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[oedipusrexs]

 Even with his head hanging low, Theo could not not temper his enchanting figure. All good looks, his eyes possessing a temperate blue light, all of life naturally catered to his vanity; groaning, a mischievous half-smile remained upon his lips. Samson was always bent to encourage Theo's moods - to do his youthful bloom, homage. He stood expectantly a half-step away, an eager, pleasing look, fixed upon his countenance. "Yes. I'm pregnant and I don't know how to tell Dakota he's about to have a child aggressively allergic to sunlight." Samson had called to Theo in a soft, pleading tone; gentle, should Theo be in the throes of weathering yet another hangover. Coffee in hand, Samson appraised his counter-part - had his admiration not been so plentiful, the harassing angel of jealousy would have overcome him. For even in a state of internal disarray, Theo retained an air of triumph. "Did Iphigenia lead to another party? I'm awaiting the day that my names-sake will be a cause for celebration -- outside of any Freud connection."

         𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧   𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫         ...        ›        𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫   @   𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬

he's  at  the  sun's  mercy   ;   sunglasses  perched  on  top  of  his  nose,   almost  vampiric  as  he  shied  away  from  any  semblance  of  a  golden  glow  under  the  grecian  sky.   after  another  night  spent  killing  his  insides  and  barely  remembering  how  he  even  got  home,   the  blonde  who  would  usually  shower  himself  with  the  public's  affections  now  sat  obscured  away  from  any  passerby.   no  one  should  see  him  like  this   ...   not  when  he's  been  so  good  at  keeping  up  appearances  the  past  few  weeks.   “   god,   no   ...   not  today,   please.   whatever  this  is,   ”   his  face  was  in  his  hands  as  he  heard  steps  approach  and  call  for  him.   “   you  better  be  pregnant  or  someone  is  dying  for  you  to  come  to  me  with  whatever  you  have  right  now,   ”

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   Daskalos' bookstore was dazzling, seeking to embody the cause for the high price of tuition. Unlike his peers, he had not lost many hours of his night to Avila's task - he required no compliments, no great acts of theft, to reliably get hold of Iphigenia. Samson marked himself as Avila's greatest lieutenant, without hesitation or contest -- seeking to humour each aspect of his mentor's ego, he had long ago secured copies of each of Avila's works. Monday was a day which Samson always passed in the company of books, having neither friends nor a lover to gift his devotions to -- well-dressed and as fine a humour he could manage, Samson had drifted between the aisles, unable to deny himself another set of Nin's diaries.    The general buoyancy of the character before him, caused him to take pause; his eyes first took note of long brown hair, artfully reposing on narrow shoulders. Genie, beautifully dressed for the part of the ingenue, turned to him with eyes as round as beads -- she surveyed and criticised his worth, before requesting his assistance. Without a moments pause, Samson smiled; he could favor her with anything but an endearing expression. "If I were English this would be the perfect beginning to a rom-com." Deftly, Samson extended an arm above her head; it was a simple act, pulling the book within her reach. Turning the book over, a smile once more touched his countenance -- "Have you read it before? It's always been one of my favorites -- that preference alone, probably earned my tragic name from Avila." 

open  starter​​​​​​​  ⇢​​​​​​​  𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊.

𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 . . .  daskalos  bookstore.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃  𝐈𝐒  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐇𝐄𝐑,  or  at  least  for  people  of  her  stature  —  she’s  been  at  it  for  ten  whole  minutes  now,  reaching  high  above  her  head  for  the  book  in  question.  if  she  were  more  susceptible  to  spiteful  thoughts,  she  would’ve  cursed  avila  for  having  an  𝓐  name  &  causing  his  works  to reside  on  the  top  shelf,  but  she  adores  the  man  far  too  much  for  that,  &  besides  —  the  first  assignment  of  the  year  is  her  namesake,  for  god’s  sakes.  it  would  feel  like  utter  betrayal  to  be  even  the  slightest  bit  annoyed.  she’s  tried  it  all  —  jumping  up,  using  another  book  to  knock  it  off  the  shelf  —  &  now  she’s  resorted  to  one  of  the  more  precarious  options:  standing  on  top  of  a  stack  of  books  on  her  tiptoes,  lip  caught  between  her  teeth  as  she  reaches  &  reaches. . . until  the  stack  crumbles  from  underneath  her,  &  before  she  knows  it,  her  ass  meets  the  outdated,  scratchy  carpet.  with  a  wince,  she  grumbles  &  pulls  herself  up,  huffing  to  blow  the  strands  of  hair  that  have  fallen  from  their  ribbons  &  into  her  face.  footsteps  to  her  left  draw  her  attention,  &  she  turns  to  her  new  company,  smiling  sheepishly.    “  do  you,  uh  …  ”    she  turns  her  gaze  up  to  the  book,  still  sitting  smugly  upon  its  shelf.    “  do  you  mind  ?  ”

