melsidlehands

[melsidlehands]

Reblog if your art project has not, does not, and never will make use of generative ai at any point in your creative process.

[melsidlehands]

It’s been 83 years. 79 since I first learned to scramble eggs in a dusty nowhere town in Oklahoma. Mama taught me well, but she never taught me what would happen when it was all over. She came from a family of self-righteous southern Baptists, and that was just never my cup o’ joe, if you get me.

You know how they are; pot-lucks and pretending at being kind. Not all of them, but definitely the ones in Mama’s church. They told me Hades would get me someday, rebellious little hellion that I was. So when the food was packed up and sent home, I started the dishes every night. And at some point in my girlhood, I figured if Hades was going to have me, I’d make sure to leave a good impression. A silly thought; silly enough to be my own private running gag for seventy some-odd years. I’d go off to the side of the back porch with my stack of plates, just out of the beam of the porch light, and gently scrape my offerings into the shadows across the railing.

“I dedicate this to Hades,” I’d say. And dutifully clean each dish before carrying the stack back inside.

Now I never let on that I did this, not to my children or to my grandbabies; I just kept the joke to myself and let them figure themselves out on their own. But my eldest granddaughter, she was the one who shocked me. She told me she saw him. Hades.

Of course by that time I was old and jaded enough to say “That’s nice, dear,” and listen to her gush about some handsome fella she saw in her daydreams… but soon it wasn’t a daydream anymore. It was an obsession. Her drawings got more and more detailed, more lifelike.

I never told her to stop talking about her great loves, but she tapered off as teens do when they come of age. More important things take front and center.

And in no time at all, she was thirty.

And I was old.

Dying old is a soft thing. You fall asleep for longer and longer until you just don’t wake up again.

But when I opened my eyes, there was a boat waiting for me. Lucky me, I had died with some money to my name, so I paid the boatman’s fare and boarded the boat to find I wasn’t the sole passenger. My granddaughter’s drawings had been beautiful, but she still hadn’t done justice to the figure who met me on the boat.

He stood up to greet me. “Hello, Sidney.” His voice was as deep and smooth as Italian chocolate, his thick hair falling in boyish waves across his face.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “do I know you?”

He smiled. “I think you do.”

I swallowed. Should I have been scared? Probably. But hey, if I was already dead, then what did I have to lose? “You’re… Lord Hades. My granddaughter was all about you.”

He nodded. “Oh, yes. We’re still regularly in touch.”

“Did she ask you to come meet me? Or did those petty women from church damn me?”

“Neither.” It hit me then that he had a bit of an accent, which twisted his words around like he was holding a marble on his tongue. Then again, I can’t say much; I never did get rid of my accent.

He hummed at me and smiled. “You were quite the cook, Sidney. Every dinner for almost eighty years, you devoted to me. I suppose you could say… I was touched by your devotion.”

“No offense, but that comes as a bit of a shock.”

“That’s fair.” He shrugged. “I never had terribly many followers, let alone strict devotees.”

“So… what do you want from me?”

He stretched once, then sat down in the boat again and propped his elbows on his knees. “Well actually… I came to make you an offer.”

“Whatever for?” I asked, bewildered. “If I refuse, are you going to send me to Hell?”

His smile vanished. “Sidney,” he said sympathetically, “why would I do that? You were a good and kind person, and you raised your family and community with integrity. My offer is one of thanks, and you have no obligation to accept it if you don’t truly like the idea.”

I studied him for a moment. If it weren’t obvious that he was a god, he’d have looked like he was my granddaughter’s age. “Go ahead,” I said cautiously.

His slender smile returned. “How would you like to come and cook with the chefs in my kitchen? It would be a volunteer role; you would have plenty of time to rest, and you would make a living wage.”

“That sounds like an oxymoron… the dead making a living wage.”

Hades cackled and clapped his hands. His laugh rocked to boat a bit, and I was fortunate to keep my balance. Finally, his laughing slowed. “My offer stands. What do you think?”

I thought about it. “Well… I don’t know about Greek food…”

“I’m not concerned about that. Perhaps you can teach my chefs a thing or two about food that… what’s the phrase? ‘Sticks to your ribs?’”

