#Beautiful scenes etched in death and vengeance

[hayjeon]

demigod!jungkook (son of zeus!au) with daughter of hades!reader 

part 1 | part 2

warning: death of character, some gross fluff, and lots of percy jackson references

note: thank you to whoever requested this! hope you like it 

“Oh my god, Jungkook! Jungkook!” You cry, angry tears streaming out of your face as the clouds darken and thunder rolls loudly, as if they’re mourning their demigod with you. 

You scream as you stand protectively over Jungkook’s fallen figure and raise your hands towards the sky of the Underworld, tears streaming down your face and rain soaking the both of you as the monster in front of you roars and begins to charge towards your direction. 

Fire begins to flicker at your fingertips and the ground begins to rumble as you focus your energy, the anger, the injustice, and the vengeance over Jungkook’s death into your hands. Slowly, a dark hole begins to open up from the ground, emitting horrid groans and wails from the creatures that were cursed to Tartarus forever. You’d only heard about the children of Hades being able to open portals to Tartarus, but you now realize that the focused energy from your hands, along with the thunder and lightning that Jungkook had summoned was helping you channel the power enough to do so. 

The monster trips into the hole and roars, wrenching his foot to try and get out, but there is no use. You watch in horror as immediately, ghostly hands of souls lost forever in Tartarus begin to grip at his horns, his skin, skeletal figures climbing onto him and dragging him down, down, until his roars and the cries of the lost souls seem to have disappeared forever. 

You collapse on the ground as the hole closes up, and the darkness fades. One of the hellhounds bound up to you, no longer afraid of the hole you’d opened up, and licks your face and whines as he butts your hand with his head. 

You open your eyes, breathing heavily, tears streaming down as you turn, your whole body burning with overuse and exhaustion as you pull yourself up and kneel next to Jungkook’s body. 

His handsome face is matted with blood and dirt, and the rain cakes his dark hair to his face that looks much paler and more gaunt than it did when the both of you left Camp Halfblood a few days ago. He’d jumped in front of the monster when you were distracted with fighting the other smaller minions, and the monster had completely pierced Jungkook’s torso with his horn. 

“Jungkook! Please,” You cry, rocking back and forth. “Please, no, you were my only good friend, the only person I could trust. Please, no, not again. I can’t lose you, too. Everyone that comes near me gets hurt, this is all my fault.” 

You cry, wailing in anger as you hold his corpse close, cradling his head against your chest as you watch the rain slowly wash the blood and dirt away. The hellhounds whine and lower their heads as they watch the both of you, and the fires of the Underworld around you seem to dim in honor of the demigod who’d given his life for the daughter of their King. 

You return to Camp Halfblood, and it takes a few weeks to adjust to everything. Jungkook’s house brother, Jinwoo, is a small child who’d yet to find his powers, but was left with nothing after his birth mother had passed. He’d been stuck in the Underworld because he’d tried to follow his mother unknowingly. The House of Zeus takes in the small boy easily, surrounding him with as much warmth and joy that they can muster, while mourning the death of Jungkook. 

The funeral rips you apart. 

All the houses gather beneath the large oak tree, everyone in solemn silence as the camp director and the new appointed head of the House of Zeus give their graces in remembrance of one of their bravest and most honorable soldiers. 

It seemed to be a blessing in disguise, Jungkook’s funeral, as it allowed both your houses to cooperate in a way that the Houses of Zeus and Hades had never collaborated before. Hellhounds that had come to love Jungkook stood in the perimeter of the funeral lines, their sleek black coats adorned with beautiful leather collars that the House of Ares had designed. The coffin had been designed by your house, adorned with as much symbolism of the scenes that represented Jungkook the best. 

Even though his body was stuck in the Underworld, the children of Hades had done their best to commemorate his life by creating a beautiful coffin with engravings of his bravery. They’d captured the moment when Jungkook was able to find the entrance to the Underworld by skillfully tricking the gatekeeper with his wit. They’d captured when Jungkook had slayed the harpy that was following you both. Scenes of Jungkook summoning and calling forth storms and bolts of lightning were heroically etched into the sides. Each movement and scene was carved beautiful into a dark onyx wood. Your eyes teared up again as you looked over the beauty of the coffin. You were even there, behind Jungkook as he faces the beast that killed him with a face of determination and bravery. Seeing that scene had made you lose it from crying too much. 

The tree had been decorated with beautiful flowers by the House of Aphrodite, and the House of Poseidon had prepared a boat to place the coffin on and burn later to symbolize the release of Jungkook’s soul. The House of Zeus all stood at the ready, in order to sound thunder as the final call. 