[oedipusrexs]

January, 1933 The diary of Anaïs Nin [Volume One: 1931-1934]

[oedipusrexs]

for: @prcphetics 

location: their room <3 

  "I could read it to you - if you want. There's probably a professional audiobook version, but I like to think you enjoy my voice best." Samson rearranged his seating, adrift in the small alcove his bed lay in. The sky outside their window was darkening; colored with the grey of a summer departing. Dakota was reclined, having been previously dreaming or happily drifting -- stretched across the expanse of his bed, his figure was as fine as any Donatello masterpiece.  Dakota had a most pleasant face to look at; long, dark hair with a sunny sheen - an arched mouth, particularly appealing to those who constituted a right on youth's affection. Samson did not know what they kept in store for him now; whatever sentiment Dakota would give him, it would be beautifully menaced on his lips. A string of lights lit their quarters -- Samson traced Dakota's features, turning them round his mind as he anticipated reply.  Samson often moved with an indifference to existence -- Dakota was sensitive to this sentiment, offering coy fondness to remedy his depression. It was selfish perhaps, for him to imagine an invisible string of understanding between them; his presence was often silent and dead. But he relished the illusion he'd earned Dakota's electric kinship and sympathy, and he carried with him a deep reverence for his roommate - a far better man than he. Samson rose from his perch, occupying the open floor between their beds. "Poor Iphigenia. Is it worse to imagine that her father had no choice, or to read and feel her life to him simply meant less than war? It's a hell of a start, even for Avila; I fucking love it." 

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 "Is it better to speak or to die?" Samson addressed Fitz directly with a look; desiring to communicate levity, but inspiring only tenderness. It was a clear night, though disconcertingly moonless; through blind black night, only Samson's heart lead him. It quaked, his pulse lept; the star that had nurtured them both, sought to quell its fervent drumming. Heaven was so cloudless -- he felt nights in this country were so much softer than those back home; they were bland and so safe. An inexpressible sense of wonder occupied Samson as he looked at this man, and felt that he could be loved. Fitz did not speak of protecting Samson’s flimsy spirit and wretched mind through storms; but Samson hung back still. Who had given Fitz so much power over him? Did it lie in his beauty? Samson felt delicate; Fitz’s features were not delicate and slight — though they were well cut by a master sculptors hands, they were not so impossibly chiseled as to lose power to all that was gained in perfect symmetry. Samson’s soul was bound at Fitz’s feet, his neck bent under his will. "fan agus ná lig dom imeacht." It was perhaps too tender for either of them to endure. His gaze returned to the waves; Samson thought of his mother now. She, the bane of his life, a strange, godless woman -- what would she think of him love-lorn now on a beach? In the rearrangement of Samson's childhood, they had doomed him to be a man impossible to love; he gave himself neither to her or god, but to grief. He longed to give himself to Fitz now -- a gift such as his own heart, could inspire vanity in no one. Fitz excited in the ordinary and vapid minds of their student body loathing and disdain; his manner to him in even the briefest of exchanges mitigated all chances of Samson regarding him with vehemence. "I'll let you in. I always will. I'd give you the moon, if it pleases your tastes tonight." If human sorrows were amends for the son of God, Samson did little for the glory of God. His feelings were overwrought, murderously sacrificed; only in the light of Fitz's company, was he left soothed. He dared not speak it -- how do you tell another soul you feel for them with the strength of a prayer? 