I looked him up and down. If he turned sideways and stuck out his tongue, he’d look like a zipper. I harrumphed. “Did my baby ever tell you you’re too skinny?”

He nodded and rolled his eyes. “All the time.”

“Well then… I guess you could use a casserole or two.”

- in memory of my grandmother.

As a joke you had always said "I dedicate this to Hades" as you threw away food scraps from your cooking and cleaning your plates. When you die you find yourself in front of Charon's boat with Hades sitting in it, seemingly very excited to see his most devoted follower in recent times.

[melsidlehands]

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[melsidlehands]

She sat among the dry ashes with her knees against her chest, crying deep, heaving sobs of anguish. Her tears sparkled as they left the tip of her chin and glowed briefly before the dry earth extinguished them. She finally heaved a deep breath. "Why?" she asked.

I studied the child. It wasn't so long ago I'd been a human, myself, and asked the same questions, fraught with frustration at the destruction I created. "Many reasons," I said.

"But we hurt people!"

I nodded. "Yes. That is unavoidable."

"It's completely avoidable!"

I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "Okay, sure, if you want to stop existing."

She raised her tear-streaked face and looked at me. "What... what does that mean?"

"You can't live your entire existence without hurting someone. It can't be done. To try would mean reducing your imprint until you are unnoticeable, which is tantamount to death. And you are a goddess of destruction."

She drew in a deep breath, and let out a scream. "I don't want to be!"

I looked around at the charred remains of the forest. "I understand."

This seemed to surprise her. "You do?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course." I glanced back at her. "Did you think I was not young once, and preferred being docile and 'kept' over this?" I gestured to the ashes.

"You can do that?"

I nodded. "Yes. You can be small, serve the humans in your way; be the spark in an engine, the crack of a firework." I sat down with her against the charred skeleton of an ancient tree. "But kept things have no power. And if they have no power, they cannot be respected. If they are kept long enough, they die, like a candle under glass. And then the universe folds in on itself without someone to govern those things you neglect; the gas explosions, the nuclear plants, the repeated tattoo of their guns."

She looked at her knees again, and her voice seemed to crumble. "I wish I could die."

"No, you feel guilty for existing because you do not comprehend your existence. You feel like your power is a thing you must tightly rein in, instead of rejoicing in it."

She sprang to her feet. "What is there to rejoice in? Look around you! I did this! I killed people, torched their homes, burned their memories!"

"You did not."

"I... what?"

I looked up at her, my own knees against my chest now. "What you have done is to push stagnant people to evolve. We are the forces that cause metamorphoses; adapt or die. We do not kill or destroy because we enjoy it, but because it serves something greater even than us."

She looked at her hands and thought carefully about that. "So... do we just not care?"

"Of course we do. We love fiercely, and our grief and anger are dangerous things, even to ourselves. This is why we have Hope."

"Hope? What does that do?"

"She," I corrected. "She is the bravest thing in the universe; the force that moves the infinite forward. She is not delusion or reckless abandon; she on her own inspires more fear than any of us." I nodded at the young goddess. "She knows where the souls go. They do not disappear, but continue moving forward. Maybe one day they too will be brave. Houses will be rebuilt. Grief will be assuaged. And memories fade. Only the lessons remain." I finally stood up again. "We are old. We last. After awhile, our first tragedies seem small and fragile. If you hold onto them too tightly, you won't grow."

"I don't know if I want to," she said softly.

"I know. And nobody is saying it has to be now." I put my hand on her shoulder. "But stars only shine because they burn, child. They are dangerous, and so must we be." I started making my way back toward the obliterated city of Hiroshima.

"And... what about the people?"

I turned and looked at her. "Watch them for a hundred years or so. They all burn fast, but the most interesting ones burn bright with a fire even we envy."

"What kind of fire?" she asked, following at last in my footsteps.

"Love."

As the God of Fire, the Supreme God has tasked you to supervise and educate a newly manifested Goddess. You find a sad, terrified, and confused child, fearful of her powers and the destruction it caused the mortal realm. You are to guide a being born from Man's work, The Goddess of Explosions.