Your shoulders slump as you watch the empty coffin being placed onto the boat. A member from the House of Apollo shoots a flaming arrow onto the boat, and the entire camp watches in respect as the burning boat begins floating away from the scene. Thunder booms throughout the land in organized beats to send off the warrior. Jinwoo hugs your leg, a little scared of the solemness of the whole scene and the overwhelming sounds, and you smooth back his hair and clutch him as you both watch the boat float away. 

Suddenly, a clap of lightning splits open the sky, and hits the boat. All of you gasp or scream in shock as the fire is put out. Murmurs round up in the crowd as you watch more strikes of lightning hit the boat until it lays destroyed in pieces on the lake. 

“What the hell?!” You cry, angrily eyeing the House of Zeus. “This is not the proper way to send off a demigod! Who is summoning the lightning?!” 

They murmur between themselves, one stepping up with confusion. “It wasn’t any of us, I swear! That kind of power is only possible by the strongest of us, or Zeus himself!” 

You frown, whipping your head around to the lake, and you see that the pieces of the boat are completely gone and washed away. The clouds gather, swirling in an ominous shape above you all, and some demigods begin to scream and run away as the wind begins to whip your hair around and sting your eyes. You send off Jinwoo in fear of him getting hurt. 

But you stand your ground, squinting into the center of the cloud whirlpool as things begin to escalate, and then suddenly--

Baam! 

A streak of lightning from the center of the clouds hits the ground inches away from you and you shriek as you fall backwards, hands gripping the soil as the ground shakes beneath you. 

“Please!” You cry out of instinct, fearful that Zeus was now taking revenge on you for sparing the life of his child. “Please, no!” 

“Hey, get up.”

Your eyes open in shock, and you scramble to turn as you find yourself looking up at a smiling Jungkook, alive, and completely scratch-less. Your eyes are open in horror now, as you realize Zeus had completely assumed the body of his son to torture you, to remind you of what you’ve done to your closest friend, and your first love. To remind you that anyone who gets close to you will always die, and get hurt. 

Tears stream down your eyes as you clamber away from his figure. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I killed him, I never meant to. I loved him so much but I didn’t know how to tell him because e-everytime I love someone they get hurt be-because of m-me and I always--” 

He catches up to you and kneels next to you as he pulls you into a tight hug. He literally crushes the air out of you and cuts your words off as he shushes you. “Shhh, it’s me. Jungkook. I’m back. Please, all I’ve been waiting for is to be able to hug you again.” 

You clutch him in shock. “J-Jungkook? H-how? You--, you died, I-I saw you d-dead--” 

He pulls back, gazing into your eyes with that look, the ones that made your knees weak. “I did. I remember everything being dark, and then suddenly, I was in the throne room of Mount Olympus. The gods, they--” He pauses to wipe your tears off your cheeks, “They saw what we did, and they saw that I died trying to protect you, and not myself. They voted, together, to give me another chance. It was also because of you, too.” 

You can’t say anything besides cry and let your hands raise to gently cup his cheek, the one that you’d last seen with cuts and bruises all over, clean and healthy and firm and warm in your palms. 

“I-I can’t believe this.” You manage, croaking out as he helps you stand. “You’re alive.” 

His gaze softens as he holds you. 

“If you can’t believe it, then maybe this might help.” He leans in, hands cupping your cheeks and angling your face upwards. He presses his lips to yours in desperation, and you close your eyes and clutch his arms as he kisses you. He breaks away to rest his forehead against yours. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” he whispers, and when you give a slight laugh, he laughs in response, leaning in to kiss you again. 

You’re interrupted by cheers and whoops from the crowd of people who’d stayed to watch what had happened. Embarrassed, you hide your face in your hands and cower into his chest as Jungkook holds you close and waves to everyone. 

The funeral is transformed into a festival to receive Jungkook, and the entire night is full of good food, music, and laughter, and Jungkook gets to tell the story of what exactly happened in the Underworld with you, and the aftermath that led to him being revived from the dead. 

After everything calms down, he excuses himself and grips your hand. Smiling down at you, he leads you away from the eyes of everyone and silently leads you to the woods. After a long walk, he stops at a tree that overlooks the canyon that Camp Halfblood was built on. Sitting down against it, he pulls you close as you both face the view. 

The sun was setting and cast a beautiful glow over the woods, but you can’t be bothered. You just gaze into his eyes, eyes running over his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, everything. You just can’t believe he’s alive. 

He chuckles as you just ogle him. “Are you done yet?” 

You shake your head. “No, I just can’t believe it.” 

He laughs again, pinching your cheek a little. “Even after I kissed you?” 

You don’t even retort with a frown or a snarky comment. He watches in amusement as you blush. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He softens at that, hand coming up to brush softly against your cheek. “I missed you,” he murmurs, smoothing back your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “I only thought of you from the moment everything ended.” 