Samson watched Fitz closely; he noticed everything he did and did not do, teasing sweetly their twin natures of stoicism. "I'll do my best display for you then -- when someone is draped over you at the Dionysia, I'll give you my darkest gaze over a cup. You know me so well; I have to inspire you, with some revelation about myself." No matter how perfect Samson wished to think of them both, their natures were both alive to gratification -- however they sought it. In each answer Fitz afforded him now, Samson heard only perfect music; he was shown a power in his heart he had scarcely known existed. They enjoyed the way the other spoke -- keenly they relished the way they met one another in quickness, no matter what language they favoured.  "Maybe so -- certainly, I'll concede. Without you I couldn’t get my fix; but without me, you will return home and find little reprieve in sleep, no matter how sweet the release may have been." How, while looking keenly at Fitz's jaw once more, Samson longed to remind him how he could recall the sensation of his hands on his face; the cleft in his chin, the questioning look in his eyes.  Curiously, with great restraint to contain all tremblings, he traced the warmth of Fitz's cheek; like a child he then retreated, holding his hands in a prayer, eyes trained upon the heavens now. It was better to speak on a topic of levity now -- so Samson could quell his own tender confidences. He struggled still to not speak to Fitz in only the tenderest of cadences -- Samson feared his sweet honey would chafe at Fitz's skin like a blight or plague. "Nicole Kidman please know that when I slander redheads never ever do I mean you -- especially in Eyes Wide Shut. Which I am hoping, Professor Avila will let us recreate one day. Would you know me in a mask?" His heart stilled as Fitz's fingers hovered before his lips; to speak or die, his moment of levity rushed forward with a sense of urgency -- to deny the desire to kiss those fingers and make them his own, or to maintain an ounce of his well-cultivated pride? There was shared between them a certain infatuation with ego; perhaps this lay between all great lovers. But Fitz drew him like a powerful magnet -- there would be so much unspeakable between them, but not this night; not in the tender kiss, Samson laid upon those fingers now. He did not retreat now, his gaze firm and the blue of his eye clear. "It's moments when you speak to me like this that I know I am done for. You like me as I am, something even I cannot do -- I must protest, the injustice. How is my heart supposed to put up any fight?" 

"  stop  fishing  for  declarations  .  you  already  know  what  is  true  .  "  even  the   deepest  depths  of  the  nights  sky  could  not  hide  the  travelling  smile  that   danced  its  way  onto  fitz's  face  .  his  softness ,  the  relaxation  of  his  features   that  seemed  only  reserved  for  samson  in  the  serene  moments  of  quiet   intimacy  ,  remained  a  phenomenon  that  he  found  hard  to  determine  .  his   twenty  three  years  on  this  earth  had  been  plagued  by  calculation  and   reckoning  .  what  was  he  now  to  do  when  a  boy  ,  of  epic  contradictions  and  mysteries  ,  had  drawn  it  out  of  him  as  if  it  were  as  easy  as  breathing  ?  "  fanfaidh  mé  go  deo  .  "  he  hummed  ,  the  words  almost  lost  to  the  nights   abyss  as  his  hands  found  meeting  behind  his  head  ,  his  body  finding  home   within  the  sand  that  cushioned  them  .  the  distractions  of  the  summer  ,  of   family  and  responsibility  ,  constantly  pounded  into  him  as  if  it  were  a  higher  power   that  they  all  belonged  to  ,  smothered  him  for  days  at  a  time.  the   hyperfixations  of  his  mind  provided  comfort  ,  even  respite  ,  from  the   cataclysmic  heartache  that  was  radiating  throughout  his  body  .  it  would  be  in  the  quietest  moments  ,  the  most  insignificant  of  times  ,  that  fitz  would  let  his  mind  wander  to  what  samson  was  doing  .  his  mothers  french  greeting  and   delicate  kisses  upon  the  hand  when  he  and  his  siblings  arrived  amidst  the   sweltering  july  sun  to  their  summerhouse  ,  or  a  sharp  scrawl  ,  almost  illegible  ,  in  the  front  cover  of  well  loved  ,  70s  reprint  of  daphne  du  maurier's  rebecca. fitz  battled  with  those  moments  continuously  ,  equally  craving  the   suppression  of  samson's  memory  ,  as  he  yearned  for  continuous  reminders  .  he  thought  the  geographical  borders  that  separated  them  served  with  cruel   intent  .  how  could  the  things  that  bound  them  so  ,  keep  them  apart  so   unjustly  ?  "  you  would've  found  me  waiting  otherwise,  like  a  dog  with  a  bone  at  your   door  .  "