[melsidlehands]

a few reminders because i’m tired and angry

fandom is a hobby, not a form of activism

adult women aren’t inherently creepy for being in fandom and having hobbies apart from raising babies and doing taxes

the vast majority of people pushing back against the worrying trend of instigating harassment over fictional characters and relationships aren’t incest supporters or pedophiles, actually

liking a m/f ship doesn’t make someone a dirty heterosexual invading your space

preferring gay ships doesn’t make you ‘’woke’’ and good

no one owes you a disclaimer that they are a good person who recognizes that their favorite fictional villain’s actions are evil and that they don’t condone those actions irl

liking a fictional villain is in no way comparable to advocating abuse/murder/genocide/etc and you’re a fucking idiot if you believe that

just because a woman is attracted to a fictional villain doesn’t mean she’s promoting toxic relationships or going to end up in a toxic relationship. assuming women can’t tell fiction and reality apart stinks of internalized misogyny 

some rando’s a/b/o fanfics have none of the level of influence that popular tv shows and movies spreading propaganda have

no one owes you a detailed description of their traumas and mental health problems

abusive relationships are not the same as enemies to lovers ships

y’all need to chill the fuck out over people, relationships, actions and events that don’t actually exist and learn how to enjoy and discuss them like normal people

fandom is a hobby, not a form of activism

feel free to add more

[melsidlehands]

1. Nila

2. Hedate

3. Orion

4. Nila

5. Orion

6. Kata

7. Hades

8. Jabbar

9. Nila

10. Dara

11. Jabbar

12. Nila

13. Kata

14. Hades

15. Nila

16. Hedate

17. Kata

18. Hades

19. Literally all of them are cuddlers.

20. Orion (he doesn’t mean anything by it; just can’t keep track of all his friends birthdays.)

21. Morpheus (has gone mostly colorblind from watching the way-too-vivid nonsense in people’s dreams)

22. Hedate

23. Nila, surprisingly.

24. Kata, definitely, but Hades loves dancing.

25. Jabbar

Send this to someone who has OCs

Most likely...

to get lost

to kiss and tell

to 'forget' to text back

to know the lyrics to every song you play

to not realize that they are being flirted with

to lose their keys repeatedly

to apologize first

to leave a party early

to get lost in a place they already know

to cheat while playing a game

to survive in the wild

to sing when they think they are alone

to be someone's wingman/woman

to plan a romantic date

to start blushing

to get arrested

to talk during a movie

to say I love you first

to be a cuddler

to forget about someone's birthday

to always wear the same outfit

to not be able to keep a secret

to defend their friends in a fight

to drag the other's to the dance floor

to fall asleep first at a sleepover

[melsidlehands]

umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

[melsidlehands]

Reblog if it's OK for other artists to draw your OCs

Sometimes I get too timid to send asks to ask. I want to see how many people are ok with artists drawing their OCs!

[melsidlehands]

How strange that Hope and Fear fell together, clinging as if to sustain each other’s breath. How odd that diurnal and nocturnal fit together; and yet how natural, like the passionate red of a glorious twilight.

She knew Phobetor wouldn’t stay. As the day wore on, those rays would blister his delicate skin. So while she was able, she huddled against his back, nestling her face into his soft, black plumage.

She felt him tense; she knew he would do that too. If she were less gentle she could disintegrate him. It stood to reason he’d be afraid; afraid of her, afraid of the day, afraid of what they had just done.

All she could do was hang on… and hope that the first rays of sun were slow and kind this morning.

He was gone when she woke again.

Prompt #1069

She had never before wished for the first rays of sunshine to stay away a little bit longer.

[melsidlehands]

Phantasos swirled the burgundy liquid in his chalice and cut his eyes up at his older brother, knowingly. It was rare that the nightmare king graced him with his presence, and Phantasos knew by now that he had to be careful. If he teased Phobetor too much, none of the outcomes would be pretty; he knew better than to trade barbs with someone who knew the world's worst fears.

"So let me get this right," Phantasos began. "You've been playing the loyal dog to Lady Hope, and discovered that your role with her is not limited to being her blunt instrument."

Phobetor harrumphed. "Unlike Father," he murmured, his gravelly voice echoing in the mostly empty hall.

"Did that please you?" Phantasos asked, trying to keep the sheer glee out of his voice.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Phantasos shifted his weight and lifted the cup to his lips. "Look at you, trying to keep secrets. You should know better."