You watch him as he continues, “I heard you, I heard you crying and apologizing and telling me that it was your fault. I knew I couldn’t just leave like that. Not when you blamed yourself for it.” 

You frown at that. “It was my fault though. If I had been more careful and had fired that bolt at the monster when it--”

He leans forward and kisses you. His lips cover yours hotly, lower lip coming up between yours as he mouths softly at yours. When he breaks away, he smirks at your hot cheeks. “Everytime you say something stupid, I’m just gonna kiss you.” 

You frown at him. “Stupid?” 

He nods. “Yes, stupid. It wasn’t your fault. I want you to know that I would jump in front of that monster over and over again. It wasn’t a mistake. I did that knowing the consequences. It has nothing to do with you or whatever you think your curse is that hurts the people who come close to you. I did it because you’re worth it to me. I’d do it all over again if given the choice.” 

You tear up and he chuckles again as he leans in to kiss your tears away. 

“I didn’t know you cried so much, you baby,” he chortles, “remember when I couldn’t even get you to talk to me that first day? And then you beat me up because I made fun of your laugh.” 

You chuckle and punch his shoulder. He grips the hand and pulls you even closer, forehead resting against yours. 

He’s reveling in the moment when you suddenly pull back with a frown. “Wait a second. Did you basically just confess to me?” 

He blinks, “Uh, yeah. I thought that was obvious.” 

“So...” you ponder, “You like me? Like, you actually like-like me?” 

He rolls his eyes. “I thought that was obvious when I threw myself in front of the monster for you.” 

“No like, not in a friend-way, but in a love-way? Like, as a girl?” 

He looks at you for a long time. “I thought that was obvious when I shoved my tongue down your throat.” 

You laugh at that. “Ugh, you’re still the gross Jungkook that I know. Going to Mount Olympus did nothing to tame that nasty mouth of yours.” 

He chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows as he pulls you closer by the waist. “Let me show you what this mouth can do after Mount Olympus.”

[witchy-anna]

Play with Fire (Dabi songfic)

Quirk: Homeostasis- the ability to force someone’s body back into its stable condition. Requires physical touch to activate. Examples are regulating the body's blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. Disadvantage: May cause the person to go into shock if the quirk works too quickly.

A/N: I’m going to go with vigilante fem!reader, sorry it took so long Fox! You’re a Doll 😘 Each section is essentially a time skip. 

Warning: cursing (I curse a lot, can’t control my potty mouth)

Taglist: @soldier76sbabygirl

Message to be added to taglist

Insane, inside the danger gets me high Can't help myself got secrets I can't tell

Another string of deaths caused by the serial arsonist. When will it end? The news anchor reads off the prompt with obvious faux concern. Is this another travesty caused by the League of Villains? Find out tonight on the Hero News Network.

You sigh and grumble, “What a crock of shit.” 

A husky voice says close to your ear, “You sound more irritated than concerned.”

Without startling to the closeness you crane your neck around and level a glare at the person intruding in on your space. 

A raven haired man stands close, sunglasses obscuring his eyes and shirt collar pulled high covering the bottom half of his face. How strange. 

You tsk and turn back to the screen now playing an expose on a local pro heroes love life, as if that matters. Gesturing vaguely at the screen you spit out, “They sound so..fake...People are dying and instead they focus on who crawled out of bed with some pro.” 

“This world is so full of suffering, who can blame them for being desensitized to it,” the man says with an oddly cheerful tone.

“I suppose so,” you say but it falls on deaf ears. Gone. 

In other news, the police and pros are still on the lookout for a masked vigilante...You spin on your heels before the news anchor can finish their report. With a quickened pace to trudge another monotonous day of desk work. Fun stuff.

I love the smell of gasoline I light the match to taste the heat I've always liked to play with fire

Another night, another secret patrol, hood pulled high, mask secured, and ass kicking boots laced with vengeance. Monotonous desk job during the day and vigilante at night. 

Illegal being the operative word, the one floating in front of your vision akin to an annoying bug. Following you around each and every night you took off on an excursion.

This night was the same as any other night, some unsuspecting fool thinking they could pull one over on you. Sorely mistaken darling. Your quirk may not be the most suited for combat but you had worked hard to get where you are now. 

Again and again late into your sleepless nights you question why you are doing this. Why pick up what the pro heroes leave behind. 

The words etched into your mind of popular top ranking heroes saying: My quirk isn’t suited for this. Let someone else handle it. Over and over again. 

You want to scream in their face, Neither is mine but you don’t see me giving up!

Bitterness will get you nowhere in life, so instead, you chose to focus that venom on helping those left behind. At least, that’s how it was at first. 

I ride (I ride) the edge (the edge) My speed goes in the red

The concussive shock of an explosion nearly knocks you off your feet. Without a second thought you take off in a sprint to the source. 