the  ambience  of  the  waves  crashing  before  them  filled  the  silences  between   them  .  though  fitz  had  never  found  them  to  be  an  inconvenience  .  he   could've  happily  spent  his  days  immersed  in  those  periods  of  quiet  ,  with  the  man  sat   beside  him  .  they'd  both  favored  communication  in  the  form of  the  written  word  anyway  ,  as  if  pen  and  paper  were  a  safer  entity  than  speaking  words  into  existence  .  "  animated  expressions  have  never  really  been  our  style  ,though seeing  you  red  in  a  different  context  is  undoubtedly  intriguing  .  "  a  painted  smirk  drafted  its  way  onto  his  features  ,  as  his  eyes  glittered  ,   looking  up toward  his  starmate  .  fitz  had  never  been  a  man  that  lacked   confidence  ,  it  radiated  off  of  him  in  the  way  that  he  walked  ,  and  talked  ,  and  simply  ,  existed  .  but  on  nights  like  these  ,  with  the  present  company  ,  he  could  feel  himself  burying  his  body  into  the  sand  ,  further  and  further  .    waiting  ,  for  samson  to  pull  him  out  .  "  i  simply  exist  .  you  ,  on  the  other   hand  ,  wouldn't  be  able  to  get  your  fix  if  i  slinked  off  into  a  world  of  solitude  .  "   they  both  expressed  unadulterated  truth  to  one  another  ,  with  no   preconceived  premonition  of  concealment  .  the  o'callaghan  heir  indulged  in  the�� goodness  that  samson  provided  him  ,  goodness  as  if  it  were  a  gift  .  but  in   his  soul  ,  as  the  gods  made  it  so  ,  he  was  born  to  taint  and  destroy  .  he  wondered  when  it  was  samsons  turn  to  be  destructed  in  his  wake  .  even  now  ,   when  they  shared  careful  touches  ,  a  nudge  of  the  shoulder  or  light  fingertips  tapping  against  his  knee  ,  he  questioned  whether  even  his  touch  had  the  power  to  contaminate  .    "  you've  been  banished  for  treason  for  wishing  ill  upon   the  redheads  of  the  land  .  do  you  have  any  final  words  before  you  are  exiled  ?  "  he  declared  ,  his  fist  morphing  into  a  faux  microphone  ,  holding  his  hand  dangerously  close  to  samson's  lips  .  "  don't  touch  your  hair  ,  i  really  do  like   you  just  the  way  you   are  .  " 

[oedipusrexs]

WHO’S A HERETIC NOW?

Florence + the Machine (2015)

by Mariza Kapsabeli

[oedipusrexs]

"Stranger; have I lost you so?" The glow of Fitz's complexion, the expansion of his nostril, the bold with which disdain gave his well cut lips, showed him in a new phase. Samson couldn't think of the last time he'd excited animation like this in someone; with good reason, most regarded him as void of affection, unspoiled by principles or faith. Looking at Fitz didn't calm or soothe him; there was something in his face, Samson could never bring himself to turn away from. The rare passions that crossed his own countenance were surely an unpleasant spectacle; was that why still, Fitz would not look at him? Quietly, Samson continued; his own hands fidgeted, knowing not where they would best serve. "Would it please you better to know I came here out of my of volt ion?" The stars, had a well earned place in their story; Henry VII had commissioned a trio of astrologers, and all would have cosigned the thought Samson and Fitz had been born under the same one. Their summer apart had been agony, but in parting, Samson had been a legacy. For the first time, since he was a child, he had a hope for the future; a brave new course. Few things could shake him -- everything had the power to depress him. .Fitz's eyes settled on him gently; there was softness in them now, shades of reproach melting into remorse. Samson's opening words merited a reply of severity -- he was met only with indulgence. He had not known until the day that they met, that his character had moods of haughtiness, warmth, jealousy; Fitz denied all these faults, but gathered them up and took him home. The manner in which Fitz spoke to him -- these gentle words -- would do Samson good for a lifetime. They would be comfort when he was lost in the straits of loneliness; a lifeline, pride would not cut short. In their proximity, a wordless language was shared. Never had Samson feel desire outstrip impulse, irritating his imagination --- his nerves were feverish, his eyes apparent to any onlooker they threatened to flash something like love. Faithfully Samson took Fitz's lead, resting beside him with a bent head and eager heart; their brief contact, sending that traitorous organ into a death march. He could not help but smile -- so alike the satisfied expression Fitz sported at any party. "You'd love to spite me -- I know you'd put down good money, to see me riled up."​​​​​​​ Samson looked at Fitz's face and instantly longed for the ability to know all his opinions; but well-employed questions in any language, would not better elicit them than whatever spell tethered them. He was quiet a moment, and hushed in reply. "Maybe. I suppose it wouldn't be of use to either of us for me to deny that. Not that I've been forced to wait for very long; do you remain a topic of conversation out of action or habit?" Samson's voice faltered out of delight then any fear -- he was made soft and docile, in the token of uncharacteristic goodness, he was being offered now. "I'm almost delusional enough to believe that, but I know you've noticed by now that my em dash usage is wildly out of control." It was almost pathetic, the gravity that Samson employed to gently nudge Fitz's shoulder -- but every touch they shared was too domestic to be tolerated. "Some would say I'm betraying our shared homeland in saying this, but I'm glad you're not into redheads. It'd complicate things too much, I think. And I'll take your for for it, that you're not this sophomores tall and Byronic paramour. Though I concede, I don't know what I would have been inspired to if you'd said yes." 