Phobetor flicked his onyx black eyes up at his brother as a warning; one that Phantasos would likely brush off. He hummed thoughtfully. "With this large a family, secrets become terribly hard to keep," he admitted sullenly.

"So much the better," Phantasos said. "It's sometimes the only way we can help each other."

Phobetor pensively ran his thumbs along the rim of his own glass. His fingernails lengthened into claws once, and then retracted. He was losing control of his shapeshifting. A wave of panic washed over him. Not again. Not now. He set the chalice down and nibbled his thumbnail self-consciously. Damn her.

"I don't see you do that often," Phantasos mentioned.

Phobetor curled his fingers into his hands, fingernails biting into his palms, and then decided it was better to hide his hands in his robes.

"It's not exactly a secret, what happened at Surtr's Forge," Phantasos said.

Phobetor grunted. "You mean everyone knows."

His younger brother shrugged, the light glinting off the fold filigree in his vest. "That's what the Forge does. Everything comes out in the wash." He leaned against the window where Phobetor sat. "So why'd you do it, then?"

"Which thing?"

Phantasos gave him an unamused look. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

"You would hardly know what suits me." Phobetor took a chance and reached for his cup again. His fingernails had shrunk back to their neatly clipped length. And a drink was just what he needed.

Phantasos twisted his mouth at his older brother. "And yet you kissed her."

The jab had a most gratifying effect: for the first time in millennia, he watched as a pink flush spread across the Nightmare King's face.

"Phan..." Phobetor growled a warning at him.

Phantasos shrugged again and drained his glass. "Look, you don't have to tell me. But if you were honest about what you said you feel, you wouldn't have even gone to the Forge for her, let alone initiated a romantic encounter."

Phobetor turned to look out the window. Maybe Mother Nyx would be kind enough to hide the heat in his cheeks. "Why do you even bring it up?"

Phantasos set his cup on the window seat and folded his arms. "Because you did that, and then you hurt her feelings. Bad enough that she's lost trust in you."

Phobetor folded his hands into his robes again. "I don't like what she's doing to me. What she's making me become."

Phantasos scoffed. "Oh, don't be such a child. She's not 'making' you do or be anything. If you wanted to go back to living in the caves, you know very well she wouldn't stop you." He watched Phobetor fidget self-consciously for a few moments. "She needs to go back to the infirmary," he finally said. "She stormed out right after you and the littles went in."

Phobetor glanced up at him. The blush had faded, replaced with a look of concern. "She's going to hurt herself again."

"Has hurt herself," his younger brother corrected him. "And you're going to fix it."

"I'm no medic," the nightmare scoffed.

"You're going to fix it, or she won't come back to see the medics."

He harrumphed and turned away again. "She's being stubborn. She needs rest, and she needs to process."

"And she won't do either until you fix this."

Phobetor growled and stood up. "I hate you sometimes."

"The feeling's mutual. Now quit being an ass and go find her."

Prompt #1057

"Just admit it, you have feelings for them."

"Only the worst ones."

[melsidlehands]

"Oh, all the time," Morpheus said. He sat down at the other end of the table from his father and picked up a glass. It was hewn from Underworld crystal by the finest artisans available; doubtless another contribution from Bacchus.

"And what do you have to say for yourself?" Hypnos asked.

Morpheus slouched deeper into his seat. "Fuck you."

Hypnos growled. "There was a time when I would beat you senseless for mouthing off at me."

"Those times seem to come and go at random, Father," Morpheus said. "You can't tell me 'there was a time' when it still happens."

"Your siblings are far less contrary than you," his father said. It was a weak excuse, but it was easier than admitting that he was drunk and feeling magnanimous.

Morpheus took a sip of poppy wine and nodded. "Oh, of course. None of them would dare defy you. Not after what you did to Zoe."

Hypnos harrumphed. "Even she isn't so bad as you."

"And you still haven't figured out why that is?" Morpheus asked. He reluctantly set the goblet down. "You want all of us to be deferential, unquestionably obedient, and then choose exactly one of us to unleash all your frustrations on. And then you say we're not allowed to practice our dream arts on each other, and you have the absurdity to wonder why we're all so dysfunctional."