“No,” you whisper. Just a moment too late. To slow, what you wouldn’t give for a speed quirk. 

Blue flames roar, reaching and clawing high in the sky. There is the distant scream of sirens signaling their approach. Someone is crying, a wail, a whimper, the harsh dissonance of fear. 

Ash falls like snow, blue and black tinted snow. It’s eerie but strangely beautiful. 

Emergency lights reflect off shattered pieces of glass littering the sidewalk and a single silhouette stands framed by the flames. The wind picks up causing ash and debris to fly everywhere; and almost comically his beat-up coat to flair behind him. 

A dry humorous laugh escapes much to your dismay. What is this an action movie? 

Intense eyes matching the azure flames turns to you, meeting your own (e/c) and rooting you to the spot. A flash of stark white teeth stretches the skin at the corners of his mouth, cut in half by scarred skin. No fear, no panic of being caught. 

“Wait!” you shout, desperation evident in your voice. “Stop!” Something nags at your subconscious, that feeling when you leave the house and your mind insists you forgot something but have no inkling what it could be. 

The man leisurely lifts a hand from his pocket and waves without turning around, disappearing around the corner. A wave that says: Until next time. 

Hot blood (hot blood), these veins (these veins) My pleasure is their pain

Another week passes before you see him again. Lying to yourself, you had dropped everything to sprint to another howling blue fire, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. To save people? Or to...no don’t finish that thought, you grumble internally. 

The stench of burnt flesh makes your stomach churn and you stifle a gag even through your mask. Steeling yourself you search for the source, is it a body or a person in need?

You follow your nose to the source. “Oh,” the word leaves your mouth with barely a sound. Just a puff of air really. 

There he sits, reclined against a trash bin partially hidden in shadows. If not for your keen sense of smell he would have stayed hidden. The smell is strong enough to make your eyes water. He watches you with narrowed luminous eyes, the only thing visible in the dim light. You step closer and he raises an open palm pointed at you, the blue flames dance and kiss his skin.

Steam rises from his skin and he pants, clearly in pain. 

“Your quirk hurts you,” it’s a statement not a question. “Let me help.” 

His eyes narrow to slits before he gives a quick nod and you carefully moved to kneel beside him. The palm with the flame clenches closed to extinguish the flame but stays poised to react if you try anything. He lets out a heavy breath that literally steams the air, he’s overheating.

“I need to touch you,” you warn and slowly reach out your own hands. “I can cool you down.” 

There’s a pause and he nods again, staying silent. Up this close the amount of scarred skin is jarring, as well as the staggering amount of piercings or are they staples? No matter, your hands slowly reach up to cup his cheeks and let your quirk kick to life. The steam rising from his skin slowly dissipates as your quirk works to regulate his temperature, cooling him down to his body's normal level. 

Part of you wonders why he is even letting you touch him so...intimately. His temperature now back to as it should be but your hands remain. 

“Is anyone there?” a stern voice calls from the entrance of the alley causing you to jump. Someone shines a flashlight down the alley, it’s a police officer.

“Leave now,” you hiss to him and stand quickly to move out of the cover of shadow. To the police officer you call out a soft, “Hello?”

His mouth opens as if he wants to say something but snaps it closed. Without a word he stands to leave but not without throwing a curious glance at your retreating form. Mask now gone but he can only see the back of your head, he watches as you put on an act for the police officer.

“Interesting,” he says to no one in particular.  

I love to watch the castles burn These golden ashes turn to dirt

And again, he’s toying with you. This is a game to him. 

It’s a mansion this time, his flames eating up the opulence like a cavity. Eating up the perfect expensive abode and turning it to rot; to ash. “How cliche,” you mutter to yourself. “What an idiot.” 

A low chuckle sends shivers down your spine, “I have a name.”

With a half interested turn of your head, you glance back over your shoulder. “Oh? And why would I care?” Lie.  

Another chuckle, but closer this time. He calls you out on your bluff, “Oh Doll, we both know that’s a lie.” 

Right behind you now. You sense no malice, only curiosity coming from the man. 

Your entire body locks up when you feel the barely there brush of a single callused finger at the base of your neck. It flicks the spot where your mask is tied and a breath of hot air sends goosebumps crawling across your skin.

“Dabi,” he whispers. Another long finger adds to the first, pads whispering against the soft skin of your neck. Heat radiates from both the fire in front of you and the man at your back. He tugs gently enough at your mask tie to not remove it, yet. “Why did you help me?”  

That’s a good question, why did you? Because he’s a pretty face or someone in need, regardless of villain or civilian status. 

You dodge the question, “Why did you let me?”  