"   hello   ,   stranger   .   "   fitz   murmured   ,   as   if   to   the   air   .   samson's   presence   radiated   even   from   the   furthest   corner   of   the   island   ,   the   threads   that   tied   them   together   glistened   whenever   he   sought   the   solitude   that   they   so   often   craved   .   he   knew   who   those   silent   footprints    in   the   sand   belonged   to   ,   the   waves   could   not   curtail   the   electricity   of  their   kind   of   emotional   pull   .   he   often   thought   that   the   moonlight   called   to   them   both   ,   as   if   the   nights   sky   provided   them   some   kind   of   sanctity   they   weren't   afforded   in   the   daylight   .   perhaps   that   was   why    the   summer   ,   had   never   been   quite   their   season   .   the   longer   evenings   and   a   sun   that   threatened   to   remain   well   past   when   it   was   due   ,   had   felt   ill   fitting   to   them   both   ,   like   a   garment   that   never   quite   hung   in    the   way   one   would   like   it   to   .   he   supposed   it   was   always   meant   to   be   this   way   ,   reuniting   with   only   the   stars   as   their   audience   .   fitz's   hands   were   crossed   loosely   ,   cushioning   the   back   of   his   head   .   he   hadn't    dared   to   look   at   samson   yet   ,   he'd   not   even   dared   to   spare   him   a glance   .   "   did   the   stars   tell   you   to   find   me   here   ,   or   have   you   been    watching   me   all   night   ?   "  he   supposed   that   their   dynamic   had   never   been   one   of    miscommunication   or   misunderstanding   .   instead   ,   it   was   peppered   with   a   million   unspoken   words   and   touches   that   we   not   pursued   .   if   they  were   bolder   ,   even   prouder   in   their   feelings   toward   one   another   ,   fitz    would   rattle   off   every   thought   he'd   had   all   summer   :   come   home   to   me   ,   my   world   is   glacial   and   hollow   without   your   warmth   ,   why   did   you  not   call   ?   why   did   you   not   write   ?   he   wanted   to   be   cruel   ,   use   this    as   the   golden   opportunity   that   in   any   other   context   ,   that   he'd   characterize   as   his   eureka   moment   .   but   the   heart   he   once   thought   he   was   without   ,   spoke   to   him   in   ways   that   felt   foreign   to   him   .   "   why   would   i   ever   want   to   spite   you   ?   "   fitz   questioned   ,   finally   succumbing   to   the   desire   that   radiated   through   him   .   he   paused   ,   took   in   his   surroundings   and   the   man   before   him   .   not   for   calculation   or   premeditation   ,   but   for   the   simple   fact   of   wanting   to   bask   in   his   presence   .   fitz   nodded   his   head   ,   to   indicate   that   they   should   sit   .   in   the  process   ,   the   intentional   graze   of   his   shoulder   was   a   communication   .   it   was   a   declaration   ,   of   longing   and   wanting   ,   of   a   reassurance   that   samson   really   was   here   ,   in   the   flesh   .   "   all   that   tells   me   is   that   you've   been   waiting   to   hear   my   name   on   the   lips   of   our   brothers   and   sisters   in   arms   .   "   a   cocked   brow   , and   a   slight   smile   threatened   to   break   through   .   he   could   not   deny   ,   he   was   rather   pleased   that   he   was   not   the   only   one   with   open   ears   ,   and   eager   eyes   .   "   you're   without  shortcomings   ,   dearest   .   i   like   you   just   as   you   are   .   "   he   hummed   ,  letting   the   alabaster   sand   cascade   through   his   finger   tips   .   "   to   note   ,   i   have   no   opinion   of   redheads   ,   nor   am   i   component   of   said   whirlwind  love   affair   ,   before   you   let   your   mind   wander   .   "