Hypnos harrumphed and brought his own goblet to his mouth. "Like I need any of you getting ideas that you can collectively defy your father."

Morpheus stared at him from across the table. "That's it, isn't it?" he mused. "Control... it was always about control." He shifted in his seat, his chiton drifted to one side to reveal a set of ugly scars on his chest. "This might come as news to you, father, but among my siblings, I am reviled."

"As you should be," Hypnos snapped. "You're smart, boy. It's only right that they envy you, and that I push you harder than the rest of them."

Morpheus gritted his teeth, but thought about this. "We have perhaps the largest family in the world, father... and yet... I can't imagine feeling more alone." He stood up. "All because of your insatiable desire for control." He drained his cup and set it down.

"Ah, you're blaming your feelings on me?" Hypnos chuckled. "How narcissistic of you, Morpheus."

"It takes one to know one," the younger god mumbled.

"If you're so lonely, why don't you go find someone to fill that bed of yours?" his father asked. "They don't call it 'the most comfortable in the Underworld' for nothing."

"She left me. At your behest, I might add."

"So get another one. You could have any nymph you chose, and who wouldn't comply with the King of Dreams? You're so damned choosy."

Morpheus spun, picked up his goblet, and hurled it at his father. He missed, and it shattered against the chair next to Hypnos' head. "Because you killed her!" he raged. "You and that psychotic crossroads bitch... You killed Elpis, never mind driving away anyone I might happen to love."

"You dare speak that way of Hecate?" Hypnos growled. He struggled to stand but wavered and had to brace himself against the table.

"Traitors against Lord Hades, the both of you," Morpheus seethed. "You should have seen him after she died. And who do you think was there for him? You? After that ridiculous coup attempt?"

"Yes, and now he's out gallivanting the world looking for her incarnation instead of ruling the Underworld as he should."

"She was worth it. But see... that's the problem. Nobody is worth that kind of commitment to you. Not even my mother." He turned for the door.

"You speak so ill of me," Hypnos mused. "Don't you realize you're just like me?"

"And that, Father, is the problem."

Prompt #1050

"Can you feel it?"

"Can I feel what?"

"My disappointment in you."

[melsidlehands]

The fallen angel stood at the foot of her bed. She sat up, propped her elbows on her knees, and stared at him. She rubbed her hand across the spot on her left temple where he'd struck her, only moments before. She probably wouldn't sleep for a few days after this. She'd long since given up wondering if this was all in her head; no blood or open wounds to confirm it, anyway. "Then I'm not sure what the point of this is," she grouched.

The fallen sneered, his blue eyes darkening further in the dim light. "I would if I could."

The woman shook her head and chuckled. "You had every opportunity, David." Her eyes met his. "You forget, I know you." She pulled the blanket up around her and rubbed the bruise again. "You're here because you want a reaction. Again. What is it this time? Speaking rights at the parent-teacher conference?"

He was sullenly quiet, like a child who had been caught in the act. He finally broke his gaze. "You always do this."

"Always do what?" she asked, a little louder than necessary. "Always take your power away? News flash, but if you have to hurt someone else in order to feel powerful, you never had any power to begin with."

"Then why take it away?" he asked.

"BECAUSE IT'S NOT YOURS!" she snapped. "Father in Heaven, do you even listen to yourself when you talk? Do you honestly think I'm going to GIVE you power and agency because you're threatening me? What are you, a toddler?"

David folded his arms. "This is all HIS fault."

She cocked her head at him, a look of confusion twisting her features. "You're the one who came into my room to batter me in my sleep."

"You fell in love with another man!"

She laughed. Outright laughed. "You traded me in for a younger model," she cackled, "and yet here you are, still begging for scraps at the feet of the woman you abandoned, too proud to call this what it is." He glowered at her, but she only gave him a menacing smile. "Hypocrisy. The currency of cowards." She sat back. "You should quit. I know you won't, but you should. Mother is already furious with you. Father disavowed you, and annulled our marriage, Himself!"

"Song..."

She wagged a finger at him. "No, no, you don't get to blame me for that either. Welcome to the consequences of your actions, jackass."

David folded his arms. "At least I kept the house."

Song scoffed and lay back down. "Like that's going to do you any good."