“Maybe I just want to unmask a certain little vigilante,” he chuckles again and it vibrates against your back. A single finger slips underneath your mask brushing against your cheek and dips to ghost over your lips and you let him. 

“And maybe you’re just a pretty face,” you say, just a tad breathlessly. 

He hums, “Oh so you think I’m pretty?” He chuckles at the blush creeping over your neck but then curses when there’s a shout about a pro arriving on the scene. 

Dabi says directly into your ear, “Until next time Doll.” Gone.

I've always liked to play with fire Play with fire Fire, fire Oh, watching as the flames get higher Oh, I've always liked to play with (mm)

This time, he finds you. 

“Are you following me?” you ask. It’s quiet where you sat, luckily far away from the view of any passing civilians as he could be easily recognized.

He sits beside you, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle. “You never answered my question last time,” it’s a statement, ignoring your attempt at deflecting. 

“I- I don’t know,” you admit staring down at your hands as if they hold all the answers. They clench and unclench in your lap. 

You are the antithesis to his sturm and drang. A man who clearly is the type to take what he wants, simply sits beside you, waiting and watching the war going on inside of you. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases. “It was a simple question.” 

Little did you know at the time it would only take one little push, or rather a gentle pull to flip your already wavering resolve. A hand catching yours, rough calloused thumb rubbing a line across your knuckles distracting you. The other shoots out and releases the tie of your mask before you can react. 

“Maybe I just want the satisfaction of turning a vigilante hero to our side,” he says but spits out the word ‘hero’. 

That’s what you get for letting your guard down. That’s what you get for letting a villain get so close. 

“Get away from me,” you snarl and shoot to your feet. Reaching to yank back the mask he took from you but he keeps a firm grip on it. With a frustrated growl you rip the mask from him and storm off, face lit with a flush. 

A dry raspy laugh sounds from him, and he says those stupid infuriating words again, “Until next time. Doll.”

Right of passage classic maverick Match in the gas tank Ooh that's wretched Unstoppable legendary animals (mm)

Just in time, you find him face to face with a pro, no, it’s a sidekick but dangerous nonetheless. The sidekick is clearly a newbie, shaking slightly in their boots but standing firm against the notorious villain. 

Dabi has clearly overexerted himself again, the steam rises from him in waves, a drip of blood leaves a trail that disappears below the collar of his shirt. 

Both swivel to face you. One pair of stern eyes that immediately recognize you as that vigilante. The other pair of eyes at first looks annoyed at the new addition but then relaxes to an easy expression, one of familiarity. 

There’s a challenge in those azure eyes, asking what will you do? Who will you side with? 

The sidekick starts to advance turning their attention away from you. You sprint, desperate to get to Dabi before the sidekick does. 

Dabi sends out a flare of him fire directly at the sidekick but aims it away from you, over your head. What? Impossibly warm arms close around your waist, shielding you from harm. Again, what? 

A camera flash. At the last second you realize your mask must haven fallen off in the chaos. 

Right time for them; wrong time for you. Shit.

Digital justice Now you're gonna know us

Your face is displayed across tvs, newspapers, online articles, everything. 

Vigilante Hero unmasked. Connections to the League of Villains?

An entirely unflattering picture from your workplace displayed beside the picture from the previous night. You, held in the arms of Dabi. 

Your apartment had already been raided and is being watched by the police. An entire lifetime of stuff out of your reach in an instant. What did you expect to happen with this type of lifestyle anyway? Only the clothes on your back and a long since smashed cell phone tossed into a dumpster. 

You go back to the place where he first took your mask, bearing your naked face to the world. Baring your face to him. 

Hail to the king and queen of the ruckus Yacht Money wired No denying I've always liked to play with fire

“There’s no going back now Doll,” he says in a hushed tone. There is an edge uncertainty hidden under his usual bravado, maybe even vulnerability. 

You shake your head, “Who said anything about going back.”  

Azure eyes meet your own (e/c) and matching grins split both of your faces. Rough callused fingers slip into your palm and twine through your fingers, tugging until your nose to nose. His tongue darts out to taste the ash stuck to his scarred lip, it floats all around you both like a gentle but haunting snowfall. 

“No going back now,” you repeat the sentiment before sealing your now flipped resolve with a kiss.

I've always liked to play with fire

[killjoy-loveit]

Fated to the Past

A/N: Fifteenth spooky season post! I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. This is written in 1st POV because it flowed better. 

Excerpt: With panicked breathing, I had to carefully but quickly maneuver through the building- over piles of rubble from the ceiling, under fallen pillars and branches the dangled through the ceiling.

