer - or if he was unable to keep the woman gifted unto him - or if he ultimately died... No, this wouldn’t do. Aphrodite refused to shoulder the blame - but who could blame human arrogance? Unfounded, pitiful, human arrogance. 

Love, divinity... things beyond true human comprehension. As long as love existed, she would be here. 

“ And yet, I have survived where so many did not. Really... Celia’s a nice girl - she should be honored to serve me. Of course, I’ll repay the favour when I ascend again. She’s proven herself quite worthy of Elysian if she continues on like this. ”

“ However... you, Paris, are quite another matter. ”

Standing up, she crosses to right in front of him. 

“ Have you forgotten my love already? I’m hurt... But never fear, my fondness for you will allow such small mistakes on your behalf. Shall I remind you, then? ”

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BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR MUSE ( music edition ).

feel free to add things if I missed them !

FAVOURITE GENRES. pop. rock. hip-hop. jazz. country. heavy metal. disco. techno. electro. classical. dubstep. r&b. edm. musical. k-pop. lo-fi. opera. blues. reggae. alternative. punk. dance. house. celtic. indie. rap. soul. folk. soundtrack. ambient. christmas songs. kids music.

DEVICES / ATTRIBUTES. radio. cd. cassette. phone. turntable. tv. walkman. gramophone. laptop/computer. earphones. headphones. speakers. mp3 player. alarm clock. airpods.

REASONS TO LISTEN. to calm down. for dancing. for the lyrics. to focus. to study. nostalgia. out of boredom. to annoy other people. to battle silence. to sing along. to fall asleep.

LOCATIONS / OCCASIONS TO LISTEN. concerts. bars. clubs. pubs. car. at home. at work. at school. on public transport. festivals. parties. karaoke bar. street. theatre. while reading. in the morning. in the night. during exercise. while travelling.

MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS. piano. electric/acoustic guitar. bass guitar. cello. violin. flute. lute. harmonica. bagpipes. harp. drums. ukelele. saxophone. trumpet. keyboard. recorder. clarinet. accordion. horn. banjo. chimes. contrabass. pan flute. organ. oboe. mandoline. maracas. piccolo. trombone. tuba. whistle. xylophone.

MISC.      my muse….       can sing/sings. writes their own music. plays an instrument. is part of a band or group. is the manager of a band/group/artist. has met their favourite band/group/artist. plays in musicals. cries while listening to emotional songs. has a spotify playlist with over 1000 songs. has a very broad taste in music. has a very narrow taste in music. enjoys karaoke. collects records/cds/cassettes. rarely listens to music. listens to music when they’re sad. listens to music when they’re happy. hates silence. frequents concerts. frequents festivals. frequents the theatre.

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[Pyrrha] “We made a pact to push each other down the stairs.”

“Don’t… don’t do that, please.”

But that’s probably not enough to stop Pyrrha, so.

“What if someone gets hurt?”

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With a perfectly straight face, Carissa holds out her hands for Celia to take what's in them: a few pieces of candy and a handwritten note, which reads, 'For Celia. Aphrodite gets nothing.'

… “Thank you, Carissa.” She flashes a smile - though it’s probably diluted by the huffing of Aphrodite only she can hear. The note is tucked into her pocket, and she decides to try the candy now. Aphrodite’s going off about calorie counts and the lack of respect, but in this case… it’s okay to ignore her. 

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credit: vittvittvitt

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° ~ and curls in her hair °

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writer aesthetics          Akutagawa Ryūnosuke.

          [ THE ROMANTIC EGOTIST ]

     THE KAPPA. mental asylums. being granted the choice of whether one wishes to be born or not. mocking humanity. art for art’s sake. starless skies. vases of winter roses. loving oneself more than anybody else. the bitter realization that defending oneself is more difficult than defending others. denying one’s own existence. alpine plants in pots. haunted houses. black lilies on a desk.

     THE LIFE OF A STUPID MAN. reading on a ladder set against a bookcase. smoking at the table of a small café.frequent thoughts about the shortness of life. walking in a heavy downpour. the smell of rotting apricots. the smell of seaweed. embracing one’s intellectual side more than their emotional one. deserted country roads beneath overcast skies. ripened wheat on the sides of a country road. intellectual conversations. excessive smoking. being afraid of a society one despises at the same time. contemplating death. the paralyzing fear of one’s own future.

     HELL SCREEN. human sacrifices for the sake of art. bad reputations. the arrogance of an artist. finding beauty in ugliness. the unconditional love of a parent. working tirelessly on an artistic piece. vivid nightmares. the occasional rush of night wind. the look of terror and sorrow on one’s face as they witness the violent death of a loved one.

     RASHŌMON. crows circling an eerie place. standing alone in the rain late at night. skies turning red after sunset. the red-lacquered pillars of a gate. a once majestic structure, now forgotten by time and crumbling to pieces. the sinister sight of discarded corpses in a dimly lit chamber.feeling powerless. the inability to question the nature of a deed. doing whatever one can in order to survive. hoping for a peaceful, untroubled sleep for once. aimlessness; not knowing where to go.

     COGWHEELS. ghost stories. pointless chatter in a crowded train. violent headaches. ominous phone calls. writer’s block. taking far too many sleeping pills. having a hard time telling between what is real and what isn’t. rose-colored walls in a café. being trapped by horrid flashbacks. a constant feeling that something is out to get you. a sudden rush of anxiety upon thinking about death. the temporary comfort a cigarette provides. silver wings.

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WHICH  GREEK  GOD  /  GODDESS  DO  YOU  REFLECT  THE  MOST

Aphrodite

Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation. She is elegant, graceful, and courageous and stands up for what she loves and believes in. She is also the goddess of sexuality and a deity of women.

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A P H R O D I T E                             she is passion embodied                                      a flower of melodrama in eternal bloom