"Fine, then. Why don't you kill me? I know you could do it." He shifted on his feet. "I've seen your wings."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it."

"Have you?"

"Every time you hit me." She curled up under her blanket. "But you know why. You're just too stupid to appreciate it."

David considered her for a moment, and then glanced out the bedroom door, down the hall to the next room.

"There you go," Song murmured patronizingly. "My one weakness. And the only reason I haven't unwoven your thread from existence."

David gazed at his sleeping child. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Oh, it's not what I'm going to do. In time, you'll show him exactly what kind of man you are. And then... well..."

"You wouldn't."

She harrumphed and turned over. "You're the one being a dick."

"This is why I won't stop, you know."

"And that's why you'll lose."

Prompt #1021

"You won't kill me."

"No, but I can make you wish I would."

[melsidlehands]

She props her elbow on the food court table. It wobbles, then settles under the weight of what looks like ten thousand years of her indifference. She leans into that arm and sips a frothy, greenish drink with black marbles in the bottom of her cup and looks out into the low hum of the afternoon mall traffic. "I suppose that warrants the question of what attracted you to me in the first place," she says, almost bemusedly. Almost, because her ancient eyes betray her.

It's a game for her; the oldest she's ever played. I fidget in my seat a bit, unnerved by her confidence. "This," I said, as steadily as I could. "You outrank me by every meaningful metric, and then don't bat an eye at going to the mall for boba tea."

"Was I supposed to?" she asks. It's not a rhetorical question. For her there are no rhetorical questions.

"No," I reply, "but the casual grace with which you carry yourself is off-putting. It's hardly your fault, I know... And I bet you get that a lot."

She nods, rolls her eyes as if this is true. "I like my simple pleasures," she says.

"Would you consider dating a 'simple pleasure'?" I ask. I'll admit it was an attempt to needle her into some sort of reaction. Are you going to use me up and leave me?

For the first time during the date, she grins at me; a wicked, wise expression with a touch of mischief. "You, like many before you, see yourself as a commodity," she says. "I should get out what I put in, yes?" She sips her drink again. "But how far would you go to salvage something irreplaceable?"

"Like what?"

She shrugs. "Like that one family recipe you can't get right that your grandma used to make, or the ability to fold origami like your father, before he got arthritis in his hands. A piece of your childhood."

I shrug back. "Not that I could pay for something like that, but... as far as I could."

The grin becomes a smile. "Then it's not a commodity, is it?" She sets her cup down. "I give that boba place five years. Not because I don't enjoy it, or because their practices are unsavory. Time is just a brutal thing sometimes, and things pass. So I enjoy it while it's mine, and recall it fondly when it's gone."

"And you don't try to make it stay?"

"That's hardly my place. All I can do is love it while it's here. The rest is out of my control."

I tried to find some way to argue, to make it make sense, but that small voice in the back of my mind silenced me. She's right. She sees the forest and the trees, and has found peace.

God damn it. That crush I'd admitted to was slowly becoming something else.

"You want to hate me," she observed.

"You're not fighting it."

She got up and put her empty cup in the recycling. "Not within my control."

Damn it. Damn it!

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask, a little too loudly, too accusatory. I'm failing. Cracking. She sees right through me and I feel so exposed I could die from embarrassment.

"All the time."

"And what do you tell all the men you've been in love with?"

"I never said it was men."

The phrase shocked me, I'll admit. "W...women, then?"

She shifted her weight, eyes glinting with amusement. "Are you asking me what gets my rocks off?"

I felt my face grow hot. "N-no. Of course... that would be too intrusive to ask on a date, wouldn't it?"

"I don't really mind," she said as she strode back toward the table. "I'm just exploring your intentions."

I reflected on the conversation. "All the time," she'd said. But not with whom, or what for that matter. We hadn't known each other long enough for me to be this jealous or controlling.

Fuck.

Maybe I should just surrender. Maybe whatever this was on the surface was my ego, and something small and vulnerable was crying out for release from within. Let me out, it screamed. Let me out so I can worship her!

As if she'd heard that plaintive cry, she smiled and took my hand. "Come on," she said. "The day's young. You have plenty of time to hate me later."

Prompt #1043

"I became infatuated with you at first sight. I would like to get to know you better, so that I can get over this silly crush."