Word Count: 1,319

Genre: Soulmate & Time Travel AU

     What if I told you that the concept of soulmates were true? That there actually is a specific person out there in the world you’re fated to be with? Would you believe me or call me a liar? If you believe me then I guess it’s not too far of a stretch to say that some people will never meet their soulmate- and not for the reason you think. It’s not because their other half is so far from them physically, everyone has a compass inked into their skin to guide them, but rather because they were born in a different time.

      Maybe you wonder how someone knows that their missing piece is in another time, there’s always a little indicator. It being the fact that the compass etched into someone’s skin appears broken, however this can also occur if their soulmate is dead. Most of the time when a compass appears broken due to a soulmate’s death, it happens when the person is older. Mine has been broken since I was born. Which could either mean I have no fated, they died before I was born, or they were from another time.

      For a long time I believed it was the former- I was simply fated to none. It would have stayed that way too, if my compass hadn’t started to move. Confusing- that’s all it could be when a compass that was broken throughout the majority of my life suddenly began moving. I’d been exploring a museum, one that had fallen into disrepair for at least a hundred years; completely disregarded by people. It started the second I stepped foot inside the museum, twirling around and around until it focused- pointing me farther into the building. I was frantic, thinking that maybe they’d been hidden here for years, and that my compass would only work within close proximity.

     ��With panicked breathing, I had to carefully but quickly maneuver through the building- over piles of rubble from the ceiling, under fallen pillars and branches the dangled through the ceiling. But my compass didn’t lead me to a living, breathing person, it led me to a picture. The edges were worn out and yellowed, it was faded now, but it was clear that when it had been printed originally the colors were vibrant and beautiful. I knew him the moment I saw him, standing in the middle of a group, mouth opened in a laugh and his eyes crinkled. I’d snatched the photo from the broken display case, flipping it over in search of a date, only to find that the date had also faded with time. The only thing remaining was a list of names, written in ink, naming them in their order from the photo.

     I’d searched the museum for more photos, though I only managed to find two more. Finding the date it was taken was important, if I knew the date I could go back to his time. All I knew was his name- Ren. There are people, scientists, that know how to send a person back in time- but they’ll only send you back for a price. But I was willing to give anything and everything to go back- everyone that had value to me have long since disappeared. It would take too long to explain how I found such a scientist and how I’d gotten her to send me back- I’ll just say the price was just as high as one would expect.

      “You’re travelling back farther than I’ve sent someone before, you should know there are risks-.” She’d tried to warn me.

     “I don’t care about the risks, just send me.”

     The scientist huffed out a breath, shaking her head. “Fine. You’re going back over two hundred years, there are going to be things you don’t understand. Make sure you know where you’re going or it’ll be hell to figure out when you get there.”

     Her warnings fell on deaf ears. My compass would guide me. Besides, I had managed to get ahold of the time and general location of where the photo had been taken. If I was lucky, I could manage to find him before it was taken. “I understand. Please just send me back now.”

     With a roll of her eyes, she flipped the switch and everything went dark.

     Time passed. I had made it to the city where the photo had been taken, but I had yet to see him. The compass that was meant to guide me to him refused to move. This had to be one of the risks she waxed poetic about. A risk I didn’t listen to. I’d been so stupid. Now all I had to find him were three grungy photos. I wandered about the city during the days and slept in little covered areas hidden from view at night. Adapting was difficult, it was clear that in the time I’d travelled back to people had jobs and homes.

      Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months- and yet no sign of Ren. Somehow I managed to attain a job and a dingy little apartment, both in an area most of this time would deem dangerous- but it doesn’t hold a flame to the dangers of the time I came from. It was the middle of the afternoon, the sun was beating down on the city with a vengeance and gave no sign of letting up. All the clouds had dispersed, leaving only a clear bright sky to contend with. I was exploring, or rather, searching, the city for him- something that had become a habit when I didn’t have to work.

      This was when my compass started to spin. I twisted in about as many circles as it did, patience long gone, until I felt I might throw up. After a few minutes it settled in one direction and I took off, heart pounding at a wild beat, knocking about in my chest. Miles, I was sure I ran miles without faltering. The sweltering heat had no bearing on my speed, the temperature could have risen by forty degrees and I wouldn’t have noticed. He was so close, and there was no way I’d lose him now.

     My feet skidded to a stop faster than my brain could process the scene in front of me. It was just like the picture. A small group of people gathering together for a photo, people laughing and joking around. And there he was, right at the center. Head tossed back in amusement, mouth open, eyes crinkled. This entire time I’d been so worried about actually finding Ren that I had forgotten to think of what to say once I did find him. What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m your soulmate. I travelled back in time to find you.’ Because he surely would think I was crazy if I said that.