[oedipusrexs]

for: @graeclandtoo

location: banquet hall 

 The students of Daskalos were in a stir; Professor Avila glided amongst them, giving to each in his turn about, some token of his good will. Samson mused on what it would be like to have his presence be coveted -- when he vouchsafed his own sentiments, he met only silence. But here, standing in Priscilla's charming airs, Samson was welcome in her presence. He knew their bond was strange, that an auspicious air marked each hell bent night they shared. And whatever misfortunes and depressions befell Priscilla held a strong claim on his forbearance; Samson did not ask where her paramour stood. He did not want to hear the answer -- he could not have mustered a reply with calm or dignity.        Their summer break had agreed with Priscilla mightily -- her dress was immaculate, but even the simplest draping would be a triumph to her charms. She existed in a class of her own; you did not need to be in love, to concede this truth. Her eyes were fixed upon him now, twinkling -- the softness she had shown him in greeting had been insinuating, but it was more acceptable than others curiosity. "There is nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women -- I'm here to let you lecture me on anything, but that guy over there? Black suit with the weird stains? He's on the war path." Samson smiled, his cheeks were half-colored. He did not envy his most secure of classmates in this moment -- he was content with his voluntary friend now. Was this friendship? Proximity to him was a wavering sentiment, brittle and threatening to revoke support. "I saw another painting of Judith slaying  Holofernes this summer - I thought of you." 

[oedipusrexs]

lyrics from sun bleached flies by ethel cain

prints of my other work here!

instagram / youtube / twitter

[oedipusrexs]

for: @fvlsegcd 

location: the beach 

  Samson was detained by converging twilight on the beach -- breathing in the deepening calm, the coolness of departing light mellowing him. There rankled a suspicion in his heart he was not alone; and of course, it was him there. Fitz's feet were firmly planted against alabaster sand, a force of nature sunshine now could not win over with simmering heat. Again and again and again, those eyes met his -- but offering nothing, they withdrew. Samson wished he could have dared to be near him; but he lived in perpetual fear his presence would evince indignation from Fitz. He longed to speak now -- he dared not whisper. Degrees of separation that summer had changed their relationship, but not in the manner he had painfully anticipated. Those warm words, though only warm in estrangement, breathed life on the frail frost-work of Samson's being. Fitz seemed to know that even if he only deigned to speak of himself, Samson's wish would always be satisfied.     For Samson's part, there was only one avenue of recourse now; he had to expiate his palpable feelings or he would not sleep that night. In a poorly executed attempt at indifference, Samson approached Fitz with his eyes upon the foaming waves; only until they stood within arms reach, did he meet the heat of his gaze.. He was powerless to deny himself the delight of indulging Fitz's most vicious moods, and being a pliant thing, to his will. Sometimes Fitz was prone to vindictive pleasures and harassed him; in-spite of Samson's desire to only hear and bear all, Fitz struck so expertly against the flint of whatever stamina Samson owned. In a strange and new phase, an utterly selfish one, Samson coveted this, too. He had lived in perpetual fear of a singular thing that would change him, an angst engrained in his nature. Fitz bore something in him -- but he did not know if he yielded himself to this singular path, if he would be asked to parted with his identity. "You always feel taller when your shoes are off -- is it an American thing, or is it just a party trick to spite me?" Samson did not wish to reflect much on the tenderness that marked his tone; he would rather invest in dissecting Fitz's reply, something he felt he knew by heart. Fitz would first offer a spare, but expressive answer -- and if Samson was lucky, a smile would wander around his lips, an expression that felt either blithe or critical. "I heard a girl at dinner speaking about some whirlwind love affair that's left her anchor-less; seemed like your type of scene -- but we've never discussed, whether you're infatuated with gingers or not. It'll be another thing to add to my list of shortcomings, if you are." 