"You think getting to know me would make you like me less?"

"Most definitely."

[melsidlehands]

I love writing problematic characters. Nobody’s perfect, and as a writer, I definitely get that, but I’m not going to just write the tired trope every cis white girl loves; the swoon-worthy dark haired and blue eyed character with the tragic past, and the weak-willed female lead with poor boundaries that falls for him. Granted, that’s exactly what it looks like at first glance, but if you look a lot more closely, Hell, even a little more closely, you’ll see that this entire story is about toxic relationships. Not two good-looking men fighting over a woman. It’s just cliché.

The era we’re entering now is one of realizing and addressing the social norms we’ve become accustomed to. This story is really about finding the strength somewhere in us to challenge the notions we are taught from the very beginning. Every character I’ve written has their dysfunctions. Every character has their weakness. The powerful characters in the story are not exempt from their own fuck ups, though it might take longer. And sometimes the people who make the biggest waves are those who are gravely underestimated.

Without giving away too many spoilers, I’d like to remind everybody that (my character) Hades is a very selfish person. Brown waves and blue eyes and tragic history don’t make up for the things he does. Nila/ Elpis may be a sweetheart, but she has no idea how to set boundaries, and that hurts her in the long term. Polaris is kind and just, but in his position he often gets railroaded in order for Hades to get what he wants.

Nobody’s perfect, and that sets the story up for problematic interactions. Part of that is what makes the story interesting, but from another angle one might be able to see how lamentable that really is. Hardship and suffering are interesting. And, whether or not it makes for a good story, some characters make their own pain a defining feature, and that can change the entire course of history.

The issue we face with writing problematic characters is not that they’re interesting, or that they affect the story, but that, even when we love them, not all characters are redeemable. Not everybody is going to find the light and have their come to Jesus moment. And, as a writer, sometimes that’s very difficult, because you invest so much time and energy creating and cultivating even the worst of the characters. We encounter the sunken cost fallacy every time we put pen to paper.

That’s why as a writer it’s very important to pace yourself. When you invest that much time and energy into a project, it’s very easy to get burned out. It’s easy to fall so deeply in love with something and spend so much effort on it that you get absorbed by it and you have no idea how to let it go. So you have to pace. And the reason we pace is because most of us, and here I’m generalizing, are afraid to take the entire transcript of our writings and burn them. In very, very short terms, we are terrified of letting go; we are terrified of losing that investment.

And all that... is because of problematic characters.

[melsidlehands]

New arts! I’m actually drawing and painting again!

From top right:

1. Surtr and Sigrid

2. The Sleeper (Morpheus with Elpis)

3. Book cover for Kenneth Bryant

4. Sketches of Morpheus

[melsidlehands]

Kidnapper: We have your sister.

Poseidon, scared: Which sister?

Kidnapper: She made us reevaluate our life choices and now we feel really bad so can you come pick her up?

Poseidon: Holy Gaia, you have Hestia. I'll be right there.

Kidnapper: I’m going to become a painter

Kidnapper: We have your sister.

Hades: I have three of them. Be specific.

Kidnapper: The blonde one with the angry face. She said her name is Demeter. She told me not to call you.

Kidnapper: Sir?

Kidnapper: Sir are you still there?

Kidnapper: We have your sister

Zeus: Wait- Who? Is she safe?

Kidnapper: Yeah, but she's smiling all weird and her stare is fucking terrifying *whispers* I'm scared

Zeus: Oh, you have my wife!

Zeus: Yeah you don't have her, she has you. Goodluck!

[melsidlehands]

THIS BLOG IS WHOLLY ANTIRACIST.

I am a direct descendent of people of color, (Japanese, specifically) and I support #blacklivesmatter. I have known good cops. I am proud of those men and women in blue who walked for justice with the civilian protesters. But it is not enough.

I don’t like the riots. I don’t like the violence. I’m not that kind of person. But it is NOT MY PLACE to say what is appropriate for this situation. So, my friends, colleagues... and even those few that barely tolerate my ridiculous hopeful naïveté.... I stand with you. You have a safe place in me. I will love you no matter your color.

Be kind to each other when you can. Teach each other when you can. Hatred fuels a destructive fire, not a future.