     As I was freaking out in my head, it went unnoticed that the group had dispersed, filtering away and into the crowds on the sidewalk. When I looked back up they were gone, and my compass was back to it’s broken state. Tears pricked at my eyes, stinging mercilessly. He was just in front of me. How could I be so stupid as to let him slip through my fingers so recklessly? Now how am I supposed to find him again? Even being in the same time as him, it was just as hard to find him it seems. Maybe I’ll never meet him.

     “Excuse me, I think you dropped this.”

      Shock was all that registered when I looked to see who’d spoken to me. My reply was breathless. “It’s you.”

     “Me?” Ren had questioned with a laugh, eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

     Without a second to comprehend what I was doing, I pulled the photo of him I carried everywhere from my pocket and showed it to him. “I finally found you, Ren.”

[arts-dance]

6 Greek Myths You Should Know to Understand Art History

Christy Kuesel Jan 17, 2020

Raoul Dufy Léda et le Cygne , 1926  BAILLY GALLERY

Greek myths have captivated the imaginations of artists since ancient sculptors created gods and goddesses out of marble. The trials of ancient Greek heroes and monsters have served as inspiration for

Renaissance masters, Surrealists , and conceptual artists alike. Although no unified telling of Greek mythology exists, sources like Homer’s Iliad and Ovid’s Metamorphoses provide an alternate history of humanity, from the creation of the first woman to the downfall of Troy. Below, we detail six myths essential to understanding the Greek mythology that has been woven into art history.

Pandora’s Box

Pandora, the first woman on Earth, was created in an act of vengeance. Zeus, the king of the sky and the gods, was angry with the Titan Prometheus for creating man in the image of the gods and providing them with fire that he stole from heaven. Zeus ordered the god Hephaestus to create Pandora to exact revenge on Prometheus. Pandora was placed into an idyllic version of Earth, and Zeus gave her a box that he told her never to open. Pandora couldn’t resist the temptation and opened the box, releasing a score of plagues into the world, like disease, old age, and death.French painter Odilon Redon was fascinated by women from classical mythology, and he painted Pandora several times. In a painting from ca. 1914, Pandora appears nude and surrounded by scores of bright flowers, yet she is intently focused on the small box in her hands. Redon painted the work in the years leading up to World War I, potentially drawing a parallel between the horrors inflicted by the opening of her box and those of the war. Pandora’s influence reaches into contemporary art as well; Filipino artist David Medalla, for example, created Cosmic Pandora Micro-Box (2010) by collecting objects he found during a residency in Brazil, like socks, a bar of soap, and oyster shells. By linking ordinary objects and mythology, he questions how pedestrian items can be as impactful as the divine contents of Pandora’s box.

Perseus and Andromeda

Perseus is one of the foremost heroes of Greek mythology, known primarily for slaying Medusa and Cetus, the sea monster that guarded the princess Andromeda. Queen Cassiopeia, who ruled a mythical version of Ethiopia with her husband, boasted that she and her daughter Andromeda were as beautiful as the Nereids, or sea nymphs. This remark offended Poseidon, god of the sea, and in an act of vengeance against Cassiopeia, he set Cetus loose on the kingdom. After consulting an oracle, Andromeda’s father King Cepheus tied her to a rock on the shore, sacrificing her to appease Poseidon. Perseus then slayed Cetus and made Andromeda his wife. Perhaps the most famous depictions of this myth are by Peter Paul Rubens Flemish, 1577–1640

Peter Paul Rubens, one of the great Flemish artists of the 17th century, was a prominent figure in the Catholic church, the royal courts, and commercial …, who returned to the subject several times. In Perseus frees Andromeda (1620–1622), we see Perseus approaching a chained Andromeda, aided by several putti, or cherubs. The slain Cetus is visible in the lower left corner. Andromeda’s plight also inspired artists centuries later:

Frederic Leighton depicted her twisted beneath Cetus as Perseus pierces him with an arrow; while David Gascoyne appropriated the tale in a surrealist take where Andromeda’s head is perched atop a tennis racket.

The Minotaur

The Minotaur is a half-human, half-bull monster born to Queen Pasiphae of Crete. Daedalus, King Minos’s prized inventor, created a labyrinth to conceal the beast, which demanded a payment of seven young men and seven virgins (accounts vary on how frequent that payment was required, ranging from annually to every nine years). The Greek hero Theseus eventually slayed the Minotaur, but the mythical creature and its symbolism of forbidden desire, lust, and greed lives on. Pablo Picasso became particularly interested in the Minotaur during a period of personal turmoil—when his marriage to Olga Khokhlova was in trouble, and his mistress at the time, Marie-Thérèse Walter, was pregnant. However, his frequent depictions of the monster also coincided with rising political tensions in 1930s Europe. The artist connected the mythical creature with the bullfighting of his Spanish heritage, producing etchings like Minotaurmachy (1935), which depicts the Minotaur leaning toward a young girl holding a candle. The work served as source imagery for Guernica (1937), which also features a bull. Other artists embraced the Minotaur, too:

André Breton and Pierre Mabille published a magazine entitled Minotaure in the 1930s, while Jackson Pollock immortalized the beast’s mother Pasiphaë in his 1943 work by the same name. In Leonora Carrington ’s And Then We Saw the Daughter of the Minotaur! (1953), a robed bull figure sits at a table, surrounded by two children and a ghostly figure. The Minotaur has also been used to more moralizing ends:

Symbolist painter George Frederic Watts used the monster in an 1885 work in which the Minotaur gazes out at the sea, waiting for his annual feast to arrive. In his depiction of an expectant beast, Watts invokes male lust, born out of concerns over child prostitution in Britain.

Icarus

Aside from trapping the Minotaur in his labyrinth, Daedalus is also known for the tragic death of his son Icarus, who has inspired countless songs , poems , and artworks. To escape from Crete, Daedalus fashioned wings for himself and his son. Despite warnings from his father, Icarus flew too close to the sun and the wax holding his wings together melted, causing him to fall into the ocean and drown. The story is often told as a cautionary tale of the pitfalls of excessive pride and ambition. The most famous depiction of Icarus by far is Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (ca. 1555), which depicts a falling Icarus masked within a larger scene of domestic life on the seaside. The viewer can only see Icarus’s flailing legs disappearing; he is entirely ignored by all the other depicted figures. The oil painting is attributed to Pieter Bruegel the Elder, though some experts doubt its authenticity due to eccentricities in the work itself and the lack of a precise date or provenance for the painting. 

Henri Matisse created a more lighthearted depiction of Icarus in his cut-out from the illustrated book Jazz (1947). There, Matisse embraced his new invention—paper cut-outs—and snipped away at sheets of red, black, yellow, and blue paper to create the image of a man dancing among the stars.

Leda and the Swan

Leda and the Swan is perhaps one of the most perplexing tales in Greek mythology to the modern reader. It is also one of the most prominent myths that echoes across centuries of art history. In the myth, Zeus takes the form of a swan to rape Leda, the queen of Sparta, resulting in the birth of Helen. The story becomes even more distressing when considering that Helen ran off with, or was abducted by, the Trojan prince Paris, inciting the Trojan War. The image of woman and bird, and the destruction it would bring, has captivated various artists over the years.

Leonardo da Vinci  painted two versions of Leda and the Swan, yet both have been lost. Other versions by Leonardo’s students survive, all depicting a demure, nude woman holding a swan; several preparatory sketches by the master himself still exist . Around 1880,Paul Cézanne created his own Leda and the Swan, depicting a blonde woman staring at a swan biting her hand, a look of ambivalence upon her face. French avant-garde artist Marie Laurencin shows a contemplative Leda dressed in pink, leaning over a black railing to pet the bird. Cy Twombly put his own Abstract Expressionist take on the tale, creating a maniacal mess of crayon, pencil, and paint, with some discernible elements, like hearts and a penis.

Achilles

Achilles arose as a hero of the Trojan War, leading the Greeks through a 10-year siege of Troy. One of his most notable feats is killing Hector to avenge the death of his supposed lover Patroclus. Achilles eventually falls victim to a prophecy foretelling his death at Troy; in most versions of the story, the god Apollo guides the arrow of the Trojan prince Paris to Achilles’s heel, his only vulnerable spot. His story was central to Homer’s Iliad, and his feats of heroism, as well as his deeply human tragedy, have kept the story alive.

Barnett Newman was particularly inspired by Greek mythology; he often used titles from the Bible or antiquity, and once wrote a letter to Clement Greenberg defending the Greek style and figure, writing , “It was the Greeks who invented the idea of beauty. Before their time a work of art was concerned with the problem of meaning and was a visible symbol of hieratic thought.” Newman’s admiration of Greek civilization is particularly evident in Achilles (1952), which depicts a red vertical stripe surrounded by brown. The red is most likely a reference to the armor Hephaestus created for Achilles to wear into battle. Twombly also created his own abstract version  of the Greek tragedy in Fifty Days at Iliam: Shades of Achilles, Patroclus and Hector (1978). A more traditional take on Achilles’s story exists in Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus (1760–1763) by Gavin Hamilton  ; in the work, Achilles is draped over a ghostly white Patroclus, pushing away the other Greek soldiers.

Andrea Mary Marshall ’s 2015 Self Portrait as Achilles pictures a woman stepping into the shell of the Greek hero; she hunches away from the camera, showing the viewer bruises up and down her back. Her right hand claps an arrow aimed at her foot, alluding to the myth of the Achilles heel. Christy Kuesel is an Editorial Intern at Artsy.

https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-6-greek-myths-understand-art-history