[oedipusrexs]

   for: @lvelydice

setting: event vibes ya know 

 A perfect crowd of fanatics was gathered around Professor Avila, from whose vicinage Samson had been banished --- he had been remanded for his pale and humourless countenance, and was told he was much too young a man, to be as despotic as a ghost. Fine features, precocious little minds such as his, were all around -- he ought to find his colour there. A more wonderfully tyrannical man than Avila had never filled the mantle of professor; he himself was the picture of ease, though he did not neglect to glance Samson's way. Ever the good little soldier, Samson did not require a second accosting; a composite feeling of trepidation and ennui wrapped round his heart, and sustained its thunderous throbbing. He entered the fray, unable to discern throw clouds of women and gentile men, whether his own features would ever find favour here. The rooftop bar felt ominous; Samson could never explain why.  Samson's eyes, pursuant of a friendly figure, found a face he considered singular in the crowd; Avila spoke so often of seraphs, Samson knew one in the flesh. He approached her, genial in his demonstrations -- he always liked dearly to hear what Mimi had to say about books or poets. Mimi spoke without designs of being a connoisseur; she spoke her thoughts, which were bound to be fresh -- she listened to him so kindly, gathering his obscure and rambling explanations. "I didn't hear you much at dinner, but I like to believe that you were whispering secrets to someone, rather than remaining reserved -- that's my job, you know." Samson sought to compliment her somehow; flattery was the purest byproduct of genuine feelings. "And you've lost your other half -- did Genie depart for the Professors circle, or are you standing alone for my benefit? Because I think I forgot to mention in our letters, I had three close calls with making friends over the summer." 

[oedipusrexs]

ELEKTRA by Sophokles, tr. by Anne Carson

[oedipusrexs]

samson o'connor , twenty five (paul mescal); codename oedipus. masters student receiving a dual degree in philosophy and theology.

intro and wanted connections below the cut! 

I tried condensing my bio and I'm incapable of shutting up !! so I'm just going to provide a hopefully short (?) tldr!! 

Full info, bio and my 5000 headcanons etc is here! There's nothing explicit but I've added some tws to his biography, so feel free to skip <3 hopefully I do it justice below in in quick form! also brief death mention tw

Samson's a twenty five year old graduate student, and has been at Daskalos for two years; he's double majoring in philosophy and theology. His fathers death at the hands of his mother changed him as a child -- he runs from his past, but the now unstabble present (in the future wake of Genie's disaperance) shakes him. He's thoughtful, morose or mysterious depending on who you ask; he will always say yes to a smoke or a drink, but is otherwise entirely burried in his books. Samson is dying for human connection and has reached a point, where he can no longer deny himself the pleasure of others company. 

very much!!! at a point in his life where something has to change -- and whether it be in positive or negative ways, samson seeks to enter the fray. 

----

Although it isn’t beautiful, the night; written as an example of a known associate, they’re someone that Samson is inexplicably drawn to. Like him, they stand apart from the others – Samson is so unlike himself in their interactions. He is sociable, and he wants to see them outside of their select meetings. He wishes to know them, wishes to understand them; the act of self-preservation through isolation feels less appealing with them. This can entirely be platonic or possibly romantic! 

Famous Last Words; friends are not uncommon for Samson, though connections seem to be rare. He is a loyal companion, and an annoyingly reasonable voice in all situations; he could be their friend when they want to go out and spend a night at a bar forgetting — a friend to share interests of art, books, music with. 

Your gaze is a bullet pinned to the chest; for his fellow members of the Dionysia, with whom Samson feels a great deal of kinship, and trepidation. As Genie’s disappearance unfolds, so will Samson’s trust in himself and others unravel; some people he will cling to, others entirely repel – and in his darkest moments, accuse in the back of his mind. 

By now; entirely the entire inverse of it isn’t beautiful, the night. Their personality offends Samson, though it is most likely envy, that this person lives wholly confident and apparently full of life. Samson isn’t one for direct confrontation, but holds tension and space for annoyance, in regards to them; could be mutual, could be entirely one sided. 

Met you in a past life: Samson has lived in either Ireland or France, but has taken plenty of trips with his mother – he could have met them abroad, or while they were visiting Paris. It could have been a short exchange, or a short lived connection; it haunts him now that they’re at the same school.

Etc: perhaps he was your characters TA (they’d love or hate him), party friends, fellow loners and smokers, fellow philosophy majors, I’m truly open to finding anything!! 

[oedipusrexs]

paul mescal photographed by heji shin for the gucci horsebit 1953 loafer campaign, 2023

[oedipusrexs]

Glass, Irony and God, Anne Carson

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first love / late spring, mitski

[oedipusrexs]

   THE FATES ALREADY FUCKED ME SIDEWAYS; oedipus, nobody's son. unraveling either by design or by choice. a dependant blog for daskalos written by juno. 

samson o'connor; codename oedipus. masters student receiving a dual degree in philosophy and theology. google doc. pinterest. tags.